Chapter Eight - The Shop
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky. Serial Number 8. The Red Reticule.
BEFORE CHAPTER EIGHT
With nothing to attain those that are enlightened depend on the perfection of wisdom and then, their mind has no hindrance. The Heart Sutra
AH! YES! But what is this business called perfection of wisdom? In this chapter eight called “THE SHOP” is this old woman contemplating wisdom or not as she speaks to her dog, Loretta? Does she want to attain something, anything?
Notice the teaching from the Heart Sutra begins with nothing to attain…that is the mindful condition of the enlightened. It is a clear and constant bellwether.
AND…it is with THAT which we practice. Nothing to attain. When we seek to attain anything, suffering will follow. Mrs. Geesky seeks to attain a “good note.”
What attainment do you seek - and do you see the suffering that comes with that seeking?
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE SHOP
The inhabitants. In the past, a florist. Before then, a butcher. At present, an old, old woman.
The shop suffered from the same decay as the other shops that fronted a busy north street. The shop’s front window lined up on the corner at the end of a dreary line of rundown businesses that ran like an unlit tunnel between one city and the next. It faced a transient, unnamed group of lingerers and those hurried workers going from home to work.
Jane was against the idea right from the beginning, calling it hokum and warned Susan of the dangers of inviting strangers in to have a chat, especially in this part of town. Susan listened to Jane, not so much about her establishment being bunk or even the word of warning about strangers, but on how to revive an old shop that was in great need of love. Jane was more than willing to help share her style, but the restoration didn’t change Jane’s admonitions or fears. The best she could manage was to show her support with charming gifts that added a refined touch to the otherwise visible layers of coarseness and age. In plain language, the shop was run down.
It crouched against the sidewalk like an old man squatting which displayed a charming hardiness in old age for Susan. The long old brick frontage turned the corner and ran along the alley that marked the end of the line of other ventures; many vacant, some boarded up. The alley also separated shops from the darkish uncombed houses that shared the same unoccupied face. The neighborhood was an outward show, a remaining veneer of better times; an old public image consigned from the past.
A small lot in the rear of the building was cluttered with pock-marked telephone poles that leaned on an unsteady angle crisscrossing the space above with drooping black wires. Several large fatigue-green dumpsters pressed up against the scarred posts making the lot difficult to maneuver. The windowless backdoor at the end of the inside hallway opened onto two tight parking spots belonging to the shop.
“I am an old story.” Susan admitted in all seriousness as if she were telling herself for the first time. With her head stuck out into the hall she looked toward the backdoor wanting to update the woman who slammed it. She glanced down at the black head that poked out into the hallway between her thigh and the door jamb.
“Loretta, Jane did me no favor telling me to put the word doctor on the front window, did she? Two shiny black eyes looked up nudging Susan sideways with a long push from her snout. Susan knew what Loretta wanted. “Ok. Ok, you,” she said with affection as she knelt on one knee pulling the dog’s big black head against her cheek. “You silly girl. You are such a good girl.” The fault with Susan, if there was one, was her weakness for a soft touch.
Her method was to listen and then to tell a story---- something that was applicable (hot iron) to what was being said with the hopes of making sense of it. It was all in service to her way of life, which was based on everything being workable, especially if held up to the light in a conversation. Up until this morning Susan was nimble, often masterful in her ability to untwist what her visitor might be troubled by. She admitted to herself that the manner of Mrs. Geesky’s conversation was at the very least vehement, even pernicious.
‘She spewed out.’ Susan rested on this harmless wrap-up of their conversation, recognizing any story she might tell would result in a dispute. She dismissed any thought of Leda and the Swan and did not see another story come to mind.
Loretta, patient with Susan’s drifting away stood still against her as Susan pulled herself upright, which at present felt like a small triumph. “You know I am an old story.” She laughed and thanked the dog for her submission as she acknowledged her descent into her heritage of human decline. She leaned one old hand against the open-door frame, delighted to be able to get up with Loretta’s help. Susan looked one more time at Loretta. “All good, girl. All good.”
Susan gathered up her light blue rain jacket and a short pop-up umbrella from her office closet and walked out into the front waiting room. “Come on, Loretta.” She called the dog who held back to sniff the couch where Mrs. Geesky had sat.
“It is to be expected.” Susan confirmed to herself aloud as she often did while she checked the lights and secured the front room. “Come on, girl.” She called the dog. She looked up through the words on the front window, “It is about to rain, Loretta.” She said with little doubt to the dog that was intent on smelling the couch. “We confuse one another, don’t we?” Susan sorted it out aloud.
“Our perceptions are limited. We are all blindfolded in one way or another. But we need to talk with one another.” Susan stopped and considered her own thoughts. Then added aloud to her companion, “Loretta, we don’t know how to talk to one another without a fight. I have just one question for you girl. Have we gone to hell in a handbasket?”
No one answered.
“Loretta!” she called back towards the hallway. “Come on Loretta.” Loretta whined as she looked at Susan who continued to talk to her as if she understood.
“This is a seedy part of town Loretta. Jane thinks its hokum, but we need to talk with one another.” Loretta ambled out to her side while Susan patted both sides of her jacket for her keys.
“Better hope I have them or we’ll be spending more time here than we’d like. Do you miss Samuel? He had a story to tell. And told it.”
She looked out again. The blue sky and sun were behind a flinty cover of clouds. “Here they are.” She jangled the keys over Loretta’s head bringing on a twirl from Loretta towards the back door.
She snapped her jacket up and lowered the metal grates down over the front window. Before the gravelly mechanism plunged against the narrow sill, she stood in the darkened room appreciating very much the rough bare beams above. She looked down at Loretta whose head rubbed against her thigh.
“We’ll work it out….one way or the other.” Susan looked again at the dog’s dark eyes about to speak when she was interrupted by the sound of cars honking out on the street.
*****
Mrs. Geesky, clutching the steering wheel, screamed as she glanced up and down the north street. “Don’t tell her anything else! Get the good note!” Blinded on both sides by the sudden downpour she rammed out into the flow of traffic on the main street in a near miss of another car taking no notice of the frantic honking behind her as she rushed through the yellow light.
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