Find Me At the Gates
Part Six: The Last Real Thing I Remember
06 July 2012 Friday
Sunbeams shining through the bedroom window woke me just after six. I'd been dreaming about a house and the people in it. Soon, I was dressed and driving toward the seven-story glass and brick pyramid. Although the building looked the same, the surrounding area had changed. The neighborhood seemed more prosperous. The same old buildings were still there, but they looked better than ever.
I wound down the circular driveway to the underground parking lot. After leaving my car with the valet, I took the elevator to the main floor, a great, open room, enclosed in tinted glass. The front half was a lobby, with escalators lifting people to tiers of balconies and offices above. A low, wrought iron fence on the ground floor marked the perimeter of the restaurant. Ganga said he would meet me there, so I sat down at an empty table.
Waiters in black trousers, white shirts, and red vests moved through the area as if in a choreographed dance, carrying trays of drinks and food at shoulder height. Soft music filled the air. The atmosphere was utopian. A fountain in the middle of the lobby splashed water into a tile basin. A waiter approached and I asked for a glass of iced peppermint tea.
I took out my list of things to do and studied it. The tea the waiter brought had a sprig of mint floating with the ice cubes. It was now three minutes to nine.
Ganga walked in with a cheerful gait and pulled back a chair to sit down. "Sister, I am so glad you're here." In his Indian robes he looked like one of the cultural ambassadors in the U.N. building in New York. People of most countries these days were reviving their cultural roots.
"I haven't waited too long. Anyway, you look very nice this morning. Why don't you go with me to talk to the officials?"
"Whatever you want," Ganga said, shrugging.
"I need to understand a little more about who you are. When we go in there we must appear united and focused on what we want."
"This is true. My friends and I came to this country at the request of Mr. Ravi Vedanayagam, a businessman in Inglewood. He came from my village, but moved to America in 1980. He owns a big hotel near the airport. One year ago, when he visited India, he invited the village men to come with him to America. I have been here since September last and we will return home soon."
"Why can't he help get the permits?"
"He is a very busy, but I told him we met an American woman who can help us. Now he wants to meet you."
"I would be honored," I said, thoroughly intending to meet Mr. Vedanayagam at the earliest opportunity. Ganga also ordered iced pepermint tea and we discussed our plans for some time.
When we were ready, we checked the building directory and took the elevator to the fifth floor to the public relations office, where a young woman in a plaid suit was answering the phones, as well as greeting people who came through the door.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist said, smiling pleasantly, but very businesslike.
"My name is Ann Messenger, I'm a human relations counsel. This is my client, Mr. Ganga. We would like to talk to one of your officers about getting a permit for Mr. Ganga and his associates to play music in front of your property on Venice Boulevard."
The receptionist looked flustered as she punched buttons on the telephone, trying in vain to reach someone. Finally, she pulled off her headset and walked to one of the back offices. When she returned, she brought an older blonde woman in a brown cotton suit.
"Ms.--" the blonde woman began.
"My name is Dr. Messenger, Ann Messenger. Pleased to meet you." I extended my hand. "This is my client, Mr. Ganga."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Ganga said, with folded palms, bowing his head.
"Please come in. My name is Sally Richardson." Sally led us into her office, an enclosed balcony with a view of the lobby below. Instead of sitting at her long, wooden desk, Sally directed us to a sofa and three chairs. We all sat down.
"My client is a representative of a Hindu sect called 'Vaishnavism,' " I began. "He and some of his associates are visiting our country from Bengal, India, as ambassadors of foreign culture. For several months they've been performing their traditional religious music in front of Cinema City park."
"Oh, yes," Sally said, with a slight southern drawl in her voice. "Well, we've asked them to stop chanting there because their activities are dangerous to pedestrians."
"Dangerous?" I asked.
"That's right, they present a traffic hazard." Sally jutted her chin out; her voice had a distinct coldness to it.
I meditated for a moment, trying to understand Sally's harsh attitude.
"I'm sorry, but we don't allow these things," Sally said.
"Are you afraid that their singing will turn people away from the park?" I asked.
"Our concern is safety. What if there's an incident? We would be liable. The World Krishnas' presence blocks pedestrian traffic. We can't have that."
"But madam," Ganga protested, "we aren't World Krishnas. We are coming from India."
"My client resembles a World Krishna member, but he's actually a representative of a respected, traditional religion. Cinema City could play a vital role in spreading cultural awareness. These men draw quite a crowd, but their presence doesn't create any hazard."
"This man looks like a World Krishna member to me," Sally interrupted. "We don't want any quarrels with those people. We don't want them protesting in front of our place. It's our property now, Ms. Messenger. We bought it in 2007."
"Dr. Messenger," I corrected.
"Okay, Dr. Messenger." Sally paused, shaking her head slightly. "Dr. Messenger? Seems like I've heard that name before."
"I've written some books about organizational psychology."
"Yes, that's it. I'm familiar with your writing. Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you." Sally put out her hand to shake mine.
"Sally, I of all people wouldn't be here representing this gentleman unless he and his friends were completely legitimate. You certainly must agree that cultural sharing is important for fostering world unity. Just think, your company has a perfect opportunity to do its part. All you have to do is say yes right now."
Sally broke the gaze to take a deep breath. "Okay, but someone higher than me must give the final approval. Tell you what, I'll bring it up at the next staff meeting and contact you. In the meantime, the music can continue. But before you go, I'd like to have you sign a statement that they are actually from India, not part of a cult that will harass our visitors. And no more soliciting donations."
"Thank you," I said, taking out a business card. "Here's where you can reach me."
That was the last real thing that ever happened to me. After that, life became a blur of sleep and doctors. It came on suddenly. I began fainting. The doctor told me something had happened to my heart in the car accident. He prescribed medication.
I got home and took one of the doctor's pills. It caused a tingle in my empty stomach that reached down to my knees and feet, setting off a current of energy that vibrated from my toes up to my head and back down. Feeling faint, I walked to the balcony and lay back on a chaise lounge. As the setting sun shown down on me, my mind went blank. I opened my eyes and gazed through the railing toward the ocean. Birds circled above the waves, sometimes diving, then skimming across the top of the water. The sky was a pale blue, then pink, purple, orange. The clouds turned to colored puffs of cotton candy. People on the beach became paisley patterns, then swirling snowflakes.
I sat forward, leaning on the wooden railing, staring at the beach below. The waves were metallic bronze, then gold, spilling over into frothy silver snowdrifts. The foam turned pink, red, orange, yellow, green, blue in a rainbow of spraying water. As the waves crashing against the golden sand, images of India began to infuse my vision: the beach at Ramesvaram, the temple and pilgrims; the heat, the incense, the rhythm of different languages.
Suddenly it was twenty-three years ago, 1989, and I was in the warm liquid atmosphere, my hair floating like seaweed around my head in the light blue water. The sky above was a darker blue. My father's ashes floated like universes around my hands. I came up for air. The Hindu priest held out the metal urn allowing me to take another handful to release under the water. This time it was a different lifetime. I was a different person, spreading the remains of a different man. It was a man I had loved, but never got to know. He had died of a drug overdose while I was in India. I never got to say goodbye to him and the pain remained buried inside for what now felt like hundreds of years. His name was Scott. I knew him a long, long time ago, before I had ever joined the World Krishna society. It still bothered me, losing him. The frustration would always be with me. Ashes to ashes. I went under again, releasing the ashes to drift away in the tide.
Although a hallucination, I could make out another Indian village. This time it was Puri, Orissa, in the Bay of Bengal, the fifteenth century. In the dark haze of my imagination, the Golden Lord Sri Chaitanya danced with his followers inside a stone temple. The sounds of their musical worship - cymbals, drums, and singing - filled my consciousness. Chaitanya had silky black hair, wide shoulders and raised arms. Village fishermen, hearing the singing from the beach, abandoned their nets and ran to the Lord.
It was the Pacific Ocean, but under the influence of the drugs, it was India. The moment felt perfect, eternal. Perhaps the vision was telling me to finally let go of Scott. I wondered whether he ever loved me. I drooped back onto the lounge chair. The effects of the drug were fading. Too bad it's only a drug. One last time the clouds melted into a kaleidoscopic array of color. I drifted into a light sleep.
A man waved at me from the beach.
"Scott, is that you?" I said. "Come up. Please, I've missed you!"
He waved again, beckoning me to come down.
"No. Please, you come up here," I said.
After turning back to the water, he merged into the waves and disappeared.
"No, please! Oh, god, don't take him again." I sat up, shaken, rubbing my temples, trying to push the memories from my mind. Over the next few minutes the sun sank out of view.
Despite the doctor's medication, my fainting continued. I had to go into the hospital for a week. My brother was an understanding boss. He even came to visit me. Sometimes he brought Max, but then he began to bring Max and the Hare Krishna man, Ganga. That's how I knew it was all over, even though they told me I could go home. My brother and Ganga drove me back to my condo and dropped me off.
