Chapter Nine - Condemnation in Close Proximity
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky Number 9. The Red Reticule.
BEFORE CHAPTER NINE
Ignorance of our true nature comes in countless forms. Daily life challenges us to pay attention to all the work that shows up in the moment. WHY? To actualize the Way-Seeking mind.
We need to practice taking just the next step in the moment. And we do this without the baggage of form, feelings, perceptions, impulses and ego-consciousness.
In other words, we practice without believing the delusion of the five heaps. Just this is a mantra that helps us practice awareness. Just this. Just this. Just this.
This sounds simple. To practice awareness of every step in the next moment requires a commitment of attention that is not rooted in “self-centeredness.”
When we understand the Heart Sutra we may have a realization of emptiness as a dropping our self-centeredness altogether. This realization requires practice. A practice of recognizing that all the heaps are empty of permanence. NO form. NO feelings, NO perceptions. NO impulses. NO ego-consciousness.
No thing lasts. Our body and mind are things.
If we are fooled into believing we are a “somebody” or “something,” we are subject to all the suffering of the encounters in our life.
Suffering is rooted in our desires, our grasping and our delusions that come from our beliefs about the body and the mind.
Are all the characters in this section suffering from delusion? Are you?
CHAPTER NINE - CONDEMNATION IN CLOSE PROXIMITY
“Please stay still. That’s the good boy! That’s right. Hold it. Hold it.” Click. Click. Click. Click. John Baines held the heavy zoomed lens toward the tired birthday boy’s face as the boy was about to blow out the six tiny candles on his enormous ice cream cake.
Left alone on his own merit of making a decision John Baines often took the slippery slope towards some calamity especially when he felt happy. This morning, after a morning of a photo shoot of excited, loud five-year olds, John Baines came as close to feeling happy as was possible for him.
It was all about the image. The image of life for John was more intimate than the thing itself. He was a man who paid little attention to the bigger picture when it came to other human beings. He focused more on the close-ups of grains of color and shapes captured in a photograph. This fondness for the miniscule was all the more present after a morning of taking snapshots. His wife and decision-maker Angela, a diminutive woman in physique was not at home the morning John returned from his photo shoot.
When Mr. Baines returned home from his freelance gig, he in an automatic way did his best to remain as invisible as he was behind the eye of his camera. Mrs. Baines knew her husband’s tendency to disappear into the insignificant. She often left him instructions as she did this morning. ‘Oh, yes,’ John remembered, ‘Angel is meeting Julie Berker for a late lunch to plan a neighborhood meeting.’ This meant nothing to John except that he knew he would need to follow his wife’s instructions, which she left in the usual place, in the notepad on top of the long kitchen island. There was only one task for John this morning printed and underlined in small even letters. ‘Pay Irina.’
The cleaning lady, Irina, was just finishing up in the kitchen as John slipped past her through the side back door. Before Irina knew he was home he had managed to lug and drag his tripod and camera equipment into what was known as his room. Undisclosed, which worked best for John, he mulled over his numerous shots from the morning shoot. It was, for John, a furtive enjoyment for he remained his number one admirer. John never once thought his work was puerile and Angela was more than kind about her reviews of his work since she knew he would never delete even one of what she, if truth be told, thought were trivial pictures.
Being in his room, alone with his equipment scanning through hundreds of shots was always a passionate moment for John Baines. Although she never said to John, Angela knew he’d never lose his childlike hope that he would someday be discovered, a discovery that would bring him not only praise but awards.
It wasn’t until he heard someone in the nearby kitchen that John recalled his wife’s directive. ‘Pay Irina.’ Reluctant, John dithered over a few last shots and then wandered into the kitchen to find Irina. When he came around to the door of the kitchen, he found Irina down on one knee wiping off the front of the glass doors underneath the select kitchen station. It was the centerpiece of the kitchen with its long, shiny black surface and matching leather chairs. Unexpectedly Irina stood up squeezing her cleaning rag in her hands while she greeted Mr. Baines.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Baines.” Irina asked fidgeting with one hand in the large envelope-shaped pocket on her chintz apron.
“Oh. No. No. Irina. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Everything is ok.” Together with his bland delivery and Irina’s struggle with English, she answered.
“I hope so Mr. Baines. Perhaps you need to check before I go? Was there something special you wanted me to do?”
“Oh. No. Nothing special.” Mr. Baines turned to go back into his work room when Irina spoke with deference.
“Excuse me, Mr. Baines. I took delivery.”
Mr. Baines turned back and stared with his grey blue fisheyes.
“I took delivery.” Irina repeatedly pointed towards the double sink across the kitchen. “I put it there.” She pointed and although John looked towards the sink, she could see he didn’t see what she had put there. Putting down her cleaning rag she walked towards the sink and picked up a large, boxed vase of flowers wrapped in light pink, floral paper. “This.” she said. “This I took delivery!” Irina smiled at John assuming he had ordered it for his wife. Unimpressed, John asked. “Who is it to?” Irina looked at his featureless expression and in her dutiful position searched the box.
“It’s a little envelope. Do you want me to open it?”
Languid from being interrupted from his treasure hunt John in a slow flat gait padded over and opened the card. After reading it he put the card back into the envelope and sank it back into the wrapping paper. Without another word Irina watched him as he picked up the box. In a silent mechanical manner, Mr. Baines left through the side door and headed across the street with the unbalanced package out in front of him as if it smelled bad.
There were no warning signs for the uninformed but to ring this doorbell was a dangerous act to which John was unaware. Once he reached the front door, he drew close enough with the unsteady box in his hands to press one finger into the rectangular buzzer. The sound was abrupt and swift with one sound rising and the other falling…. click-click. John remained dull and blasé as he jiggled the weight of the box from one hand to another. The only other weight he bore was his wish to return to his work room which led to a series of checks back and forth at his house.
“What do you want?” The voice questioned from behind the closed door.
Being hard of hearing John wasn’t sure he had heard a voice. It wasn’t until he heard it again that he responded.
“What do you want?”
Indifferent John asked back.
“What?”
Mrs. Geesky, who was looking out through a spyhole in her inside door stood on her tiptoes and yelled the question again.
“What do you want?”
John struggled with the box until he was able to remove the card from the little white envelope. Mrs. Geesky, as unrevealing as John, watched him through the spyhole as he looked at the card.
“Rada?” He said as he read the carefully printed name.
With her lips now pressed to the spyhole she asked with force, “How do you know my name?”
“It says it on the card. Here.” He held the card against the glass near the spyhole. Her name, Rada Geesky was printed in black ink.
“I didn’t order anything!” She said with the power of certainty.
“I didn’t either.”
Unconcerned by her firmness John jiggled the box back and forth against his forearms as he tried to put the card back inside the paper. Once he felt the box was secure, he bent down and set the box on the ground. “It came to our house by mistake.” And with these words he turned and left.
“You can’t leave that there! Weren’t you listening? I didn’t order anything. “Mrs. Geesky continued to yell through the spyhole as John continued to cross the street to his house.
Only her cats knew more than any of the neighbors about the workings of Mrs. Geesky. And Mrs. Geesky knew more about cats than she did about her neighbors. Since her feline relationships were the only ones she cherished, she knew there was no other being that might send her such a box as the one that sat by her front door. Her cats lived and survived by their wits and instincts, which she respected by letting them come and go through the specially built cat door. Her survival never rested on contact with others but on the idea that she made everyone happier. This idea, which she lived by, meant she was not curious about who might have sent her the flowers since she was convinced it was a mistake. Slapping the metal door to the spyhole closed she determined to leave the box there. It was her way of disclaiming it.
Before John could make it to the door of his work room, Irina caught him in the hallway with a fretful explanation.
“I did as you told me.”
Mr. Baines paused….and twisted round to face Irina with a blank stare. Irina saw at once he needed to be reminded.
“I ignored the lady across the street.”
Still not getting the reference to what she was saying he walked toward her as she backed into the kitchen.
“The lady…” Irina explained as she pointed in the direction of Mrs. Geesky’s house, “she came across the street. But I did as you told me to do.”
John placed one hand on the top of the newly cleaned black surface and rubbed one finger in an aimless swirl. “Did she come to the door? I didn’t hear the doorbell.” He said looking down at his finger.
“No. No she just came to the veranda.”
“Yes. That’s OK.” Mr. Baines knew who Irina meant but continued to be oblivious to the meaning. “What did the lady do?”
“She followed me across the street. I parked across the street in front of her house. And she wanted me to move my car. Told me to move it.”
“Did she threaten you?”
“No. Mr. Baines. She went away. I ignored her.”
“She came over to this house?”
“Oh, no, no. She didn’t come into the house. Just to the bottom of the steps in front. Yelling for me to move my car. Yelling, they won’t get away with it?”
“Oh.” Mr. Baines shuffled his feet. “Irina, whatever the lady did, don’t worry about it. Mrs. Baines will handle it. Yes, just ignore her. If she does it again, just ignore her.”
With those words John turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Irina, accustomed to Mr. Baines’ apathy about household matters, dried out the bucket she brought and unplugged her vacuum. Before removing her apron, she rubbed her hands on the front bottom half, then pulled and straightened her sleeveless dress as best she could before she folded the apron into the bottom of the dry bucket. Once she had her things together, she called for Mr. Baines who had gone into the small room down the hallway.
“Excuse me. Excuse. Mr. Baines?” She called out as she walked closer to the door of his room where she read two words printed in large letters pinned to the door. DARK ROOM. Mr. Baines opened the door allowing a small haze of light to flow into the hallway.
“Yes?” he asked, thinking he had covered everything with Irina.
She held out a piece of paper and explained. “Mrs. Baines told me to write down anything that might happen while I was cleaning. Here it is.” Irina slid the paper across the air of light towards Mr. Baines.
“Thank you.” He said in an unrevealing plainness suggesting he knew nothing of his wife’s request. “Thank you.” He said again as he glanced down at the paper while Irina lifted her bucket and vacuum and jostled them out through the back side door.
When he heard the door close, he retrieved his reading glasses from the small room and read what Irina had written.
A woman followed me across the street to tell me to move my car. I ignored her. I took a deliver. A box. Give to Mr. Baines.
It was signed and dated. Mr. Baines smiled as he thought of his wife’s sensible and wise approach to keeping a record of what she felt was important. He went into the living room, opened the middle drawer of their writing table in front of the long windows and removed a gold lettered black ledger. The front cover opened to columns and rows of entries beginning with a date on the left and a description of the offense on the right. Mr. Baines lifted the book into his hands and flipped through it measuring that a little more than half of the ledger was filled with events, dates, descriptions, and a name. Mrs. Geesky. He wasn’t sure whether to slip Irina’s note near the last entry or behind the front cover where his wife might be more apt to find it. While he decided, John Baines had an unusual thought, something that seemed to come from seeing the numerous entries in the ledger. ‘I could hide in my car. Use my telephoto lens. No one would see me. And Angel would have visible proof of everything she did.’ But his daydream was short-lived; the front door opened, and his wife came in.
“What are you doing, John?” she said with childlike affection.
“Irina gave me a note for you.” He lifted his hand towards his wife with the note still in it as though he’d been caught.
“Did you pay her?” John’s arms drooped along the sides of his body telling his wife the whole story.
“We are lucky that I am such a good record keeper. I’ll take care of it.” She said with a little firmness as she crossed over to take the note and ledger from him. “No need for both of us to tally things. I can manage. And you John take such…Angela Baines paused to choose her words carefully “…. comprehensible photos of her misdeeds. We needn’t change how things are working.” She looked at John, who was taller, and patted him on the shoulder. Before she looked at the note, she reminded herself of her husband’s limitations; ‘he’d misplace the book if I let him handle it.’ According to Mrs. Baines her husband had what she described as a good many limits. Their orderliness was different, she mused. With the note in hand, she read it to herself.
“Ha. This woman….” Mrs. Baines grumbled. Turning in the direction of Mrs. Geesky’s house she jiggled the note as a jinx at an imagined figure of Mrs. Geesky…. “That woman thinks she owns the street. Look John! Look!” Mrs. Baines stood in front of their front window and pointed to Mrs. Geesky’s house. “Looks like she’s ordered something?” John looked up and saw the box still sitting in front of Mrs. Geesky’s front door and in his unembellished manner said. “No, she didn’t”
Angela frowned at her husband as she pointed out the window.
“Yes. Yes, she did John. Can’t you see the box.... with pink paper?”
“I can see it. And no, she didn’t.”
Mrs. Baines, familiar with John’s stubbornness looked at him then brushed against him in jest to see if she could knock some sense into him. “Well….someone did.”
“I didn’t.”
Now more than frustrated Angel stands face to face with her husband. “Of course, you didn’t. Sometimes John, I don’t understand you!”
Mr. Baines had heard this many times, nodded his blank face and walked past his wife towards his small room off the kitchen. He said, “You’ll handle it. You have it under control.”
“Yes. And it’s a good thing, too. Maybe you noticed how many offenses there are?”
“The book seems more than half full.”
“Yes. Don’t fret about this John. I am glad Irina left a note as I asked.”
“Yes, and I told her to ignore it.”
Misunderstanding John, Angel turned around as if she had dropped a needle on the carpet in her bare feet. “What? What was it that you told her to ignore?”
“I told Irina to ignore the woman.”
“Oh. Yes. Good. Very good. Did Irina say anything else?”
“The only thing Irina said was the woman told her they won’t get away with it.”
“It’s a good thing, a very good thing we have this ledger. This type of thing can get out of hand. She’s already been to court. I was careful enough to document everything just in case…”
“Yes, Angel. I was thinking I could take photos to go along with your ledger.”
“I don’t know about that John.” Angela looked at her husband wanting to ignore his wild suggestion. “We are prepared for the worst.” She claimed patting the top of the ledger as she secured it in the center drawer with the note from Irina duly marked in. She followed her husband into the small room by the kitchen.
“And you John…how is it for you?”
John never fully understood his wife’s slanting concern in his direction. He had already begun to dismiss Irina but continued to see himself hiding out watching and investigating Mrs. Geesky. Mrs. Baines took his silence to be a sign of acceptance and felt reassured he was in no measure upset.
Later, Mr. Baines redeemed himself with a reheated dinner of rice and Chinese dumplings. He was the cook or at least he felt he oversaw the food. He had set two large black-rimmed white plates, one across from the other on the shiny face of the black and white island. Arranged with precision, the table was set with linen napkins, silverware from the pull out drawers and a round, fluted pitcher for the lemon water. ‘Just Angel and me.’ He reveled as he set out two sparkling tumblers from the glass-door cabinets below.
“I didn’t get any fortune cookies, Angel. I hope that is alright?”
Angel looks at him and crosses over the wide boarded floor to the large refrigerator. “I’m sure there’s some sweet and sour pork leftover. Yes, here it is.” She turns and uncaps the white glass cover unveiling a pile of vegetables and meat swimming a red sauce.
Both of them sit down admiring the beauty of the colors…light brown, yellow, reddish brown…when Mrs. Baines begins to recall when Mrs. Geesky first moved in.
“John…it’s an oddness I can’t explain. She was quite taken by you. Coming over at any hour to ask you for help? Do you remember?”
“Mrs. Geesky? You mean her?”
“Yes. Do you remember?” Angel with one red bite between her teeth stopped chewing and looked at John.
With little expressiveness John said, “Yes, Angel.”
“She wanted you to lift things. Move stuff. Shovel her garage pad. And all the time coming at me with threats! Which reminds me, I met Julie Berker today. I told you I was going to.”
Before she went on she looked up and noticed John was sorting a stack of photographs he had brought with him to the table. With his head down and appearing engrossed in one or another photo Angel didn’t know if he was listening.
“Did you hear me, John?” she asked, waiting for some response. He glanced up, which was all the response she would get. “We are going to have a neighborhood meeting. And John, it will be here. Julie volunteered to call the others. She managed to get hold of the neighbors on the list I gave her. At least all of them with land lines. Mostly the older ones. She’ll let me know how many plan to attend.”
“I’ll make some gingerbread cookies.” John said agreeably. Continuing to sort the photos John made this flat offer without looking up again at his wife. She waited a moment or two before requesting cheesecakes from a local bakery. “No cookies, John. Not this time. OK. We need something fancy, something rich and creamy.” John continued sorting without another word.
Among the diversity of the neighborhood, Mrs. Geesky stood out in a similar way as the unwanted wildlife; she and the feral cats, skunks, and rats were considered a nuisance, to be left alone like the coyotes, to be scared off like the squirrels and trapped like the raccoons. Mrs. Geesky was seen as a cohort with wildlife. If the wildlife did not destroy anything, they were left alone but anytime they broke into roofs or ate through fences they needed to be done away with in whatever way was needed.
The stories about Mrs. Geesky, no matter how close or far from the truth, required further inquiry. Mr. and Mrs. John Baines were at the head of the neighborhood pack with a robust coterie of tales against Mrs. Geesky’s doings. Mr. Baines, a tall, tapered man, long beyond retirement age imagined himself in a very private way to be an investigative photojournalist. His wife, Angel, short for Angelina, an attorney with a small case load of long-time clients kept a ledger, an orderly list of recriminations which she charted after every incident proclaiming.
“Don’t worry John.”
Angelina Baines cared for her husband and wanted to protect him from his penchant to fret,
“We have proof. There’s nothing to fear.” She’d point to the mahogany desk as though she were pointing to rock solid evidence against the accused in a court of law. Their collections were certain to convict, if necessary. John Baines, who had his own plan, remained silent.
www.asinglethread.net - www.zatma.org
If you have questions, please send them to: yaoxiangeditor@substack.com