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don’t know events, but you and I, we’ve been close ever since we first laid eyes on each other. I do know you. There’s something we share—I can’t put it into words, but with you I’m at home in a way I am with no one else. There’s a reason for that and it’s beneath the surface of who you are. I’m not about to give that up. No event is going to change it.”
    He slipped behind me and wrapped his arms around me again. The warmth of his body felt good but when he spoke, I understood why he didn’t want to look at me.
    “I did . . . something . . . a long time ago. I didn’t give it any thought, not then. Now, it’s always with me.”
    So that was why he understood my own preoccupation. “If—”
    “No! It doesn’t matter about the absolution. Some things are beyond that.”
    I pulled loose. “Not true. Things change. All things. And you don’t know how that’s going to affect you. But look, Leo—the abbot—will be back in forty-five minutes. Let’s walk up to North Beach and get a drink or some pizza. I’ll leave him a note so he’ll expect you.”

    It was a moment before he said, “Okay.”
    As we headed out of the courtyard I felt more like I was leading him than walking with him. I ached to ask what he could have done that left him in this shape, and yet I knew not to.
    “The ceremony,” he said as we turned onto Columbus toward the cafes of North Beach, “when do you have it?”
    “The Saturday of the full moon.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Right, tomorrow morning.”
    “I’ll try that then, and see.” He hugged me, turned, and strode back downhill. When I got back to the zendo, his car was gone.

6
    MOST ZEN STUDENTS greet the passing out of the sutra cards for the Bodhisattva ceremony with surprise. In the old monasteries, monks performed a long version of this acceptance of the fruits of their actions twice a month. They, surely, knew the ceremony by heart. Here, we do it monthly, and most students forget the date and are surprised to see the zabutons , the two-foot by four-foot mats, turned lengthwise to the altar instead of toward the wall. They are surprised they won’t be sitting cross-legged on a zafu , facing the wall, but will be standing, bowing, kneeling as they do the call and response.
    I was surprised only that Guthrie was not here. Still, I had to admit, not very surprised. A strange ceremony in a strange place is going to be less appealing when you’re actually faced with it. As we chanted All my ancient tangled karma, from beginningless greed, hate, and delusion, I now fully avow , I kept wondering what was this thing that Damon Guthrie did years ago, without much thought, an act that now haunted him as much as Mike’s disappearance did me.
    We chanted three times, following with the vows. Afterwards, Leo bowed to the altar and to us in the zendo, and walked out, followed by his attendant of the day.

    It was only then that I saw Guthrie, near the door. Without looking at me, he turned and followed the two of them.
    Had it been someone else, I would have wondered if he’d tracked down Leo’s phone number and scheduled an appointment. But Guthrie? He’d be trotting right up the stairs behind them, charming the shocked jisha , and making his case to Leo. Before I finished putting out the candle and straightening the cushions, he’d be sitting cross-legged in Leo’s room, telling him . . . what?
    I wanted to plant myself at the foot of the steps to snag him . . . to ask Leo . . . or at least to see Guthrie’s face. But by the time I trimmed the candle and sifted the ash for the incense, I was lucky to catch him as he ran down the last step into the lobby and turned toward the outside door. “Hey! Where’re you off to?” What did you say upstairs?
    “To walk.”
    “Want company?”
    “Later. I need to think.”
    “Oh. Sure.”
    He turned, then turned back, hugged me hard, and said, “Leo’s right. But it’s a lot to take in.”
    Right about what? What was