The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring (21 page)

But sleep wouldn’t come. As I sat sphinxlike, paws tucked neatly beneath me, and gazed across the room, my thoughts returned to Monkey Face. It looked like he was working on something under Tenzin’s supervision. But for how long? Would he be gone by the end of the morning? The day?

That was when a new thought alarmed me: What if he had been brought in do Chogyal’s job? Could he be a full-time appointment? The very idea was a horror! There he sat, a little brooding cloud of intensity—nothing like the warm-hearted, roly-poly, and benevolent Chogyal. If Venerable Monkey Face was to be a permanent fixture, the executive assistants’ office was not a place I would want to spend my time. From a welcoming sanctuary, conveniently close to the suite I shared with His Holiness, it would become a forbidding place to be studiously avoided. What a terrible turn of events! Where would I spend my time when the Dalai Lama was away? How could this be happening to me, HHC?

The monk was still there when I left for lunch at the Himalaya Book Café, but, thankfully, he was gone by the time I returned. I was pausing in the doorway, looking over to where Tenzin was busy filing some paperwork, when Lobsang arrived. After reaching down to stroke me several times, he stepped into the office, hands folded behind him, and leaned against the wall.

“So how did it go with the first on your short list?” he asked Tenzin, glancing toward where the monk had been sitting.

“He’s very diligent. Razor-sharp intellect.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gets through the work”—Tenzin snapped his fingers—“like that.”

I was following the conversation closely, looking from one to the other.

“Highly regarded by the abbots of our major monasteries,” said Lobsang.

Tenzin nodded. “Important.”

“Critical.”

There was a pause before Lobsang prompted, “I’m sensing a
but
.”

Tenzin looked at him evenly. “If it was only the abbots he had to deal with, that would be one thing. But whoever takes the position has to get on with a wide variety of people.” Glancing over at me, he quickly corrected himself—“beings.”

Lobsang followed his glance. Unable to restrain himself, he came over, picked me up, and held me in his arms. “A bit lacking in his interpersonal skills, is he?”

“Very shy,” said Tenzin. “He’s fine talking about scriptural matters. There, he’s on firm ground. But the biggest challenges of the role are always people problems. Conflict resolution.”

“Giving people ladders to climb down.”

“Exactly. Something Chogyal was very good at. He had a way of getting people to think that his ideas were their ideas and of appealing to their highest motives.”

“A rare gift.”

Tenzin nodded. “Tough act to follow.”

Lobsang was massaging my forehead with his fingertips, just the way I liked it. “I take it he didn’t warm to HHC?”

“Didn’t seem to know how to react. It was like she’d arrived from outer space.”

Lobsang chuckled. “So, what did he do?”

“He just ignored her.”

“Ignored? How could he do such a thing to you?” Lobsang looked down into my big blue eyes. “Didn’t he realize you have the final decision?”

“Exactly. Working out who
really
wields influence is another requirement of the job.”

“And such beings are not always the ones you expect, are they, HHC?”

Two days later, I arrived to find Chogyal’s chair occupied by a mountainous monk with a big, boulder-like head and the longest arms I’d ever seen.

“Oh, yes. And who is this?” Before you could say
Om mani padme hum
the monk had seized me by the scruff of the neck, lifted me up, and suspended me in midair, slowly strangling me as though I were some brazen intruder.

“That,” explained Tenzin quickly, “is His Holiness’s Cat. HHC. She likes sitting on our filing cabinet.”

“I see.” The giant stood up, grasped me with his other hand, carried me over to the filing cabinet, and thumped me down on it so hard that pain jolted through my tender hindquarters.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he observed, crushing me as he ran his hand down my spine.

I meowed plaintively.

“She’s very delicate,” noted Tenzin. “And much loved.”

As the monk returned to his seat, I shakily surveyed the office. Never before had I been treated so roughly in Jokhang. Never so casually grabbed by the neck and inspected like some zoological exhibit. For the first time I could remember, I actually felt afraid in this office. The monster didn’t know his own strength. He hadn’t meant to hurt me. In putting me on the filing cabinet, he probably thought he was saving me the effort of jumping up there myself. But now all I could think about was how to escape as quickly as possible from the office without him touching me again.

I sat there, anxiously awaiting my moment. While Tenzin worked through the recommendations of a Red Cross proposal, at the desk facing him the Cat Strangler was a whirlwind of activity. E-mails were drafted and documents read. Summary notes were stapled to them—all with great energy. Drawers were slammed shut. The telephone was smashed back in its cradle. The very air in the office jangled with activity, and at one point when Tenzin made a joke, the great monster laughed from his belly, great gusts of hilarity reverberating along the executive floor.

The moment he announced he was going to make himself a coffee and offered to make one for Tenzin, too, I slipped down from the filing cabinet and made my escape. As I hurried away to the Himalaya Book Café much earlier than usual, I found myself thinking how, by comparison, Venerable Monkey Face was infinitely preferable. My feelings had been hurt when he ignored me, but I had come to realize that it was his problem, not mine. On the other hand, the red-robed giant was a physical threat. If he were chosen as Chogyal’s successor, much of my life at Jokhang would be spent trying to avoid him.

And what kind of life was that?

Jangled, I made my way into the comforting environs of the café. With the constant swell and ebb of diners and book buyers, there was always plenty of bustle, but I felt safe here. I had certainly never been rough-handled by a giant—red-robed or otherwise.

Only halfway up the magazine rack to my usual spot on the top shelf, I became aware that something unusual was going on in the corner of the bookstore where we often gathered for our end-of-the-day treats. Serena and Sam were standing close together, whispering in an urgent, confidential manner.

“Who s-s-says so?” Sam was asking.

“Helen Cartwright’s friend knows his sister, Beryle, in San Francisco.”

“And when?”

“Soon, very soon.” Serena’s eyes were wide. “Like, in the next two weeks.”

Sam was shaking his head. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“He would have told us. E-mailed something.”

“He’s not obliged to.” Serena bit her lip. “He can come back whenever he likes.”

For a while they both looked at the floor. Finally, Serena said, “Kind of puts the spice-packs thing into perspective. Doesn’t matter what Franc thinks if I’m not even working here.”

“You d-d-don’t know that.” Sam’s authority had deserted him.

“That was the deal. I’m just a caretaker. A stopgap. When we made the agreement, I was planning to go back to Europe.”

“Why don’t we phone him?”

She shook her head. “It’s his right, Sam. His business. I guess this was always going to happen.”

“Perhaps we can ask around. Could be just a rumor.”

When their conversation concluded I continued to the top shelf and settled down in croissant pose. Although she hadn’t been here for long, Serena had brought a warmth and vibrancy to the café that made it even more special. That she might have to leave was something I didn’t want to contemplate, especially with all that was going on up the hill.

The next day I was at the café early again, having slipped out of Jokhang in case the Cat Strangler returned. When Serena arrived for the day, I could tell that the news wasn’t good. She approached Sam, who was shelving a new delivery of books, and told him what had happened at yoga class the evening before. One of her fellow students, Reg Goel, who was one of McLeod Ganj’s best-known property agents, was keeping an eye on Franc’s house while he was away. As they were returning their bolsters, blankets, and wooden bricks after class, Serena had asked Reg if he had heard from Franc.

Oh yes, Reg had replied breezily. He had been at Franc’s place that very morning to oversee the removal of dustcovers from the furniture, the return of house plants to their proper places, and the restocking of the pantry and fridge. Franc had called him last week. He was due back any day.

Serena had been so shocked that she had hardly known what to say. She hadn’t felt in any mood to stay for the postyoga tea session. As it happened, Sid had been in the hallway at the same time, and seeing the expression on her face, he had asked her if anything was wrong.

To her embarrassment, she had started to cry. Sid had shielded her discreetly before anyone else could see and had walked her back to the café. She had explained to him that the arrangement with Franc had only ever been temporary and that his return would mean she would be out of a job.

Shortly after ten the next morning, who should arrive at the café but Sid. I didn’t recognize him at first, having only seen him in his yoga clothes. As he stood in the doorway, tall and elegant in his dark suit, he emanated a certain poise that was almost regal.

Serena approached him, gesturing her surprise and delight at his appearance.

“Actually, I came to see you,” Sid explained, leading her to the back of the restaurant and the banquette that Gordon Finlay had favored in times gone by. It was the perfect place for a private conversation.

“I’m sorry I made an idiot of myself last night,” Serena told him, after they were seated and had ordered coffees from Kusali.

“Don’t say that,” Sid told her protectively. “Anyone in your position would have felt the same.” He looked at her closely for a while, eyes filled with concern. “I’ve been giving some thought to your situation. If the worst were to happen and you found yourself without a job, you would still want to stay in McLeod Ganj, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded. “But that may not be possible, Sid. I need a job—and not just any job. I used to think that working in one of Europe’s top restaurants was all I ever wanted. But the longer I stay here, the more I realize that it wouldn’t really fulfill me. I’ve discovered other things that reward me in more important ways.”

“Like the curries and spice packs?”

She shrugged. “All a bit hypothetical now, isn’t it?”

He leaned against the banquette. “Or is it?’”

Her forehead wrinkled.

“I remember you telling the yoga group how popular the spice packs had become,” he said. “How you had to take on a new employee just to handle the orders.”

“He’s in there right now,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the kitchen. “An order for another two hundred came in overnight.”

“My point exactly.”

“But if I’m not working here …” She trailed off, not following him.

“You also said that Franc doesn’t want to continue with the curries and so on.”

She nodded.