‘I try not to be judgmental, Chief Inspector.’
‘Not judgment, madame, discernment.’
‘CC de Poitiers was, I believe, in a lot of pain.’ Mother led them over to a gathering of pillows and indicated one. Gamache sat, more or less falling the last third of the way down. He only just stopped himself from tumbling over backwards. Beauvoir decided not to risk it. Besides, it was ridiculous and perhaps even insulting to offer a homicide investigator a pillow to sit on.
Mother lowered herself expertly, landing in the center of the crimson pillow like a paratrooper. Granted, she hadn’t all that far to fall.
‘A lost soul, I believe. Had she not been murdered and had she had the humility to ask I believe I could have helped her.’
Beauvoir thought maybe he was going to throw up.
‘She came here once, you know. I was heartened to see her, imagining she’d come to seek guidance. But I was wrong.’
‘What did she want?’
‘I have no idea.’ Now Mother looked genuinely puzzled. It was, Beauvoir thought, the first real thing about her. ‘I came in and she was standing over there, straightening the pictures.’ Mother indicated some framed photographs on the wall and a couple on what looked like a small shrine. ‘She had her fingers on everything in the room. Everything had been moved.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, kind of lined up. When the classes are over the students just toss the pillows into the corners, as you can see. I like it like that. It’s God’s will where the pillows land. I don’t like imposing myself too much.’
Another wave of nausea washed over Beauvoir.
‘But CC didn’t seem to be able to enter a room without touching and straightening everything. Very unevolved. No room for the spirit if you need to do that. All the cushions were neatly stacked and lined up with the wall, all the pictures in perfect alignment, everything just so.’
‘Why did she come here?’ Gamache asked.
‘I don’t really know. When she saw me she looked surprised, as though I’d caught her doing something wrong. After she left I looked around to see if anything was missing, she’d looked so guilty. She tried to cover it up by being aggressive. Very typical.’
‘Of what?’ Gamache asked.
The question seemed to stump Mother and Beauvoir wondered whether she wasn’t used to being questioned.
‘Well, of unhappy people, of course,’ she snipped after a moment. ‘I had the impression she was looking for something, and I don’t mean enlightenment. I think she was so deluded she actually thought she had that. But a less enlightened person would be hard to find.’
‘Very discerning of you,’ said Gamache. Mother looked closely for signs of sarcasm. ‘What makes you think she thought she was enlightened?’
‘Have you read her book? It’s smug and self-satisfied. She had no center, no real beliefs. She grabbed whatever philosophy floated by. A bit of this, a bit of that. She’d cobbled together a bumpy, pitted, muddy spiritual path. It reminded me of Frankenstein. She’d cannibalized all sorts of faiths and beliefs and came up with that Li Bien.’
The word ‘crap’ was implied.
‘She wasn’t balanced.’ Mother lifted her arms and spread them out in what looked like an embrace, the folds of her purple caftan dripping down so that she resembled something out of a Renaissance painting, by a not very good artist.
‘Tell me about Li Bien,’ Gamache said.
‘It has something to do with holding emotions inside. She seemed to think emotions were at the root of all our problems, so the trick was to not show them and best of all not feel them.’
‘And Li Bien itself, is that an ancient teaching, like Zen?’
‘Li Bien? Never heard of it. As far as I know, she made it up.’
Gamache, who’d read CC de Poitiers’s book, was interested to see that Mother, while strictly accurate, had left some crucial pieces out. Like the Li Bien ball. The basis of CC de Poitiers’s teachings and the one thing passed on to her from a long dead mother. She talked about it in some detail in the book and it had struck Gamache as the only part of her story that was actually meaningful to her. It was as though CC had indeed been given this gift from her mother and knew it to be precious, but didn’t know how or why. And so she’d manufactured an entire belief system around it.
She made the Li Bien ball into something holy. And now it was nowhere to be found. He’d had agents search her home in the Notre Dame de Grace quartier of Montreal. They’d come up with nothing, except a desire to leave its antiseptic atmosphere. Agents had again searched the old Hadley house, and found nothing.
Of course, it was possible he was wrong and the Li Bien ball never existed. Maybe Mother was right and she’d made that up too.
‘Wasn’t there something about light too?’ he asked, wondering what Mother would say to that.
‘Well, yes, but that was even more convoluted. She seemed to think anything light or white was spiritual and colors, like red or blue, were evil. She even went so far as to assign each color an emotion. Red was anger, blue was depression, yellow was cowardice or fear, something like that. I can’t remember, except that it was pretty weird. I don’t know if she believed it herself, but the message she was peddling was that the lighter and whiter you were the better.’
‘Was she a racist?’
Mother hesitated. It seemed to Gamache she was longing to paint CC in as bad a light as possible, and racist was pretty bad. But, to give her credit, she didn’t.
‘I don’t think so. I think she was talking about interior stuff. Emotions and feelings. Her idea was that if all our emotions are kept inside, and if they’re in alignment, then we’re balanced.’
‘What did she mean by alignment?’
‘You must remember science class? This is where CC was actually quite clever, and very dangerous in my opinion. She’d take something that had a bit of truth or fact and then stretch it beyond recognition. In science we learn that white is the presence of all colors. If you combine them all you get white, whereas black is the absence of color. So, according to CC, if emotions are colors and you’re emotional, angry, sad, jealous, whatever, then one color is dominant and you’re out of balance. The idea is to achieve white. All colors, all emotions, in alignment.’
All Beauvoir heard was blah, blah, blah. He’d long since stopped paying attention and was staring at a poster of India on the wall, trying to pretend he was standing on the barren mountain beside the man in the loincloth. Anything was better than this.
‘Was she right?’
Mother was taken aback by the simple question.
‘No, she wasn’t right. Her beliefs were ludicrous and insulting. She advised people to swallow their emotions. Her book, if followed by anyone, would lead to serious mental illness. She was nuts.’
Mother took a deep breath and tried to recover her own balance.
‘And yet,’ Gamache continued in a pleasant voice, ‘isn’t that what’s often taught in meditation? Not the absence of emotion, or swallowing them, but not allowing them to run the show? And isn’t one of the disciplines in meditation the chakras?’
‘Yes, that’s true, but that’s different. I myself teach the chakra method of meditation. I learned it from him.’ She pointed to the poster Beauvoir had entered. ‘In India. It’s a method for achieving balance, inside and out. There are seven centers in the body, from the top of your head to, well, your privates. Each has a color, and when they’re in alignment you’re balanced. If you’re interested, come to one of my classes. In fact, one’s about to start.’
She rocked herself out of the cushion and to her feet. Gamache also got up, but slightly less gracefully. She waddled toward the door, hurrying them out. Gamache stopped and looked more closely at the writing on the wall.