{"id":512,"date":"2015-07-23T17:49:07","date_gmt":"2015-07-23T17:49:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/zatma.org\/new-wp\/?p=512"},"modified":"2015-08-08T17:52:45","modified_gmt":"2015-08-08T17:52:45","slug":"the-money-lender-6-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/?p=512","title":{"rendered":"The Money Lender (#6)"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\"Ming<\/a><\/dt>\n
Ming Zhen Shakya<\/dd>\n<\/dl>\n
\u00a0To see more literature about Zen and the Art of Investigation:<\/h6>\n
http:\/\/www.zenanthonywolff.com<\/a><\/strong><\/i><\/h5>\n
<\/h6>\n
\n

The\u00a0Money Lender<\/strong><\/h2>\n

by Anthony Wolff (Ming Zhen Shakya)<\/strong><\/p>\n

If you haven’t read the previous issues:<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Money Lender #1<\/a><\/p>\n

The Money Lender #2<\/a><\/p>\n

The Money Lender #3<\/a><\/p>\n

The Money Lender #4<\/a><\/p>\n

The Money Lender #5<\/a><\/p>\n

Part 21: \u00a0 Tim<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

First there are the problems of chaos which must be understood, and then there is the hard work of converting chaos to cosmos… order.<\/p>\n

Had the problems that confronted Tim Murphy affected only himself, or had they been able to stand separately and be examined and gauged relative to the others, he might have tried to prioritize them. \u00a0But there were so many problems of such complicated natures that he could not get beyond his initial bewilderment. He was cognizant, too, of the effects that his actions had and were continuing to have on his relationship with Charlene Cottone. If she had told her parents about her affections for him and they then learned that he was blamed for a $30,000 theft, they would insist that she sever her relationship with him. \u00a0They’d use the incident as proof that they, not she, were better qualified to choose her marriage partner, and she’d be forced to marry within her extended family.<\/p>\n

He needed to organize his life but he could find no stating point, that one loop in the knot that when tugged, will free an end point and allow for the unraveling process. \u00a0His parents had supported him so faithfully, that he went along with their solutions. \u00a0They, of course, in their generosity only made him feel worse. \u00a0Now he was indebted to the bank and to them, as well. His mother’s unlicensed sewing business began to show a tiny profit. \u00a0His father became a handyman who not only trimmed an occasional tree, but went from store to store with a bucket and squeegees and window cleaning liquid and began to earn even more than his mother did. \u00a0During the day Tim made all the pickups and deliveries, and each evening he and his dad collected discarded aluminum cans. They did not venture into the rabbit business. \u00a0There was just too much work involved.<\/p>\n

Charlene would call and he would arrange to meet her briefly in a place they felt secure… in the park or outside a church neither attended. \u00a0The meetings were brief and he could never hold her and kiss her. He’d see her walking towards him and all he wanted to do was cry, first for joy and then for the misery of his life that kept them apart.<\/p>\n

Charlene understood how frustrating if was for him to be innocent of a crime and not be able to associate openly with her because he feared that his “guilt” would rub off on her. \u00a0She decided to discuss the matter with her parents, to get them to see that he had been wrongly accused. They listened but did not seem to hear what she was trying to tell them. \u00a0Both agreed that while they were not averse to having an Irish son-in-law, they certainly did not want a thief in the family. \u00a0“We’ve had enough of that,” her mother said with unmistakable finality.<\/p>\n

“But he’s not a thief, Momma!” Charlene protested. \u00a0“He’s innocent. \u00a0He was framed.”<\/p>\n

“They’re all innocent,” her father retorted. \u00a0“Take a poll of jailbirds. \u00a0Nobody’s guilty. \u00a0Stay away from him. \u00a0That’s final.”<\/p>\n

It was not until Tim and his parents made the second monthly payment that their efforts began to organize themselves into a routine. \u00a0They no longer had to canvass health clubs for made-to-order yoga clothing. \u00a0His mother had taken the measurements of each customer and kept the information in a file. \u00a0A weight-loss was celebrated by Mrs. Murphy making a personal visit to the health club to get the new, smaller measurements of the lucky loser. To celebrate the diminishing size, she would go to the market, buy a stalk of celery, trim it, and then pass the tray of clean fresh celery around instead of cake. \u00a0A woman who happened to be a commercial artist was so pleased by this that she designed a logo for the yoga brand: a \u00a0celery stalk. \u00a0Mrs. Murphy’s new sewing machine had an embroidery function and she began to embroider the celery logo onto the breast pocket along with the purchaser’s monogram, if requested… at no charge. \u00a0The garments could be worn on the street, and many women purchased half a dozen outfits. Tim steam-ironed and bagged each outfit.<\/p>\n

Merchants and professionals who had large windows, knew that on a given day in the week, Mr. Murphy would appear, give a thumb’s up sign and raise his eyebrows, and wait to be given either a thumb’s down “not this week” which he’d acknowledge with a smile and a wave, or receive a thumb’s up that indicated he should proceed with the window washing. He began to acquire clients who would drive him to their homes where he would do the entire house, providing the owner supplied an extension ladder wherever one was needed.<\/p>\n

For nearly two months, each day had seen an improvement in Tim’s health and attitude and a concomitant increase in his determination to discover who had framed him. He had done nothing about the problem since, before he could investigate the source of his trouble, he had to deal with treating its symptoms. \u00a0Once, however, the second payment was made, he began in earnest to investigate the source of the problem.<\/p>\n

He knew that the letter that had been sent to David Lonigan had been written on parchment paper and that there was a blue cross superimposed on a white one in the logo of the sender. \u00a0 He had searched the internet for Roman Catholic orders and found a “minor” order or “ministry”: the Knights of the Blue Cross who operated a home of some kind called Saint Steven’s Retreat. \u00a0They had only one address: just west of Las Vegas, Nevada, close to the California State Line. \u00a0Two months into his troubles, he finally had the time and mental strength to visit the Retreat.<\/p>\n

People are quick to size up a stranger. \u00a0A man who appears to be weak is likely to arouse an aggressive attitude, the opposed ranks of supplicant and benefactor. However wrong that first impression might be, Tim decided to eliminate the possibility of contention. \u00a0He would not appear to be weak or needy. \u00a0For several weeks, he ate a quart of extremely rich ice cream as he sat with his parents in the living room watching TV. He quickly gained a few pounds and developed \u00a0a more substantial look.<\/p>\n

Things were running smoothly. \u00a0The downstairs of the house became a mini-factory. The dining room table had extensions which, when installed, enabled Mrs. Murphy to use it as a cutting board. \u00a0Her business was beginning to pay off. \u00a0She also got several athletic uniform contracts. \u00a0Mr. Murphy and Tim did the fabric pre-washing, drying, cooking and cleaning and all the driving for supplies and deliveries. \u00a0The strain showed on both of his parents, but Tim was now in possession of a plan. \u00a0He was going to “dress for success” and visit the Retreat.<\/p>\n

He purchased quality casual clothing – slacks, shoes, and shirt – bought new sun glasses and had the barber style his hair differently and shave off his mustache. He dyed his hair light brown. He inspected himself in the mirror and agreed with his image that he did not appear to be the kind of man who could easily be pushed around. There was always the possibility that he’d run into Joshua. He set out for Saint Steven’s Retreat.<\/p>\n

As he approached the brick hospital-like building and pulled into one of the visitor’s parking places, he noticed that the wall around the building was extremely high and had buttressing columns every six feet or so. \u00a0 A gurney, with restraining straps hanging from its sides, had been pushed against the entrance room’s wall. \u00a0As Tim went farther into the building and approached the only desk that could serve as a reception desk, he read the name-plaque on it, “Rev. Fr. Joseph Pulaski, M.G.” \u00a0Tim could see that along with his computer, the wall behind him held a shelf that contained a scanner, printer, fax machine, and several metal file separators that had color coded labels. \u00a0This, Tim told himself, was probably the guy who typed the letter.<\/p>\n

As Father Pulaski looked up and smiled and said, “Good Morning. \u00a0How can I help you?” An ambulance that did not have its siren on pulled into the space immediately in front of the entrance. \u00a0Pulaski’s phone rang. \u00a0Someone inside the ambulance was calling him. \u00a0Tim could hear distinctly both sides of the brief conversation. \u00a0“We’ve got a wild one in here. \u00a0We got stuck on the 110 and in the wait his Haldol injection wore off. \u00a0Can you send Big Brother Herman out to help us?”<\/p>\n

Father Joseph answered, “Sure, I’ll have to go look for him. \u00a0He’s in the back garden. Be patient.” \u00a0He ended the call. \u00a0He stood and lay his iPhone on his desk, “Could you give me a minute,” he said to Tim. “We’ve got a medical emergency.” \u00a0He then hurried through a door that apparently led to the building’s rear. \u00a0Tim picked up his phone and flipped through his call history. \u00a0He read Chuan Yi’s name and number which meant nothing to him except its peculiarity. He then read Jy Shao’s name and number and this also was merely odd. \u00a0A little farther down the list he read Rick Dubrovsky and that name meant something to him, but he did not recall what it meant. \u00a0Hearing Father Pulaski talking to someone as he approached, Tim returned the phone to the desk.<\/p>\n

As Father Pulaski hurried past him with a burly man who was still wiping potting soil from his hands. Tim called, “I can see you’re busy. \u00a0I’ll return again tomorrow if that’s all right with you.” \u00a0As the psychotic old man was being forced out of the ambulance and onto the gurney, Tim went to his car and drove away. \u00a0Who was Rick Dubrovsky?<\/p>\n

At home he did a net search on Rick Dubrovsky which netted him no information except his street address. \u00a0Finally, he hazarded a call to Charlene. \u00a0They did not exchange pleasantries. \u00a0He simply asked if the name Dubrovsky meant anything to her. \u00a0“Not really,” she said, “All day long we hear people’s names. \u00a0Pretty soon they all just become mush,” she said. \u00a0“Did you know that after all that bragging about going into a Catholic seminary, Joshua rather quietly went into a Buddhist monastery?”<\/p>\n

“Buddhist? \u00a0Not Catholic? \u00a0That’s weird. Which monastery?”<\/p>\n

“I don’t know. \u00a0It’s local. Remember how upset he was when that letter came? \u00a0Well, he left FNN right after that. \u00a0I only just heard about it when the auditors asked about a $2000 payout Lonigan had given him. \u00a0I squeezed out a little information and learned that those Knights wanted him to test himself about living like a monk for a few months or year in the Zen Center of Sandyville. \u00a0I think the auditors had something to say about it too. \u00a0They didn’t want him leaving town. \u00a0From what I’m told, he still has to attend Mass every week and take Communion. \u00a0Funny arrangement. \u00a0He can’t participate in Buddhist rituals, either. Meditation but not services. \u00a0He gave them a lot of money so I guess he’s a paying guest not a novice. \u00a0Lonigan gave him the few thousand extra that he needed to be admitted.”<\/p>\n

“Charlene, I’m gonna prove my innocence. \u00a0See what you can learn about Rick Dubrovsky. \u00a0I miss you so much.”<\/p>\n

“Ditto. \u00a0Double ditto. I’ll see what I can find out. \u00a0Are you eating better?”<\/p>\n

“Yes. \u00a0Pretty soon I’ll look like a Sumo wrestler. \u00a0Just for you.”<\/p>\n

Charlene spoke to him in a soft voice. \u00a0“More to love.” \u00a0She heard someone coming. \u00a0“Gotta go.”<\/p>\n

He looked at his phone. \u00a0“You are the chink in the wall. \u00a0We’re like Pyramus and Thisbe.” Then he thought about the end of Pyramus and Thisbe and shuddered.<\/p>\n

This was an important clue: Joshua was living in a Buddhist monastery in the vicinity. \u00a0But which one? \u00a0Tim had found Rick’s home address but he could never see any activity in the house whenever he drove past it. \u00a0Charlene had said that Joshua was a guest and had to go to Mass on Sundays. \u00a0So did he, of course. \u00a0He had never seen Joshua in or around church on Sundays, but he assumed Joshua attended another church – if he went to church at all.<\/p>\n

The Buddhist temple problem was more easily solved. He got a list of temples and monasteries in the area and was shocked to see the number of them. \u00a0Buddhists of every nationality seemed to have their own temple. \u00a0 \u00a0The Zen Center in Sandyville was the absolute last number in the list. \u00a0“Z for Zen,” he said aloud as he called the number. \u00a0The receptionist monk regretted that neither guests nor monks could receive telephone calls unless the call constituted an emergency. \u00a0“Well,” Tim said softly, “It’s an illness that might become grave. \u00a0If if does become an emergency, when is the best time, or conversely, when is a bad time, to call Brother Joshua?”<\/p>\n

“His name around here is Fa Hui. \u00a0And I guess the mealtimes… \u00a06 to 7 a.m.; noon to 1 p.m.; \u00a0and 6 to 7 p.m. would be the best times. \u00a0You can’t disturb him in the meditation hall. \u00a0The free time that the monks have is staggered so I can’t tell you when he’d otherwise be free. \u00a0But try mealtimes.” \u00a0He stopped to amend his information. “Oh, he leaves the monastery before dinner on Saturday afternoon and doesn’t get back until Sunday noon. He helps some theologian do research.”<\/p>\n

Tim Murphy drove to Sandyville. \u00a0“So this is your hideout!” he said aloud, looking at the building. \u00a0He could see Joshua’s Toyota which had been moved into the shade of a cottonwood tree. \u00a0“Come next Saturday, I’ll be outside,” he growled, “waiting for you to leave for Confession and Mass. \u00a0Let’s see where you go then.”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part 22 \u00a0Joshua<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

During successive Saturday nights Rick assumed the role of the fictional Professor Reynard and taught Joshua some of the background of the old Buddhist scriptures. \u00a0“The trick in deciphering this garbled baloney is to learn the glossary and to recognize and then delete repetitions. \u00a0The verses are best understood if you take them out of poetic form. \u00a0Remember: in order for a thing to be true and real, it must be true here, there, today, yesterday, tomorrow. \u00a0No doubt this business about being and non-being was hot shit in its day. \u00a0The Law of the Conservation of Matter and\/or Energy covers the subject completely. \u00a0Relativity to them was mere comparison, a subjective observation – provable no doubt by consensus for their needs, but jejune and sophomoric by any standard today. \u00a0This nonsense is kept alive because people who have been stupid and unwise enough to study philosophy, have nothing else to write about except, of course, their own opinions about wisdom and the stupidity of those who disagree with them. \u00a0One writes a book that calumniates a few other philosophers, so they naturally write books in rebuttal. That’s what keeps their names in print.\u00a0They write commentaries on each other’s bullshit.”<\/p>\n

“What is the real truth?” Joshu asked, turning on his digital recorder.<\/p>\n

“Real truth? \u00a0Careful, my boy… next thing you’ll be spouting tautologies. \u00a0First recognize that like cuisine, religion depends upon location to a great extent. \u00a0If we don’t find a Plato in the jungles of New Guinea, the problem is not with the intelligence of the people of New Guinea, it’s with the jungles of New Guinea. \u00a0Geography allows for riparian cities in which ideas are exchanged, arts and crafts are learned, trade is facilitated, and the climate and natural predators can be controlled to some degree. In the jungle, food is so scarce that people live in small groups. Travel is difficult and venomous creatures and predators are daily problems. Surviving is a full time occupation. Yet they have religion, and many beliefs which make us uncomfortable in their sophistication.<\/p>\n

“People find ways to record things. \u00a0You can dig up a block of caliche – that’s limestone in its thick mud-clay state before the air dries it into stone – and with your thumb nail carve a perfect Mayan glyph. They had ink and a version of paper, too. \u00a0They needed to write and record trade and astronomical dada, just as the Egyptians did. But whether literate or illiterate there is always a search for the Real World. \u00a0Priests, shamans, medicine men all sought knowledge of mystical truth. They sought the transcendental realm, the ultimate truth, and were not content with navigating this toublesome material world with all its egomaniacal conceits.”<\/p>\n

“But what about the societies around these seekers? \u00a0They had their rain gods.”<\/p>\n

“Sure, rain gods and wind gods were for those who could not see beyond the Material World illusions – notice I did not say\u00a0delusions.\u00a0<\/em>Many people did see the Real World. \u00a0Plato certainly did. What’s more, people who have been in the Real World have seen the identical Real World, no matter where they live. Jung discovered that. Nirvana encompasses this world. \u00a0It is another world entirely.<\/p>\n

“There are those tho insist that the material world is everything. \u00a0Obviously there is no room in it for a place called Nirvana. \u00a0So they cultivate the asinine idea that Nirvana is the emptiness that remains when the material world is obliterated. \u00a0They strive – sometimes for hours a day – to eradicate all thoughts – and when they succeed in this self-hypnosis, they think they are enlightened. \u00a0They fail to understand that you cannot desire not to desire.”<\/p>\n

“Were you ever in the Real World?”<\/p>\n

“You ask too many questions.”<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Page 23 \u00a0Aaron & Paul<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

While Harold went to a special physical therapy center to help restore use of his right arm and leg, Paul Oteiza \u00a0drove U.S. 80, the northern interstate route, to Philadelphia. \u00a0Harold had gotten Paul a new pickup truck with a long bed and a camper shell cover so that he could sleep in it anytime that he wanted. \u00a0He drove through Salt Lake City, Cheyenne, Des Moines, Cleveland, and finally Philadelphia. He had the keys to the house and called Aaron to report on its condition.<\/p>\n

“It needs yardwork like you wouldn’t believe,” Paul said. \u00a0“Ain’t nobody mowed this grass since it was sold. I can do some landscaping for ya’ if you want to invest in a mower and some pretty plant life. It could also use exterior paint.”<\/p>\n

“Buy whatever you need,” Harold said. \u00a0“And hire anyone you need. Surprise me with the results.”<\/p>\n

Paul sent him photographs of the “before” state of the property. \u00a0“I’ll keep you posted as we progress,” he said, and added, “By the way, someone in the neighborhood must have notified Mr. Blumenthal because I got a pic of him sittin’ in his car across the street watchin’ me.”<\/p>\n

“Are you sure it’s him?” Harold asked.<\/p>\n

“I saw him in the hospital,” Paul said. \u00a0“I know he recognized me. \u00a0I waved to him but he didn’t wave back. \u00a0Maybe he thinks you’re going to come back here to live.”<\/p>\n

“Don’t answer anybody’s questions,” Harold advised. “They may want to burn the place down.”<\/p>\n

“Do you have fire insurance on it?” Paul asked.<\/p>\n

“Of course,” Harold said. \u00a0“Do you think I’d trust them around my property without it?”<\/p>\n

Paul engaged a first rate painting company and as expected the painting was done quickly and well. \u00a0The garish blue grim had been tamed to a pearl grey, and trim that had not been given a contrasting color, in this case dark grey, was now tastefully restored to what the architect, no doubt, had intended. \u00a0The rye grass, fed and watered, returned to a lush thick green; and the numerous chrysanthemum and marigold fully-flowering plants that he placed inside the brick circles he made around each tree, added a degree of beauty that exceeded neighborhood standards. Harold commented that it was almost beautiful enough to make him want to return to Philadelphia. \u00a0They understood “almost.”<\/p>\n

August can be a miserably rainy month in Philadelphia. \u00a0Hurricanes will roar up the eastern seaboard and ruin roofs and vacation plans, and even when the wind is not blowing or the rain not coming down in sheets, the city is humid and hot. \u00a0Unlike in the desert, where a sweaty armpit is never seen because the dryness of the air evaporates any moisture it can suck into its vacuum. Coming from the lightness of the desert, the easily breathed air, the unwrinkled collars and sweat-free underwear, Harold deplaned and immediately felt the skin beneath his arm and foot casts began to itch with dripping perspiration. \u00a0He had taken the red-eye out of Las Vegas to Philadelphia to accommodate the time-zone differences. \u00a0Paul met him at the airport and together they went directly to the escrow office.<\/p>\n

Waiting outside the title company’s office stood the Blumenthals, held in check by two uniformed security guards. \u00a0Mr. Blumenthal had wanted to get inside the building, but Harold had called ahead, insisting that security be called to prevent him from disturbing the proceedings.<\/p>\n

By noon, when all the papers were finally signed, the checks written, and the hands shaken, the negotiation was finished. \u00a0As Paul began to push Harold’s wheelchair, the real estate agent stopped him and called him aside \u00a0to tell him that the improvements he had made to the house were “nothing short of amazing.” \u00a0He wanted to hire Paul on a permanent basis. \u00a0Paul gracefully declined and then\u00a0notified Harold that the deal was “almost” good enough to make him want to accept it.<\/p>\n

Harold had actually made twenty-two thousand dollars on the transaction.<\/p>\n

“Ready to head home?” Paul asked.<\/p>\n

“No… I’ve got a couple of errands to run.”<\/p>\n

“Ah, Caroline’s house?”<\/p>\n

“I was gonna say, ‘First take me to Saints Peter and Paul’s Cathedral.’ \u00a0You had to mention Caroline. \u00a0Ok. \u00a0Let’s drive past her place.” \u00a0He gave Paul the directions, but the blinds were still lowered and closed as they had been when she went to Europe. \u00a0“Well, we tried,” Harold said, “now we can go to Saints Peter and Paul’s Cathedral.”<\/p>\n

Now that the cast had been removed from Harold’s foot, he could walk short distances, providing he supported his foot with tape and used an old fashioned crutch – it was the only kind that would fit comfortably into his right armpit. \u00a0He could put no weight on his right hand and had to move the crutch forward by pressing his arm cast against it and swinging his body and arm. \u00a0He walked then, in a kind of scalloped manner.<\/p>\n

Paul sat in the rear of the church as Harold hobbled his way to the front. The choir was practicing Mozart’s Requiem and Harold, feeling dizzy, tried to lower himself in a pew. \u00a0A priest who was crossing the nave, saw him and came quickly to assist him. \u00a0The two sat together and listened to the music and when the Requiem had ended and the organist and choir master began to bicker about fine points in the performance, they talked about the peculiar events of the past summer. \u00a0The priest introduced himself as Father Pete and then pensively spoke to Harold. \u00a0“I personally believe that no baptism is as spiritually effective as one between a loving stranger and a soul that’s looking into the abyss of death. Don’t get me wrong. It’s always nice especially when the baby doesn’t yell its head off or knock the oil cruet over or spit up on your new orarium – its’s a beautiful sacrament. But yours had the hand of Christ in it. \u00a0I can just tell. \u00a0I don’t know why it was so special. But it seems that you received more than just a Baptism.”<\/p>\n

“He’s sitting in the back row…. the man who baptized me. \u00a0But the person who really saved my life was an Indian woman named Stella. \u00a0She took a big syringe used for cattle and drew a pint of blood from her own arm and injected it into mine. \u00a0I think she had to do it eight times. \u00a0Her elbow joint looked like a pin cushion”<\/p>\n

“And they were really strangers?”<\/p>\n

“Yes. I was frying in the desert with a bunch of broken bones. Gave me water and blood and a trip to the ambulance.”<\/p>\n

“So our Blessed Mother was with you, too. Are you going to stay with the new faith?<\/p>\n

“Oh, yes. \u00a0I’m learning the catechism every day. \u00a0A priest comes and tutors me. I’m supposed to take my First Holy Communion on September 13th, in Nevada.” He paused to assume the supplicant’s role. \u00a0“Father,is it possible to ask you to dedicate a Mass to Stella Buchanan… who stood in for our Virgin Mother and Paul Oteiza who seems to be God’s right hand.”<\/p>\n

“Of course. \u00a0He took out a tiny tablet and wrote their names. When he finished and was about to put his pen away, Harold asked him for it. \u00a0He wrote a check for Twenty-two thousand dollars and gave it to the priest.<\/p>\n

“I thank you for your donation, but it costs nothing to offer a Mass in special recognition of saintly people.” \u00a0Then the priest noticed the amount. \u00a0He raised his eyebrows. \u00a0“Very saintly people.”<\/p>\n

“Make it a good one,” Harold smiled and asked the priest to help him to stand. \u00a0“You know,” Harold said, “this is my first visit to a Catholic Church.”<\/p>\n

“It would have cost you less to spend the day at the Four Seasons.”<\/p>\n

They were still smiling when they reached the rear of the church.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He stopped at his mother’s apartment to pick up a few books and personal items. \u00a0His mother was at work and he missed saying goodbye to her. \u00a0“Let’s roll past the shoe store she works in.”<\/p>\n

Paul agreed.<\/p>\n

As he hobbled up to the store front he could see his mother inside, kneeling on the floor trying a white satin pump on a girl. \u00a0She happened to look up at the dark shape in the window and cried out, “Aaron!” when she saw him. \u00a0She ran to the door, opened it, and tried to hug him without knocking him over. \u00a0“You’re on your feet. \u00a0Oh, I knew you’d be fine again.”<\/p>\n

“I’m going back to Nevada to live, Mom. \u00a0You can visit me whenever you want.” \u00a0She began to cry, saying how much she’d miss him. \u00a0He pressed a check for $250,000 in her hand and said, “Quit your job and sublet the duplex and find a little place in Florida – where all your friends go. \u00a0And when you feel like it, come out and visit me in Nevada. \u00a0Just don’t let it be known that I gave you any money. \u00a0You’ll get more trouble than you bargained for.”<\/p>\n

Paul and Harold left Philadelphia that afternoon.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Part 24 \u00a0Tim<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

A few weeks after the second payment was made, Tim’s father had a heart attack while washing a window. The store owner called 9-1-1 and Tim and his mother went to the morgue to identify the body. Mrs. Murphy decided to wait in the hall.<\/p>\n

The Medical Examiner spoke to Tim as he showed him the body. \u00a0“Your dad kept the business card of his cardiologist, Irwin Baker, M.D., in his wallet. I spoke to Dr. Baker. \u00a0He’s already been here.”<\/p>\n

The M.E. looked at Mr. Murphy and sighed. \u00a0“He died a noble death. You can tell, you know. \u00a0His shirt collar is a bit frayed but starched and it’s already been turned. \u00a0You don’t see that done any more today. \u00a0It takes a woman’s love to do that. \u00a0His clothes and his body were immaculate. \u00a0Baker said he was livin’ on borrowed time, this good man. \u00a0I understand that he’s to be cremated.”<\/p>\n

“Cremated?” Tim was shocked. “But we have a family plot!”<\/p>\n

“No more you don’t. \u00a0He told Dr. Baker that he sold the plot to pay off some family debts.”<\/p>\n

Tim’s mother had been listening in the hall just outside the doors. She stepped into the lab. \u00a0“God forgive me,” she said. \u00a0“Your father feared that he would pass and that funerals were terribly expensive. \u00a0I agreed. \u00a0We really needed the money, Timmy. When I go you can put our ashes together.” Tim nodded; but it was as if she had said, “You’ve reached the bottom.”<\/p>\n

Grief had entered its robotic phase. \u00a0Tim moved in all the right directions and said all the right things and soon there was an urn sitting on the mantlepiece. \u00a0His mother had not missed a day of sewing. \u00a0She had contracts to meet and, as long as she did not have to prepare for a service or a wake, it was a simple matter of choosing a crematorium and then to ask Tim to pick up the ashes. \u00a0“God made life hard for him. \u00a0People come for the food and drink. \u00a0As the Irish say, ‘They took the ice right off the corpse and put it on the beer.’ \u00a0Your dad was not a drinking man. \u00a0I’d have gone crazy with a bunch of maudlin drunks who apparently didn’t know him well enough to offer him a dime when we were in such trouble.”<\/p>\n

During this entire period, from death to cremation, Tim had not tried to contact Charlene. \u00a0He did not want to talk about his father’s death. \u00a0Still in an emotionless state, Tim continued to make the pickups and deliveries. \u00a0He continued to collect aluminum cans. \u00a0It was a good way to spend the evenings without Charlene. \u00a0He did not, however, wash anyone’s windows. \u00a0And then two weeks after his father’s death, during one dinner time, his mother reverted to habit and said, “Tell your dad dinner’s ready.” \u00a0Tim looked at his mother and began to bang his head against the table and then, finally, he began to sob hysterically as he repeated his father’s name. He called “Daddy… \u00a0Daddy…” a few dozen times and then finally he raised his head and looked at his mother’s agonized face. \u00a0“Because of me he worked himself to death,” he said.<\/p>\n

“No, son,” she whispered, “because of some evil person who was seized by the devil to torment you… to disguise himself to look like you and then bear false witness. You are not to blame. He is the one that God will have to deal with. \u00a0Your father died a happy man… happy to help you. \u00a0It’s a wonderful thing to help a good person who needs help.”<\/p>\n

Tim’s mother stood by his chair and he locked his arms around her and continued to cry. \u00a0“I miss him so much,” he said, ending his grieving episode with a several long shuddering gasps. “I’m tryin’ to find Joshua, the guy who framed me, but, Momma, what’s the point? \u00a0Suppose he stands there and laughs in my face. The law doesn’t even know it was broken. And if I spilled everything and it went to trial, they still have all the evidence against me. \u00a0I lost my father because of Joshua’s greed. I’ve got no life with Charlene because of his greed, and if I object to the frame-up, your life and mine wouldn’t be worth a nickel… not with these people.” \u00a0He shed a few more tears of frustration, and then, it was as if the answer to what he must do had been written on his heart but was illegible under a covering of dirty ice. The hot salty tears melted the covering, letting him read the message. \u00a0“Joshua must die.” He snuffled and went into the bathroom to wash his face. \u00a0When he returned to the table, he ate his meatloaf and mashed potatoes, as thoughts, plans, schemes, came from out of the stratosphere to crash into his mind. Oh, yes. \u00a0Oh, yes. He was on the right path, now. \u00a0He told his mother what a good meal she had made and then he collected the dishes to wash them in the sink. There were so many ways to dispose of an evil human being!<\/p>\n

At 7 p.m. on Saturday, assuming that Joshua would not be there, he called the Zen Center and asked if he could speak to Joshua. \u00a0He corrected himself, “to Fa Hui.” \u00a0The receptionist replied, “Oh, No. He’s gone on his weekly research assignment. \u00a0May I leave him a message? \u00a0Is this some kind of emergency?”<\/p>\n

“No. Not really. Well, maybe not for him, but for me. \u00a0I’m getting ready to go into a hospital in Colorado. \u00a0I’ve got multiple sclerosis and can’t surf anymore. \u00a0I wondered if he wanted my board and gear. \u00a0If you talk to him tell him Brad Brenner from Malibu called. \u00a0I’m sorry but I don’t have a phone anymore for him to reach me.”<\/p>\n

“He’s in Las Vegas. I don’t know where he does his research. \u00a0He gets back at noon tomorrow. \u00a0After that, he goes to the meditation hall and you can’t talk to him until his free time and I don’t know when that will be scheduled. \u00a0The best I can advise is to just call whenever you can and maybe you’ll get lucky.”<\/p>\n

“Good idea. \u00a0I might have more time than I figure, but when they get a bed for me, I’ve got to be there within forty-eight hours or somebody else will be given my bed. Ok. I’ll keep trying. What about next Saturday?”<\/p>\n

“Not tonight, or next Saturday, but the one after that he’ll be here for a big dinner the abbot has… a special dinner about the Dharma. Maybe he could get free to come out and talk to you.”<\/p>\n

“Oh… that’s two weeks. Well,\u00a0maybe I’ll drop by just to see your monastery and maybe I’ll catch him. \u00a0I understand the garden is very beautiful. I’d like to see it before I go. But I can only use my sister’s car on weekends.”<\/p>\n

The reception monk was moved. \u00a0“You come by at any time. \u00a0It may do you good to sit out there in the meditation garden. \u00a0And I will certainly tell Fa Hui that Brad Brenner from Malibu has called and wants very much to speak to him.”<\/p>\n

When Tim disconnected the call he had learned several things. Rick was still picking Joshua up and taking him home. \u00a0He also knew that he needed to effect a disguise of some sort. He had not decided on which specific way he’d take his revenge on Joshua, but he could get things started. \u00a0 He needed to find an abandoned building out in the desert. The old railroad spurs that picked up ore from the silver mines had small well-built station houses that were still standing. \u00a0He also knew the location of abandoned mine shafts.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

During Confession, a gossipy woman admitted her sin of not having told Father Leon sooner that Mr. Murphy had been cremated. \u00a0“When I think of all the comfort you could have given his poor widow during these past few days, I am so ashamed for not doing my Christian duty. I should have informed you of this sinful breach right away.” \u00a0She continued to confess a variety of sins, none of which surpassed the venial level, at least not that he heard. Father Leon was busy deciding when he could find the time in his busy schedule to call upon the Widow Murphy.<\/p>\n

It was on Sunday evening that he rang the Murphy’s doorbell. \u00a0Tim answered the door, invited him in, and with a clenched jaw, made tea for him. \u00a0The priest knew a hostile attitude when he encountered one, and Tim’s was definitely hostile.<\/p>\n

“Why didn’t you notify the Church when your father died?” Father Leon asked.<\/p>\n

“Did you think we didn’t have enough debt?” Tim replied. \u00a0“Did you want us to pay for a funeral service, and the organist, and the tip for the altar boys, and to buy the flowers and the casket and the Mass cards? \u00a0 My father died because he worked so hard to pay a debt that we did not owe. \u00a0And you want to know why we didn’t increase the debt.”<\/p>\n

“Timothy\u2013”<\/p>\n

Tim did not allow the priest to interrupt his narrative. \u00a0“Maybe you’re angling for my mother’s body. Look around you. The whole downstairs has been converted into her factory. \u00a0You can hear her sewing machine going from dawn to dusk back in the kitchen where the light is best. At the rate she’s going, ‘carrying the burden of her faith’ as you put it, she’ll soon drop over dead like my father. \u00a0Do you want me to get her now and take her away from her work. \u00a0It’s piece work. \u00a0She’ll have to work harder to make up the time she’ll lose entertaining you with your guilt trip about my father’s cremation and your sleazy attempt to get her to make preparations now for her own funeral service. Yes, hurry… get the contract signed before she collapses from over-work.”<\/p>\n

“Timothy! Don’t talk like that! \u00a0You’re angry. \u00a0You want revenge. \u00a0You told me about the way you were blamed for something you didn’t do. \u00a0I know the experience was cruel and unjust. \u00a0You have my sympathy.”<\/p>\n

“And what am I to do with your sympathy? \u00a0Can I spend it like the food stamps that people put in donation plates? \u00a0What I need is revenge.”<\/p>\n

“God says that vengeance is his alone to take.”<\/p>\n

“No. Not in every case. \u00a0When the injured party is innocent and has no legal redress; and the evil one remains free to harm again and again, then the doctrine of\u00a0Nemo me impune lacessit\u00a0<\/em>applies. A man is permitted to say, ‘No man cuts me with impunity’ and then to take whatever revenge is necessary.'”<\/p>\n

“Only God knows the evil or the good that is in a man’s soul! \u00a0Right off the bat Genesis enjoins us from making such judgments. We may not touch the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. \u00a0The judgment of what is in a man’s soul and the reward or punishment that follows upon that judgment, are God’s alone to make.” Father Leon grew angry. “You, my boy, may not usurp God’s prerogatives. Vengeance is God’s exclusive right!”<\/p>\n

Tim grinned. “Ah, Father Leon, God has permitted revenge to be taken many times. \u00a0Not only may a man touch that Tree, but he can take a small branch from it and make a wreath for his head. \u00a0If his cause is just and his record is clean and no legal recourse is available, God will allow him to take vengeance.”<\/p>\n

“And you consider yourself to be without sin? To be clean enough to usurp God’s authority? And you haven’t been to church in weeks.”<\/p>\n

Timothy laughed. “Only a priest would equate goodness with church attendance.” Then his attitude softened. \u00a0 “Father, when I say, ‘Nobody cuts me and gets away with it,’ it isn’t a bully’s swashbuckling boast. While my dad was fighting for his country, he got a heart virus. \u00a0And he couldn’t even get help from the V.A. hospital. \u00a0So I went to work and helped to pay the family bills and lived a righteous life until clever people used my innocence against me. \u00a0Now, I who have never stolen, am considered a thief. \u00a0And my father, instead of being able to take it easy in retirement had to work himself to death trying to pay off a fraudulent debt. He needed your help but you were too busy helping those who won’t – or say they can’t – help themselves.” Tim stopped talking because one of the rules in taking vengeance was stealth. \u00a0He certainly could not let the priest know or suspect the plan he had in mind.<\/p>\n

Father Leon put down his unfinished cup of tea and left the house.<\/p>\n

Tim still needed to think through his revenge. \u00a0It would have to be one in which he did not get caught. \u00a0No innocent person could suffer as a result of the revenge he took. “Either I strike him down or else I have to share the guilt the next time he victimizes another innocent person. The judgment is clear. \u00a0If I’m wrong about this let God damn me to hell as he lifts him to heaven.”<\/p>\n

Each night he lay upon his bed and considered and then rejected a hundred different ways to take revenge on Joshua and still not get caught.<\/p>\n

It occurred to him that if Joshua could masquerade as Tim, why couldn’t Tim masquerade as someone else? \u00a0The idea that had first inspired him to pretend to be a buddy of Joshua’s from Malibu was like a string that led out of a maze. \u00a0He was going backwards, filling the plan in after he had initiated it. \u00a0By taking the first step, the second would occur and then the third and soon he would be led back to a starting point. When Joshua was dead, then there would be a new beginning. \u00a0He went to a tanning salon. \u00a0 He got his ears pierced and acquired a tattoo that said “Pe’ahi.” \u00a0He bought several Hawaiian shirts and a puka bead necklace.<\/p>\n

On Saturday afternoon, he parked outside the Zen Center and recognized Rick’s Jaguar enter the driveway and pull up to the administration office. He had seen Rick before, but now, standing amidst the blooming oleander bushes, he got a good look at him. Joshua soon exited the building and got into the car. The little dog he had seen Rick take for walks through the neighborhood was in the car. About twenty minutes after they had driven away, he entered the building and spoke to the reception monk.<\/p>\n

When Tim introduced himself as Brad Brenner, the reception monk treated him as an old friend. “From Malibu!” \u00a0And he lamented that Fa Hui had just gone out and wouldn’t be back until noon the following day. \u00a0“Is there a emergency of some kind, Brad?” he asked.<\/p>\n

He feigned reluctance, and let the plan unfold. \u00a0“Like I said, I got some bad medical news. \u00a0 Can’t surf anymore. \u00a0But here’s the thing. \u00a0I had just bought a new board not two weeks before I got my diagnosis. \u00a0It’s a $1500 board. \u00a0I’m not trying to sell it. My sister wanted to give my board and some other gear to her brother-in-law, but – \u00a0I don’t want to sound petty so please forgive me if I do – the guy’s an alcoholic and he’d just sell the stuff and spend the money on booze. \u00a0 I remembered that Joshua lived in Las Vegas, so on the spur of the moment I told her I had promised to give it to Josh \u2013 Fa Hui – in return for a big favor he had done me in Malibu. I’ve been out of the country – endless summer stuff. \u00a0I’m staying with her until my bed’s ready. \u00a0I called Josh’s office and they told me where he was. He’s a righteous dude… a fine surfer. So if he wants to sell it, fine. \u00a0Would you just tell him that it’s a\u00a0Donald Takayama Model T longboard. \u00a0I can try to get the car again next Saturday. \u00a0Maybe next Saturday night?”<\/p>\n

“Oh, dear. \u00a0Next Saturday night is that big dinner celebration here I mentioned. \u00a0I asked our assistant abbot about letting Joshua leave the table and he said, ‘No way!'” He lowered his voice, “Dinner for eight. It’s a special affair \u00a0– the winner of a theological debate is announced.”<\/p>\n

“Wow. So Josh is not only a fine surfer, he’s an intellectual, too. I never knew that about the guy!”<\/p>\n

“Team would be more like it. \u00a0It’s to announce the winning team. \u00a0He’s just on a team.”<\/p>\n

“Oh, I see. \u00a0Still… \u00a0”<\/p>\n

“Yes, on one team is our abbot, vice-abbot, and one scholar – that’s Fa Hui; and on the other team is the Monseigneur of Saint Steven’s Retreat and his assistant and a scholar, and then two Philosophy professors who judge the winner of the written commentary. Twice a year they have a good natured debate and the winner is chosen after the dinner.” \u00a0He lowered his voice, “It’s always held here because our food is superior to the food at Saint Steven’s – the other place.”<\/p>\n

Tim smiled coyly. \u00a0“What does the winner get?”<\/p>\n

The reception monk laughed. “The winner gets to keep a cheap little bust of Beethoven. \u00a0It was the only figure they could both display without anyone asking questions.”<\/p>\n

Tim pretended to be a little dizzy. \u00a0“Say, I’m a little tired right now. \u00a0I get tired quick. \u00a0Would you mind if I sat in your back yard? \u00a0I sure would like to see that famous garden.”<\/p>\n

“Sure,” the monk said as he opened a french door that led onto the veranda. \u00a0“Enjoy.”<\/p>\n

Tim noticed a string of “dream catchers” strung along the eaves of the building. \u00a0“What are these for?” he asked.<\/p>\n

The monk smiled. \u00a0“It’s our little defense against ghosts. \u00a0They’re authentic Navajo or Hopi – I can never remember which – dream catchers. The place is supposed to be haunted. \u00a0A lot of us get nightmares and see strange and mysterious things.”<\/p>\n

“Do the ‘dream catchers’ work?” Tim asked.<\/p>\n

“Who can tell? \u00a0Without them things could get worse. \u00a0Nobody wants to take the chance,” he added, laughing.<\/p>\n

“If you feel up to it, take a slow walk through the meditation garden. At sundown it begins to cool off around here.”<\/p>\n

Tim walked to the side of the courtyard and climbed a couple of steps that perhaps had been made to buttress the wall. \u00a0A stool had been placed on the top step that was nearly enclosed by a jasmine bower, and so many vine shoots and tendrils curled around the legs of the stool that Tim wondered if he was doing something wrong by sitting there. \u00a0Apparently, he reasoned, nobody takes advantage of the view or the coolness of the little jasmine grotto. The cloying scent of jasmine was strong and despite the coolness of the bower, he didn’t think he’d stay seated there much longer. \u00a0But he was about four feet above ground level and he had a nice view of the court yard. \u00a0He saw several monks doing the slow walking meditation through the garden sculpted with stela type\u00a0rocks, portulaca, ice plants, and sweet william that grew along the pathway edges. \u00a0A weeping willow tree of some sort stood in the middle of the rock garden. Tim imagined that its drooping branches would sway in the wind. \u00a0It seemed so serene. \u00a0How, Tim wondered, could a snake like Joshua reside in such a place.<\/p>\n

Most of the courtyard was planted with herbs and vegetables for the chef. \u00a0Tim noticed rows of parsley and dill and other rows of spinach, carrots, tomatoes, scallions, and other plants he could not identify. \u00a0 He studied the 500 gallon sausage-shaped propane tank and saw two shoddy wooden doors in the cinderblock wall opposite him. \u00a0Ruts in the dirt path ran from the doors to the tank and left no doubt that this was the refilling truck’s route. \u00a0He noticed that two hose lines led from the tank – one went directly to the kitchen, the other to the dormitory. \u00a0The desert gets cold at night and Tim rightly reasoned that the dormitory used a propane heating system. \u00a0He guessed that the abbot’s bedroom probably had its own small electric heater.<\/p>\n

As he continued to survey Joshua’s refuge, he noticed\u00a0that something seemed wrong with the tall chimney that rose from kitchen at the point that it connected to the exhaust pipe from the dormitory. The junction was surrounded by aluminum foil in a sloppy way. \u00a0It was therefore difficult for Tim to determine whether the angle of connection it formed was 90 or 100 degrees, but in either case was far too horizontal. \u00a0The guide wires that held the kitchen chimney upright were slack. \u00a0Quite possibly the main exhaust pipe had slipped down and this affected the angle of the other pipe’s insertion. \u00a0This, he reasoned, was probably the cause of the nightmares and hallucinations. \u00a0The system didn’t have to be clogged – though it might be – for enough of the exhaust to back up into the dormitory. The monks were suffering from chronic low-grade carbon monoxide poisoning. \u00a0Killing by CO poisoning at the monastery! \u00a0Now that was an idea. \u00a0But he rejected it because of the high collateral damage. Then he thought about Rick Dubrovsky.<\/p>\n

As he sat there, useless information he had acquired, became relevant. \u00a0He thought about something Joshua had told him on a coffee break: a surfing friend in Malibu had once worked in a tuna packaging plant in Hawaii. The company would put a cut of tuna in a package, vacuum out the air, and then give the tuna package a jolt of carbon monoxide and then seal it. \u00a0The gas kept the tuna bright in color. \u00a0In fact, long after the tuna’s normal “shelf life” had expired and the fish was unfit to eat, it would still look appetizing. \u00a0Joshua said a person was a fool for eating packaged meat and fish, and that his friend had confided that after a few months on the job a worker would have nightmares and would have to be moved to another department.<\/p>\n

It had been a vague intention of Tim’s to lure Joshua outside the monastery with the irresistible gift of a\u00a0Donald Takayama s<\/em>urfboard. \u00a0He’d spend time at the monastery so that Joshua would believe that Brad Brenner really existed and was truly sick, and then he’d leave word for Joshua to meet him at a place in the desert… \u00a0he had several in mind… deserted places where he could say he kept his board hidden so that his brother-in-law couldn’t find it. He could the kill him and dump his body down a mine shaft. It would have been a stupid idea to anyone, but when it came to surfing, Joshua couldn’t think rationally. Carbon monoxide. Hmmm. Alternatively, he could find a way to pump CO into Rick’s bedroom when the two of them were together. \u00a0Rick would not exactly be collateral damage. \u00a0 Joshua, on the other hand, absolutely needed killing – and by Tim’s hand, too.<\/p>\n

Was the gas available? \u00a0He would check the internet. The gas had a commercial use in the meat and fish packaging business. Surely he could buy a canister of CO gas, but how could he get it to do its lethal work?<\/p>\n

Why not Rick’s bedroom” Telephone and cable lines had no doubt been drilled into the stucco wall. A rubber tube could easily be inserted. \u00a0An easy death for such a treacherous pair. \u00a0He could set things up while they were at the big dinner. \u00a0But suppose Joshua didn’t return to Rick’s house after the dinner? \u00a0There was that dog to worry about. \u00a0 And the gas tank would have to be collected afterwards. \u00a0What about an appliance that malfunctioned? \u00a0Something would have to account for the presence of the gas. But wait a minute! With Rick and Joshua dead, how would he clear himself of the $40,000 debt?<\/p>\n

Tim needed to think. \u00a0Killing someone was easy. \u00a0Getting away with it was not.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Go to Issue #7<\/strong><\/a><\/h4>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

As Tim’s life worsens because of the lies told about him, he decided to take his revenge. But that will not relieve him of having to pay the debt. Without law, there is no order. How is he then to get justice?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":513,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"neve_meta_sidebar":"","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"","neve_meta_content_width":0,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[10,21],"tags":[23,28],"class_list":["post-512","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-english","category-free-e-books","tag-tales-from-the-sangha","tag-the-money-lender"],"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/512","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=512"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/512\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":518,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/512\/revisions\/518"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/513"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=512"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=512"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zatma.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=512"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}