A Nation of Mystics - Book II: The Tribe Read online

  “Not as I should,” Christian confessed.

  “And Nareesh? Have you heard from him?”

  Christian shook his head. “No, I …”

  But the smell of hash had brought Anita back into the room. Instead of answering, Christian settled back against the couch, definitely more relaxed, smiling at her interest in the pipe and admiring the dress she wore.

  “I’ll let Anita be my hostess for a few moments,” Heinrich told him. “Let me change.”

  “Vous êtes française?” Christian asked, speaking French easily. Are you French?

  “Belgian,” she spoke comfortably in English. “And you? You are a minister?”

  “No. I attended one semester of college at a theological school, but I transferred to Berkeley.”

  “Are you in school now?”

  He shook his head. “I’m working and traveling. You look like you’ve been doing some traveling yourself.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Your dress. Brown skin …”

  Anita laughed gaily. “Am I so very obvious? I just returned from Morocco. What a trip! I went with this fellow for what I thought would be a vacation. I fully expected to sit on the beach and smoke. But no. We wound up driving through all the back roads of Ketama’s province looking for just the right hashish.”

  “Good hash should be available anywhere in Morocco.”

  “That’s what I thought. I knew we could buy hashish just as easily at the shore.”

  “Did you find it? The perfect smoke?”

  “You tell me.” She reached into her pocket. “Here’s a piece of what we brought back.”

  “You smuggled this in?” Christian took it from her, smelled, and began to crumble an edge for the pipe.

  “Along with fifty pounds,” her eyes twinkled. “Only I didn’t know his intent until we were standing in a warehouse with piles of bundled crops, powder, screens, and presses. He said he wanted something very fresh.”

  “And, I suppose, you had to help him drive it back?” He held a lighter to the bowl of the pipe, breathed in, and exhaled a sweet smelling cloud of smoke.

  “Exactly. We took the ferry from Ceuta across the strait to Algeciras, in southern Spain. The hottest border station in the world. Everyone knows the customs system is so sophisticated that they have the blueprints for every make of car and the mechanics to take the car down to the axle. I was terrified! Fritz said the customs agent was looking at me, not the car. Fortunately, we were waved through.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said passing the pipe to her, “this hash is good.”

  “Believe me, Fritz got what he wanted. It is very fresh. He gave me five pounds for my part. And I said a permanent good-bye to him two days ago! Perhaps if you’re here to make a purchase, you’ll take a look at it.”

  Christian cocked his head toward her. “What makes you think I’m here to buy hash?”

  Anita shrugged. “I can spot a dealer … how do you say in English … for a mile?”

  Dinner was a lavish feast: Rijsttafel, literally meaning “rice table,” dish after tiny dish of different tastes at a small, family-owned Indonesian restaurant. Two bottles of wine added laughter to the meal and tales of travels.

  “Anyone for coffee?” Heinrich asked.

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to leave the table without it,” Erika answered.

  “Perhaps we should forego the coffee for something better,” Christian told them.

  He reached into his bag and brought out four caps of the mescaline he had carried from Albert’s home in L.A. In fact, that was the point of this trip, to make Heinrich aware of just how talented a chemist Albert was.

  “Mescaline. I can vouch for it.” He picked up one of the capsules and swallowed.

  “I have nothing to do tomorrow,” Anita said, looking at him. “I’ll have one.” She swallowed hers with wine.

  “I can call work and say I’m not well in the morning,” Erika looked at Heinrich. “Come on. Let’s enjoy this one evening.”

  “Alright,” Heinrich answered, taking his cap. “But I will have to work. Thank God tomorrow’s Friday, and I’ll be able to leave early.”

  “Let’s show Christian the Fantasia.”

  Even before Christian stepped into the club, he could smell the burning hashish. The walls of the entrance hallway were lined with dealers who softly called their wares. Anita held tightly to his arm, the mescaline quickly overpowering the alcohol. Inside, the room was dim, making the colors of the mind all the brighter. A band was playing, and dancers were moving on the floor in front of the stage. Toward the back of the room, groups had camped around the room’s support posts, sleeping bags and packs mapping out floor space.

  Christian started to move with the music, reached out to Anita, to Heinrich and Erika, touching hands, sharing the shifting visions. The colors floating around him were wildly vibrant. Intense emotions washed over him from a deep place of glowing warmth. They smoked openly, sharing the Moroccan hash from a pipe with each other, with others, enhancing colors that were already brilliant. As time passed, all the years of knowing Heinrich, their secrets and shared experiences, came together in the moment. Christian held on to him, their arms linked in the way of Indian men, the two whispering eternal friendship. The circle of four floated through the building, passing through the rooms for yoga and meditation, the sauna, finally to find the restaurant, to sit with a cup of late night herbal tea, sharing their ideals, their visions for the future, the possibilities of humankind, communing with mind and body, skin, warm glows of sensitivity where they touched, the love an outpouring of intense physical energy. As the last song ended, they stood in the main hall in a circle, holding on to each other, profoundly bound in the richness of shared understanding.

  Well after midnight, on the street outside, the air was clear and cold, and Christian breathed deeply. The lights were jewels—vibrant, sparkling in the dark night, the city a magical realm. He laid his arm around Anita’s shoulders, holding her against him, talking close in her ear, speaking softly in French.

  Heinrich approached his other side and murmured his name. “Christian.”

  Then speaking in Hindi, he continued in a quiet voice, “This has been a very different meeting from the one I imagined. But then, many things about you have always been unexpected.”

  Anita had been asleep for a short while when Christian heard noises in the kitchen. On the down side of the trip but still awake, he rose from the bed, pulled on a pair of jeans, and threw a T-shirt over his head. Barefoot, he crossed the living room. The tall windows held a picture of the dark winter sky, the sun only a dull glow beyond the horizon. At this latitude, the sun would not rise for at least another two or three hours.

  “Did I wake you?” Heinrich asked, opening the refrigerator. “I’m trying to come down enough to get to work. Food should do it.”

  “I always like to greet the dawn when I trip. And this gives me a chance to visit with you.” Christian grinned sheepishly. “I got a bit carried away last night. Too much wine. And the mescaline. Anita’s sharing my room.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, little brother, Anita is not hard to get carried away with. Do not apologize to me.”

  Christian shrugged, wondering how to explain Lisa to Heinrich. Did he owe Lisa something?

  But to begin to describe the complex history of his relationship with her was more than he could handle this morning. Besides, Anita’s scent still clung to his body. Instead, he said, “You’re getting ready for work?”

  Heinrich nodded. “Shall I make eggs for you? Or there is fresh herring.”

  “Just toast. And some of this juice.”

  “No, not at all the evening I expected. What did happen to that white collar?”

  “It didn’t take me long to realize that mission work wasn’t what I wanted out of life.” Christian’s gaze fell to the window, his eyes wide and far away. “But, then, I’d already resolved that issue before I left India. You
remember, I wrote to you. But my father …” Christian shrugged. “Being at the college confirmed it. It’s as simple as that.”

  Heinrich hesitated, then asked, “Was your decision to leave the college based on what happened in Amritsar before you left?”

  “Some of it. For a long while, Amritsar dominated all my thoughts.”

  “And my guess is that you still think of it. And often, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Should I mention the nightmares? If anyone can understand, it will be Heinrich.

  As if reading his mind, Heinrich asked, “What about Nareesh? I find it hard to believe that he simply disappeared after the riot. Your father … wouldn’t he know?”

  “I wrote with increasing desperation to everyone. My father. The boarding school. Even the Buddhist monastery in Dehradun. Six months went by, and no one had any answers. Nothing. I … I haven’t spoken to my father since I left the college after first term in 1965. Three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. This cannot be easy for either of you.”

  “What could I say to him?”

  “Is it that you blame him for some part of the riot?”

  Suddenly, images of Amritsar once again welled up, so strong, that his next breath was a gasp—burning buildings, explosions as fire reached gas tanks, frenzied men, living bodies thrown into the flames, beatings and bloody faces and cries of pain, mob anger that was a unique kind of madness, Ram Seva’s insistence on using his authority to try to stop the killing, the terror on Nareesh’s face as his father disappeared into a rampaging crowd. The knife …

  “Heinrich,” the word was a moan. Christian closed his eyes and shook his head, “I can’t … not after last night … the love we shared … better to hold to that.”

  Heinrich put down the fork he was using to scramble eggs, giving Christian his full attention. “I’m here. When you are ready to talk.”

  “And you,” Christian tried smiling, “you look like you still know how to enjoy life.”

  Pausing just a heartbeat, knowing the subject of Amritsar was closed, Heinrich kept his voice purposefully light. “How could it be otherwise?” He began to heat the pan on the stove. “My house. Erika. This city. The world at my fingertips.” He held up two fingers to his lips and pretended to toke.

  “What did you think of the mescaline?”

  “Fascinating. Sometimes we get acid from Switzerland, and occasionally from your country, but never have I had real mescaline. It was real?”

  “Take a look.” Christian reached into his bag. “Hand me a plate.”

  Christian opened the large, double-0 size cap and poured out the crystals. In the kitchen light, Heinrich could make out the tiny needle-like crystalline structure, each one a small rainbow.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Like slivers of colorful ice. To think that all that magic … all those visions and worlds within worlds … that intense compassion … are stored somehow in these tiny fragments.”

  “Don’t you have an opportunity to see some of this in your work?”

  “You forget. I just do the paperwork.”

  “What about LSD? Isn’t there any way you can taste some off the top?”

  Heinrich looked at him anew. “It would be difficult. And dangerous. I never thought to try. Perhaps you’d better tell me now why you have come. Do you want me to steal LSD for you from my company?”

  “No. But what I do want is ergotamine tartrate—ET, we call it in the business.”

  “Ergotamine? The base for the manufacture of LSD? So that’s your business.” Then, thinking quickly, “And you want me to steal ET for you?” Heinrich shook his head. “That would be impossible. I don’t go anywhere near where pharmaceuticals are stored.”

  “No, not steal. I want to see if you can help me work out a legal way of buying ET from your company.”

  “A legal way, you say?”

  “I’d like to set up a pharmaceutical company that would buy the chemical. You would have nothing to do with it directly. Although a paper may cross your desk. I just need feasibility.”

  “And with the ET?”

  “I’ll make LSD. I have a chemist. The same man who made the mescaline. That’s why I wanted you to experience it. To look at it.”

  “Christian, how old are you now? Let’s see …” Heinrich began to calculate. “Twenty-one, isn’t it? I’m jealous of your ambition.” He set a plate of the eggs he had cooked down on the table, another of thinly sliced pickled herring, one of toast. “And why do you want to make LSD?”

  “Because it gives people an opportunity to go beyond their limitations,” he answered without hesitation. “Each trip is a lifetime of knowledge. Many lifetimes. Each experience contains the wisdom to be truly human.”

  Christian stood and began to pace the small room. “You know as well as I that our planet becomes smaller daily. Our technology’s developing faster than our understanding or our emotional maturity. We’ve dropped the atomic bomb. On people, for God’s sake! We’re at war in Vietnam. Destroying our environment for corporate profit. Think about it. If we destroy the earth, there’s nowhere else to go! We desperately need men and women with vision. LSD is the catalyst that speeds up the learning process. If we’re lucky, acid may just give us the edge needed to help mankind survive.”

  Heinrich rested his fork. “My friend, you still preach. You still wear the white collar. Only now it is hair down your back instead.”

  “But there’s more, Heinrich. The first time I took LSD I felt all of Lama’s teachings in it. Undisguised. And so much love!”

  “Things have always meant much to you,” Heinrich answered softly. “You have always felt deeply about life. Perhaps that is why you were special to Lama Loden. My friend, I believe what you say is true. We’ll find a way to get your ET. How long will you be in Amsterdam?”

  “For as long as it takes.”

  “Tomorrow, we’ll start looking for a storefront. You’ll need a mailing address if you want to become a pharmaceutical company. I’ll check at work today to see what orders are waiting to be placed and what we have in stock. It will take a few months for delivery.”

  “I expected that.”

  “Get to know Anita a little better.”

  “I plan to.” Christian grinned.

  “No. I mean, get to know everything about her. She’s got a background that could work in your favor. Not only as a secretary for typing up the papers you’ll need, but she’s also developed a technique for walking through borders. I think she could bring the ET back to the States. One look at you and customs will have you strip-searched in New York.”

  In the week that followed, Christian and Heinrich rented a space for the new business. Heinrich seemed relieved that Christian had the funding needed, not only to purchase the store’s lease, but also to paint a new storefront and change the outer office into a reasonable businesslike establishment. Anita went on the payroll.

  Within three weeks, Northern European Pharmaceutical Company received an affirmative letter for five kilos of ergotamine. Christian made a phone call to Albert making guarded references to the state of affairs and asking whether there were any other pieces he needed. If there were, he should send a list. The prospect of having available all the equipment of a pharmaceutical company stimulated Albert’s imagination. His letter came a week later, and Anita typed another order from the fledgling company.

  “You need to add some other supplies to this list,” Heinrich told him, reading. “Ether. Methanol. Tartaric acid. This recipe is too obvious. Look at this. Potassium hydroxide. Methylene chloride. Here,” he wrote in additional nonessential chemicals, along with boxes of glassware. “Now we just have to wait.”

  At last, the day came when a large box was delivered to the company’s front desk. Anita signed neatly for the package, smiled, and thanked the deliveryman. When Christian arrived shortly after, he took the glass containers of ergotamine tartrate from the packaging, carefully wrapped them, and placed them into a duffle bag. Then h
e made his way to the houseboat, taking a circuitous route, ready to pack the jars for shipping, excited to be moving again.

  “So they’ve come,” Heinrich said, handling the jars when he returned from work. “Congratulations! You did it.”

  “You did it. You found the store. Handled all the legal work. Showed me how to write a professional order. And you’ve had me as your guest for two months.”

  “I shall miss you, little brother.”

  “I’ll be back. But now I’m anxious to get these home to start work. I’m going to pay you what they’re worth on the open market—$8,000 a kilo. $40,000. Sound fair?”

  Heinrich scratched his head. “You have that kind of money?”

  “I will when this is done up and sold.”

  “Then let me wish you well.”

  “And the forty thou?”

  “More than adequate. What can I do to continue to help you?”

  “Watch the company. Collect mail. Let me know if there are any problems.”

  While waiting for Anita to return from work, Heinrich and Christian moved the powder from the glass jars into smaller plastic bags, shoving the bags into the arms and legs of stuffed animals—gorillas, monkeys, bears, giraffes, lions, dogs, and cats. Anita would enter the United States as a toy merchant from Holland, complete with business cards. The stuffed animals would be samples. Christian hoped, like everyone else who had used her talents, that the customs inspector would be looking at Anita, not at her baggage. As for the rest of the items Albert had ordered, those not on a controlled substance list would be shipped.

  As the plane neared Kennedy Airport, in New York, Christian’s stomach tightened. Anita sat several rows ahead. Not once had they acknowledged each other on the flight.

  Careful, he told himself. Don’t release energy that attracts the Heat. Don’t put out fear that Anita might pick up on.

  After touch down and taxi, Anita was off before him, collecting her luggage at the carousel and waiting her turn in the customs line. While she waited, she casually spoke with the seatmate who’d followed her off the plane. A thin film of sweat covered Christian’s body. His heart pounded.