Buddhas and Bikinis - Vetbook

Buddhas and Bikinis 48
There was no meat to be seen, just alfalfa-sprout salads, steamed vegetables, bean-
curd soup and fruit. Hiroshi never looked up, eating her rice, her perfumed hair on my
shoulder, and her thigh against mine.
silence.
‛Marriage kills love,’ I warned.
‛So does sex,’ he laughed.
The moon glowed over the roof of the temple as Hiroshi drank from her glass in
Afterwards, Hiroshi and I walked through the evening gardens. I held her against a
tree’s cleft and kissed her, as the ghost of the day was forgotten, and the night air filled
with promise. The melody of romance had settled into a familiar tune.
‛She will be here soon,’ she said. And I knew she meant our child.
In our room, I sat on the window ledge and looked out over the park, the glass-pane
cold against my hand. The shadows of trees and flashes of the distant city. I knew such a
tender moments was fleeting, before the moon set over the valley and midnight’s silhouette
swept up the memories and put them to bed. This was the divided line between now and
eternity, as I crossed the room and lay beside Hiroshi while she moved uncomfortably with
child. In this cozened room, the universe disappeared and all that remained was her
laboured breathing.
My god, I thought, I’m going to be a father.
Toward the end of the week, Rinpoche began his Samadhi treatment, a form of
meditation that involved stilling the mind. I listened to Hiroshi explain the treatment with
as much patience as I could muster.
Hiroshi, now five months pregnant, was already finding it difficult to get around.
Her meditation protocol was rigorous, early-mornings in the temple with Rinpoche
watching her. Beautifully painted Zen Thangkas hung from the wall with a large golden
statue of the Buddha behind us. The air was perfumed with incense and it was relatively
silent except for the odd call of a bird or a distant barking dog.
Hiroshi was lying on a mattress on the floor. Sitting beside her was Rinpoche.
As I entered the hall, Rinpoche was speaking intermittently, saying only, ‛think of
nothing.’ He repeated this every few minutes. I sat and waited. An hour passed, and still
nothing but the sound of Rinpoche’s voice.
I grew steadily impatient. Finally, Rinpoche got up.
‛Please continue, Hiroshi,’ he said, ‛I will come back in a few hours to check your