The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) (24 page)

“Cool,” I said. “Can I bring the documents over now?”

“If you don’t mind a little background noise,” she said. “I’m all alone with the hooligans.”

“I live for happy hooligan noise,” I told her.

Tank was still napping. I dumped a scoopful of dry treats into his bowl to tide him over until dinnertime. I downed a handful of dried granola for the same reason.

I took the Shelby over the hill to the 101, and ran into a wall of unusual late-morning sludge through the San Fernando Valley. Another hour and a half of my life, sacrificed to the Freeway Gods. I practiced slow breathing, and then fast breathing, and then a prolonged bout of not-yelling. I finally parked in front of Bill and Martha’s house at almost two in the afternoon. I stood still for a minute, working the commuter-crankiness out of my shoulders. The sun was at a slight slant; the warmth felt good across my shoulder blades.

Martha opened the door, wearing black leggings, a yellow tunic, and my scarf.

“You look fantastic!”

She gave me a hug. “Thanks. Dreading turning forty turns out to be a lot worse than actually doing it.” She took a closer look. “You need a beer.”

I nodded gratefully and she disappeared back into the house. She was a great wife—great wives know how to make observations like, “You need a beer.” I added that to my growing just-in-case wife wish list, along with “smarter than me,” and “laughs at my jokes.”

“Unh Tey! Unh Tey!” Two balls of energy in bright blue wigs and red pajamas flaunting the labels “Thing One” and “Thing Two” careened around the corner. They held their arms high, and I bent low and lifted them into a two-girl hug. I carried the wriggling armload into the family room, while they chattered about their day, in perfect German gibberish, as far as I could tell. I deposited the girls on the floor. Maude did her one-armed thrust-and-march to the toy basket. She reached in and pulled out a striped rubber ball.

“Baw,” she said to me, solemnly.

“Yes,” I answered. “That is, indeed, a ball.”

She squatted and rolled it through the doorway.

“Baw.”

“Baw!” Lola echoed with great excitement, and they scampered after it.

“Nice outfits,” I said, as Martha walked in with a bottle of dark ale and a clear glass stein.

“They refuse to believe Halloween is over,” she said, and set both in front of me. “Bottle or glass? I can’t remember.”

“Glass,” I said, pouring. “Light beers are fine out of the bottle, but sturdy ones need the glass to open up in.”

“Ten and the art of beer-drinking,” she teased. Her tone became serious. “You and Bill okay now?”

I nodded. “Back on track,” I said.

“Thank God, because I honestly worried this little tiff might kill him. That’s if I didn’t kill him first. Between the two of us, this has not been a happy household, Ten.”

I took my first sip. The crisp bite of hops coursed over my tongue, rinsing away the dusty taste of traffic.

“Girls? Nap-time,” Martha called. She stepped into the hallway. I heard faint protests, followed by a low, warm voice, singing a lullaby. Followed by silence.

Martha rejoined me. “Fingers crossed,” she said. “The postcandy sugar crash seems to have kicked in. Okay. Let’s take a look.”

I laid out the papers, in the order in which they’d arrived. Martha looked them over, one by one.

“Right,” she said. “The handwritten parts are notes, like the notes a doctor takes, only these seem to be by a Sister Ursula. I’m guessing the director of the orphanage, maybe? Do you want me to write these out for you in English?”

“That’d be great, but for right now, can you just give me a quick sense of what they say?”

“Sure,” she said, and gave me a quick smile. “This is exciting!” She studied the page. “The first note is dated June fourth, nineteen forty-four. Right before the Allies came ashore at Normandy. ‘Frau Engel brought young Sadie to us today,’” Martha read. “‘She is five years old. Thought to be Jewish but not confirmed. In good health though of course malnourished. Will seek counsel from Mother Superior.’”

“June of forty-four,” I said. “Must have been a crazy time.”

“The next is June eleventh, one week later.” She scanned the handwriting. “Actually, each of these notations is a week apart. That must have been Sister Ursula’s procedure. Very organized. Very German. Anyway, June eleventh says, ‘Sadie still withdrawn and uncommunicative. Taking nourishment every day. Sleeps soundly but is fitful and shy during day. Does not interact with other children.’”

“June eighteenth?” I asked.

She read on, “‘Sadie began speaking this week. Asked for more soup at evening meal. Made a face when she tried to eat a,
ein Gurken . . .
a pickle! Smiled when we laughed. Frau Engel came yesterday and brought Sadie a scarf. We saw another smile. Mother Superior is making inquiries.’”

Martha looked up. “Angel.”

“What?”

“Her name.
Engel
means angel. Sadie’s angel.” She lowered her head to the page. “Okay, June twenty-fifth. ‘Learned Sadie’s last name: Rosen. Now we know. Frau Engel expressed fear about possible punishment. Sadie is adjusting, speaks and listens well. We cannot keep her. Mother Superior will make a decision this week.’”

Martha stopped reading. She knuckled a few tears away. “Whew,” she said. “This poor girl was only a few years older than Maude and Lola. My God.”

I pictured the twins in such a place. It made the horror so personal, so painful, that my heart wrenched for Sadie, and for her big brother, Julius.

Martha straightened up. “Should I keep going?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“‘July second,’” she said. “‘Sadie packed and ready to leave. Frau Milz and husband to pick up at ten a.m. tomorrow. We feel sad to lose her. Little Sadie has become a spot of sunshine in our days.’ That’s it. The last entry.”

Martha laid the paper down as if it were made of spun glass.

I pictured Sadie’s face. That innocent smile.

“Anything else about Sadie?”

Martha scanned the typewritten pages. “These are forms,” she said. “Records of when children came, how long they stayed, and where they went after they left the orphanage.” She tapped her finger on a line toward the bottom of the third page. “There’s Sadie,” she said. “Let’s see—arrival date, departure date, and oh, look, there’s a signature.” She squinted. “I can’t read this, can you?”

I held the page close. The tight scrawl was faint.

“No.”

“Hang on.” Martha rummaged in the toy basket and came up with a neon pink plastic magnifying glass, shaped like a hippopotamus. “Never say mothers aren’t resourceful,” she said.

We peered through the lens at the faded handwriting.

“The last name is Milz,” I said. “But I can’t make out the first name.”

“It looks like Rain . . . , um, Reinhold?” Martha said. “Yes, that’s it. Reinhold Milz.”

Once she said it, I could see it. “Wow. Good work. Many thanks, Martha.”

“No problem,” she said. “I can’t say it was fun, but I’m glad I could help. Why don’t I do a complete written translation of everything? I can consolidate it into a single document.”

“That’d be great,” I said. “How long will it take?”

“Two hours, max, allowing time for kidlet interruptions.” As a former court reporter, Martha’s typing skills were legendary.

I counted out four $100 bills. “You’re hired,” I said.

“Ten, you know I’m happy to do this for you, for free.”

“Sorry. When I get paid, I pay others. It keeps everything freely flowing.” I pressed the bills in her hand. “Call it Ten and the Art of Economics.”

A short time later, I was back on the road. Happily, one thing that immediately flowed more freely was the traffic. I decided to drive straight to Julius, now that I had something concrete to report. I left him a message that I was on my way, and was at the gatehouse in half an hour.

There was a new guard. Early forties. Latino. His eyes were muddy with aggression, and he had a mean underbite. A scar slashed his hatchet features. I liked the old guy better, and he wasn’t exactly a sweetheart.

“Tenzing Norbu, here to see Mr. Rosen,” I said.

Underbite made a quick call and wordlessly thumb-jabbed me through the gate. As I drove away, I felt his hard gaze on my back.

I parked in my usual spot. The fountain was quiet, today, no flow happening here. No Julius bursting out the front door, either. I knocked and then buzzed. I knocked again. I even tried the handle, but of course it was locked.

I was turning to go, when the door opened, very slowly.

“Ten. Do come in.” Julius was short-winded.

I stepped inside and was greeted by a startling sight—Julius, leaning on his two galactic canes, dressed in black-rimmed glasses, a semitaped man-diaper, and nothing else.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I was just getting into the shower.” He indicated his minimal covering with a lopsided smile. “Believe me, it could have been worse.”

We both started laughing as Otilia hustled into the foyer, her arms full of fresh towels. She pulled up, taking in the scene, and a smile teased one corner of her mouth. We met eyes, and she gave a little nod. Otilia had finally allowed me into her very small circle of trusted ones.

“Why don’t you head on over to the ruminating room,” Julius said. “I’ll meet you there when I’m decent. It might be a few minutes—it’s medicine time.”

I crunched the graveled path to the little round cottage. Removing my shoes, I crossed the thick carpet to the closet and retrieved the white easy chair. I positioned its chrome stand across from Julius’s matching black one. Each chair had a hinge, connecting the base to the frame. Hmmm. I grasped the front section of mine and lifted. It opened like a wing, concave seat becoming convex footrest, transforming the chair into a chaise lounge comprised of one uniform curve. Clever chair. I leaned against the back, put my feet up, and closed my eyes, happy to have a few minutes alone. My breath slowed and deepened. I’d like to say I experienced a deep dive into the great transcendent is-ness of life, but the startling
clonk
of chin on chest both woke me up, and pointed to that much more pedestrian occurrence known as catnap.

I paid a quick visit to the bathroom, to splash cold water on my face. The room was tiny and pristine, tiled in white, with some sort of complicated electronic toilet armed with a long row of buttons to push for various services. I didn’t want to know. The pedestal sink was simple and elegant, with a mirrored cupboard overhead. Even the curvilinear trashcan was uniquely shaped, as if it had been oblong until a giant toddler squeezed its middle. My detective training, also known as a natural tendency to snoop, kicked in. Julius’s swings in and out of clarity made me curious as to his medical regimen, and as any cop will tell you, bathrooms are the mother lode of pharmaceutical clues. I opened the cupboard. Nothing inside but a few expensive soaps, individually wrapped. Too bad.

I rinsed my face and dried my hands on a disposable guest towel. As I went to drop it into the can, I glimpsed something inside. I bent to look more closely. I couldn’t tell what I was seeing, so I fished the waxy object out. It was also oblong, maybe two inches across—the kind of covering you’d peel off a Band-Aid, only bigger. There were a few more just like it in the bottom of the trashcan. No markings. I put the backing in my pocket, for future study. Maybe Heather would know what it was.

I returned my napping chair to its original form in one quick motion—very cool design—just as the door opened. Otilia wheeled Julius over and transferred him into his own chair. She left without a word, angry about something again.

Julius gave me another odd, uneven smile. “Tell me everything,” he said.

I opened my notebook. Taking my time, I described as precisely as I could how and what I had learned about Sadie. I don’t know what I was expecting in return, but it wasn’t what I got. Although Julius responded several times with a “That’s interesting,” or “I see,” he registered no feeling, that is to say, his expression was flat, almost as if his features were frozen. I had started off enthusiastically, but the lack of reaction was deflating. Also interesting. How people
don’t
respond can be just as important as how they do.

He must have sensed something. “Sorry I’m not more animated,” he said. He pointed to one corner of his mouth. “Botox shots. Helps with the drooling, doesn’t help with the smiling. Plus, some of my medications make me spacey.” He shrugged. “You know what they say—aging ain’t for sissies.”

Julius’s glasses made it hard to see his pupils, but from what I could tell they did appear to be dilated. “Shall we talk another time?”

“No, this is fine. You’re doing fine. Tell me more.”

I returned to my notes, and relayed Martha’s deciphering of the signature of Reinhold Milz. I retrieved copies of the three typewritten pages from my folder and started to hand them over. I blinked. Now it was his chin, on his chest. Julius was completely out.

Botox or not, something about this entire interaction was worrisome.

I sat back, caught in a momentary swirl of confusion. I let it pull me deeper, into its core. My mentor, Rinpoche, called this uncertain state “spacious confusion.”
No, no, Lama Tenzing! Do not resist spacious confusion. Do not judge. Pure not-knowing is a good thing; it is one breath away from the void itself, the nonplace from which all reality is manifested.
Though the Buddha might take issue with the term, I sometimes called this state the Ultimate What-the-Fuck. If I can tolerate the discomfort and simply let the uncertainty play out, it can stun me to stillness and sometimes lead to a clearer comprehension of things as they are.

I expanded past my confusion, extending delicate filaments of awareness to encircle the unconscious man opposite. I was worried. I wanted to feel my way into his current state, as best I could. Rinpoche’s words again floated to me across space and time.
Everything and everyone is connected. Let your body mirror another’s and your consciousness will follow. Let the two overlap and become as one.
I studied the grooved flesh at the outer edges of Julius’s downturned lips. I deepened the corners of my own mouth, mirroring the carved lines. I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest. I again reached across with focused attention to the sleeping Julius.