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Nation of Airports 01.04
As the party picked up Michael and Tammy discovered the deck, lit by tealight candles and a small earthenware chimney. Tahoe's sky had more stars than San Francisco's, the Big Dipper above them now, Cepheus hiding in the northwest behind Squaw Valley. Below him, cars went up and down Kingsbury Grade, high-beams before them like antennae.
Tammy took classes at the community college and worked part-time for Walt's current girlfriend, a sharp blonde realtor named Laurie. She returned from the cooler, handing Michael a bottle of water and her beer. Michael twisted off the bottle cap for her, a gallantry she liked. "So, that's three waters now. Do you not drink?"
"Gave it up a few years ago," Michael said. "Here in Tahoe, in fact."
"Did you have a problem?"
"Lifestyle thing," Michael said. "I'll have a glass of wine with a holiday meal, stuff like that." She lit a cigarette, her first since meeting him. "I don't smoke either," he added.
"Damn, and I'm two for two," she said. "Does it bother you?" He shook his head. "How do you know Walt?"
"We met the summer after my second year of business school. I was an intern at a fashion house in New York. Walt was installing a B2B network." Tammy looked at him blankly. "Anyway. We got into a friendly rivalry over a woman."
"A model?"
"An events coordinator for fashion shows," Michael said. "I never got to meet any models. Besides, models are --"
"-- high-maintenance?"
"I was going to say skinny," Michael said. "Seriously. Like clothes-hangers."
"You're one to talk. That's not my problem," Tammy added sourly. She was a little drunk.
"No," Michael said. "You look good." She smiled with sleepy eyes and brushed her hair away from her face. "Hey, let me see your ring." He took her hand.
"You like it?" Tammy asked. "I got it in San Francisco."
"Tibetan, right?" He turned her hand gently to read the band. Words were worked into the dense design, the script angled and fierce like insect legs. "Om Mani Peme Hung."
Tammy looked delighted. "Wow. Are you a Buddhist?" she asked breathlessly.
"I know a little about it."
"You recognized it." She laughed. "You know what it means?"
"It's the mantra of Cherenzi. It's a prayer for compassion in a world of suffering."
She frowned. "They told me it means, a diamond in a lotus flower."
"It means that too," Michael said. "It's like from a poem."
"And if you recite it seven times a day, Buddha will bless you?"
"That's right." Michael let go of her hand. "So, do you?"
"No." She hunched her head meekly. "I do say it sometimes though. Is that OK?"
"There's a story about that mantra," Michael said. "A teacher assigns two of his disciples to recite the mantra, one hundred million times each. The first disciple is diligent, a real grind. He recites it day and night, for years. The second disciple keeps putting it off. Finally, when he hears his colleague is almost finished, the lazy disciple climbs to the top of a hill and meditates. He imagines the whole world, all the beings in the world, filled by Cherenzi, the spirit of universal compassion -- and that everything, down to the smallest atom, vibrated with compassion, reciting the mantra along with him. In a moment he's done."
She shook her head. "What does that mean?"
"Maybe that intention is more powerful than simple action. It's not enough to say the mantra. You have to believe in it. It has to come from your heart."
"I like that." She smiled and stood straight. "I'm cold. You want to go in?"
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