Lotus Read online

  Lotus

  A Novel

  C. K. DURHAM

  Copyright © 2022 by Cat Wollrab.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either a work of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Publishing Services provided by Paper Raven Books LLC

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2022

  Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9859477-1-7

  Hardback ISBN: 979-8-9859477-2-4

  Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9859477-3-1

  For my brother Bob who stayed for a time in a cave in Laos during the Vietnam War.

  And, of course, for the glorious spiritual teachers who point out the way with exceptional compassion and love.

  Know all things to be like this:

  A mirage, a cloud castle,

  A dream, an apparition,

  Without essence, but with qualities that can be seen.

  Know all things to be like this:

  As the moon in a bright sky

  In some clear lake reflected,

  Though to that lake the moon has never moved.

  Know all things to be like this:

  As an echo that derives

  From music, sounds, and weeping,

  Yet in that echo is no melody.

  Know all things to be like this:

  As a magician makes illusions

  Of horses, oxen, carts and other things

  Nothing is as it appears

  —Gautama Buddha

  PART I

  Prologue

  1977

  El Salvador

  Her eyes fluttered and then flared open wide. The girl shivered, damp with sweat on the bamboo mat, both knees pulled up to her chest despite the stuffiness and overwhelming humidity of the second-floor room. Quickly, she rolled onto her back, her long legs extending now past the limit of the mat. A single sheet, grey and dirty, lay crumpled on the side. It was a still, windless night—not even the cicadas chirped. The girl was thin, but her silhouette, barely visible in the shadows beyond the starlight filtering through the window, emphasized the soft flow of her shoulder and slender, high-arched feet.

  Off in the distance, a dog barked, followed by a series of sharp yelps closer by. Suddenly, the night was a cacophony of barking and howling. The distinctive rumble of a large motorcycle could be heard fast approaching. The girl bolted up and quickly switched on a lone light bulb that dangled from the ceiling on a single cord. She stood half naked, trembling, and her eyes darted, furtive. The room was bare, except for the mat and her clothes thrown in a heap. She bent to collect the blouse and skirt and quickly slipped them on.

  There was no knock below, just the front door thrown open wide.

  “¿Dónde está la chica, José?”

  Voices wafted up through the plankboard of the flooring. The low one belonged to José, a large man whose belly overlapped low-riding pants by more than a few inches. He wore a tight T-shirt yellowed from rings of dark sweat under the armpits. The pungency of his strong body odor permeated the house. Most mornings, José, slow to awaken, stumbled into the kitchen to grab a can of leftover warm beer while lighting the stub of an unfiltered cigarette. His lips smiled—one front tooth chipped, the other missing—but his eyes were dull.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, the girl climbed up and into the open window. She grasped the frame and then lowered her body outside. Carefully, she walked her feet down the stucco wall and hung from the windowsill. She closed her eyes and let go, dropping the remaining two meters. Her shoulder hit the ground first hard. Slowly, she rose and wiped a thin layer of dirt from her body before bolting into the camouflaging forest, bending to avoid low-lying branches, bushes, and deep foliage. She glanced back without slowing her pace and then broke into a fast run, her stride reminiscent of the bounding leaps of a jaguar.

  “I’ll only say this one more time. Where’s the girl?”

  The intruder narrowed his eyes and moved from the doorway fully into the room, deliberately knocking a pack of cigarettes and a half-full can of beer off a shelf to his right. Warm beer trickled onto the floor.

  The two men circled, vultures vying for roadkill, each anticipating a moment’s hesitation in the other.

  The girl took care to stay behind trees, out of sight, without slowing her pace. She covered several kilometers by the time the door to the upstairs room flew open and both men, in tandem, registered the open window and recently vacated space. José spat, squeezed his hand into a fist, and slammed it against the drywall.

  The intruder’s plain features revealed nothing. He would be indistinguishable in a crowd, except for a two-toned dragon tattoo that spiraled up and around his upper-left bicep.

  “Looks like I won’t be needing you after all. Hand over the cash.”

  The tattooed arm shot forward, its fingers reaching deep into José’s upper-right pocket.

  A few moments later, the front door banged against the building before slamming shut.

  Chapter One

  1960

  El Salvador

  It was the same dream. Quiet whisperings that haunted into the morning easily, as if another world claimed her too. Her hands and feet were bound, entangled in a thick web of vine, and all attempts to break loose only exhausted her. The creeping weeds grew thicker, tighter, and reduced her movement to the pulsation of blood and the rapid blink of an eye. Particles of pungent earth clogged her nostrils and choked her throat, making it hard to breathe. Her heart thumped, ricocheting inside her chest.

  Abruptly, the scene shifted. She was now enclosed on all four sides. Above, a dark wooden ceiling; below, two-inch thick oak flooring supported her weight. But there was room now to move her hands and feet, and her airways were clear. She drew in a full breath.

  Rays of light flickered through a tiny crack. Suddenly, the ceiling flew off the enclosure followed by the front, back, left and right walls. She clung to the wooden flooring that floated in a vast empty space. If she let go, she feared a plunge into an inky abyss. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden floor. She had been here many times before. This time, slowly, reluctantly, she peeled her fingers open one by one until only her thumb and forefinger clutched the wooden plank. With a sharp exhale, she released.

  Awareness expanded to merge with undefined dimension and immensely open possibility. Solid forms arose from the void to populate the emptiness like endless stars fading in and out. A lone bumblebee crawled across the surface of a sunflower, fractals and geometric patterns spiraling. The insect sensed for the perfect location to extract nectar in a symbiotic relationship inherent within the whole of creation. The sweet smell of dew and a crystalline sharpness filled the air.

  Images streamed in chromatic intensity, one after the other. Dozens of hummingbirds hovered in midair like tiny Christmas ornaments reflecting spectral light. A lake appeared, and clouds echoed on the mirrored surface. Dragonflies skated across the calm water.

  The girl advanced across a meadow toward the turquoise lake where a white elephant frolicked, showering herself in a bubbly spray. The girl held out her hand as if she might reach across the meadow and touch the elephant’s trunk. In a blink, the elephant morphed, minuscule now, no taller than her index finger, all four of its feet firmly planted in the center of her palm, its pale eyelashes curling in an arc. She lifted her
hand to see. There was a pure gold anklet with a tiny mermaid charm on one of the elephant’s hind feet. The elephant raised its little trunk and probed the girl’s eyes, nose, and chin and blew its warm breath into her ear. She giggled. The elephant’s skin was rough and prickly and made the hair on her arm rise, like dough.

  Once again, the scene shifted abruptly. She found herself towering four meters above the earth, sitting precariously on the pachyderm’s skin, directly behind its large ears, which securely pinned her legs. Every so often, the elephant opened its ears, and the girl quickly laid her head down, tightening her arms on its neck. It moved toward the water, eased into it, and then began to swim. Beyond the lake towered a pagoda with a golden roof and stones of turquoise, red, and black. The air was suffused with jasmine while light bells tinkled in the crisp mountain air. The girl and the elephant were both intent on swimming to the other side. Superimposed, the rounded eyes of a jaguar watched, his whiskers vibrating with the elephant’s strokes.

  The dog leaped from the floor onto the girl’s bed, whimpering and licking her ears. Isabela opened her left eye. The dog bit the bedcover, playing tug-of-war with the sheet. The young woman wrapped her arms around the bundle of fur and began to massage his neck.

  “Shh, shh …”

  Isabela closed her eyes, sinking back into the fading images of the lake, suppressing the all-too-familiar angst that threatened to disturb her morning. She never called for her mother, not even as a young child. She didn’t have the words and somehow intuited her mother would have no jurisdiction there. “Arf!” The dog’s bottom raised high above its head, its tail whipping left and right like windshield wipers on high speed.

  “Bueno, Cesaro. Listo, listo.”

  She threw back the covers and stepped onto the cool tile flooring.

  Several large decks of the spacious stone residence nestled up against the side of a green hilltop, appearing to merge with an abundant rainforest. West-facing bay windows afforded a panoramic vista of the Lempa River, winding through El Salvador to empty into the Pacific Ocean. Isabela sipped black tea with two spoons of sugar and took small bites of dark marmalade toast on the hacienda’s wide veranda. The flowers of two large maquilishuat trees formed a natural canopy of tufted pink over the deck.

  Isabela loved to awaken early and sit quietly to sketch the wild species of birds visiting the trees closest to her home. There were heavy-billed toucans, flocks of parakeets, and, most recently, a pair of vibrant green quetzals who worked tirelessly to excavate a nest in the bark of a rotting tree trunk. Every so often, the male, with a ruby abdomen and a long twin tail, poked his head out to purvey the latitude of the morning. The young woman was enchanted with its magnificence. The ancient Mayans believed the bird was a symbol of peace and light.

  Isabela was slender and, at five foot six, already an impressive height for a Salvadoran woman, appeared taller due to her erect posture and relaxed shoulders, which seemed to extend her neck. Her dark hair shone, reflecting health and vitality, and fell easily down her back in soft waves.

  Ivanna Marquez sat across the table from her daughter, reading the morning paper and drinking black coffee. She took a final sip from her cup and stood, folding the paper to place it securely under her arm.

  “Isabela, don’t forget your father is coming home this afternoon. I have organized a special dinner to welcome him back. The Chavezes are invited.”

  “Mama, remember, today is Thursday. I am at the university until eight.”

  “Tomás will be here. Try not to be too late.”

  Isabela smiled, rose, and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  “I’ll be back by nine. Don’t worry. Tell Papa I can’t wait to see him.”

  The moon rose, full and high in the night sky, softly illuminating the path as if on a dark cloudy day. The din of the cicadas, along with the roar of cascading waters, descended twenty feet to crash on the craggy rocks below and drowned out casual conversation. Isabela wondered once again why she acquiesced so easily. Dinner was always a long affair when the Chavezes visited. After a full day of classes, she was tired and searched for the perfect moment to excuse herself and escape to the glorious solitude of her room. However, her mother played her hand casually, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

  “Why don’t you take Tomás down by the river? It’s a beautiful night. Leave us viejos with our coffee and brandy.”

  Tomás extended a hand and drew Isabela to his side, helping her across the small creek. A felled tree trunk made the perfect bench, and they sat silent, apart, listening to the roar of the waterfall, its mist light and refreshing.

  The Marquez and Chavez ranches bordered one another like giant pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Tomás and Isabela had played together as young children, but as they matured, their interests diverged. Isabela, a shy and quiet girl, was drawn into the magical world of story and the arts. Tomás, loud and boisterous, displayed an avid, reckless jocularity early on. At the age of twelve, he was rescued from the jaws of an immense crocodile. He had jumped into infested waters on a dare. His friends screamed and waved their hands frantically while the reptile surfaced its head to leisurely yet swiftly navigate the river to encroach on the other side within the blink of an eye. They dragged him out just in time, before the beady-eyed reptile lurched forward to attack the boy.

  Tomás was of medium height and stocky build, his arm muscles clearly defined. He had soft brown eyes with thick black lashes. A small scar ran across his forehead from an accident when he was four years old. He had run full speed through a glass door that he thought was open. His mother rushed him to the hospital, where he received seven stitches. Although faint, the scar remained.

  In her early teenage years, Isabela had withdrawn into the poetry of Octavio Paz and Pablo Neruda, later expanding to include authors from faraway places: Tolstoy, Austen, and Brontë, their characters so captivating that actual friendships often paled by comparison. Later, she began to dabble in watercolors, painting vistas of the rainforest and some of the wildlife that populated it. Paintings in varying stages of completion were haphazardly tacked to her wall or simply strewn across her work table. She often lost time, reverent to the curve of a toucan’s beak or the quiet echo of branches whispering in the wind.

  Tomás couldn’t be sure when the girl next door began to intrude on his thoughts. Maybe it was the faint smell of jasmine that always seemed to accompany her or the way she moved so gently and unobtrusively. It was no coincidence that he offered to take on more responsibilities for his father, which just so happened to include frequent visits to the ranch that zigzagged along the border of his family’s property.

  Isabela was mesmerized by the exquisite night. Crickets dinned, accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl. She felt comfortable and content, listening to the evening’s chorus, when suddenly Tomás spoke. “There’s room here. Sit closer to me.”

  He edged nearer as Isabela slowly turned to look at him. He laid his arm on her shoulder and bent to bring his lips to hers. Instinctively, she leaned back, but his forward momentum easily eclipsed her move. His lips were warm and tasted of salt, coffee, and brandy. Stray wisps of her hair caught between their lips. His left hand, lightly resting on her back, began to move, silently exploring, navigating the side of her ribs. She let his hand stray, intrigued with the sensation, but then abruptly sat up, definitively moving a few inches back. She smoothed hair from her face and looked down at her feet.

  “Tomás?”

  “You can’t say you haven’t noticed. I don’t come to your house every day just to work with your father.”

  “We’ve always known each other. You are a brother to me.”

  He leaned in, kissing her again. This time, his tongue parted her lips and probed her teeth, tongue, and the inside of her mouth.

  “Isabela, you are so beautiful. I want you to be my wife. Will you?”

  “Tomás, wh
at are you saying?”

  “Isabela, I asked if you would be my wife?” His hand lay on her forearm, his fingers slowly tightening.

  “Tomás, you have caught me completely off guard. I haven’t considered marriage yet. We are both young. I know you will be the most wonderful husband to whomever you choose. I am touched by your offer. Please give me time to consider.”

  A golden, syrupy liquid swirled in the deep crystal goblet, forming tiny eddies that emitted a strong aroma of orange and anise. A mahogany pipe carved with small Arabic writing hung from Pablo Marquez’s bottom lip, the tobacco pressed tightly into the bowl. He took small puffs, igniting embers to a soft burning red. He was a quiet man who genuinely listened with interest, his attention wholly with the speaker, contemplating the words spoken without undue commentary. It wasn’t that he always agreed, but most visitors left with a feeling that their case had been heard without judgment. When moved to anger, Pablo simply stood up and walked away.

  “Tomás has been visiting us quite a lot these days.” He sucked on the pipe until embers glowed bright red.

  “Oh, mi amor … I wondered when you would notice.” Ivanna Marquez looked up, a triumphant smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she spoke. “I am dying to hear your thoughts.” She paused imperceptibly. “Imagine, our beautiful daughter could live right next door. We wouldn’t lose her at all. Our families would share everything. The babies can grow up right here! It’s absolutely perfect.” Ivanna Marquez’s cheeks flushed as her voice rose to a light crescendo.

  Pablo drew on his pipe as he quietly observed his wife. “Do you think they are compatible? She’s an artist, our girl.”

  “Tomás is very handsome, don’t you agree? Our daughter has several sketches of him on her wall. She may appear to be absorbed in the arts, but she is a young woman now. I’ve watched her. She lights up when he’s here.”