The Trickster Diaries, part 3/Chapter 18
I was still seeing them everywhere. Still feeling the compression of their paws walking on the futon. Still anticipating a warm body, a tickle of whiskers.
One day, contemplating the death theory I considered far more logical than the others, it occurred to me that if the bardo state — that time between death and rebirth — is 49 days for humans, then how long for a cat?
But another aspect of the mythology was troubling: the practice, especially among Tibetan Buddhists, of breaking up and scattering the physical remains of their cremated dead. They believe that if the spirit of the deceased is allowed to see the form it once inhabited, it will attempt to re-enter and animate the corpse, thereby endangering its chances of entering a heaven realm, or of becoming a Bodhisattva, or of securing a positive rebirth.
Linda — certainly wiser, more cautious and independent than her brother — would have no problem crossing the threshold, selecting the first or second heaven realm that appeared. But Hank, it worried me to realize, had a fatal flaw.
He was my shadow.
Back in my short-lived FB days, I’d posted a portrait of Hank that people went nuts over. They swore the love in his eyes was visceral.
He was gone, but I could sense him hanging on, caught between worlds.
“You need to fix that,” said Sabrina, staring at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re imagining he’s still there because he is, in spirit form. And you’re welcoming it.”
Jesus. She was right.
Sabrina: (Still staring at me) Love is selfless, my friend.
Late April, 2018. Midsomer Murders, on Netflix, was finally done. Or I was done with it. So I canceled my account and switched to Hulu. And to my delight, the fourth and final season of The Bridge, an exceptionally twisted, ravishingly deep and dark Swedish/Danish TV production, was available for streaming.
Deep and dark. The deep, dark, screwy psychodrama of Saga Noren — Swedish police detective — scratches like fingernails and secrets into each episode; a Hitchcock-fashioned subliminal descent no one wishes to follow.
But we must, because we’re in love with her.
Same kind of love I had for Hank, come to think of it. I loved him because he was unfiltered, rambunctious, smart, difficult and demanding.
Quite unlike Hank, Saga has no concept whatsoever of humor, or tenderness, nor any means to express the love buried in her heart.
It’s never mentioned within the context of the show itself, but observers speculate that she may have Aspberger’s Syndrome, a developmental disorder associated with the inability to socialize or communicate — in polite fashion, that is.
Her personal history, too, as we learn in S1, is strange and twisted. Her younger sister, who was in Saga’s care at the time, killed herself by stepping in front of a train, age 14.
Saga changes clothes in the center of a busy police HQ without concern. When her body wants sex she goes to a bar, chooses a guy, and says: “Would you like to have sex with me? I live just around the corner.”
Then, moments after orgasm, she grabs her laptop, sits up in bed, and begins reading autopsy reports.
Guy: (Shocked by the images on the screen) What are you doing?
Saga: Reading autopsy reports.
The guy leaves.
Fine with Saga.
Obviously, her character drives the show. But it’s also brilliantly written and structured in a way that makes most American TV seem childish.
So, yeah, I’m really looking forward to S4.
