Memorial

LXXXVIII.Chester

arrive at 10 PM, hair-raising cab ride hilariously perilous, zillions of lamps and lanterns, and it wasn’t until they reached the hostel, which took 2 whole hours from the airport (Laxmi’s dad, Mr Reliable, said it would take only 30 minutes), in that entire time never abeyance or cessation of the hundreds and hundreds of thousands of thousands of lights and people, Chester realized this was India, its heart and spirit and energy, India multitudinous and hydraheaded, he would never have the luxury of space again, or at least not the kinky bad faith luxury of American space, space one could buy, all space had its price, even the air above Manhattan buildings was for sale, not that space was something he’d had his fill of, but rather he’d had his fill of everything American, all things America, the trademarked quality of such space was no longer necessary for his well-being — it wasn’t until they reached the hostel that they learned about Diwali, how the lights were a celebratory manifestation of Rama’s return, and her namesake the goddess Laxmi! a delirious festival of lights and firefly phosphorescence. The pair thought that of great portent.

Laxmi consulted a slew of printed out Web pages. Their boardinghouse was in a district called Breach Candy—how cool was that? — near a famous temple called Mahalaxmi. A fancy hospital and private “swim club” were within view. Tomorrow they would travel to Cumballa Hill, where, at his apartments, Ramesh Balsekar gave darshan or satsang (Chess didn’t have the lexicon down), they would sit at the feet of the retired bank president and one-time student/translator of Maharaj Nisargadatta in the morning, if they managed to awaken. Chess was determined. Laxmi was certain they would, but it didn’t matter, how could it, nothing mattered now. Don’t sweat the big or small stuff. Because what they had was uncorrupted time, sheer time, to become nonattached adherents, students of Father/Mother/Mentor Time, scholars and undergrads of Time and its birthchild Space, they could wash and soak and worship then wring their rags and follow its banks, wormholes, and bends; merge with tributaries, coalescing ghats and Godspeed, time would be their luxury, an even greater luxury than space, Time was Space, time was She the Great Mother, and space, Her imperial guards. The “little ones” had shown him that when Time was mastered, timespace could be entered as bride/groom would a hushed cathedral.

American Time and Space!

(Fell away like dead cells.)

His old life was already a dream.

He wanted a new name.

Maybe Ramesh would give him one.

The instant expats were delusional with fatigue but made comic, cosmic sex from their discomfiture, dislocation, and psychedelic discombobulation. It was a suffocating night and Chess had an apprehension of Indian heat, unlike that of the desert but full, watery, gravid; not the heat of a scavenger’s sandbox but of a banquet hall strung with incense and the incest of wilting roses. Still he fell asleep with a preternatural, childish excitement the headlamps of childhood knowing that tomorrow he would awaken in Mumbai morning light, in