Read Online S. by John Updike - Free Book Online Page A

Ann and Liz and Gloria too and Donna, if they’re around Wednesday, do the same and send it back—I’m not so far gone into prapatti and all that as not to miss a lot of the good things I’ve left behind. The ocean must be full of sails by now on the weekends, and the tulips up everywhere. I’ve missed the daffodils, the apple blossoms, and the hawthorns. Above all, Midge, I miss your friendship. The women here try to be nice and friendly but they tend, frankly, to be from different social circles from what you and I are used to. A lot of them of course are very young, for one thing—just teen-age runaways or dropouts still acting out their adolescent crises. The Arhat is what they’re doing instead of bulimia or drugs or turning tricks on Sunset Boulevard. They’re young but not very often glamorous—rather the opposite, dumpy in fact, though how they get fat on the diet of rice balls and artichoke paste they serve inthe mess hall I have no idea. I’ve lost seven pounds, myself. Then the ones that are older were hippies, many of them, fifteen years ago, or beach bums, and the drugs left some short circuits in their heads—little gaps they just smile through as if what they said made perfect sense. I’m not speaking of the psychotics and addicts, though we have a few of those too. But they don’t push themselves on you, they tend to stick to themselves and are rather shy. It’s the women of some quality and education who are so disappointing. They have this—I don’t want to be unkind, but—this Midwestern blandness, even when they come from the West Coast. There’s no history really where they’re from except old Spanish missions or Russian fishing settlements or Mickey Mouse back when he was Steamboat Willie—that’s as far back as the collective memory goes. They’ve been to college, a lot of them, and some have advanced degrees evidently, they’re not exactly dimwits, but really they don’t speak my language—everything has only one dimension for them, there’s no
double entendre
and the
double voir
that goes with it—it’s just impossible to have with them the kind of
silly
fun we used to have. There is one, I should say—from Iowa, of all unlikely areas—called Alinga, with
some
refinement and subtlety. That reminds me, a fascinating thing Alinga
did
tell me this morning about the
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end of tape
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    May 12, 1986
    Dear Ms. Grumbach:
    It filled me with limitless happiness to receive your precious letter and to hear of your perfect love. Selfless and loyal love such as you profess is one of the greatest weapons Manand Woman can have in their ceaseless struggle to escape the cruel cycles of karma and enter into everlasting moksha and sachchidananda. I accept your love, my dear pilgrim, and would welcome you at Ashram Arhat if certain technical requirements can be met.
    Millennia of yogic experience have determined that the individual spirit cannot return to the atman if encumbered by worldly possessions. I ask merely that for the duration of your life here under my protection and guidance—may it be eternal!—your financial savings be placed in the care of the vigilant and efficient custodians of our Treasury of Enlightenment. Their infallible wisdom and the irresistible success of our communal enterprise will ensure that your assets shall be returned to you greatly enhanced if you ever were, most regrettably, to decide to leave our company.
    Demand for places amid our limited facilities is such that we must ask a minimum deposit of ten thousand dollars (U.S.). In addition there are fees totalling eight hundred dollars monthly to cover a modest portion of the unavoidable expenses of your food, housing, health and accident insurance, lecture and darshan fees, and supervised meditation. Sannyasins are of course expected to practice worship in the form of constructive labor for twelve hours a day and either to bring with them sturdy boots, a sleeping bag, a sun hat, and appropriately colored garb