The Memory Painter: A Novel (29 page)

His back was to Huike, and Huike could not see his smile. The truth was that Bodhidharma would never refuse someone seeking the Way. Their spirits had connected in this life, and although Bodhidharma had seen Huike lost in the future, wandering at the opposite end of the light, he did not judge Huike for his future actions. Bodhidharma vowed to teach him everything he knew.

*   *   *

When Bodhidharma returned to his cave, he found Abbot Chang waiting with a rather large entourage. Huike was missing.

Bodhidharma waved to the monks, calling out, “I was most surprised to find it is summer. The berries taste delicious.”

The men stared at him with awe as he approached them. Abbot Fang knelt on the ground. “Please, Enlightened One, forgive our ignorance in not granting you entry to Shaolin. We have come to beg you to stay with us for as long as you are able and bless us with your wisdom.”

The Abbot had not aged well. Bodhidharma noted how much more feeble the old man looked. He held out his hand to help him stand.

Abbot Fang gazed at him with wide eyes. “How were you able to meditate for so many years?”

“Quite simply. I can teach you.”

All the men nodded, looking most eager. They led him back to the temple, where the monks had readied their best room and prepared a great feast.

Later, after a much-needed bath and supper, Bodhidharma noted that Huike was still absent. He asked the young monk who was assisting him back to his quarters if Huike had left the temple.

The young monk looked startled. “Huike is unwell. We do not know if he will recover.”

Bodhidharma was shocked to hear this news. Huike had been vibrant and healthy when he saw him last. “Please take me to him.”

The young monk led him through several halls and two courtyards until they were in a small infirmary at the back of the monastery.

The smell of burning incense greeted him first. Bodhidharma walked in and saw Huike asleep on a pallet with an old healer by his side performing acupuncture while reciting a healing sutra. Scores of needles stood upright across Huike’s chest and shoulders, and beneath his right shoulder, a huge bandage covered a stump where his arm had been. Huike lay unconscious, unable to hear the prayers of the priest attending him.

Bodhidharma turned to his guide and whispered, “What has happened?”

“Huike cut off his arm. Why, we do not know.”

Pain filled Bodhidharma. The monk had cut off his arm to prove his dedication and worth not only to Bodhidharma but to himself. Huike’s actions revealed a deep suffering of spirit, even stronger than what Bodhidharma had suspected. Perhaps Huike did sense the darkness Bodhidharma had seen within him and desperately had tried to dispel its mantle.

The old healer looked questioningly at Bodhidharma. Bodhidharma moved toward the pallet and instructed the healer to rest while he continued the sutra. The healer bowed and left, taking the young monk with him.

Bodhidharma watched Huike’s restless sleep. As if sensing him, Huike opened his eyes. It was clear he was in great pain. “Will you teach me now?”

Bodhidharma took his hand. “You never had to ask. I said I could not teach you because I knew you would teach yourself.”

Huike fell back asleep. Bodhidharma sat beside him until morning, feeling a love for this man as a father would for a son.

*   *   *

In the weeks that followed, Huike regained his strength and left the infirmary to join the other monks in Bodhidharma’s tutelage. Bodhidharma had been horrified to find that no one could hold a simple seated meditation.

“Meditation is rigorous exercise and requires great stamina. How can you sit if you cannot even stand? Look at yourselves. You look like hunched monkeys.”

Bodhidharma decided that the next weeks would be devoted to strengthening their bodies. The monks spent every day in the forest, learning exercises derived from Hatha and Raja yoga that Bodhidharma had modified further to enhance their bodies’ energy flow.

At first, his unorthodox teachings met with resistance. The Shaolin monks were accustomed to sitting at their desks all day, transcribing copies of Buddhist scriptures. Bodhidharma watched their exercises and shook his head, unsatisfied.

He tried to explain. “Qi is the life force that flows through all living things. Qigong teaches you how to harness this energy and bridge the gap between your body and your mind. But how can you do anything when your thoughts are so noisy? Quiet your mind.” He took off his sandal. “You can start by staring at my shoe.” He left it on the ground and walked away.

The students looked at each other questioningly. Huike called out, “Master, how long should we stare?”

Bodhidharma answered without turning back. “Until you find enlightenment.”

They stared at the sandal for three days. Many gave up, unable to continue without food or water. When Bodhidharma finally retrieved his shoe, only Huike and two others remained.

The next day, he had the monks stare at a rock wall. The following day, they watched bugs mate. On the third day, they stood like trees from sunrise to sunset.

Bodhidharma circled his pupils. He was still unsatisfied. “Concentration. Confidence. Will. This is the path to internal strength. Huike, stop. You are no longer a tree. Take this iron rod and hit me on the head with it.”

Huike’s eyes widened. “But master, I can’t!”

Bodhidharma ignored him and handed him the rod. “You will not hurt me.” He stood in a perfect stance, his gaze fixed and focused now on his inward state. “Go on. Strike me with all your might.”

Huike remained frozen. Bodhidharma glared at his best student and commanded him again, “Strike me!”

Huike raised the rod with his arm and brought it down hard on his master’s head. The rod broke.

“Qigong,” Bodhidharma said as he picked up the pieces. “By mastering it your mind can become insusceptible to pain. You possess more power than you can imagine.” To drive his point home, he turned and sent his hand straight through a brick wall. “In time, you will be able to accomplish this and more.”

Day after day, the relentless training continued. Many monks went to the infirmary to set broken bones and bandage wounds. But over time, they became stronger in mind and body than they had ever thought possible. Eventually they could break bricks, pierce tree trunks, and meditate for days on end as their Qi became more powerful.

At Abbot Fang’s request, Bodhidharma dictated his exercises so there would be a guide for future Shaolin monks, and Huike transcribed his instructions. Bodhidharma knew his stay at the temple was coming to its end. He was an old man now, and India was calling.

On a beautiful spring day, much like the one when he had first arrived at the temple, Bodhidharma watched the monks performing their exercises in the forest. Huike stood beside him. Bodhidharma did not look at him as he spoke. “I have waited many years to tell you this and many times thought I would remain silent.… I have seen your soul’s karma. It is heavy and keeps you from the Way, but that in itself is an illusion. Anyone can transcend their karma by seeing their true nature.”

Huike frowned. “I do not understand, Master.”

“One day you will remember this life, your earnestness, your goodness, and you will meet the malevolence that binds your spirit. On that day, let go of your shame at having fallen, and allow it to let in the light.”

Huike nodded, his eyes bright with emotion.

“You hear these words now, but remember them when the time comes.” Bodhidharma clasped Huike’s hand. “We both have a long path ahead of us, my friend. Shine bright again one day.”

*   *   *

Bryan’s consciousness returned to the hospital room with crystal clarity. He was not sure how long he had been under the drug, but he felt every cell in his body react as it tried to force it out of his system.

Bodhidharma’s knowledge flooded his mind. Bryan stood up, and in one fluid movement pushed his right arm toward his left shoulder, brought it up over his head, unbuckled the sleeve with his teeth, and undid the five remaining buckles on the straitjacket with his hands. He stepped on one sleeve and tugged it away from his body—all in about fifteen seconds.

Once he was free, he folded the straitjacket and studied the door with a newfound serenity. The rage and fear that Bryan had felt toward Conrad had dissipated.

For the next hour, Bryan performed Qigong stretches to recharge his energy. His thoughts returned to the woman who had appeared before Bodhidharma during his long meditation. Bodhidharma had called her the Ancient One, but she was the Egyptian goddess.

Bryan pictured the symbol she had drawn for him on the ground at the Great Pyramid. He knew memories were waiting for him there.… She was trying to show him a life in Egypt. And he had only a few hours to remember it before Conrad came back to inject him with Renovo.

Bryan felt his initial panic start to return. He lay on the cot and forced his mind to quiet. As his breathing slowed and his body began to relax, he was filled with a new resolve: if he did not find the answers before Conrad returned to begin his experiment, he would use Bodhidharma’s power to leave his body and never come back.

THIRTY-SEVEN

CAESAREA, ROMAN EMPIRE

AD 250

They threw Juliana into a damp cell blanketed in the stench of rot. A small barred window faced the square below, where the executions were being staged. The screams from outside rang out with chilling clarity over the jeers of the crowd. Juliana found herself drawn to the spectacle in disbelief. Tomorrow her voice would join the cacophony.

“Why do they hate us so?”

Juliana turned toward the shadows, squinting as she tried to see. A young woman was huddled in the corner, clutching a three-year-old girl. They looked filthy and starved.

Instinctively Juliana took a step forward to offer some kind of comfort, but realized she had nothing to give.

The young woman gaped at her. “I know you. You’re Origenes Adamantius’ lady.”

“Pupil,” Juliana corrected, quite accustomed to strangers assuming they were lovers. He would not have been the first priest to fall from grace, but Juliana knew that Origenes would never transgress—he couldn’t. As a young man, he had castrated himself in an act of deep piety and sacrifice, to ensure that he would never be swayed by bodily desire. His life would be for God and God alone.

Juliana was a Christian lady from a wealthy family and well educated. She had met Origenes years ago when he had come to visit the Bishop of Caesarea. She had been a young woman then and was quite dazzled by his brilliance. They had formed a fast bond while studying the biblical texts she had inherited, written by Symmachus—the original author of one of the Greek versions of the Old Testament. How many nights they talked, until the candles burned low, about how to change Rome. How to spread love. How to bring about a better world. And in her heart of hearts—in words spoken only to God—Juliana had confessed her love for him as a woman. A part of her had always wondered if, had he not castrated himself, Origenes would have been tempted to deepen their bond.

She knew Origenes sensed how she felt. He would often tell her that there were many kinds of love and that, for her, he had reserved the purist. One night, they had become engaged in a passionate debate after drinking several cups of wine. Origenes had reached out and taken her hand and said that God must have known she would come into his life. Why else would he have guided him to perform such a sacrifice with his body? Otherwise, he might have fallen from grace.

Juliana could hear her heart beating like a bird in a cage as he spoke. Then his hand was gone and he went on as if nothing had happened. They never spoke of it again.

“My brother says Origenes’ school is the finest in the empire and marvels even those in Alexandria,” the young woman said, bringing Juliana out of her thoughts.

“Yes, it does,” Juliana replied. But their efforts to teach God’s love had brought them here to die horrific deaths. She fought back her panic and tried to focus on the young woman before her.

“Are you to burn too?” the little girl whispered.

Juliana gave the woman a questioning look, not wanting to upset the little girl.

The woman nodded. “Septimus has ordered us both to burn in two days’ time,” she answered.

Septimus was the government official in charge of the executions, and a soulless man who had allowed the world’s barbarity to eat away at his heart. Juliana couldn’t understand what she had done to earn his hatred. She closed her eyes, and her thumb traced a circle around her index finger. It was something she often did to quiet her mind. She tried to envision where she would go when she left her body … if God would take her and show her heaven, and if she would be born again, as Origenes believed.

She had once asked him why he thought the soul returned to earth, and he answered that God gives us too much to learn in one life. But then Origenes saw the world on a grander scale than most. Juliana believed it was because his mind soared closer to heaven. It was tragic that men like Septimus cared nothing for his knowledge.

She did not know where the guards had taken him, and a shiver coursed through her body. Knowing that he would soon die for his beliefs gave her the strength to cling to her own.

*   *   *

After Linz had returned from the cemetery she had taken another dose of Renovo. Juliana’s memories had come minutes later. Bryan’s painting was still hanging on the wall across from her bed, and it became her lifeline as she fought to return to the present.

Her hands were shaking as she tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. Her voice sounded foreign to her as she left a message. “Bryan? I’m coming over. Please be there.”

She gathered her purse and keys and opened the front door at the same time as her neighbors. The young couple gasped when they saw her.

The man took a step toward her out of concern. “Are you okay?”

Linz jumped back. “Fine. I’m recovering from…”
Being burned at the stake? Destroying my apartment?
“A car accident.” She closed the door on them before they could say anything else.