“
Our bottled water, but without the water.
”
“
Our domains.
”
~ * ~
At an abandoned roadside shack Madden slows the truck and turns onto a one-lane dirt track that slices across a small valley in the ridge between two peaks. Henry, stoned and disoriented, thinks of the forbidden peak that Maya pointed out earlier in the week and can
’
t
help but feel that right now he and Madden are disturbing all kinds of spirits.
Madden fills another bowl and begins talking, unprompted, about his marriage. He
’
s been married fourteen years and separated for the last three.
“
The day our marriage was officially over was the day that we started telling each other the bald truth. About our bodies, our friends, and our lovemaking skills. The irony is that this was a relationship that transcended love in its intimacy and purity. Because only people in love would never say those things. They would only think them. The final straw came when I found out that she had lost most of our savings playing online poker. I thought from her behavior that she was having an affair. After she told me the truth, I would have preferred it to be a fucking affair.
”
“
So you asked for a separation then?
”
“
No, she did. She said I suffered from continuous partial attention syndrome. This is because I
’
m always doing five things at once—talking on the mobile, reading a magazine, working on the laptop ...
”
“
Driving on a mountain road while swigging whiskey, telling a story, and lighting a hash pipe . . .
”
“
And, according to her, doing none of it particularly well. Especially when it came to giving her even a sliver of my continuous partial attention.
”
After a while Madden turns to Henry and asks,
“
And you?
”
For the second time in two days Henry tells his story, which he has by now edited and honed into a crisp piece of performance art, with exaggerated pauses, ironic inflections, and revelatory notes precisely integrated for maximum impact. This time, most likely because he is tired and disoriented from the growing buzz of the Galadonian hashish, it actually sounds to him as if he is telling some other loser
’
s story.
Madden downshifts as they turn onto another unmarked road. When Henry is through, Madden says,
“
You know, researchers in Denmark have found that men who have had vasectomies have an increased risk of dementia and language loss.
”
Henry looks at Madden, who is smiling, and says,
“
I have no words to respond to this claim.
”
~ * ~
“
You need to know all the wrong people to get anything done here.
”
Madden has stopped the truck about twenty yards from a stone farmhouse. It is after midnight, more than two hours since they set out from Henry
’
s room at the spa. Wood smoke is spiraling out of a stone chimney and
electric light shines golden in the windows. It
’
s too dark to see what lies between the truck and the house. From the backseat Madden grabs his green field jacket, and from the front pocket of the jacket he removes a pistol, a .40-caliber Glock semiautomatic.
“
Pardon me for noticing, but most of the business meetings I attended in New York were primarily firearm-free events.
”
“
It
’
s just precautionary, mate.
”
Madden sticks the gun in the back waistband of his jeans, opens the door, and walks to the rear of the truck. Henry gets out and follows. From the back hatch Madden removes a large canvas duffel bag.
“
What
’
s that, a weapon of mass destruction?
”
Madden smiles.
“
Just follow my lead and everything will be fine.
”
Together they walk to the front door of the farmhouse, which on closer inspection appears to be some kind of community hall. The combination of altitude, cold mountain air, and paranoia makes it difficult for Henry to draw a proper breath. He braces himself for gunshots, but instead the door opens, revealing more than a dozen smiling men and women. They are not wearing
ghos
or Western clothing but locally made thick woolen pants, sweaters, and fur hats. One of the men, a burly peasant with a long black beard, gives Madden a hug, and when Madden introduces Henry, he gives Henry a hug as well. Henry has never smelled a yak but now thinks he has a good idea of what it might be like.
They are led to a large wood-plank table in front of a fire blazing in a ceiling-high stone chimney. Upon the mantel sits a bronze Buddha, and mounted on the stone and mud walls are tapestries. On the plastered wall across the room above an altar is, according to their host, a Shambhala fresco depicting a parallel universe, a mythical idyllic kingdom hidden beyond the peaks of the Himalayas.
“
People
insist this place exists,
”
the host explains.
“
But what
’
s more important is that you
believe
that it exists.
”
He looks at Henry.
“
Correct,
brah
?
”
Henry nods.
“
Yeah, man.
”
One of the younger men pours them each a cup of butter tea. Madden takes a sip and then makes a show of hoisting the duffel bag onto the table. He unzips it and begins pulling out several dozen pairs of sneakers—all kinds of brightly colored, older-model Nike running shoes. The people immediately set upon the sneakers. They take off thick fur boots and rush to try on pairs of
Shox
. Meanwhile, Madden continues to pull trinkets out of his bag: stacks of CDs, six dozen Slim Jims, and a generic brand of digital camera for everyone. Watching the Galadonian peasants scramble to claim their share of the booty,
Henry can
’
t help but think of Maya
’
s statement about the smallest act being capable of causing irreversible change. He thinks of the Pilgrims, the Dutch, and even Lewis and Clark swapping their own sparkly knickknacks with Native Americans from Plymouth Rock to Fort
Clatsop
, and inevitably he thinks of what those transactions led to.
After the gifts are sorted and stowed, a semblance of order is restored. Only one of the Galadonians, the bearded man who greeted Madden and Henry at the door, can speak English. He sits at one end of the long table, speaking on behalf of and translating for the others. Madden takes the seat at the opposite end, with Henry occupying the chair next to him.
From what Henry can gather, the purpose of the meeting is fairly straightforward. The forty-year-old National Forest Act, which nationalized a great deal of private woodland, is about to be rewritten by the prince, and the families of many of the people in this room will soon be able to reclaim of some their timberlands through restitution. Madden is here to try to claim more than a small portion of that land—or at least the timber rights—for himself. By the time he is distributing his leave-behind—a contour map of the area and a sample contract—Henry
’
s concentration has drifted away from the table and toward the Shambhala fresco. One more bowl of Madden
’
s hash, he thinks, and he just might believe such a place exists too.
The meeting ends not with gunplay, as Henry had anticipated,
but with more hugs and butter tea and a version of the hot-chile-pepper-and-cheese dish Henry had at dinner with Maya.
~ * ~
Afterward, standing outside the Range Rover, Madden takes the pistol from the back of his pants, slips it into the pocket of his field jacket, and tosses it into the backseat.
“
So what d
’
you think?
”
Henry concedes to Madden that yes, he
’
s happy that he came along. It was a worthwhile adventure.
Soon after that he is asleep, his face pressed against the cold glass of the passenger
’
s-side window as Madden smokes and drinks and drives his way back to their lodgings.
~ * ~
Buddha Clause
As he rocked in and out of sleep, Henry was aware of Madden talking to himself, but now he hears Madden yelling.
“
Fuck, no! These bloody—
”
Henry is wide awake before Madden shoves him.
“
Move! In the back, grab my gun from inside the coat!
”
Henry leans over the seat without asking for further information. As he feels for the coat, the truck lurches to the right and then spins 180 degrees. Henry spins with it, toppling into the backseat. He sits up just as Madden floors the gas, then is immediately slammed into the back of the front seat as the brakes are applied with equal force. Finally he finds the jacket with his left hand, and he is checking the pockets with his right when the doors swing open and gun barrels shove in out of the darkness. Madden is hollering and the men outside the truck are yelling in Galadonian.
Henry lets Madden
’
s coat fall to his lap and raises his hands. He watches Madden being dragged outside and closes his eyes as a pair of hands grab him by the arm and pull him into the mountain darkness. A hood or a hat that smells of smoke and sweat and his interpretation of yak is pulled over his face and he is shoved to a kneeling position on the ground. The TV news phrase
execution style
sounds in his head, but for some reason he isn
’
t wetting his pants. Soiling his pants. Blubbering in any way. Why? he wonders, as someone pats him for weapons. Because you
’
re fearless? Or hopeless?
Or maybe this is exactly what you
’
ve been waiting for all along.
“
Sorry about this, mate.
”
Madden. Close by.
“
What do they want?
”
“
It
’
s my fault. They say I don
’
t know my place. I grabbed for too much and profiteers like us are set on ruining their culture.
”
“
Us? What are they going to do with us?
”
“
I reckon they
’
re going to kill us. That
’
s what one is saying, anyway.
”
“
Kill us? Isn
’
t the culture they
’
re determined to preserve based on nonviolent Buddhism?
”
“
Well, I reckon these fellas here are what I
’
d call
lapsed
Buddhists. Though when they come back, I
’
ll be sure to share your point with them.
”
Neither speaks for a while. The bandits are talking rapidly near the truck, opening and closing doors. Henry is acutely aware of the wind pushing against the mountain
’
s edge, chilling the thin air. He thinks of the land of Shambhala, but already he has forgotten the particulars of the fresco he saw earlier.
Why, he wonders, is so much of a culture based on places that can
’
t or are not allowed to be reached? Mythical kingdoms. Forbidden peaks. What kind of spirits want you to believe in them yet not disturb them?
A gun barrel presses against his temple. The engine turns over on the Range Rover. A foreign voice next to Madden, presumably the person who has a gun to
his
head, begins shouting. Henry doesn
’
t understand anything but the intent of the words. Angry. Threatening.
“
Did you tell him about the Buddha clause?
”