From Comfortable Distances (43 page)

“Maybe the time spent
searching isn’t wasted time,” Neal said. “Maybe that’s just part of the process
of finding one’s way,” Neal said.

Neal was a nice person
who she happened to intercept in her life; it was no one’s fault if they had
fallen for one another. It was no one’s fault if they had entangled one another
in a mess of emotion.

“Maybe,” she said, their
eyes focused on one another. This, she thought, was the distance between two
people: she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“You look tired,” he
said.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I should leave, let you
get some rest.”

She nodded again, but he
made no move to leave, nor did she make any move to get up.

“What made you come here
tonight, Neal?”

“I wanted to see you. My
mother and I went out to dinner and I wanted to see you and I told her, so we
stopped by on the way home.”

It was a simple answer
for a simple question and yet it unnerved her. He got to do what he wanted, but
if she had wanted to see him, she couldn’t just show up at his house. It wasn’t
that anyone had told her she couldn’t, but it was understood. His mother was
the gatekeeper. This was the inequality between them.

“What’s wrong?” Neal
said. He moved a curl from her eye.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’ve
had a long day.”

She wished it didn’t have
to be so complicated with him. That they could just be a man and a woman and
not worry about each move so much. She could invite him in. He wouldn’t stay
the night anyway. She liked making love with him. It would be a nice end to the
day. And yet, she wanted to be alone. She paused for another moment, focusing on
her loafers. She wanted to be alone. To walk into her house and put on her
pajamas and just be. It was the first time in her knowing him that the
neediness was not there. Perhaps the first time in her life that she liked a
man but was choosing to be alone. She wanted to do what she wanted to do this
night. She let her mind explore this feeling to make sure that she was clear,
and then she was up on her feet, feeling stronger than she had when she pulled
into the driveway. She was choosing to be alone. It meant nothing and
everything to her at that moment.

She smiled down at him. “Time
for me to go to sleep,” she said. “It was nice to see you tonight, Neal,” she
said.

He nodded and paused for
a moment, but after she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek and said
goodnight, he stood up and said, “good night,” and remained standing in place
while she opened her front door, went inside and waved goodbye.

Buddhi dashed ahead of
Tess and began to scratch at the front door. Apparently he too wanted to get
the day off to an early start. She pulled open the front door slowly, scooting
Buddhi out before she pulled the door closed behind them. The fall air was
chilly, the dew making it thick, heavy. The Israeli husband, who she never saw,
was on his porch, locking his front door before he made his way into his car in
his driveway. She remembered the wife telling her that he owned some sort of
wholesale business in Manhattan, but she couldn’t remember what. She hadn’t
sold them the house—it had been a direct sale, owner to owner. She let her car
run for a few minutes on her driveway before she backed out and was on her way,
the Israeli husband close behind her as she made her way down 66
^th
street.

4:45 am. She’d be in
Morristown, New Jersey in time for 6:30 prayers and would make it back to her
office no later than 9:30 am. Not ideal for a Monday morning, but it would have
to do. She pulled out the directions she’d copied down from the website and
spread them out on the seat next to her. At the traffic light on the corner of
Avenue U and 66
^th
street, she unbuttoned her blazer. She’d opted to
wear a conservative navy pants suit with a crisp white button down and simple
navy heals—what she considered slight pumps. Her outfit made her feel middle
aged and uptight. It was something she had purchased during a phase when she
was still trying to prove her professionalism. She felt that it was perfect for
her monastery visit—the type of outfit that blended in.

It was close to 6:00 am
when the sky began to break, the darkness receding, exposing clouds that
threatened rain. Tess was a few minutes away from the monastery per the signs
on the road, and then she saw the entrance up in the distance and made a right
turn into the grounds.

The buildings scattered
about were red bricked—Tess couldn’t make out what the signs in front of each
of them said. And then there was the cathedral off to the side with its substantial
steeple and bell tower. Tess pulled into the gravel parking lot and turned her
car off in a spot close to the road. In the rearview mirror she fixed her hair,
scattering it a bit about her face and pushing it off to its side part and then
she was applying her lipstick before she thought better of it and wiped it off
with a tissue from her bag. Best not to look too made up she supposed. She
opened her car door. The air was cooler than she anticipated and she reached
into her back seat for her ivory pashmina, which she draped around her neck.

She tried a side
entrance, but it was locked. 6:21 per her watch. Her heart began to race. The
last thing she wanted to do was enter late and make any sort of scene. She
moved to another entrance that was part of a long hall and it was open. The air
inside reeked of eucalyptus-spice smelling incense and she immediately thought
of St. Bernard’s Church, which she had been in with Neal months back. It was
cool, air conditioned, and the lighting was dim and faint. Along the ivory
walls there were bronze antiqued sconces, with thick, tall white candles
burning in each one. Tess wondered whose job it was to light the candles each
morning—it seemed like so much work to go through when there were such things as
track lighting. Tess’s shoes echoed on the white hospital-like linoleum tiles,
as she moved slowly through the hall, with its low, dropped ceiling with
removable white panels. She never liked those panels—cheap and eerie in her
opinion. Always made her feel as if someone hiding out up above could remove
them and jump down to the ground. She would describe the atmosphere as a blend
of business and antiseptic, in no specific order. 

At the end of the hall
she came to the mini birdbath which she knew contained holy water, although she
wasn’t sure what made that water any holier than say the water that gathered in
puddles on her deck after a rain storm. Beyond the holy water pool loomed two
mahogany wood doors with dulled brass handles, which she intuited was the
entrance to the chapel. Why weren’t the doors open? They were sturdy, severe.
Of course given the rest of the décor, they could be hollow.

If she were a Catholic,
she would dip her finger in the holy water, make the sign of the cross—she’d
seen people do that at weddings and funerals. She considered dipping her finger
in it to see what it would be like, but then one of the monks in his
coffee-colored robe was rushing towards her, or perhaps he was moving towards
the chapel. She looked behind her at the still-closed doors. He stopped by her
and bowed slightly, or maybe he was bowing at the water, and then he was
dipping his fingers in the water, making the sign of the cross, and then moving
into the chapel. One after the other now the monks appeared in procession, as
if they were part of a wedding party following a cue to proceed into the
chapel. Tess moved by the doors to get a glance inside. There were people in
the pews facing the monks—that’s where she was to go, she supposed – and at
least ten monks already in place in the front of the room in their pew. Tess
wasn’t sure if she should cut in front of one of the monks and make her way in
or if it was best to wait for them to all file in. She decided to make a move
and darted in when she saw the next one still a ways off. She found a spot next
to an older man dressed in chinos and a white anorak still zipped up, and she
thought of Neal in his uniform. She kept some space in between her and the man
and he smiled at her slightly and she smiled back. There were two nuns in the
row in front of her.

A few more men and women
entered the chapel. Everyone seemed to arrive alone. Maybe that was how it was
with religion—people tended to it independently. She imagined many of them must
have been locals. She wondered if it was part of their daily ritual or if there
was anyone, like her, who was there for the first time.

Then the organ music
began—one of the monks was playing and everyone stood up in their pews and
began to sing along. Tess could make out the words
The Lord
but didn’t
know where to find the words to follow along and then the organ stopped and it
was time to sit and the monk who was positioned at the podium opened his prayer
book and began to speak. He wore glasses and was nearly bald, with a fresh face
and Tess found it hard to concentrate on his words as she was caught up in
taking in each of the monks. Some had facial hair that was cropped close, while
there was another monk in the back row with unruly facial hair. There was a
monk who looked Indian to her, and a few younger men—she imagined one them was
in his twenties—and an African American monk. In total, she counted 32, each
one so unique that she couldn’t come up with a word to summarize the group
other than that they were men. She tried to imagine Neal as one of them, which
seemed simple enough to her. He
was
one of them. If she were to see him
in that context, in a row beside the other monks, she would have accepted that
he was unavailable to her. She would not have let herself feel for him. He would
have simply been a monk, not a man who she was involved with.

The organ player was at
it again and the monks were standing and so were the people in the rows
surrounding Tess. She felt herself go red and stood up. She wanted to hear what
they were saying, but was caught up in the tone, a melancholy tone that
reminded her of the incense smell—somehow the two were connected in her brain.
There was a sense of loss and longing in the music and then her eyes caught the
surreal glow of the stained glass window across the church’s glossed marble
floor and she felt that she was going to cry and swallowed once and then again,
trying to smooth down the ache in her throat. She was relieved when it was time
to sit down again. She practiced her deep inhales and exhales, closing her eyes
while she tried to calm herself down. There was a creepiness to it all—the
music, the shadows, the incense and the smoke that rose from them—a profound
sadness and suddenly she couldn’t imagine Neal as a part of it. She didn’t want
him to be a part of that despair. She found that with her eyes closed, she was
able to hear the monk speaking better, although his words still escaped her. He
spoke in a sing-songy way and with her breath calmer, things made more sense to
her. He was praying, leading the others in prayer. He was speaking to the Lord.
A peace began to envelope her so that she was able to open her eyes and see the
monks now anew. This was their life. This praying and pleading with the Lord
was what they were about. It was their calling, just as Best Reality had been
her calling and being a mother had been her calling, just as yoga was her
calling right now. These men were living their lives in the best way they knew
how.

These men had made a
separate peace. They had done the unthinkable by renouncing sex and marriage
and material goods and devoting their lives to God. Neal had been one of them
for the majority of his life. Until he had decided to flee the monastery and
return to Brooklyn. For all she knew, if it weren’t for her, he may have only
stayed in Brooklyn a week or two until his mother sent him back. Or perhaps he
would have wanted to return on his own free will. People did that. Left.
Returned. People were always changing their minds. But then he met her. Neal
met Tess and maybe it was like his mother said. He was horny. Maybe she had
flirted with him. Who was she to say how the story went from his point of view?
Maybe he felt that Tess needed him and he didn’t want to desert her. The aroma
of the incense was stronger now, as if it had been turned up a few notches and
Tess felt nauseous, terribly nauseous, and queasy. The man next to her was
waiting for her to move out into the aisle. She didn’t understand—was it over?
Then she realized that the congregation was lining up to receive communion and
she saw the smoke from the incense rising and felt it settling in her throat so
that swallowing was becoming unreliable. She made her way out of the aisle,
letting the man next to her pass and then she began to make her way to back of
the room, toward the tall, thick wooden doors, cognizant of the echo of her
shoes on the marble floor. She turned back once and locked eyes with the
youngest monk who had not yet lined up for communion—his row seemed to be
waiting for the congregation to take communion first. His eyes were full of
joy, or perhaps it was tears. Tess couldn’t tell from the distance, but then
she caught his smile and couldn’t help but to smile back. She imagined she was
making a spectacle of herself escaping from the service or perhaps it was that
he wished he were leaving with her. She held his eyes for a moment longer,
smiling back, and then he nodded, as if to let her know that it was fine, it
was okay, everyone felt the need to get away sometimes and he was moving down
his pew now, making his way to receive communion and then she rushed to the end
of the hall and pushed the door open to the semi-lit hallway, pressing it
closed behind her. Leaning against the door, she let out a deep breath.

She heard the organ from
inside the chapel and from here it sounded softer, less dramatic. There was
something about the atmosphere both in and outside of the chapel that had a
shadowy effect to her, as if objects could be seen, but were too far away to
touch. She made her way down the hallway slowly now, but more sure of herself
than earlier. There were some intricately designed metal crosses up on the
walls—crisscrossed patterns of thin metal strips woven together— and some busts
of old, austere looking men on podiums with plaques noting who they were. At
the end of the hall she came upon a showcase.

Monastic Horarium

Vigils               6:30
am

Lauds               9:00
am

Holy Mass       11:00 am
(Mon-Sat.) 10:30 am (Sun.)

Vespers            5:00
pm

Compline         8:00 pm

Tess wondered why this
church didn’t follow the seven daily prayers that she had read about in the
religion books. Nevertheless, praying five times a day was a lot of time spent
praying. She supposed that it wasn’t so different from all the time she spent
working. There were brochures set out about weekday and weekend retreats at the
monastery. She could spend a few days living there. Praying with the monks.
Eating with them. She fingered the brochure and then put it back down.
Something about staying at the monastery made her feel uneasy, as if she were
peeping into Neal’s life. She heard people in the hall now and supposed the
services were over. She didn’t want to see anyone, not after she had rushed out
of the chapel. She moved quickly to the end of the hall and followed the red
exit sign that led her to a glass door leading out.

The breeze was brisk,
refreshing. She looked left and right to get her bearings. The parking lot.
She’d have to find the parking lot, which shouldn’t be too difficult as she had
only walked down a few hallways. She made her way back, in the opposite
direction, and sure enough, there was the lot with her car close to the road
that would lead her out of the complex.

She turned off the air in
her car and opened her window, the cool air rushing in at her.  The spicy
incense aroma was thick in her throat, but she couldn’t tell if its memory was
lodged in her nose or if she had acquired the smell on her person. She imagined
Michael making his what-smells-horrible pug dog face when he walked into her
office. She’d leave her blazer in the car, not take any chances. In the
daylight, the buildings loomed less intimidating to her, like schoolhouses. She
passed one after the other, wondering what went on inside each of them, and
didn’t hit her brakes until she saw the red-bricked cloister up ahead. Out
front a sign read: “Guests are not permitted beyond this point.” It looked like
a dorm with its three stories and rows of windows with the same white shades. Or
an institution. She thought of the monks, each one of them going off to their
rooms at night. She wondered what each kept in their rooms—books, pictures, a
lamp, she supposed. She wondered what Neal’s room had looked like, if he had
switched rooms in his 23 years in the monastery, or if he had slept in one room
all those years. She wondered if it was warm or cold, if he had a rug on the
floor or tile and what came to Tess first was the faces of the monks she had
glanced earlier in the morning, the one young monk with whom she had shared a
smile, and then she realized that there were rooms in this world that she would
never see. She thought of the corners in which people retreated and how far
inside some went and how they often never came out. It was easy in this world
to be invisible, to hide away so that no one could find you and more than that,
sometimes it didn’t even require hiding away. You could live amongst others
without letting them know your thoughts, your heart, your dreams.