is there, wee yin?’
‘They’d need tae find a brain.’
At first bein a Buddhist didnae seem tae make that much difference tae ma da. He used tae go doon the pub on a Tuesday and noo he went tae the Buddhist Centre tae meditate. Same difference. He never talked aboot it, wis still the same auld da, gaun tae his work, cairryin on in the hoose. He stuck a photie of the Buddha up on the unit in their bedroom and noo and again he’d go in there and shut the door insteid of watchin the telly – meditatin, he said. Ah thought he’d get fed up wi it. He wisnae a great wan for hobbies ma da, but sometimes he’d decide tae take on whit he cries ‘a wee project’. Wanst it wis buildin a gairden shed, anither time it wis strippin an auld sideboard that came fae ma granny’s. And of course he’d start it then get fed up and no finish. It drives ma ma roon the bend.
‘Jimmy, ah’m sick of lookin at they tools lyin in the hall. Are you no gonnae finish that?’
‘Steady on, hen, it’s in progress.’
‘Whit does that mean?’
‘It means ah’m havin a wee break. Ah need tae get some varnish, that ither stuff wis the wrang shade. Ah’ll finish it the morra. Nae sweat.’
And two weeks later the tools hadnae moved fae the hall so ma ma takes a flakey and dumps aw his stuff.
Ah thought this Buddhism would be like that. But efter a few weeks he wis still gaun tae the Centre and he’d startit meditatin in the hoose every night for aboot hauf an hour.
Ah decided tae ask him aboot it.
‘Da?’
‘Aye, hen.’
‘See this meditation, whit is it?’
He pulled a face.
‘Ah’m no sure how tae stert. It’s difficult tae explain.’
‘Aye, but, whit d’you dae?’
‘Well you sit doon quiet and you try tae empty yer mind, well no exactly empty, mair quiet it doon so aw the thoughts that go fleein aboot in yer heid kinda slow doon and don’t annoy ye.’
‘Why?’
‘Ah’m no very sure masel, hen.’
‘D’you like daein it?’
He smiled. ‘Aye, hen, ah dae.’
‘Mibbe that’s why.’
‘Mibbe you’re right. That’s dead profound. Mibbe you’re a Buddhist and you don’t know it.’
‘Ah don’t think ah want tae be a Buddhist, Daddy.’
‘How no, hen?
‘If ah went tae meditate wi you ah’d miss Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.’
It’s hard tae remember when ah realised it was gettin serious. Maisty the time things went on as normal. It wis comin up fur the summer and this would be ma last term at primary; ah’d be gaun tae the big school, as ma granny kept cryin it, efter the holidays. So we’d tae visit the new school and prepare fur the school show, and since this’d be oor last yin, Mrs Shields wis pullin oot all the stops. Ma ma wis dead busy too, buyin the new uniform and that, and ma granny had no been that well, so wi wan thing and anither, ah never really thought that much aboot ma daddy and his Buddhism. He startit gaun tae the Centre mair often, right enough. Thursdays as well as Tuesdays and sometimes even on a Saturday when his team were playin away. Then wan day while we were daein the dishes he reached up high and sumpn fell oot his pocket.
Ah lifted them fae the flair. Beads. Big broon beads strung on a thick rope. Like rosaries but much bigger and no divided up.
Ah held them oot and he pit them back in his pocket.
‘Whit are they, Daddy?’
He cairried on placin the dishes carefully on the shelf as he spoke. ‘Prayer beads, hen.’
‘Rosaries?’
‘Kind of. Ah suppose they’re the Buddhist version.’
‘Ah thought it wis just meditation you done. Ah didnae know you prayed as well.’
‘Sort of.’
Ah wis well confused noo. He never came tae the chapel wi us, said he didnae believe in God.
‘Who d’you pray tae, Daddy?’
‘The only prayin he does is that his horse’ll come in at fifty tae wan.’ Mammy came intae the kitchen wi her coat on. ‘Ah’m just gaun roond tae yer granny’s for an hour. See yous later.’
‘Aye, right, hen.’
Ah wiped a bowl and haunded it tae ma daddy.
‘Who dae you pray tae?’
There was a funny look on his face.
‘Look hen, this isnae easy, ah’m no really sure masel whit’s happenin, ach …’
‘It’s OK, Da, ah just wondered, that’s aw. It’s cool.’
He smiled, his auld self again.
‘Hey, listen tae you, it’s cool, man. Where d’you think ye are – New York?’
Ah flicked the tea towel at him.
‘At least ah’m actually doon on the earth, no yogic flyin roond the sky.’
Ah startit tae dae an aeroplane impression round the room, airms ootstretched, duckin and divin, ‘Sheeom, sheeom, sheeom …’
Da caught me and tickled me tae the grund.
Mammy and me had just got back fae the Co-op when the lamas arrived at the door. It caused a bitty a sensation, lamas in Maryhill. We’ve had some Hare Krishnas singin roond the streets wi their wee bells fae time tae time, and ye cannae go doon Byres Road on a Saturday wioot bein stopped by thon wifie in pink robes ootside the library that keeps on tellin you tae be happy, but these were lamas, the genuine Tibetan kind wi maroon robes and shaved heids. Three of them, staundin on the doorstep on a Saturday efternoon and the way the neighbours were lookin at these guys they might as well have been llamas wi humphy backs insteidy lamas. They seemed oblivious tae the commotion; ah suppose they’re used tae it, or mibbe meditatin really does make ye laid back. They bowed and the middle wan spoke.
‘Hello. Does Jimmy McKenna live here?’
He spoke dead clear but wi an accent ah’d no heard afore.
‘Ma da’s no in the now.’
The wee guy nodded and stood there smilin.
‘He’ll no be lang. He’s just up the road for a message.’
They never moved.
‘We
