Lao Tsu, part 2

Part 1

(Part 2 of 3)

I wanted to ask him a hundred questions all at once, but I was able to keep them to one or two at a time. “Well who is he?”

Derek answered, "He told me to call him 'Lao Tsu' ".

“Chinese?”

“No, he's white.

“Why Lao Tsu?”

“I don't know; he would always answer my questions sensibly and honestly unless they were about him in any way. Who he was. Why he visited me. Whether he visited anyone else . . . I never figured any of those things out. Even though in time I came to look forward to his visits and appreciate them, I was always a little frustrated. Why does he get to know everything about me but I don't even know his real name? Sometimes I even see him spying on me. While I was walking home from school, while I was on a date, while I was grocery shopping. Once he looked in the window while I was watching TV.”

“Well did you ever confront him about it?” I asked.

“Yeah, but it didn't matter. One time I thought I would chase him down, but as I ran toward him he didn't budge. He just kept writing in his little notebook and casually said “Hi Derek” without even looking up. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was following me, watching me so he could plan our next session. From then on, he seemed less concerned with remaining hidden whenever he spied again.”

“This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!” I said, but then, noticing Derek's expression, I rephrased. “No, I believe you of course, but it is just so strange.”

“But anyway, he has helped me immensely. I can trace most of my best decisions, my achievements, my optimism, and my insight right back to our sessions, as he calls them.”

“Tell me more about him.” I said. “What does he look like?”

“Well his face is hard to see. He has a beard that started to go gray while I was in sixth grade. He wears dark sungless, and has never been without them, so I have no idea what color his eyes are. And he always wears a fedora. He's about as tall as you or me, a bit heavier. I asked him to take off his glasses once, but he wouldn't.”

We played another two holes in silence, until I was ready to say what I had been thinking. “The whole thing just seems kind of creepy. I know you said that he has helped you a lot, and that you owe a lot to him, but don't you think it's a little creepy?”

Derek seemed annoyed. “Not really. He's like a father to me. I trust him. He has only ever helped me, and has never asked for anything in return except my attention, trust, and discretion . . . discretion that I betrayed today.”

I apologized, told him I wouldn't tell anyone what he had told me, and changed the subject. The rest of the game was pleasant, and we went home. But Derek called at about nine o'clock, and told me he wanted to talk some more. When he arrived he seemed more disturbed than I had ever seen before.

Derek looked out my windows before drawing the blinds. “I thought about what we talked about earlier today, and what you said. I mean, I do trust Lao Tsu and everything, and most of the good decisions I have made – and even who I am – I owe to him. But why won't he tell me who he is? What could his motivation possibly be for our sessions? It's a simple question: What is it about our sessions that makes it worth his while? Of course I've always wondered this before, but after we spoke today, and we were finishing up our game . . . I saw him standing in the forest on the last hole. It's nothing new, him spying on me. But this time I had chills and I couldn't ignore the fact that he was there like I normally can. I was afraid to tell you, to point him out in case you would look over at him and he would know I had told you. The rest of the day I have been thinking about it. I have tried some of the meditation techniques that Lao Tsu taught me, but each one just reminds me of the time he taught them to me. I replay the memory and instead of seeing him as a guru or guide, I seem him as some kind of con-man, and the meditation just one of his tools that will help him use me for some evil purpose.”

Derek was getting more and more anxious. I could see that talking about it was only stressing him out more. “Alright! I said. Calm down. We'll figure this out. What do you want to drink?”

Derek nodded and let his breath out, and made a visible effort to breathe more slowly. “Do you have ginger ale?”

“No.”

“Anything then.”

It was raining now, and I heard the wind start up again outside. We discussed all options, from doing nothing, to hiring a private investigator, to refusing any further contact with Lao Tsu until he answered our questions, to drugging him, tying him up in the basement, and interrogating him.

“Shhh!”, said Derek. He was listening to something. I noticed that the wind was blowing loudly now, to the point of howling. A moment later, it died down.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shit!!” whispered Derek. A few long seconds passed, and someone was knocking on the door.

Neither of us moved. I whispered, “I better answer it.”

“No! It's him! That's the sound I always hear before he comes!”

“You said he never comes when there are other people around. You're just on edge. I'm going to answer it.”

“No!” said Derek, straining his whisper. He was too paralyzed with fear to physically try and stop me.

I switched on the porch light and took a deep breath. I was sure that it wasn't Lao Tsu, but Derek's paranoia had made me uneasy. I turned the doorknob, and before I could change my mind, pulled the door open.

Part 3 to be posted on 3/19/2008

Lao Tsu, part 1

(PART 1 OF 3)

He was one of those people who could turn anything he touched into gold. Derek would be heard saying something like: “lately I have wanted to try sculpting”. A couple of weeks later he would have several new pieces of sculpture in his house, and they could rival the work of someone who had devoted a lifetime to the art. For this reason, I often resented him because of my own insecurities, and yet I was careful to maintain our friendship, thinking that maybe somehow his genius would rub off on me. Or, at the very least, when Derek was discovered by the rest of the world, I would be mentioned in the footnotes of his biographies and encyclopedia articles. And in the end, he was simultaneously very likable and pleasant. Over the years since we had become neighbors, we became good friends.

His latest project was beekeeping. Not something that a person usually gets famous for, but Derek rarely seemed concerned about that. He would get so absorbed in each new hobby and would talk of nothing else until he perfected it. It was intoxicating to him, and to a lesser extent to those around him. It was all very interesting to us, and profoundly irritating at times. I never thought I would be jealous of another person's beekeeping abilities, but when he talked about it he had the enthusiasm of a child. I'm sure that was what I envied most. Not just his intense focus, but the joy each new challenge (if they could be called challenges in his case) brought to him.

One Saturday we were golfing. Golfing is one of the few things that I find tolerable to do with him, but just barely. I am a better player, but he is good enough to make the game interesting and occasionally beat me. I have been golfing once a week for the last fifteen years. When I mentioned I was a golfer, he had asked me all sorts of questions about golf, saying he had never tried it and that it looked like fun. He went out and bought his clubs that same day. Derek has only ever golfed with me, which makes a total of about fifteen games. He has won four of them. On this particular day, though, I was in a good mood, probably because I developed a comfortable lead early on in the game. This didn't seem to bother Derek, though. He was not competitive with anyone but himself. I always thought he would play no differently if I weren't there at all. The only time he would get upset is if he performed significantly worse than his average.

It was on this windy day in April that I finally asked Derek what I had wanted to almost since the first day I had met him. I approached it cautiously.

“You've really taken to golfing, haven't you?”

“Well. It is a lot of fun. I see why you you like it.” was his modest reply, true to form. But I wasn't about to let that pass for anything.

“That's not what I mean. Lots of people like golf. In fact, see those people over on the next hole? They're friends of my parents. They love golf. Their family has golfed here for generations. But on one of your good days, you could beat all of them. And this is your fifteenth or sixteenth game, isn't it? Do you understand what I'm getting at?” By now, my voice was raised a little with excitement

Derek was silent. I had made him uncomfortable. I would have expected him to be used to people asking about this, and in so doing, letting some of their jealousy show through. He mumbled something about not knowing, eyes at the ground on my golf ball that we had walked to by now. I felt bad for bringing it up and hoped that this would not affect our friendship. We didn't talk much for the next few holes.

After some time I brought up his bees. Derek didn't reply at first, and when he did it was to my earlier question.

“I'm sorry.” He said. “I—I know I have a knack for things. I know it annoys the hell out of people. I don't mean it to, but it has ruined several of my friendships, and at least one girl has left me over it. I've tried giving up my hobbies, or acting dumber than I am, but it never works. Man, I sound like such an asshole right now, I know. I don't try to be but . . . well . . . I've had some opportunities that others haven't had.”

Derek's parents had died when he was almost too young too remember. He had been raised by his uncle and aunt who were well enough off, but so were my parents. Clearly there was something more going on than opportunity. Genes, maybe? Derek could tell by my expression that I had no idea what opportunities he could be referring to.

“Like Teachers. I've had some good teachers and uh, friends too.”

“Like who?” I asked.

Derek got quiet for a moment and looked at the ground. Then he took a deep breath and continued.

“Sure, I've had some good teachers and friends I guess, but there's one in particular, who is not really a typical friend or teacher or anything else. I have never told anyone this before, but there's a man who comes to visit me sometimes. He started coming when I was very young. It was right after I lost my parents. Maybe I had only just turned three? Sometimes when I was by myself I would hear wind that would rustle and get louder and louder until it was almost howling. Then I would hear footsteps, and suddenly he would be there, walking into my room or around the corner of my house while I played in the back yard.”

I stared with a worried expression, but Derek continued.

“At first I didn't like him. He would interrupt my playing to make me memorize something, or practice something, or meditate, or do some other task that he said would benefit me later in life. Other times he would just come and have me tell him all about my week or month, like what I've been up to and how I've been feeling. Sometimes it drove me crazy, but I have come to usually look forward to it. It slowly turned from work into the most meaningful things I do. Whenever I don't see him for more than a week, I worry...”

As strange and absorbing as Derek's explanation had been so far, the tense he had been using struck me as odd and I interrupted him “You mean he still visits?”

“Yes. I saw him last week.”

Part 2

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