Time and the Riddle: Thirty-One Zen Stories Read Online Free PDF

history. I want to know how many died in battle and how many were wounded.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œDeadly so.”
    â€œAs long as you pay for it,” Miss Kanter said.
    In the next session, Dr. Blausman asked the General about dreams. “You have been taking notes?”
    â€œOnce.”
    â€œOnly once?”
    â€œIt appears that I dreamed only once. Or remembered only once long enough to get the notebook.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    â€œAs much as I can remember. I was driving a truck.”
    â€œWhat kind of a truck? I want you to be very specific and to try to remember every detail you can.”
    â€œIt was a tank truck. I know that. It was a shiny metal tank truck, strong motor, six speeds forward—” He closed his eyes and then shook his head.
    â€œAll right, it was a tank truck. Oil—milk—chemicals—chocolate syrup—which one? Try to think, try to visualize it.”
    The General kept his eyes closed. His handsome face was set and intent, his brow furrowed. “It was a tank truck, all right, a big, gutsy son of a bitch. The gearing was marked on the shift bar, but I knew it. I didn’t have to be coached. I got out of it once, walked around it. Pipes—”
    â€œWhat kind of pipes?”
    â€œBlack plastic, I guess. Beautiful pumping equipment. I remember thinking that whoever built that job knew what he was doing.”
    â€œWhy did you get out of it?”
    â€œI thought I had to use it.”
    â€œFor what?” Blausman insisted. “For what?”
    He shook his head, opened his eyes now. “I don’t know.”
    â€œFire truck?”
    â€œNo—never.”
    â€œThen you got back in the truck?”
    â€œYes. I started off again In low gear, she whined like some kind of mad cat.”
    â€œWhere were you? What was the place like?”
    â€œA dead place. Like desert, only it wasn’t desert. It was a place that had once been alive, and now it was dead and withered.”
    â€œWithered? Do you mean there were trees? Plants?”
    The General shook his head. “It was desert. Nothing grew there.”
    â€œYou started the truck again. Where were you going?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œThink about it. What were you?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what was I?”
    â€œWhat was your profession?”
    â€œI told you I was driving a truck.”
    â€œBut was that your profession?” Blausman pressed him. “Did you think of yourself as a truck driver?”
    After a moment of thought, the General said, “No. I didn’t think of myself as a truck driver.”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œI don’t know. I just don’t know. What damn difference does it make?”
    â€œAll the damn difference in the world.” Blausman nodded. “A man is what he does. Did you ever notice the way kids talk about what they are going to be when they grow up? They will be what they do. A man is his profession, his work. What was the profession of the man who was driving the truck?”
    â€œI told you I don’t know.”
    â€œYou were driving the truck. Who were you? Were you General Hardy?” “No.”
    â€œHow were you dressed? Did you wear a uniform?”
    Again General Hardy closed his eyes.
    â€œDid you bring your notes with you?” the doctor asked.
    â€œI know what was in my notes.”
    â€œThen you wore a uniform?”
    â€œYes,” Hardy whispered.
    â€œWhat kind?”
    Hardy frowned and clenched his fists.
    â€œWhat kind of a uniform?” Blausman persisted.
    Hardy shook his head.
    â€œTry to remember,” Blausman said gently. “It’s important.”
    Blausman took him to the door, and as it closed behind him, Miss Kanter said, “God, he’s handsome.”
    â€œYes, isn’t he?”
    â€œI wonder what it’s like to be a General’s wife?”
    â€œYou’re