"Thank you, Arthur. We know we can count on you. You have been a great help to the zendo."
"Chop wood, carry water," Arthur said, trying to remember where he'd parked the Land Rover. He walked away trustingly and turned at the corner. There it was, by the bodega near the end of the block. He lowered the car windows and sat listening to mariachi music pouring from the store.
The beat was attractive, maddening. It made him want to be a part of things, to dance in the town square. He worked hard. But. He never had any—fun. The word caught in his throat, emerged, and hung before him like the coast of Antarctica. He gripped the steering wheel. Mother had been on him about that earlier. You ought to go out and have a good time, Arthur. Never mind those science trips. Mother specialized in good times. Her round of social events would drive him crazy. He was content to see her alone at their weekly breakfast. Quite content. In fact, meditation was helpful after breakfast with Mother. He remembered to exhale, and he loosened his grip on the wheel.
Trumpets blared above guitars. It was a sunny day, a good day to be outside. He started the car and drove away. When he reached the intersection where he normally turned toward home, he steered right and then impulsively left, veering back into the traffic going straight ahead. Someone leaned on his horn and passed him, too close. The driver turned his head. Arthur could see his mouth moving but couldn't hear the words. Fucking something something something. It hadn't been that dangerous. Amazing how people need to get angry, be righteous.
"Get a life," Arthur said. The man cut in front of him. A bumper sticker declared: "My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student." I could knock him right off the road, Arthur thought. His mood brightened, and he floored the gas pedal. "Don't mess with honor students," he said, roaring past. He reached for the radio and found a Spanish music station.
Gambling debts—what a laugh. He had been to two conventions in Vegas and never gambled once. Give your money to a casino? Stupid. The flow of traffic carried him to the edge of the city. He kept going and then turned toward the mountains. The higher he drove, the better he felt. He had lived entirely in California except for business trips and visits to his father in Hawaii. His life spread out behind him, below him, as he climbed toward Nevada. He stopped for gas, looked at the stands of Douglas fir, and decided to spend the night in Tahoe.
He was pleased when he coasted into town. The lake was clear blue. The streets were impersonal and commercial; he had credit cards; he knew the rules. He signed for a room and strolled down the main street, his small notebook and pen secure in his jacket pocket. The air was sharper. Winter was coming, very different up here. He looked around for a place to eat.
"Got any spare change?" The meaning of the words and the sound of the voice were like light blows to opposite sides of his head. He turned, disoriented. "Hey, Art," Penn said.
"Is that you, Penn?" Arthur struggled to reconcile the young man in his mind with the man in front of him. Penn's hair was thinning. He needed a shave.
"Indeed so. You are looking a bit crazed, Arthur. You need a drink to acclimatize."