We looked up at the giant display panel when it started to update noisily. The letters clattered over each other and blurred into a white-and-black mass. We and everyone around us waited for the letters to calm down. We looked up, spellbound, as if hoping the display panel were about to reveal what life had in store. The letters slowed and the display panel did, indeed, reveal what life had in store, at least for the next five minutes, in its laconic display panel way.

“Gate Five B,” Frederik read.

As we crossed the departure hall, Alaska strained at the leash so hard I almost lost my balance.

He pulled toward a man who came running up to us. I squinted. I’d never seen this man before, but I immediately knew who he was.

“Excuse me for addressing you like this,” he said to Frederik, “my name is Dr. Maschke. I’m a psychoanalyst. You’re Buddhist, aren’t you?” He offered Frederik his hand. His leather jacket creaked.

“Yes, I’m Buddhist,” Frederik replied and glanced at me. “At least I think I am.”

“I’m very interested in Buddhism. Do you practice zazen?”

Frederik nodded, and Dr. Maschke couldn’t take his eyes off him. He looked at him as rapturously as Mr. Rödder had looked at the saddlebag.

I stared at Dr. Maschke. He had reddish hair and a short reddish beard. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and was about the same age as my father.

“My name is Maschke,” he said to me, giving my hand a cursory shake. He wanted to turn back to Frederik, but his gaze lingered on my face. “You remind me of someone.”

“Of my father,” I said.

“Unbelievable! You’re Peter’s daughter! You look exactly like him. How nice to meet you.”

Alaska was overjoyed, probably because he had been Dr. Maschke’s idea.

“Alaska was Dr. Maschke’s idea,” I explained to Frederik. “So was the trip around the world.”

“No, the opposite is true,” Dr. Maschke objected. “I repeatedly tried to talk him out of it. I urged him to stay home with you.” He turned back to Frederik. “But tell me … I have a question about Yogācāra Buddhism.”

“But that’s simply not right,” I said indignantly, “it was all your idea.” I realized, as I was speaking, that there wasn’t the slightest proof that Dr. Maschke had sent my father around the world. Selma and I had just assumed it to be the case, and the opposite could well be the case.

“Then shoot,” Frederik said.

Dr. Maschke cleared his throat. “To be more precise, I have a question about the eight vijñānas.”

“What’s going on with Alaska?” I asked, because he was still overjoyed at seeing Dr. Maschke.

“We spent a lovely day together,” Dr. Maschke said, giving Alaska a creaking and absentminded pat on the head. “My question, in fact, is about ālayavijñāna.”