The Boys from Santa Cruz

8

After dropping off Skip, Pender continued on to the Center and parked the cart where he’d found it. He hopped down and buttoned his sport coat to cover his shoulder holster before entering.

The dining hall was cool and dim; the paneled walls and varnished trestle tables gave off a buttery, honey-brown glow. “Anybody home?” called Pender.

“Back here in the kitchen.”

The crew-cut, bathrobe-clad man Pender had passed in the doorway earlier was standing with his back to the room, washing a bunch of dusky red grapes in the big industrial sink. “Hi. Where’s Dr. Oliver?”

“In his cabin. Why?”

“I, uh, I just wanted to ask him a few questions about tonight’s ceremony.”

Leaving the grapes in a colander to drain, Steve dried his hands on a dish towel, then turned and extended his hand to Pender. “You’re Ed, right?”

“Right as rain.”

They shook hands. Stahl, who stood a sturdy-looking five-ten, with a weathered complexion that accentuated the arctic blue of his eyes, had a firm grip, but his hand was lost in Pender’s huge paw. “I’m Steve. I can answer any questions you may have.”

“Okay, sure,” said Pender. “How about a quick summary of what’s going to go down tonight?”

“We’re going to meet upstairs at five o’clock. O’s going to introduce you to everybody, then lead a breathing exercise. After that, we’ll hike up into the hills, to a clearing known as the Omphalos, where O will lead everybody in a Bodhisattva vow. Then comes the, uh, sacrament, then everybody chants for a while, then we head up to the bluff to watch the sunset. Then more chanting and meditation, and around ten o’clock we come back here and usually everybody dances or meditates or whatever until dawn.”

Pender had not missed the quick sideways flicker of Stahl’s eyes or the hesitation that preceded the word sacrament. “Tell me more about this sacrament,” he prompted. “What exactly does it involve?”

“A single grape, a crouton, and a drink of springwater,” said Stahl, without making eye contact.

Is he that bad a liar, Pender wondered, or is he trying to give me a heads-up here? “I see. And of those three items, which one is spiked?”

Stahl’s frosty eyes narrowed and his thin lips tightened. Then he sighed an unmistakable I-guess-you-got-me sigh. “Everybody else knows about it, so I guess there’s no reason you shouldn’t. But just to cover my ass, let’s make it a hypothetical, okay?”

“That’ll work.”

“Okay, let’s say there was a group of people doing a ceremony that involved taking a substance that might not be technically legal but in the proper setting, under the proper guidance, would help them reach a higher state of consciousness-you know, kind of open the doors of perception, as Huxley put it. Are you with me so far?”

Pender nodded-he could always ask Skip who this Huxley was, if it turned out to be important.

“Excellent. Now let’s say maybe one person was nervous about the substance-taking part of it, or just didn’t feel like he or she was ready for that. Still with me?”

“Still with you.”

“Okay, do you know what I’d advise that person?”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’d say, Don’t eat the crouton. Got it? Do not…eat…the crouton.”

“Loud and clear,” said Pender. “I appreciate the heads-up.”

“Glad to help,” said Stahl, who waited until Pender was gone before turning back to the wet grapes, which he now began to dry with a clean dish towel, one at a time, as carefully and painstakingly as if they were precious gems, or little baby eyeballs.