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A couple months later, in a supermarket aisle, I bumped into Alfredo, a pudgy, affable Latino who was one of the true believers in the Family, and who informed me that Bernie had been back in San Francisco for a couple weeks. This surprised me, but what followed floored me. When I asked why Bernie had come back, I was told, with a glint of vindication for Bernie’s and my mockery, that Bernie had a vision at the Wailing Wall in which Father, the Hindu charlatan, told him to go home. I immediately went to see Bernie. As I crossed the livingroom, my hand extended, he looked away. Then, as we shook hands, he met my eyes. “I’m really glad you’re back.” I said, putting his apprehension to rest. He had an awe-shucks grin as he pumped my hand some more and then gestured toward the sofa. Jenny was beaming as she hugged and kissed me, and soon, with characteristic tact, she went to the kitchen to make tea. I asked him about Israel and he began the travelogue. We both knew it was filler and that we were stalling to avoid the painful part. Jenny brought the tea and left to go shopping. And then I asked the big one. “Is it true?” “My hoh wife, fwom euhwy adowethenthe (…whole life, from early adolescence) , I’ve theen mytheh-oof ath an atheitht (…seen myself as an atheist), an atheitht wevowutionawy (atheist revolutionary). I wath compweetwy thupwythd by thith (…was completely surprised by this). I wath jutht anothuh touwitht (…was just another tourist) going to the Wayooing Wa-oo (Wailing Wall) and then . . .” I didn’t hear exactly what the vision of the guru said to him there. I had withdrawn into contemplating the grotesque pairing of Father and the Wailing Wall. But soon enough my friendship with Bernie was almost back to normal, except now there were subjects we didn’t discuss. I never asked him that question that I also never asked Jenny: do you really believe this guy is God? Nor did I ever bring up to Bernie those phantom government assassins. |
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