“You sound like a TV evangelist,” Jennifer replied.
“I’m not religious, I told you that. We don’t attend church, Todd or I. But I believe in God, and I believe that we’re all part of a plan, a system of life. Here, let me give you one example.” She leaned on the table excitedly, ticking off the references on her fingers as she talked.
“Two of our presidents who were assassinated knew they were going to be killed. Lincoln had a dream where he saw himself wrapped in funeral vestments. This was only a day or two before he was killed. And Kennedy told Jackie that if someone wanted to shoot him from a window with a rifle, then no one could stop him. But there is more than just that. Both of them died on Friday. They were both shot in the back of the head while sitting next to their wives. Both of the killers had three-part names—John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald. The two killers were born exactly one hundred years apart, and both were murdered before they came to trial.”
“Booth shot Lincoln in a theater and fled into a warehouse. Oswald shot Kennedy from a warehouse and ran into a theater. Kennedy had a secretary called Lincoln. Lincoln had one called Kennedy. Lincoln was in Ford’s Theater when he was shot. Kennedy was riding in a Lincoln, made by Ford. And both presidents were succeeded by southerners named Johnson.” Eileen sat back. “This isn’t just chance, Jennifer. There’s a plan. A divine plan. And I’m not alone in thinking that Lincoln and Kennedy were the same soul, reincarnated.”
For a moment they were both silent, tired from the long afternoon of talking. Jennifer could hear muffled traffic from the street, and the rattle of dishes and pans deep in the restaurant. It was past time to go back to the office. She glanced at her watch.
“I don’t believe in reincarnation,” Jennifer announced.
“I don’t see why not. All religions do, in one way or another. What’s life after death but reincarnation? All of nature is cyclical. The raindrop that falls from the sky into the ocean, first came from the ocean. It’s the same raindrop. It’s the same soul. We only come into existence once and are reborn throughout time. Our soul is the home of our good, our unselfish and noble aspirations. When we seek to aid the homeless, to stop suffering, to go to the aid of our neighbor, that is our soul at work.”
Jennifer thought of the man she had beaten to death. To stop herself from being overwhelmed with the image, she asked, “Well, where does this karma of yours come into it?”
“Karma is the law of consequences—of merit and demerit, as the Buddhists say. It is a sort of justice that is measured out to us—so much good, so much bad—in our next life in accordance with what we did in this lifetime. In a sense we’re condemned to pay for what we did in our past lives, to keep reliving our lives until all our bad karma has been replaced by good karma.”
“What happens then?”
“Then we gain what our souls came into life for in the first place: eternal peace and happiness. At least that’s what Kathy, or really, Habasha, tells us.”
Jennifer nodded. She knew just enough about occult teaching and the paranormal to follow Eileen’s argument, but what had suddenly happened to her behind the museum? Why there? Why then?
“I have to get back to the office,” she announced, too weary to continue.
“All right, but, Jennifer, I’m at home, you know, whenever you need to talk.” She smiled, and Jennifer marveled again at the peacefulness of Eileen’s face. Jennifer saw none of the tension that stared back at her each morning from her own bathroom mirror. Perhaps she should buy the whole bag of nonsense just for that look of contentment. It would be worth it, she thought fervently, to get a good night’s sleep.
“It’s snowing,” Eileen said with surprise when they stepped outside the restaurant. Jennifer walked with Eileen to where she had parked her car.
“I’m sorry you drove into town, Eileen. The expressway home will be a nightmare.”
“I never worry about things like that, not anymore,” Eileen answered. “Before I got connected with Kathy and Habasha, little things like driving in snow, making dinner for guests, meeting new people, why I’d go half out of my mind with worrying. Not now!” She shook her head, smiling confidently.
“How? How do you stop worrying, driving yourself crazy?” Jennifer stopped walking and turned to Eileen. “I want to know,” Jennifer insisted. She was tired of all the general talk of love, of getting in touch with one’s feelings, of meditating and using a quartz crystal for guidance and wisdom. She wanted answers and results. “Tell me how to live in this city without losing your humanity, and then I’ll believe in your African man.”
“It’s not that simple, Jennifer. I mean, you have to be receptive.”
“I’m receptive. Believe me, I’m receptive.”
“Try, Jennifer. Try. Open yourself up.” Eileen smiled and her eyes glistened from the cold. “Here!” she said, pulling a quartz crystal from her pocket. “Take this, carry it with you. The crystal will take care of you until you’ve had a chance to talk to Kathy or some other channeler. Just think about it, about having it in your pocket.” She leaned forward and kissed Jennifer lightly on the cheek. “Be caring,” she whispered, and then added, “Tiru no.”
“What?” Jennifer pulled away, frowning.
“It’s Habasha’s saying, meaning, it is good. You are good. We are good.” She waved good-bye and went into the entrance of the parking lot to pick up her car.
Jennifer kept walking east toward her office. It was snowing harder, and ahead of her the traffic stalled as cars tried to negotiate the wet city streets. Eileen would never get home, she thought guiltily.
She crossed the street, making her way between gridlocked cars, and reached into the pocket of her fur coat to feel the quartz. It was warm in her pocket, like a small heater, and having it with her did, for some odd reason, make her feel better. She wondered why.
Once in the building, Jennifer took the elevator to her floor, and went toward the ladies’ room. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a woman waiting at the elevator, and when she unlocked the bathroom door, the woman turned abruptly and followed after her. Jennifer stopped at the entrance, suddenly apprehensive. It was a small thin white woman that she had never seen in the building, but then she realized she could take care of herself and continued into the bathroom.
There was a black maintenance woman cleaning the toilets. Jennifer stepped to the sinks, set her purse on the ledge below the mirror, and began to apply fresh makeup. She only glanced at the heavyset woman when she came out of the stall. She moved slowly, with the roll of a big ship anchored in a harbor.
“Snowing out there, ma’am?” she asked.
“Yes, it is, I’m afraid,” Jennifer answered, as she applied her lipstick.
“Oh, I hates the snow. Nothing but trouble, winter.” She stuck her mop in the bucket of soapy water and came toward Jennifer. Her bulk, Jennifer realized at once, had blocked her in the corner.
“Okay, honey,” the black woman said softly, almost as if she were whispering to a child, “why don’t you just dump that purse out on the counter?” Her melodic voice sang sweetly in the silent room.
Jennifer stepped away from the mirror and backed up against the tile wall. Now she realized what was happening and was unable to speak, to even think of what she might do to escape. When the door of the first stall opened, she thought at once, Thank God, it was the other woman who had followed her from the elevator, but then Jennifer saw the thin woman’s eyes fix on her leather bag.