The Lazlo Kovaks Story - An Online Novel by Mike Robertson

The End of the Beginning
(Missouri, 2012)

“Out! Shoo! Go.” Lizzie cleared the kitchen of her 143 year old Victorian mansion. She had pies in the oven and when she took them out she didn't want that damn door opening and cold air hitting them. They'll drop, she told Michael. “Those pies will go flat like my breasts,” she giggled. “You want those pies to be like I used to be before I got so old!” Lizzie was Michael's grandmother, 89 years old now, and this was her house on the top of the hill in rural Missouri. Her wild straw colored hair pulled back in a bushy ponytail, her lean body upright and full of vigor, her eyes still blazing. Michael adored her, and had learned very early never to argue with her.

The old house was full of people for the first time in many years. When he called her three weeks ago, she was reluctant at first. “Of course I'd love to see you, Michael,” she said. “I'll have your room ready. Are you bringing someone?” The lift in her voice at the question was familiar. It meant, are you bringing a girl?

“Yes I am. But Lizzie, listen. Would you mind very much if I brought several friends? Seven of us in fact, including me?”

“Seven? My god Michael. What are you up to? I don't know, I can't remember the last time that many people stayed here. They aren't teenagers, are they?” Her voice took on an edge. “The last time you brought a bunch of your friends, it took me a week to clean up after you all.”

“Oh no, Lizzie, not like that at all. I'm sorry about that, honey. That was a long time ago. These are all adults. Four of them are even older than you are ...”

“Oh no, Michael. That won't do at all. Believe me, old people are the worst. Picky, demanding, crusty. I'm sorry honey, I can't have a houseful of old people here. I'd rather have kids here. And what the Sam hell would you be doing with a bunch of old people?”

Michael gulped, took a breath. “Lizzie, This is hard to explain. They aren't old like that. They're more like in their fifty's. Really. They can take care of themselves, believe me. Not demanding at all. And the other two, well Keller is in his forties, and Lila is about twenty four I think.”

At his mention of Lila, Lizzie softened. “Well then. Bring them along, darling. We have plenty of room. When shall I expect you? I'll have some groceries brought in.”

And as Michael expected, Lizzie received them all with hugs and grins and cups of tea for the four old ones, and coffee for Michael and Keller. She wasn't the least bit shy or circumspect with her guests. But Lila surprised her by accepting only water and then showing so much interest in Lizzie's kitchen that the two fell into conversation about food and cooking and completely ignored the men. Finally Lizzie turned to Michael. “Take them upstairs, Michael. You folk can use any rooms you like on the second floor. You'll find things a bit dusty but otherwise clean enough. Extra blankets and towels in the closet by the big bathroom. Michael, your room on the top floor is just how you left it. I haven't bothered to go up there since you were here last. Tara, isn't it? Would you like some more tea? The rest of you, go. Go. Lila and Tara and I have things to talk about.”

Lizzie, whose bedroom was on the first floor, lived alone and rarely climbed the stairs anymore. There were six bedrooms on the second floor, three on each side of the central hallway with bathrooms at each end. A narrow door at one end led to the finished attic, which had long been Michael's refuge when not in school or traveling the world. The house, despite its age, was tight and well constructed and had been improved over the years. The rooms were as Lizzie described them: a little dusty but very livable.

Michael took Manny and Sam and Dizzy and Keller up to his room. He wanted to show it off. It stretched from one end of the house to the other, had six windows evenly spaced around the perimeter and despite short walls and sloping ceilings, provided a luxurious amount of open floor space. The four old ones decided immediately that this would be an ideal place to sit zazen for meditation during morning hours, that is, if Michael didn't mind, which of course he did not.

It occurred to Michael over the next few days, as the old ones sat in their robes on folded blankets, that this space, the place where Michael had practically grown up and which had helped to shape his view of himself and the world, this place was probably going to be the center of the Great Change. The epicenter of a sudden global transformation. They only had to stay safely here until Lazlo's return. He would know when the time was right to join the fragments.

That first evening, before bed, they all gathered in Michael's room. It was time to get to know one another better. As a courtesy to Michael, Keller, and Lila, they had decided to address each other by their nicknames, and to speak modern English only. Manny seemed the natural spokesperson of the group. Medium height, barrel chested, dark hair graying on the side, wearing a knit shirt and khaki pants and cloth slippers, he was the most verbal of the four old ones. They all settled comfortably on cushions and blankets in a circle and began passing a tray with a teapot and cups to each other. After tea was served, all four old ones placed their hands together, fingertips touching the point just above their eyes, and bowed slightly to the center of the circle. Michael, Keller, and Lila join them in this greeting.

“It gives me great joy to see you in person after all these years, Grandfather. Namaste,” Manny said, bowing slightly to Sam, who sat directly across from him. “And our deepest thanks to these three young people for their great dedication to peace and for bringing us safely to this place. Let us now make ourselves comfortable and suspend formalities. We have much catching up to do and much to learn about each other while we wait the return of our benefactor. I shall begin then.” He looked over at the three young people who brought them to this house. “You know me as Manny. I have had many names, as I'm sure every long-lived one has, from necessity. Manny comes from my Chinese name, Manjusri. It suits me well enough when I live here in the West and especially when I am required to do business here.”

“Required?” said Sam. “My old friend, you seek this work. You enjoy it. I expect because you are so very skilled at it.”

“Yes Grandfather. I confess it gives me pleasure to build such structures as I do. I am a child playing with larger than life toys, as children in the West once played with ... weren't they called Tinkertoys? Do you remember them?” Everyone laughed.

“I don't,” Lila replied, “but I've heard about them. Little blocks of wood? You build small houses and such? Manny, what do you build? I haven't had time to hear much about any of you yet, except for Dizzy here.”

Sam answered for him. “Lila, Manny runs Global Home Network. It's a multinational philanthropic corporation that owns and funds other businesses, non-profit agencies to aid the homeless and the downtrodden of the earth. How many such enterprises does your organization support now, Manny?”

“The number changes on an hourly basis, Sam. But we have parent companies in every independent nation on earth. Each parent company sponsors anywhere from one to many dozens of centers, churches, kitchens, hostels, homes and community centers, hospitals, even land banks, micro-loan and grant programs. You name it. The common thread through them all is help for the helpless.”

Tara spoke up. “I wonder if your organization gives support to the community clinic where I have been volunteering?”

“What do you do there, Tara?” asked Sam.

“Healing. But indirectly. Often in ways quite invisible to the staff and the patients themselves. Sometimes I can do no more than observe and advise the licensed physicians. I am fortunate to have found a friend, the medical director of the clinic, who hears me and sometimes acts or advises the physicians under her to take action.”

“Ah. I think I understand,” said Dizzy. “You too have run into the problem of modern bureaucracy and its long and tangled memory. You are not able to act openly as a healer because that profession is so tightly controlled now, is that right?” Tara nodded in agreement. “I too have been forced to become invisible in my work, for similar reasons,” said Dizzy.

“What do you do?” asked Sam. “And how do you avoid notice?”

“An art that I have practiced for some time now has been the breeding and cultivation of rare species of flowering plants. From these I am sometimes fortunate enough to discover and concoct potions for healing and other purposes. It is the disposition of these alkaloids that has fairly recently become regulated. I am forced to use the black market. This of course makes it harder to be sure these substances will reach the hands of those most qualified to make effective use of them.”

Manny grinned at this. “I see the years have taught you to speak with circumspection as well, Dizzy. If you mean you produce especially potent medicines, then I may be able to help you find the best channels for your work. There may be more than one good reason we have met, good Dizang.”

“What other purposes?” asked Keller, looking at Dizzy. “You said 'healing and other purposes'.”

“You are a warrior, are you not?” replied Dizzy. “Trained in the black arts of stealth as well as those of one to one combat? I, too, have some modest skill in the arts of self defense. I have found it useful in certain situations to employ certain substances derived from my plants to impair an enemy. They do not kill, of course. I have taken the vow of compassion common to this group. But these substances in various forms can disorient and confuse, and induce temporary unconsciousness. These are adjuncts, helpers, only. But with their aid I have had some success in foiling certain criminal elements.”

“Are you a crime fighter then?” Keller asked.

“Only when necessary. I much prefer a quiet life.”

“Do you work alone or with others?”

“Always alone, my friend. And when possible, always invisibly.”

“Would you consider teaching me some of your skills?” asked Keller.

“We will speak of this more later perhaps? In private,” Dizzy replied, bowing his head slightly to Keller.

Manny sipped his tea and lifted the cup to the group. “Well. We are a varied bunch then, aren't we. Quite a mosaic of skills and personalities.”

“Indeed,” said Sam. “A martial arts expert skilled in the use of medicines and, ah, aromatics, a highly placed and highly skilled organizer, a healer with deep knowledge and skill. Allow me to share my work as well.”

“Thank you Sam,” said Manny. “I was reluctant to ask you to do so. I myself could not begin to explain how you carry out your vows of compassion.”

“Of course you could, Manny. You who have been like a brother to me for so many lifetimes.”

There was a long moment of meditative quiet in the room as Sam prepared to speak.

“Each person in this room shares a common goal, and each is effective in his or her way in carrying out work toward that goal, the elevation of spirit toward enlightenment for every soul on earth. These young people with us, so fresh to this task, must be especially appreciated for this dedication. The four of us are each keenly aware of how difficult it is to hold that sense of purpose over time, and especially when young and easily distracted.

“My work is similar in some ways to that of each of you, especially Manny's work, except much of it occurs on a less visible plane. Put simplistically and very plainly, we are far from alone in this work. There are many others with us, at all times and all places. Just as there are few on this gross physical plane who are aware of other levels of existence, what might be thought of as parallel universes, there are few on those other levels who are aware of us. But though we have little access and almost no control over these invisible worlds around us, there are those in those worlds who can see us have considerable ability to affect circumstances in our world. Things 'happen' in our world which most of us take to be accidental, or the normal course of cause and effect, but these events have been shaped by forces invisible to us. It has been my lot to visit these other worlds and to come to know some of the forces there that affect us. Thus there have been moments, events, which have affected the course of human history, sometimes for good, sometimes for ill. Those events were at least indirectly the result of causes we cannot normally see and appreciate.

“My job, if we may call it that, has been to try to tip the balance of those events in the favor of humanity's eventual evolution toward its higher destiny. It was in this plane that I first met the entity we call Hunter. He is a being, without body, of pure energy form shaped by intelligence and purpose, and much much older than any of us. He may be ageless, one of the not-born. He, it, was on a similar quest – to bring humanity to a moment where it might be possible to evolve beyond its instinctive, animal roots. But he was struggling in that realm, having trouble keeping form and maintaining consciousness. There are powerful counter forces working against him there. He found me and asked my help. After that I encountered him there only rarely. It seems he could be more effective on this plane, the gross physical, and does most of his work here. It is he who has found us and brought us here. It is he who gave each of the four of us a fragment of the Cintamani for safekeeping. These brave and great hearted young people are his friends and his agents on this plane.

“Our purpose here is to find the right moment to rejoin the jewels into one jewel, and to do so surrounded by the power of our minds and spirits of good will for humanity. If this succeeds, humanity will find it has the opportunity to rise up, to break past its barriers, to transcend quickly into its destiny of beauty and good will and intelligence for which it was headed but from which it was diverted, through no fault of its own. A great wrong will be righted, and we are greatly privileged to play a role in helping that to happen.

“But make no mistake, if humanity succeeds in its maturity, it will be because it chose that fate, believed in its possibility and willed it.”

A deep silence descended on the room.

“So Lazlo is 'Hunter' then?” asked Michael. “Can you tell us more about him?”

Sam didn't reply right away. He seemed to be in deep meditation. Then, “I do know more of his story. But at this moment I believe we should wait for Lazlo to reveal the parts he wishes us to know. I don't wish to sound mysterious or withhold information from you. But out of respect for this powerful being and his purpose, I can say no more.”

After, alone in his room, Michael took up his notebook, as he had done almost every day of his adult life, and much of his youth, and wrote the day's events and his reflections on them. He had done this when he first met Lazlo, and as Lazlo had finally taught him, this habit of chronicling now meant more than it had, more than his personal solace and his way of integrating and understanding the world and his place in it. Michael was meant to tell this story to the world and to help people understand their own responsibility to envision a fate better than that bequeathed them by their ancestors. His work, the story of Lazlo and the four bodhisattvas and the Cintamani and the Ancient Old Ones, all of this was a powerful tool to help humans realize their future. There were other stories being told by other story tellers too, books and poems and movies, some by great artists. Together, they offered humans a chance to see themselves as something more, something great, as worthy of the best of their dreams and hopes. As Sam had said, if the moment were to come for humans to slough off its rotting mantle of greed and ambition and aggressions, it must come from the combined will of the people, because they wanted it and began to believe it possible to emerge to a new and much finer level of existence.

All of this Michael wrote in his notebook. It was his way of expressing and understanding his purpose and the purpose of his work. But the story itself must be told from the beginning and as a narrative and reveal itself to the reader.

This moment, here in Lizzie's house, in the company of these most amazing long-lived people, warmed by the company of Lila, protected by Keller and others, Michael opened a new folder on his laptop and named it “The Lazlo Kovaks Story”. He then opened a new document in the folder and named it “Chapter One”.

Next ...