Set the Night on Fire (15 page)

October 1, 1968

Dear Alix,

Well, we made it! It took us over twenty-four hours to get to Delhi, what with changing planes in New York and Frankfurt. When we got to Delhi we didn’t know whether to take a train or hitch— Rishikesh is about one hundred fifty miles north. We ended up taking the train. Which was freaky. You know how they say you can set your watch by the trains in Italy because they’re always on time? Not in India. It was four hours late—which someone told me afterwards was par for the course—and then it made all these stops. Took us all day to get here.

Rishikesh itself is beautiful. They call it the gateway to the Himalayas because the Ganges River flows out of the mountains right through the center of town. In fact, mountains ring the city everywhere you look. I’ve been taking lots of pictures. Maharishi’s ashram is practically on the river, and it’s a peaceful place. In fact, the whole city is full of religious significance, if you’re Hindu. It’s supposed to be the place where Vishnu vanquished the demon Madhu, and there are tons of temples and ashrams.

Oh—it turns out the Beatles wrote most of their new album while they were here. It’s coming out in October, and they’re calling it the
White Album
. Maybe you should reserve a copy at the record store.

People are heavy into meditation here. You’ll be walking and see someone clasp their hands and close their eyes, right in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s also lots of time to think. I remember what you said about me being a “connector.” Meditating helps me realize you’re right. I wonder if that will be my life twenty years from now. Hard to imagine, since I usually don’t know what I’ll be doing twenty minutes from now. But I’m trying to go with the flow. Focus on my consciousness and all that.

We met Maharishi once, but he’s been gone most of the time. We were initiated into TM by a monk named Bansal. “Monk” isn’t really the right term, but I don’t know what else to call him. He works here. He’s very spiritual, but still grounded, if you know what I mean? And he has the patience of a . . . well . . . a monk. He tells me that, if I meditate twice a day, I’ll be much more creative and live a longer life. We promised to keep in touch after we come home.

Hi to Rain, Teddy, and Payton. And of course, you.

Peace,

Casey

* *

October 8, 1968

Dear Alix,

Maharishi says an unlimited source of cosmic life energy is at our disposal. We have only to begin to connect our individual minds with the universal and we will gain eternal freedom. That is what I am learning in Rishikesh. I wish you were here and that we could expand our minds together. To be one, in more ways than merely physical. Although that is pretty special too. Almost holy. I know you were afraid you wouldn’t understand TM, but Maharishi says you don’t have to understand the theories in order to benefit from them.

We were initiated the day after we arrived. It was a lovely service. The student being initiated brings a small offering—I brought flowers—to a room with a table. There were candles, dishes for water, rice, sandal paste, incense, and camphor on the table. There was also a picture of Guru Dev. He was Maharishi’s teacher. I put my offering on the table, then our teacher, a guy named Bansal, sang something in Sanskrit. After that, I was given my mantra, and he told me how to meditate. We do it for twenty minutes twice a day. We repeat the mantra over and over. If we do it long enough and can block out any unnecessary thoughts, we’re supposed to gain consciousness.

TM is not a religion, really, although some people think so. The main doctrine, from the Advaita Vedanta, is that the true self is the highest and ultimately the only Reality. Sometimes this Reality is called "God," though it is not a personal being but an unchanging Absolute, an impersonal state of consciousness. Through meditation we become one with the Absolute Being, which Maharishi calls “God-consciousness.”

He is persuasive. I can almost believe there is a primal source of all happiness and energy, from which spreads all the happiness in the world. If it’s there, I want to find that happiness, Alix. I want to live in that energy and serenity. And I want you to live there with me. I love you.

Your soul mate through time,

Dar

* *

October 15, 1968

Dear Alix,

Well, I think we’re about to come home. We just found out that Maharishi may not be the guy we thought he was. Remember when Mia Farrow came here to meditate after the Beatles were here? Well, apparently, Maharishi came onto her. WHILE THEY WERE MEDITATING! He put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. He claims it was just affection. She says it felt sexual. I kind of believe her. Whenever you ask him something he doesn’t want to answer, or he doesn’t know the answer to, he giggles. Like a little kid. Shit! It’s really disappointing. I thought we were onto something. Dar says the guy’s a dirty old man.

Still, it hasn’t been a total loss. I really like Bansal, the guy I told you about before. When I told him about Maharishi, he shrugged and said, “Isn’t it all in the eye in the beholder?” I suppose that’s true. But it is a shame. Especially for Dar. I’d never seen him so peaceful. Wearing his white robes, making flower necklaces. He was even smiling. At least twice every day! This will be a major disappointment for him. I miss the apartment and all of you.

Peace,

Casey

* *

October 22, 1968

Dear Alix,

We will be home soon. India has turned out to be just another place on the map. You are what matters. Here is a poem I wrote.

Falling into Alix

What would it be like,

I used to wonder,

Tumbling from a plane into the body of a cloud?

Soft like milkweed silk?

Bouncy like a box spring?

I don’t wonder anymore,

For I’ve fallen into Alix,

And every dream of cloud

Has been fulfilled or surpassed.

Now, when I look up at the blue sky above,

At the cotton clouds there,

It’s Alix that I see.

And I understand why they call it heaven.

O
n a Saturday afternoon in late September, Rain and Alix walked past the Irish bar on Wells to the head shop two doors down. A song by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap pounded out from an open door. A group of thick-necked, rowdy white guys crowded in front watching college football, and as Rain passed the bar’s window, she caught a few leers and smirks.

For the few taverns still hanging on, while Old Town evolved into Hippie Central, the clash between the cultures was palpable. The straights were jealous of their freedom—hers and Alix’s. They dressed the way they wanted, wore their hair the way they wanted. Rain had happily thrown away her rollers, bobby pins, and the hair dryer that looked like a shower cap with a hose attached. They were natural. Authentic. Working at things that mattered. No bourgeois affectations for them. No living in “little boxes made of ticky-tacky.”

And to think, only a year ago, Rain would have gone inside the bar to flirt, with the hope of meeting a guy who’d put her in one of those boxes. Not anymore. She did a little shimmy as she passed, making sure that her boobs jiggled and her hips swayed through her shirt and bell-bottoms. You can look, but you can’t touch.

As they walked into Up Against the Wall, Bobby, the owner, nodded at them. He was gaunt and morose-looking and always dressed in black. The smell of grass overlaid with patchouli oil wafted through the shop.

Rain planted herself at the counter, but Alix started browsing. Hearing her gush over the hookahs, day-glo posters, and clothes, Rain realized Alix was a shopper. Not Rain. She couldn’t deal with crass materialism. She’d go in, buy what she needed, and leave.

“This is better than Woolworth’s.” Alix picked up a beaded bag decorated with a psychedelic design and fringe. Fringe was everywhere: on pillows, jackets, vests, bags. She smiled at Bobby.

“You better believe it.” Bobby smiled back. When Alix smiled, even a stone returned it. “Looking for something in particular?”

Alix looked over at Rain, who answered for her. “Maybe.”

Bobby threw her a quizzical look.

“Alix is an artist.”

“Far out.”

“It’s very far out. She’s working on jewelry now, and her designs are incredible. We think you should sell them.”

* *

They’d brainstormed the idea the night before. Next month’s rent was looming, and everyone had to fork over their share. Payton and Teddy promised to come up with their thirty dollars, although they didn’t say how. Rain figured she would sell
The Seed
on the street. But when Rain asked how Alix would make rent, she just shrugged.

“She paid the whole thing last month,” Teddy said. “She should get a pass.”

Payton frowned. “That’s not the way a collective works. No one gets special treatment.”

“Then we should pay her back for last month,” Rain said. “Pro-rated, of course.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alix said quietly. “I understand where Payton’s coming from. I’ll pay my share. I’ll find a job.”

“I thought you had plenty of bread,” Teddy said. “Well, enough, to send Dar to India, anyway.”

Alix’s cheeks colored. “I . . . well, I had this trust fund. But it looks like . . . ”

“Trust fund?”  Payton’s eyes narrowed.

“When I turned eighteen, I got control of the trust fund my parents set up for me. But . . . ”

Rain stared at her. “You’re a trust fund baby?”

“I thought . . . Dar said he would tell you . . . ” Alix’s voice trailed off.

Rain searched her memory. Alix Kerr. Where did she know that name? Who was her family? She sucked in a breath. “Holy shit. Are you Kerr’s department store? On State Street?”

“Guilty,” Alix said softly.

“Well, consider me totally freaked out,” Teddy said.

“Dar said he’d tell you.” She shot them an imploring look.

“Well, he didn’t.” Rain averted her gaze. “And to think I was feeling sorry for you because you couldn’t pay the rent.”

“Hold on. Before you go around making judgments, you need to know what happened.” Alix’s voice strengthened. “I called and tried to get money yesterday . . . for the rent . . . but some woman at the bank told me I didn’t have the authority. Someone—my father, probably—blocked my access to it.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Teddy asked.

 “I don’t know.”

“You should.”

“Well, I don’t. And rubbing it in won’t help.”

“Why would your father stop you from using your own money?” Rain asked.

Alix looked down. “Because he doesn’t approve of my staying in Chicago.”

“You told him?” Teddy sat up.

“I called my mother. She said he freaked out. But that’s okay.” Alix shrugged. “Why? Isn’t your family pissed off?”

Teddy scratched his cheek. “They don’t know.”

“Shit, Teddy,” Rain said. “What’s the good of taking a stand if no one knows you’re taking it?” She glanced over at Payton. He’d been quiet since Alix dropped her bomb. “What do you think, Payton?”

Payton didn’t say anything at first, then, “We’re a collective. Everyone works. Everyone shares. Including Alix.” He looked at everyone in turn. “But it’s not necessary to break off contact with your parents. You never know when they might prove useful.” He paused. “So, Alix,” he asked in a distinctly kinder voice, “what kind of work are you going to do?”

* *

Now, in the store, Bobby arched his brows and crossed his arms. He might be hip, and he might have the hots for Alix—didn’t everyone, Rain sighed—but he was still a businessman. “Got any samples?”

“Not yet,” Alix said a little too quickly. “But I will. I’ve been designing . . . er, for a while.”

“Well, when you have them, bring ’em in. I’ll take a look.”

The door opened and two young women walked in, arms around each other.

“Peace,” one of the women said. Her short hair was the color of straw, and though it was a hot September day, she was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans.

“What’s happenin’, Donna?” Bobby said.

“Not much.” She squeezed the shoulder of the other woman, who had long, straight brown hair and was wearing a paisley granny dress. A gold cross hung from a chain around her neck.

Rain made it a point not to stare, but Alix’s frank examination of them was embarrassing. They’re just lesbians, Rain wanted to tell her. Stop gawking.

Bobby seemed to sense the awkwardness. “Alix and Rain, meet Donna and Linda.”

“We’re getting married,” Linda giggled. Her feet were bare, and she looked high enough to take off from O’Hare. She leaned over and kissed Donna on the lips.

“Far out,” Rain said, not knowing what else to say.

Linda didn’t seem to notice her unease. “We found this little park, right around the corner,” she said dreamily. “We’re going to have the ceremony there. And we know this far-out guru—he’s really old, but he’s spiritual, you know?  He said he’d marry us. At the end of the month. Then we’re all going back to our place to pig out. You’re invited, Bobby.” She faced Rain and Alix. “You too, if you want.”

“Um . . . well . . . ” Rain stammered.

Bobby glanced at Alix, then the two women. “You lovebirds get a ring yet?”

Donna shook her head.

Rain arched her eyebrows, and Bobby stared hard at Alix. When she didn’t respond, Rain gave her a little shove.

Alix got it. “I . . . I make jewelry,” she said tentatively. “Maybe I could make you a ring.”

“For real?” Donna looked over.

Alix nodded and flashed them a shy smile.

Donna nudged Linda. “What do you think?”

“Far fuckin’ out,” Linda said dreamily.

“What are you looking for?” Alix asked.

Donna and Linda took a minute to confer. Then, Donna said, “We want to do our own thing, you know? Something different. Unique.”

“Something that symbolizes our love and commitment,” Linda cut in. “That we’re two people becoming one.” She gazed up at Donna.

“Bobby, do you have a piece of paper and pen?” Alix asked. Bobby handed them over. She leaned over the counter and started drawing. A moment later, she held up a sketch of a ring with a braided design. It looked like a simpler version of the Celtic knot she’d drawn for Payton.

Donna and Linda inspected it. Then Linda handed it back. “Far fuckin’ out!” She beamed. Even Rain, who didn’t know the first thing about jewelry, smiled.

Donna straightened up. “How much?”

Alix turned to Rain. “Well, uh . . . I hadn’t really . . . ”

“You want real gold?”  Rain cut in.

Linda and Donna exchanged glances, then nodded.

Rain did some calculations. “Fifty dollars.” Even with a cut to Bobby, that would more than pay Alix’s share of the rent.

“If you can deliver it by the end of the week, you got a deal,” Donna said.

“Really?” Alix asked eagerly.

Donna nodded, and they exchanged addresses—neither Donna nor Linda had a phone—and promised to return to the store for a fitting in three days. After the two women left, Alix started to thank Bobby.

He held up a warning finger. “These are my friends. It’s gotta be good,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Alix breathed. “It will be the best piece I’ve ever done.”

It’ll be the only piece you’ve ever done, Rain thought.

* *

After leaving the store, Rain headed south on Wells. Alix trotted after her. “Hey, wait up, Rain.”  Rain slowed. When Alix caught up, she said, “Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I did it for all of us,” she said in a flat voice. “You know, the collective.”

“I get it. Hey, do you realize this will be the first time I’ll ever been paid for my work?”

“No way. You did some babysitting, right? Sold Girl Scout cookies? Had a lemonade stand?”

Alix shook her head.

Rain picked up her pace. “That’s right. I forgot. You’re rich.”

“Rain, wait,” Alix said. Rain kept going. “Don’t be that way. Please, talk to me.”

Rain wheeled around. “Okay. Here it is. You’ve been pretending to be one thing, when in reality you’re another. In my book, that’s about as hypocritical as it gets.”

“That’s not true. I told Dar the night we met. I was scared to tell the rest of you. He said he would.”

But Rain was adamant. “You’re part of the ruling class. You’re everything we’re . . . well . . . trying to destroy.”

Alix took a breath. “Listen, Rain. Just because I come from money doesn’t mean I don’t care about the war. Or the society we’ve become. If you shun me, you’re doing everything you say you don’t want to. Everyone’s welcome. As long as they contribute. Isn’t that what you and Payton believe?”

“But . . . but . . . you know nothing of the struggle.”

“And you do? And Payton? Or Teddy? Come on. We’re not laboring in the rice paddies of Vietnam. Or struggling in the ghetto. We’re kids whose parents could afford to send us to college. Except for Dar.”

She had a point, Rain conceded. Still. Just because Dar considered Alix his reclamation project didn’t mean
she
had to. “Why aren’t you back with mommy and daddy in Indiana?”

Alix’s face closed. “It was time for me to take a stand.”

“What kind of stand does a rich girl take?”

Alix looked around, saw a bench at a bus stop and sat down. She patted the empty space next to her. “I want to tell you a story.”

Rain reluctantly joined her.

“Earlier this summer—I’d just gotten home from college—a boy I used to know came to my house. His name was Jimmy Smith. We went to public school together from kindergarten ’til sixth grade—before my parents switched me to private school. Our house was right across the street from the school. It was a big white house. With a swimming pool in back. Jimmy lived a mile away in . . . well . . . it wasn’t a great neighborhood.

“So, the doorbell rings, and I open it. And there he is in his full dress army uniform. Hat, brass buttons, those little colored flags on his pocket, the whole thing. Right out of the blue. After we said hi, he tells me he just came back from a tour in Vietnam. And re-enlisted for another. He wanted to share that with me.”

Rain felt her eyes widen. “What did you say?”

“I asked him why me? And you know what he said?” Alix blinked. “He said he’d had a crush on me ever since kindergarten. And he wanted me to know he’d amounted to something.”

“And he figured he’d accomplished that by enlisting?”

Alix nodded. “After that, how could I say anything? I just smiled and told him I was proud of him.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “Six months later he was killed.”

Rain didn’t say anything.

“We need to let people know what this war is doing to boys like Jimmy Smith. Boys who really believe in this country. Who want to better themselves by doing their duty. That’s why I came to Chicago.”  Alix’s gaze focused. “What about you? Why did you come?”