The Book of Lost Fragrances

Fifty-one

10:17 P.M.

Robbie sat in the dark cavern, leaning against a rock wall. He had turned off his helmet light. His eyes were shut. His mind was opened. Tired. Worried. Nervous. He listened to droplets of water hit a pool in the distance. Adjusted his breathing to the steady, even rhythm.

The well was eight feet away. The two people inside of it were quiet. He didn’t think they knew he was here.

Ani had obviously told them the truth about marking her passage through the catacombs with infrared ink. Her companion had followed the identifying marks.

“That means,” Griffin had cautioned before they’d all split up two hours ago, “that there could be someone else following the trail. Don’t go back. All right?”

Even before Robbie could agree, Jac had made him promise he’d stay away from the area near the well.

He’d promised he wouldn’t come back here. But he had. It was all right, though: he had an exit path mapped out. He was only two yards away from the warren hole that would provide passage away from this chamber.

Robbie had friends who’d become lovers. Lovers who’d remained friends. Was with more men than women because he was able to choose men who suited him better and made him happier. They were usually intellectually curious. Adventurers like his grandfather.

But the women he was drawn to had rips in their souls. Rebellious, angry, half-crazy women like his mother. His sister. They were always women who needed healing but couldn’t be healed.

Like Ani Lodro.

Every summer, Robbie attended a Buddhist retreat a few hours outside of Paris. Six years ago, she’d attended during the same two weeks he did. Fraternization among the students wasn’t encouraged. Meals were silent. There were no group lectures or activities. But he saw her everywhere he went, as if they were following in each other’s footsteps. She was always leaving the temple when he was going in. He was always outside at the same time she was. He’d be walking down to the river, she’d be walking up. For the first week, they didn’t speak to each other. She always kept her head down. He kept to himself.

Then one afternoon, while they were both walking the circular meditation path in the garden, a sudden and violent thunderstorm broke. Each of them took shelter in the peaked-roof gazebo.

While rain poured down all around them, Robbie finally looked at her and was stunned by the pain he saw in her wide, almond-shaped black eyes. He could sense the demons that sat on her shoulders. Saw the tension in the ropes of muscles in her neck. He felt her dire need to find peace. Without saying anything, they came together during the storm. Lying on the floor, smelling the cedar wood and her clean skin, Robbie made love to her. He’d always enjoyed sex. Luxuriated in it. He’d studied tantric sex-the Hindu discipline that is based on the worship of a man and woman coming together and experiencing bliss without orgasm. But he’d never experienced true tantric coupling until that day.

Robbie stood. Walked over to the well. He didn’t turn on his lamp. Didn’t want to really look into her eyes and see all that pain again.

“I searched for you,” Robbie whispered into the blackness.

He heard Ani sigh.

“What happened? Why didn’t you contact me?”

“I was in training.”

“Not to be a Buddhist nun?”

“No.”

“Training for what, then?” Robbie asked.

There was no answer.

“Ani?”

Silence.

“Who was the man who died in my workshop?”

“I didn’t want you to be there that night. I wanted him to break in and steal the pottery.”

“Who was he? Your lover?”

“My mentor. Like a father to me.”

“He was going to kill me,” Robbie said. “Did you know that?”

Silence from the hole. In the distance, the droplets of water continued their endless dripping. There was a faraway snap. A bone breaking? A rock falling?

Robbie stepped right up to the edge. Peered down. In the darkness, he could just make out the two figures. Only one staring up. Robbie would never be sure, but he thought it was Ani looking up at him from the shadows.