The Lies That Bind (16 page)

George Gurdjieff was a Russian mystic whose teachings were among the many that Guru Bob encouraged the members of his fellowship to study. Gurdjieff’s idea of self-remembering was said to be a cornerstone of esoteric study.

“Then, five years ago,” he continued, “a number of my own fellowship men decided to make the same trip through the Hindu Kush. They were determined to go with or without me, so I agreed to accompany them. One of my goals for this trip was to track down my old friend Mushaf, a Yezidi holy man I had met on that earlier journey. He, too, had been in search of higher wisdom and had left his home in Kurdistan to traverse the Kush.”

“Did you find him?”

Guru Bob sighed. “We hired a reputable guide, but when we arrived in the village where I had last seen Mushaf, our guide asked too many questions and was thrown in jail. Within a day, an armed skirmish broke out among several tribes and we were trapped in the cross fire.”

“What did you do?”

He smiled ruefully. “I prayed. Several days before we arrived, there had been an American drone attack within a few miles of our location. I believe that the air strike, quickly followed by our presence in the area, is what stirred up the tribesmen.”

“I would’ve been scared silly.”

“It was a dangerous time. One of our group spoke French and a few words of Dari, and made some garbled attempts to bribe our guide out of jail.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” he said darkly, lost in the memory. “Things were about to come to a head and I was concerned for my men, as well as our jailed guide. On the third day, with gunshots ringing all around the small hut we inhabited, a light-skinned man appeared at the door. He wore the typical garb of the region and his head was wrapped in a keffiyeh, but he was different from the other men in the village. Tall. Brash. When he began to speak American English, I thought I was hallucinating.”

My eyes grew wide. “No way,” I whispered.

Guru Bob gave me one of his beatific smiles. “Yes. It was Gabriel. He had heard a rumor that there were Americans in trouble in the area and had traveled up the mountain to help us.”

“But what was he doing there?”

Guru Bob’s lips twisted in mild vexation. “I thought at the time that it was better not to ask.”

“Yeah, probably so.” But my mind was reeling with possibilities. Had Gabriel been a spy? A mercenary? A smuggler? It was all too coincidental that he happened to be in the same place as Guru Bob.

Guru Bob went on to explain that Gabriel spoke perfect Farsi as well as the various Pashto dialects. He was able to broker a deal to return their guide to them and quell the tribesmen long enough for Guru Bob and the men to escape down the mountain and find the nearest train station.

Guru Bob shook his head in wonder. “He saved our lives—of that, I have no doubt.”

“Wow, I guess so.”

“Perhaps it had been naive of me to assume we could pass through the region safely after so many years of war,” Guru Bob added with a sad sigh. “But people have done it for centuries and still do, today. And there are many trustworthy guides in the area. Added to that, the fellowship men are a stubborn lot and were determined to make the journey. I could not let them go by themselves.”

I frowned as something disturbing occurred to me. “Did my father go on that trip with you?”

“He did.”

“So he knows Gabriel?”

“He does.”

So Gabriel had saved not only Guru Bob’s life; he had also saved my dad’s life. I didn’t know how to react, except to feel grateful.

“Gabriel’s heroics do not end there,” he assured me. “Recently, once again, he saved the life of someone extremely dear to me. I owe him a great deal.”

“He’s got a strange habit of . . . Oh, you mean . . . ?”

“Yes, gracious,” he said softly. “I speak of you.”

I tried to swallow around the lump in my throat. The first time I met Gabriel was right after Abraham died. I was in a noodle shop on Fillmore Street when a lunatic kid with a gun threatened to kill me. Gabriel walked in and kicked the gun out of the kid’s hand. I’d thought at the time that he just happened to be in the neighborhood, but I’d found out later that he’d been following me.

“You knew he saved me that day?” I said.

Guru Bob tilted his head and stared at me. What was I thinking? Of course he knew. He knew everything.

“For these reasons,” Guru Bob said, “when Gabriel shows up at my door and requests sanctuary, I welcome him.”

As I walked back to the Lane, I considered, not for the first time, how very lucky I was to have grown up in Dharma. Most people laugh or look with suspicion when they hear someone was raised in a commune. Hippies, drugs, raggedy clothes, and marijuana-covered hillsides are just some of the images that come to mind. But my childhood was blissful. That’s the only word for it.

And if ever there was a place that could be considered sanctuary, Dharma was it. But why did Gabriel need sanctuary? I didn’t feel comfortable grilling Guru Bob about it, but I would be sure to ask Gabriel the next time I saw him.

I’d been gone for over an hour, so I wondered if Alice was finished with her treatment. Probably not. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tantra the healer kept her there all day.

I reached Annie’s shop and was amazed to see people out on the sidewalk, waiting to get inside. I greeted more old friends and eased my way through the door in search of Annie.

She found me first. “Brooklyn! You made it.”

She hugged me. I could tell she was thrilled with the way the day was going.

“Annie, the store’s beautiful.”

She looked around, taking in everything at once. “I know. I love it. I love this town. Your mom has been so great. And Austin and Jackson and your dad helped hang the racks and the shelves. Everybody’s been amazing.”

I was glad to hear that my brothers had warmed up to Annie. When my family first met her, they were concerned that she was lying about her connection to Abraham. My brothers had insisted she take a paternity test before I could write her into Abraham’s trust.

I looked around. They’d all done a great job setting up the place. The room was ultramodern in design with a high ceiling, industrial lighting, and exposed ducts that gave it an urban feel. Chrome wire shelving along the perimeter added to the clean, open feel of the space. In and among the shelves and rows of stock, round tables were decorated with place settings for dining, except every setting was different. It was a creative way to display all the different flatware, dishware, and accessories available in the store. Near the back, one full counter was a cooking station, and the chef in charge was handing out samples of the goodies he cooked using Annie’s pots and pans.

“This is so clever,” I said, marveling at the setup. “Who knew you were so talented?”

She laughed. “Don’t think I don’t know that’s a major compliment, coming from you. My day is officially complete.”

“Sounds like you’re happy.”

She looked at me in surprise. “I am. I really am. I’m so happy. Thank you.” Then she shocked me by hugging me again.

I had to blink back tears. “Okay. Good.”

“Okay.” She sniffled. “That’s enough of that crap.”

“No kidding. Now what can I do to help?”

She sent me back to the stockroom to help Mom, who sat at the computer checking what was selling. She would tell me what to look for, I would find the items and take them out to the store to restock the shelves. After a while, Dad joined me and I lost track of time as we ran around adding more spatulas and baskets and canisters and dishware and linens to the shelves.

I must’ve been working for over an hour and my arms were aching from stretching up to reach the higher shelves and carrying thirty-pound Dutch ovens and cappuccino machines back and forth from the stockroom. “Mom, will you tell Dad I’m just going to step outside for a quick break?”

“Okay, sweetie.”

I made my way through the store, which was still crowded but maneuverable, and stepped outside to enjoy the beautiful day. The temperature was mild and people were out taking advantage of it, strolling the wide sidewalks, chatting and window-shopping. I waved to a few of the locals and felt a wave of nostalgia sweep over me. Guru Bob was right. I really did need to get back here more often.

I glanced up the road and saw Gabriel walking into town. From two blocks away, he saw me and grinned. I could see his stunning smile from here. I had to laugh. Damn, but the man was tall, gorgeous, and incorrigible. He was wearing the black leather duster he’d been wearing the first time I saw him in that noodle shop on Fillmore Street.

I’d thought of him as the man in black that day. A mysterious stranger. My hero. And that’s what he looked like now as he moved forward inexorably, like a force of nature, the duster brushing his strong calves as he approached.

I waved and his grin broadened.

A car backfired and I jolted in surprise, then chuckled at my own foolishness. I looked at the passing cars, wondering which one was to blame for making me look silly. I gazed back at Gabriel, expecting to see his sexy eyes trained on me, but he was gone.

No. He wasn’t gone. He wasn’t grinning. Instead, he lay sprawled on the sidewalk.

I screamed and ran. As I got closer and saw the blood streaming from his head, I knew it wasn’t a car backfiring I’d heard a moment ago.

Gabriel had been shot.

“Call nine-one-one!” I shouted.

“What the hell’s going on?” Joey Turturino asked as he pushed open the door of his dad’s fishmonger’s shop.

“Somebody’s been shot!” I cried. “Call nine-one-one.”

“I’m calling right now.”

The shop door slammed and I turned back to Gabriel.

“Don’t you dare die,” I said fiercely. My hands shook too much as I felt his neck for a pulse, so I laid my head on his chest to listen for a heartbeat. I had another quick flash of déjà vu and realized I’d been checking for signs of life a lot lately.

Gabriel groaned.

I raised my head. “You stay alive, damn it. I’m sick of people dying on me. And yeah, that’s right. It’s all about me.” Tears sprang to my eyes and I brushed them away. I’d get emotional later.

He moaned softly.

“My feelings exactly,” I whispered, trying to keep it light. It wasn’t easy. I finally risked a glance at his head. I could see where the bullet had grazed his temple, taking a big chunk of skin off the side of his head. Blood was everywhere. Dear God, how close had he come to having his head blown off?

My stomach reeled and I had to sit back on my ankles, staring at the sky, gulping in air.

Sirens screamed, and within seconds a fire engine and a paramedic truck blocked the Lane.

One of the firemen helped me stand up. He walked me over to Joey’s shop, where I sat on the brick ledge under the store window. I stared in mute disbelief at the paramedics scampering around. Seconds later, my mother and Robin ran over.

“Somebody said you were hurt,” Mom cried and grabbed me in her arms.

“Not me,” I whispered. “Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Robin asked. “The same Gabriel from—”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, stopping her. She’d been in Edinburgh and knew the whole story.

“That nice young man who works for Robson?” Mom said, baffled. “What happened?”

“I don’t know for sure. I thought I heard a car backfire, but when I turned, Gabriel was on the ground. It was a gunshot. His head is all bloody. There’s so much blood.”

“Okay, sweetie, calm down.”

Robin walked around, looked at the ground. “If a bullet grazed his head, I bet we can find it.”

“Good idea.” I started to jump up, but Mom held me down by my shoulders.

“No. Just wait until your equilibrium returns. You’ve had a shock and your dosha balance is skewed.”

“But if there’s evidence, we should—”

“No,” she said fiercely.

“Mom?”

Her whole body shuddered and she squeezed me tight again. “Maybe it’s my own balance that’s skewed, but I need you to just sit still for a minute, please, sweetie?”

“Sure,” I said, holding on to her. “Mom, you’re shaking.”

“They said you were hurt,” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” I said, resting my head against her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“You may be fine, but I just aged ten years.”

We stood on the walkway, holding each other and watching as the paramedics worked on Gabriel.

“Don’t let him die, Mama,” I whispered.

Mom began to rock slightly and I knew she was chanting. She tended to blend Buddhist chants with Grateful Dead lyrics when she prayed. Maybe she was adding a little witchcraft this time. Whatever worked. I just wanted Gabriel to stand up, dust himself off, and flash me a wink and a grin.

It was wrong, seeing him laid out on the ground like that. He was too big, too strong. Too invincible. I began making deals with the gods, if only they would keep him alive.

Two paramedics wheeled a collapsible gurney over, and four men lifted Gabriel onto the pad. They’d attached a thick brace to his neck and wrapped a bunch of gauze around his head.

All good, right? It meant they were taking him to a hospital, not a morgue.

“Come on,” I said, pulling Mom with me. “I want to make sure he’s going to be okay.”

A female EMT turned and looked at me. “Are you a relative?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. Lying for a good cause didn’t count against karma, did it? And even if it did, I was beyond caring. “He’s my brother.”

She nodded. “He’s unconscious. We’ll know more when we get him to the hospital.”

“His head . . .”

“Yeah, he took a blow, but he’s alive, and he’s strong.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Yes, he is.”

As they rolled Gabriel to the truck, Dad ran up to us, followed by Annie, Savannah, China, and Alice.