After that it went swimmingly, Squirrelly thought. They retired to the Dalai Lama's personal quarters, where the regents shut the doors and they drank tea-thankfully without rancid butter-sitting face-to-face on cushions. The Dalai Lama admired Squirrelly's Oscar while she got a good look at his Nobel Peace Prize.
"Strange are the ways in which the Wheel of Destiny turns," said the Dalai Lama.
"I saw this coming, you know. I'm a Taurus. They have the best karma."
"Now that you are recognized as the Bunji Lama, what will you do?"
"Liberate Tibet. That's what I'm here for," said Squirrelly, admiring the Nobel. "How hard is it to earn one of these things, anyway?"
The Dalai Lama hesitated over his bowl of tea. "Why do you ask, Bunji?"
"One of these would look great over my mantel between my Oscar and Golden Globe. By the way, may I call you Delhi?"
" 'Dalai.' It means 'ocean.' My title means 'ocean of wisdom.' And yes, you may call me that if it is your desire."
"That reminds me. Let's dish, lama to lama!" Squirrelly leaned forward. "When we feel the urge, what do we lamas do?"
"We do nothing. To sublimate the lower urges is our purpose in this life."
"Exactly how long have you been sublimating?" Squirrelly wondered.
"All my lives."
"Okaaay. Tell me, if you couldn't free your people after forty years, how'd you snare this baby?"
"I earned the Nobel by keeping the peace. For my way is the way of nonviolence. Is that not your way, Bunji?"
"I've always been nonviolent. Not that it's been easy. Sometimes I wanna give my little brother such a smack."
"I am pleased to hear this. Aggression is not the answer to the problem of Tibet, for the Chinese are many, and Tibetans few and poor."
"Don't sweat the Chinese. I've handled them before."
"These words gladden my heart. For I am the last Dalai Lama. It has so been prophesied. After me there will be no more, and my people are beside themselves at the prospect. But now that the Bunji has returned, hope will spring anew. Perhaps in two or even three decades, Tibet will breathe the sweet air of freedom once more."
Squirrelly squinted under her fleece-lined lama's cap. "Two or three decades? I figure it'll take two or three weeks."
"Weeks?"
"Sure," Squirrelly said, ticking off her plans on her saffron-nailed fingers. "Two or three weeks to liberate Tibet. Maybe another week or so for a goodwill tour of the major villages. Six months to write the book. And three to film."
"Film?"
Squirrelly flung her arms wide as if to encompass the entire world. "Won't this make a great movie? Internationally famous American actress plucked from cosmic obscurity to liberate a downtrodden people. Talk about high concept!"
"I fail to follow your thinking, Bunji Rinpoche."
"Oh, I love it when people call me that. Listen, you have a really photogenic face. Wanna play yourself?"
"Play?"
"I may end up doing Lamb of Light as a musical, though. Like Evita. How good are your pipes?"
"But you are the Bunji. It is your destiny to rule Tibet-if the Chinese do not assassinate you first."
"They already tried that," Squirrelly said dismissively. "Now that I have the First Lady on my side, I'm protected. If anything happens to me, she'd have them nuked."
"You would not encourage a nuclear attack on China?"
"Not me. By that time I'll be well into my next life and as long as I didn't come back as a Chinese citizen, I probably wouldn't care."
A knock came at the door. The Dalai Lama perked up.
"Ah, it is dinner. We will eat and talk more. Enter."
Servants entered, bearing fragrant foods on silver trays.
Kula and Lobsang hovered nearby.
Squirrelly tasted the air. "Smells scrumptious. What is all this stuff?"
"That is tsampa."
"Looks like Maypo. What about this soup?"
"That is thukpa-noodle soup. Very tasty."
"Tibetan pasta? I love it!"
"Do not eat yet."
"Why not? Do we say some kind of Buddhist grace first?"
"We must await the food taster."
"Food taster?"
"It is a precaution in case of poison."
"Who would try to poison you? You're so sweet."
"You," said the Dalai Lama without rancor.
"Hey, give a gal a break. I'm a fellow Buddhist, after all."
The food taster came in, bowed to each of them, and, under the watchful eyes of Lobsang Drom, Kula and the Dalai Lama's retinue, and the horrified eyes of Squirrelly Chicane, lifted each bowl in turn and slurped up generous portions.