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sort of the Arhat’s right-hand person, he’s of course above the day-to-day details, and she has one of these quite red-headed complexions, with a face pale as ice, that opaque ice that builds up in the refrigerator, and furious green eyes and a cleft chin, which I think are generally handsomer on men—she said that didn’t seem like very much and was there any way I could get any more? Did I have credit cards? Access to jointly held securities? To make a long story short, I got
very
dignified and said I had brought my body and mind and atman and what more could the Arhat in his transcendent wisdom desire? She got uppity on her own side and said the Arhat desires nothing, his name and the concept of desire should not even be put in the same sentence, but that his work was great, as I no doubt must have noticed while driving in as an uninvited trespasser. I said I
had
noticed and marvelled and firmly intended to put myself at the service of this work. She asked me what my skills were, and I said those of a homemaker and helpmeet who had completed only two years of college intending to major in French philosophy, and she said it would certainly take some ingenuity to put those skills at the service of the Arhat. She spoke in this stilted way, like the high priestess in the old Cecil B. DeMille extravaganzas, but with this lovely Irish lilt that kept coming through. I wondered if she were exactly sane, but now that I’ve learned she had been an artiste of some sort in Dublin once, I suppose that explains it.
    Really, it wasn’t all that intimidating, because outside the little windows of the trailer I could see these other sannyasins going by laughing and looking so happy and peaceful and hugging and kissing each other whenever they felt like it. She gave me a speech about how work here was worship, andthe harder the work the more fervent the worship, and she doubted I could do hard labor. I said I had been an active gardener in my old life—my old life, Midge! as if I already had a new one—and played tennis twice a week all summer, and would she like to arm-wrestle? It just popped out, a little like the things Irving sometimes says to us at the beginning of a session, to cleanse our minds and shock us into satori. I would never have been so fresh and aggressive in my normal life. Already I was
liberated
. The Arhat’s love was in the air here and giving me courage. You could see Durga was stunned for a second, her eyes narrowed and this chin of hers, like Cary Grant’s only of course on a woman not so effective, this chin of hers lifted a little inch, and all she said was I should save my internalized violence and hostility for the dynamic-meditation session. So that implied I was accepted, but, Midge, if I’d known what a dynamic-meditation session was I might have gotten back into my car, but they had taken my keys and driven it away, like valet parking, and in fact I never
have
been able to find out what happened to it, so tell Charles, if by any chance you see him, that I can’t help whatever notices from Hertz he keeps getting—they’re not my fault. The rest of that day was spent filling out forms indemnifying them against all sorts of damage and taking Rorschach and personality tests to see if I was mentally healthy enough, for my own protection as well as theirs they explained, and having a really very thorough examination for venereal diseases—
very
disagreeably done—though when I asked for a Contac for my cold they said it was just maya and to ignore it.
    Oh God, I am
tired
. And now I hear people outside coming from the disco and I don’t want them to hear me talking to you on this thing—people
steal
here, there’s nothing really against it in the Arhat’s philosophy, and they say Durga hasspies everywhere and is really paranoid about betraying our secrets to the outside world—so I’ll say good night and tuck you into my sweater. You and the other girls would hardly know me. I sleep in my