“This is really delicious,” he said. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”
Grace leaned on the counter and looked sideways at him. “I think they serve a version of the salad at a restaurant in Macao,” she said. “It’s a little restaurant on the beach called Fernando’s. We should go there sometime, and I’ll show you.” Nate kept his face neutral. Don’t like the sound of that at all, he thought. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not.
“Sounds like fun,” said Nate. They brought plates of salad out to the balcony and ate while looking at the harbor and the scudding clouds in the night sky blushing pink from the city lights. “I find it inconceivable that this vibrant city was actually returned to China, and is now under the thumb of Beijing,” said Nate. “Do you think the spirit of Hong Kong can survive?”
“The people here are trying, resisting and demanding their rights. But I do not know if they will succeed,” said Grace.
“I know the rest of the world hopes they will succeed,” said Nate.
“So do I,” said Grace.
“It would be a worthy effort, to help Hong Kong stay free,” said Nate. “Something with meaning.” He stopped and came off the gas, putting it in neutral, not wanting to overdo the theme. They could come back to it; at the right moment, Nate could tell her specifically how she could help. Work for CIA.
“I could see that,” said Grace. “Right now I devote myself to the hotel, nothing else. And yoga is my only escape.”
“I have to be honest with you,” said Nate. “When you showed me that Kundalini Awakening, I was a little startled, scared even. I didn’t know what had happened to you.”
Grace laughed. “Do you want to learn a little more? I can tell you about the chakras, the energy points in your body. They’re very important; they control everything,” said Grace. Okay, stud, keep this under control.
Nate so far had kept things platonic, despite the black bra and the arched back, and the cursory kisses. He could imagine Benford’s reaction if it became known that he had recruited Grace Gao by bedding her; it would be an affirmation of Benford’s lingering belief that Nate should no longer be employed by CIA. He had not dwelled on it in some time, but now Nate contemplated what a nightmare it would be if he got kicked out of the Agency, and returned home to Richmond, Virginia, where his family all along had brayed that Nate wouldn’t make it as a spook, never mind that his downfall took ten years and not two, as they had predicted. So how do you handle this Chinese beauty who wants to show you her chakras?
They sat on the floor facing each other, cross-legged, knees nearly touching. Grace took the wide copper bowl off one of the altar tables, put it on the floor beside them, and struck the rim lightly with a small wooden dowel. The bowl gave off a clear, smooth note like the chime of a grandfather clock. “Singing bowl,” said Grace, “to clear your mind.” She ran the dowel around the lip of the bowl, which began a pulsing hum that grew into a second bullfrog tone overlaying the first. She stopped stroking the bowl, and the tones slowly faded. She shifted herself slightly forward so their knees touched.
“There are seven chakras in your body, and they all represent different emotions,” said Grace. She took a small bottle out of her dress pocket, unscrewed the cap, and tilted it forward to wet the tip of her finger. The dizzying fragrance of ylang-ylang enveloped them, and Grace dragged her fingertip along the sides of Nate’s neck, on the undersides of his wrists, and on his ankles. “The oil will help you relax,” she said.
She touched the top of his head. “This is the seventh chakra, the violet chakra, the crown, which brings bliss.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
“This is the sixth chakra, the indigo chakra, the brow, which controls intuition.” She kissed his eyelids.
“The fifth, blue, the throat for healing.” She moved lower and nuzzled his throat with her lips. Jesus, she’s heading south, is there a Captain Picard chakra?
“The fourth, green, the heart for love.” Grace unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest.
“The third, yellow, the solar plexus for purpose.” Her lips grazed his stomach.
“The second, orange, the spleen for desire.” She ran her fingers around his navel.
Grace moved her hand between Nate’s legs and underneath his body, pressing up through his khakis on the fleshy pad of his perineal muscle. “The first, the root chakra, red, controlling passion,” she said. She kept her fingers there, and looked into his eyes.
At a time like this, with Grace’s ylang-ylang-infused fingers pinpointing his first chakra, Nate unaccountably and psychotically flashed to Kramer, his case officer–colleague in Vienna, who once told him that the perineum was commonly called the “taint” because “t’aint your balls, and t’aint your butt.” Nate wondered what that nugget was doing now. He shook himself as Grace removed her hand.
“And when you awaken Kundalini,” said Nate, trying not to squirm, “these chakras do what, exactly?”
“The energy expands from the root chakra, like an uncoiled snake, up the spine to the head, like an electrical current. It brings a profound consciousness.”
“I can feel mine expanding as we speak,” said Nate. Grace scooted forward to sit on Nate’s folded legs, and wrapped her legs around his back. She put her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. They were inches apart, from noses to crotches, and Nate could feel her body heat, like sitting too close to a woodstove.
“This is called Yab Yum, sitting like this,” she said. “The union of wisdom and compassion.” She took his hand, pressed it on her heart, and held it there. “Can you feel my heart? Let me feel yours.” They sat motionless, eyes closed, hands on each other’s hearts, foreheads lightly touching. “Now we cannot move for a thousand years until we achieve Samadhi,” she said.
“Samadhi—whatever that means—is going to happen sooner than that,” said Nate. “I’m just warning you.”
“Stop talking,” she said. “Samadhi is a state of mind. Concentrate.” Nate felt her breath deepen, and her heartbeat slowed, and he could hear it in his head, and he could feel his own heartbeat exactly matching hers. Her legs were wrapped tightly around him, her heels hooked softly into his back. Nate suddenly felt a lightness in his pelvis, his legs, his spine, and his arms. A loud rushing noise filled his head, as if he were in an underground grotto above a thundering waterfall. The lightness moved into his head, behind his eyes, and under his tongue.
“Do you feel it?” whispered Grace. Nate nodded. “Samadhi is wonderful,” she said. “It can carry you, carry you over mountains, and across the oceans. What is over the ocean for you, Nate? What is in your heart?”
“A woman far away,” he said, his eyes still closed, marveling at the feeling in his brain, and at his answer, which just popped out of his mouth before he could think. Grace shifted closer to him, her arms around his neck.
“Breathe with me,” she said, inhaling deeply. She put her mouth on his and started inhaling and exhaling into his mouth, surrounding him in hot velvet and electricity. Her breath controlled his breath. She rocked slightly and leaned forward, so their expanding stomachs touched. Grace whispered into his lips.
“Who else is in your heart?” she said. Nate thought of Agnes in Palos Verdes, and Hannah killed, and white-haired General Korchnoi murdered, and Gable gone, and Benford, Forsyth, and Burns who were his colleagues and family, and the bucket-headed image of PLA General Tan, that profligate beetle whom Nate had just recruited, and he almost said his name out loud. Shit, what is this?
Nate, struggling, blinked three times, very quickly, and she knew she had lost him, at least for now. She moved back slowly, sliding off him.
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