"Now, disciple, tell me why it is that man feels pain?"

Modu was onto one of his existential kicks. Actually, I found him to be more educational when he was talking nonsense. "Because of desire?" I guessed wildly. I had read enough about Buddhism to know that suffering and desire were supposed to march hand in hand.

"Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong! Man feels pain because he does not yet know how to stop himself from feeling it. Haven't I taught you anything?"

"I'm sorry, guru. I guess I was confused."

"Now, if man feels pain because he has not learned not to feel it, then ipso facto, he feels love because..."

"He hasn't learned not to feel it?"

Modu nodded. "The root of all feelings, love, pain, anger, sadness, joy, is in one place. Dig up the root, and you will free yourself from experience and simply be."

"Be what?"

"Be! Being is all that you need to do in life. Don't let the modern world teach you that there are other things worth doing. Being is the end-all of existence."

"So if I think, then I'm doing all I need to do?"

"What ever gave you that idea? Thinking is just part of the veil that keeps you from simply being."

"So Descartes was wrong then?"

"Who's Descartes? A friend of yours?"

"A French philosopher."

Modu absorbed this for a moment. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'I think, therefore I am.'"

"He was speaking of existence as a feeling being, not as a being being."

"A being being?"

"One who is, simply put. A being who is, nothing more."

This was all starting to make my head hurt, which was usually a good sign. "So I don't want to think then?"

"When you are ready, you won't have to think."

"Modu, you've watched too many bad movies," said Verdon Mange. Verdon Mange was the type of guy who would interrupt a scholarly discussion of this sort with that kind of quip. He liked to poke Modu's buttons, and he especially liked to poke them when I was around. I think Verdon felt that I was too good for Modu, which was probably right, but since no other guru had come along to upstage him, Modu remained my guru.

"Mr. Mange, perhaps you could keep it down, as I'm trying to lecture on the properties of existence. Or maybe you should listen in; you might learn a thing or two."

Verdon just laughed. "Boy, he's more cracked than an egg in an avalanche," he said pointedly in my direction. "Priscilla, a round of whatever the young man and the fruitcake are having, on me, and I'll have one of your delightful scones, to go if you please." Verdon liked to buy people drinks; he was a nice enough guy if he wasn't around Modu. He dressed well, spoke well, and usually acted well, which meant that he was very popular among the theatrical set in town. He even played bocce with my father, on occasion, which made him very popular with my family. And, as he put it, he was old enough not to care about what people thought of him, which was odd, considering that aside from Modu he had no enemies.

"Nothing for me, thank you," said Modu crisply to Priscilla, who rolled her eyes. Priscilla would roll her eyes at the Pope if he spoke to her.

"I'll have a..." I began, when Modu kicked me under the table. "Never mind," I finished, a little sourly.

"Modu, you ought to let your student take advantage of an old man's kindness," said Verdon with a withering look. "I'm sure that somewhere, somehow, some wise man must have said something on the subject of politeness."

"Quite," said Modu. "'Politeness is merely the wearing of a mask in public and the wearing of another in private.' Swami Vinikananda Shuribanda Mandalanda wrote that in his 'Epistle to the Theodolites.' Or perhaps, 'The code of conduct between men should be governed not by custom but by knowledge.' That's from the Onabat Veda."

"I've always preferred, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth,'" said Verdon with a shrug. "All the same, more for me. I'm sure that's a philosophy you're well acquainted with."

"'And he took them into his house and gave them food and water and said not a word to them, and when they had gone they thought him wise and generous,'" quoted Modu in high dudgeon. "'For what is a man who is polite to strangers but a fool.'"

"Um, all the same, I would like..."

"Spit it out, come on son, he doesn't own you."

"'Yea, like unto an apricot is a man with civil tongue, pleasing in taste but hard inside,'" said Modu sternly, looking at me with fire in his eyes.

"Well, I'd like another glass of iced tea, if there is any." Modu shook his head with a look of great disappointment on his face. Verdon brightened considerably.

"We're out of tea, Benedict," spat Priscilla from behind the counter. "I suppose you want me to brew up some more, since Country Time is too good for you."

"Only if you don't have anything better to do," I said, rather a weak rejoinder I knew but I was a bit frazzled by all this argument. "I can wait."

"'There is nothing more callous than he who disobeys his master's teachings,'" muttered Modu, barely audible.

"'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die,'" said Verdon with a grin. "Priscilla, make that scone heated and for here. I long to sit with these two gentlemen and discuss current affairs."

"Is there anything else anyone would like?" growled Priscilla, rising from behind the counter like a vengeful ghost from a shallow grave. "My blood, perhaps? Oh, I know, maybe you'd like me to go to India and get you some fresh tea? Shall I make up a batch of fresh scones so they can be hot from the oven for you? You parasites!"

"I'll have a chai latte with soy, light on the soy," said Modu with a glare in my direction. "And put it on Mr. Mange's tab."