“Thank you, sweet Winsome. But big sisters should not snoop.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you. Paul and I have split.”
“Oh, I’m sorry”
“I’m not. I don’t think Paul ever meant to get a dissolution; he was stringing me. But—well, Bob isn’t married. Not yet.”
“‘Not yet.’ Planning on getting married, dear?”
“Well. . . I don’t think getting married is something one plans. It just happens. Like thunderstorms.”
“You could be right. Sweet, whether it’s getting married, or fun and happiness, I hope it’s perfect for you. And ‘Bob’ is such a common name that I can’t be tempted to guess. If I don’t see him.”
“You probably won’t. He comes up the service lift and into my rooms from the back corridor—nobody sees him but the guard on duty. And they don’t gossip.”
“If any guard ever gossips about anything in this house, and I find it out, he’ll be on Welfare so fast he’ll be dizzy. Winnie, the rest of the staff can be human about it. But a guard is in a specially trusted position and must keep his mouth shut. Winnie, if you ever want to see Bob—or anyone—somewhere else, I’ll have my mobile guards deliver you and pick you up, and even I won’t know where.”
“Uh.. . thank you. But this is the safest place for us—so few places are safe today. The most that can happen here is that Bob might be embarrassed. I wouldn’t be embarrassed at all, I’m proud of him!”
“That’s the way to feel, dear. As an ex-man I know that’s the attitude a man values most in a woman. ‘Proud of him.’ But let’s hurry; we’re keeping Jake waiting. If you’re going to wear pants, better find some with stretch in them. And thank you for lending me this outfit—turned out that, without the apron and cap, it was still most effective. I had the robe off a while. Tell you later.”
In moments the girls were hurrying down the corridor to the Green Suite, each just in a negligee and barefooted. At the last instant Winifred had decided that, if her mistress was going to practice meditation in the correct uniform, she would also.
They found the counselor in a bathrobe, looking sheepish. Joan said, “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting. Is your tub ready? If not, I’m willing to draw it before we start. Then into it and out, don’t risk falling asleep. Then—”
“I cheated. I took a quick tub—tepid, as you specified—and ate a little, too.”
“Good. Then we’ll pop you straight into bed after this and kiss you good-night and you’ll be asleep before we’re -out the door. Jake, this is the simplest of yoga, not exercise, just meditation. Controlled breathing, but the easiest sort. Inhale through one repetition of the prayer, hold it through one more. Exhale through one, hold through one, and repeat. All of us together, in a triangle. Can you sit in Lotus? Probably not unless you’ve practiced.”
“Eunice—”
“Yes, Jake?”
“My father was a tailor. I was sitting in tailor’s seat before I was eight. Will that do?”
“Certainly if you are comfortable. If not, any position that lets you relax. For you have to forget your body.”
“Squatted in a tailor’s position I can fall asleep. But what’s this prayer?”
Joan Eunice slipped off her negligee, melted down onto the rug into meditation pose, soles upward on her thighs, palms upward in her lap. “It goes like this. Om Mani Padme Hum.” (Om Math Padme Hum. I should have taught Jake this long ago.)
“I know the phrase. ‘The Jewel in the Lotus.’ But what does it mean to you, Joan Eunice?”
Winifred had followed Joan’s example as quickly as she set it, was bare and in Lotus—and not blushing. She answered, “It means everything and nothing, Mr. Salomon. It is all the good things you know of—bravery and beauty and gentleness and not wanting what you can’t have and being happy with what you do have and trees swaying in the wind and fat little babies gurgling when you tickle their feet and anything that makes life good. Love. It always means love. But you don’t think about it, you don’t think at all, you don’t even try not to think. You chant the prayer and just be—until you find yourself floating, all warm and good and relaxed.”