Bad to the Bones(41)
Holding me by the shoulders, he bent at the knees and looked me in the eye as if lecturing a dog. “Asanga. I wasn’t in agreement with Shakti’s decision to reject you from the program. I tried to talk him out of it. I love you with a power that is higher than this earthly plane. You were meant to be my mate, I know that. I hope you know it too.”
I was shocked senseless. I had assumed Bodhi was in cahoots with Shakti, being practically his right-hand man who spent his life in Shakti’s pocket. Now I wasn’t sure what to believe. “I…don’t love you, Bodhi. I never did. You’re a nice enough guy, but I think I want romantic love when I marry.”
Bodhi was quick to give up his patient stance. Shoving me away with disgust, he threw up his hands. “It doesn’t matter! We’re not supposed to love each other in that sappy, immature, romantic way, Asanga! What matters is that we wed—”
“And you get your green card.”
“—and that we love our work! Look, look around you! You’re still fixing motorcycles because it’s what you love. In other places, a family can work forty acres for forty years, but we can have it bearing fruit within a month. When I was in private practice in Boston, I had my adrenal system burned out working twenty hours a week. In Bihari I work twenty-four seven and I never run out of energy! Don’t you miss that, Asanga? Don’t you miss the camaraderie of the ashram—the energy, the ebb and flow of chi, the buzz of spiritual vibrations?”
He was actually starting to make me doubt my new decision! I had liked the camaraderie, constantly being surrounded by like-minded citizens, never being alone. But didn’t I have that now, living at The Citadel? “Bodhi. All that stuff is perfectly fine and well, for some people. It’s just not for me, anymore. That so-called therapy? That stuff is whack, man! I won’t ask you if it bothers you that Shakti penetrates me whenever the hell he wants, because I know it doesn’t. But it bothers me!” I jabbed my forefinger into my chest. “It bothers me, Bodhi, and I don’t think it’s right, or real, or helpful, or correct in any way, shape, or form. It’s abuse, is what it is, and—”
Taking three long strides over to me, Bodhi gripped me by the upper arms and rattled me. My head actually wobbled on my neck and I saw stars for a few seconds. “I can put a stop to that, Asanga. You’re healed now, anyway. Come back with me and I promise Shakti won’t make you participate in the sessions anymore. We only need to penetrate each other, to heal the chi, to reach the bottom of our childhood trauma—”
“Hey! What the f*ck is going on around here?”
We froze, our eyes wide. Bodhi actually froze solid with his fingers pressing into my arms. Speed stood there like a scarecrow, silhouetted against the open hangar doors, his hair like a Brillo pad. With hands on hips, he was getting up in Bodhi’s business. I didn’t remember Speed like this, and it made me look at him in a new light. “I said you. What the f*ck are you doing? Let go of her. Who the f*ck are you?”
Bodhi let go of me, staggering back a few steps. “Listen, I don’t want to cause any hassles, man.” I almost laughed at how “hep” Bodhi instantly became with his lingo, just because he was talking to a real biker. “But this here’s my woman. I’ve just come to claim her, you can understand that. She’s my property.”
Speed advanced on Bodhi. The more steps Speed took, the more Bodhi cringed back into a wall of tools. “I don’t think so, pal. If anything, she’s Knoxie’s property now.”
I wished Speed hadn’t said that. Naturally Bodhi said, “Knoxie? Is that the thug who broke my nose after trespassing on Bihari land? Listen, listen. Of course it’s totally up to Asanga if she wants to. No one’s forcing anyone to do anything.”
Speed made a lip fart. “Why would she want to go back to Loony Tunes land with you? She’s got everything she needs here. A good job, good friends, a decent roof over her head. Most important, she’s got no one trying to hump her for woo-woo, pretentious, herbal essence reasons. She doesn’t need no herbals getting up on her day and night. She’s her own woman now.”
That was some speech, coming from little old Speed. I had last seen Speed—Bobby, he was called then—“boasting” some “bunk weed” from a carburetor bong while cutting school. Look how far he’d come. I stepped up to strengthen his speech. “He’s right, Bodhi. I’ve changed. Being kicked out of the ashram was the best thing that ever happened to me. There are plenty of women up there who will marry you. Just ask Shakti for a new wife assignment.”
Shaking his head frantically, Bodhi made slicing motions with his hands. “No. No. That’s not going to happen. You don’t understand, Asanga. Our tax exempt status has been revoked, and they’re going to start turning down our green card applications—”
“Ho, ho, is that it?” Speed laughed at the ceiling. “That’s f*cking rich, buddy! You come here looking for a reverse mail order bride, well, you’re not taking one of our women! Out, you motherf*cker! Out! Get back to your barracks of lettuce soup and homemade soap. Go eat your f*cking tofu. And don’t come crawling around here again because look who’s trespassing now!”
Bodhi obeyed, slinking back to his borrowed or stolen Harley. Speed and I stood as a solid unit, our arms crossed like daimyo. When Bodhi turned back to us, I could tell that he took his ashram very seriously. It was his life. He cried out, “Asanga, think about it. The aliveness and the love are everywhere up there. We made something extraordinary out of the ordinary. The details in the flowerbeds, in the omelets, they were created with trust and love.”