Incensed (5 page)

Two women in long sparkly dresses came forth, each holding small red apples. They walked up to the two flunkies and plugged the fruit into the decanters' holes. The women slinked off to the side and lit cigarettes for each other.

Wood Duck jerked his head to a bare table that was about fifty yards away. It had probably been used to burn incense and fake money to the field gods before the gambling got underway. The decanter bearers fast-walked the fifty yards and set down the vessels side by side on the table. Wood Duck slyly produced a string of Buddhist beads and with his left hand began to count off the 108 afflictions of the material world. Big Eye registered the action. It was a tell that the old man was nervous.

“Since Gao picked the pistol,” Wood Duck declared, “Sima gets the first shot. If he hits the apple and Gao hits the decanter, then Big Eye loses all his winnings. If Sima misses and Gao hits his target, Big Eye can leave with his money doubled. But if they both hit the apple, then Big Eye has to stay another night—for the sake of restoring his luck!”

There was one more possible outcome. All my years of preparing to study in America, a country where everybody was expected to speak out against the teacher, forced me to ask a question.

“What if they both hit their decanters?” I challenged.

Everybody, even the indifferent smoking women and the stoic flunkies, turned and stared at me.

Wood Duck expressed his extreme displeasure by laughing hysterically and clapping. The Buddhist beads rattled a warning. “Who is this little boy?” he exclaimed. “Of course he's from up north! Taipei people don't understand the courtesies of country folk.” He pried his lips back, showed his teeth and rubbed his cheek as if I'd slapped him. “If both of them miss—which is almost impossible—then we'll have a second round! Happy now, little boy?”

I nodded. I felt Big Eye's stare sticking me with poisoned thorns.

“Now! Sima! Stand right here!” Wood Duck pointed with his right hand to a circular spot where something had been burned. His left thumb clacked away at the beads.

He should be nervous. Wood Duck stood to lose a lot of money, but more importantly, his reputation was on the line. If he lost, how could he live this episode down? There had to be at least two hundred people here.

Wood Duck had partially protected himself by having a proxy take the shot. If Sima won, people would remember tonight as Wood Duck's triumph. If Sima missed, people would primarily remember that fucking loser Sima.

Sima threw his head back and shook his hair like he was about to launch into a guitar solo. He raised his right arm and fired. There was deafening silence.

“You idiot!” yelled Wood Duck. “You didn't even hit the decanter!”

“It's a hard shot,” Sima said to his left armpit as he bowed out.

Gao didn't wait to be cued. He stepped to exactly where Sima had stood and held his pistol at waist level in his right hand. The man kept his eyes on his decanter, his left hand caressing the gun.

His swung up his right arm and fired twice. Two soft punching sounds came back. Nobody moved or said anything. Except for Whistle.

“I'll go start the car, get the AC going,” he said, walking away briskly.

“Impossible!” yelled Wood Duck. He twitched his head at the taller of the two flunkies. The man ran out to the table and returned with two cored apples. Wood Duck grabbed them and stared at them hard, willing those bullet holes to close up.

“Wood Duck,” Big Eye said, “let's put my additional winnings in the books. We can settle up later.” He said to Gao softly, “Nice.” Gao blinked.

Big Eye and Gao stepped away. I lingered, looking at Wood Duck and Sima. The slinking women had already disappeared and the other people in the clique were quickly falling away like Antarctic ice shelves in the face of global warming. Why did I stay? I liked watching losers. I have empathy these days.

Sima stood with his head bowed. Wood Duck crushed the apple in his right hand and mashed the applesauce all over Sima's face.

“Open your mouth!” Wood Duck ordered. Sima complied and Wood Duck tucked the other apple between Sima's teeth. “Stay like that until I come for you!” Wood Duck flapped his hands clean and headed back into the tent.

Chapter Three

When we were back
on the road leading out of the sugarcane field Big Eye tilted his head back and laughed hyena hard.

“Jing-nan,” he said, slapping my knee. “So good to see you!”

“It's been so many years,” I said. “How are you,
ah-jiet
?”

He slapped my knee again, harder.

“Don't start that ‘younger uncle' shit! Call me ‘Big Eye'! Everybody else does.” He looked at me sideways with that familiar leer. There were traces of grey now in the hair above his ears and it made him charming even though you knew he was up to no good.

“I didn't expect for you to send for me,” I said. “I could have just taken the high-speed rail down here.” Big Eye grunted and brushed off his knees.

“I needed you here right away,” he said. “Those guys wouldn't let me go without a good excuse after all the money I've won over the past two days.”

I twisted in my seat, afraid to know the answer to the question I was going to ask. “Who are they?”

“Aw, just some men I know. Business contacts.”

“You were gambling in a sugarcane field.”

“So what? Was it a little too country for your tastes, city boy?” His right hand dove inside his suit jacket and retrieved cigarettes and a lighter.

“Isn't gambling illegal, um, Big Eye?”

He lit up and took a long draw before blowing smoke over his shoulder and out the slit at the top of his car window.
“Illegal.”
He sounded out each syllable with utter contempt. “It was just friends playing, a private gathering. Hey, little Jing-nan, you think you can judge me just because you were on TV? You think you're on some reality-show panel and you're going to vote me off?” He thumped Whistle's headrest in a rude and yet familiar way and repeated, “He thinks he can vote me off the show!”

Whistle gave a practiced and forced laugh. “Yes, that's very funny.”

Gao rolled his neck to crack the bones and yawned. I tried to fight it but I had to yawn as well. I was tired and now that flying bullets were out of the picture, I rediscovered a particular bad mood that only your relatives can put you in with their impositions.

“Look, Big Eye,” I said, “I just want to know that you dragged me down here for a real reason.”

“I needed to see you, Jing-nan! Of course I had a legitimate need!” He scratched his neck. “My daughter—your cousin—needs your help. Mei-ling wants to go to America for college and since you went there, you could help counsel her.”

“I didn't know you had a daughter!” I said. “You're married now?”

He looked at me full on, calculating something. I saw my father's face in him. “Mei-ling is sixteen,” he said. “Her mother's a cheap-ass Hakka bitch and we separated a number of years ago. We share custody.” He flared his nostrils and pointed at my nose. “Don't get married until you're sure in your heart that it's what you want. You promise me that.”

“Your daughter was born before you left. How come I didn't know?”

“I didn't know, either, little boy!”

We slowed and then took a highway exit lit only with a single withered lamppost. A large red sign warned
private road
. As we began to ascend, I asked Big Eye, “You live up on a mountain?”

He laughed and rubbed my shoulder. “A brief detour first. We're going to pay our respects to Tu Di Gong. He's been so good to me ever since he warned me that I had to take that little vacation to the Philippines a few years ago.”

I was tired. The restorative power of the nap on the way down to Taichung was now tapped out. I wasn't sure how much more stimuli I could take.

Just reuniting with my uncle would have been heavy enough. The illicit gambling and sharpshooting exhibition were more than icing on the cake. It was like another cake on top. It was pretty cool seeing Gao shoot both apples. No special effects, either. The entire criminal world of
heidaoren
was probably already buzzing about how Wood Duck lost face big time. My uncle and his crew were even more fearsome now. Surely after such events it was time to head home, catch up a little and cook up alibis?

The road was dark and rocky. Trees whipped by and the occasional clearing showed nothing but stars, as if we were ascending to heaven. I cleared my throat, preparing to ask Big Eye a Big Question. “Is there still something like a warrant out for your arrest?”

Both Whistle and Gao exchanged mortified looks. Big Eye gave me a big fat smile.

“Jing-nan! There was never a warrant out for me! Well, not officially. It was all a big misunderstanding. The guy they were looking for, his name was pronounced the same way, but the third character was different, just a few strokes off from mine. Can you believe that?” He clicked his tongue to emphasize that the question was rhetorical.

We rode in silence until we reached the temple to Tu Di Gong, the earth god.

Out of all the
deities worshipped on Taiwan, Tu Di Gong is probably the most informal, the most empathetic to the human world. The god you could have a beer with and bitch about life to. He would probably nod slowly, reach his hands through the sleeves of his ancient Chinese bureaucrat robe and stroke his Santa beard. “Yeah, sorry, that sucks,” he would say.

You can get more than empathy out of Tu Di Gong, but you have to get in real tight with him.

You need to offer him enough sweets to say good things about you to the Jade Emperor, the ruler of heaven. You should include a generous serving of rice cakes to stick to the roof of his mouth so he can't say anything about your bad deeds. The most important offering, though, is money to the temple priests, presumably to fancy up Tu Di Gong's altar.

Then and only then will Tu Di Gong risk the abuse from his wife and the wrath of the Jade Emperor to intercept an interoffice memo in heaven and discreetly make an adjustment or two in your favor.

Our headlights fell upon
metal gates blocking access to the temple but as we rolled up, two sullen young men swung them back. As we entered, the gates closed behind us.

Big Eye tapped his nose. “Listen to me, Jing-nan. Stupid people worship Tu Di Gong only when the lunar calendar says his wife is away. That makes them part-time believers. I give thanks to him every fucking day.” He slapped his hand against his thigh to emphasize his words. “That's how devout I am. That's how unselfish I am.”

I shifted in my seat. “Why do you say you're unselfish?”

He raised a fist to my face and extended his index finger to point at the roof.

“You think I come here for just me? Huh? I'm here because I care about my family, what's left of it. How many years have I asked Tu Di Gong to watch out for you, my dead older brother's son and my only nephew? When you survived the shooting at the night market, did you think that was plain luck?” He solemnly touched my shoulder. “Tu Di Gong was protecting you.”

We took a turn and the temple sailed into view. It wasn't that big, just a single-hall deal. The roof, with its curled corners, probably wouldn't shelter more than thirty people from the rain. As the SUV slowed to a stop, Big Eye sprang out of the vehicle. I almost pitied Big Eye for his unabashed affection for Tu Di Gong. He was a boy who believed in Santa Claus.

The rest of us exited with undisguised reluctance. It was distressing to see the skepticism of his right- and left-hand men.

I'd spent my childhood being dragged to temples. It must be in my karma. Now, I neither believe in nor fully understand the concept of karma. I blame myself, my incarnation as the young man known as Chen Jing-nan, for my present circumstances.

Well, maybe I could ask if I could stay in the SUV and rest. When he saw me last I was a boy but now I was a man. I could speak my mind, even to him, an older relative.

Big Eye bounded from
his side of the car and put an arm around my shoulders.

“Let's go, Jing-nan!” he said, adding needlessly, “I'm excited you're here!”

I wilted as his enthusiasm bowled me over. “I am a little tired, Big Eye.”

“Tired? What the hell are you talking about? You know how much sleep I get? Zero. C'mon, now. The incense will wake you up.”

He guided me to the temple's entrance with Gao lagging behind us. Whistle leaned against the SUV and toyed with his phone.

“How come Whistle's not coming?” I asked.

Big Eye stifled a laugh. “Aw, Whistle? He's been on this Jesus kick.” Dammit, that's what I should've said!

“He's been born again,” offered Gao.

“Just once?” Big Eye coughed. “Whistle should become a Buddhist. You know how many times they get to be born again?”

“He seems serious about Jesus,” said Gao. Big Eye waved a hand and grumbled.

The temple wasn't as gaudy as others I've been to. There were only two pairs of ceramic dragons and phoenixes perched on top. Two ten-foot-high wood columns at the entrance were painted over with scenes of gods, mythical creatures and a shape-shifting monkey. A pair of stone guardians, modestly human-sized, stood at either side of the door, hands on the hilts of their swords, their hollowed-out mouths in eternal grimaces.

The Tu Di Gong idol sat on a throne holding a
ruyi
in his right hand and a gold
yuanbao
in his left. The
ruyi
is a short curved scepter with a knob at one end. It resembles a backscratcher with a tassel attached to the bottom. The
yuanbao
is a metal ingot shaped like an egg with a brim around the long oval circumference. From the side it could pass for a sailor's cap or a boat. Tough guys in Chinese historical novels could break off pieces of the brim with their bare fingers to pay for trifling amounts of food and drink.

This particular Tu Di Gong idol was the unhappiest one I'd ever seen. The smile was pained, one that a now-diabetic old man would have while remembering the first time he had tasted chocolate. His fellow idols were depicted in chortles approaching Buddha's open-mouthed guffaw.

The offering table was crowded with dishes of cooked meats and candy, and planters of burning joss sticks, some already reduced to fuzzy columns of ash.

Big Eye and I stood side by side at the offering altar. Smoke from the incense gave the glistening skin of a roasted-chicken offering an Instagram-like filter. The lack of sleep weighed on me and I yawned again. My uncle pushed a finger against my arm and whispered.

“Stay awake and be respectful, Jing-nan. I've been to many Tu Di Gongs all over Taiwan. This one's the strongest.” He gestured to the bare stone floor. “See? No padded cushions here. We feel the floor when we kneel down.”

Alarmed, I whispered back, “
We
have to kneel?”

A Taoist priest, suspiciously young at about fifty and suspiciously clean-shaven, approached Big Eye. He also seemed too muscular to wear the robes. This guy was more ex-jock-turned-sports-announcer than withdrawn follower of the Tao.

“Dearest Big Eye,” said the priest softly. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence again.”

“I'm here every night, right?” Big Eye whispered back. He tipped his head at me. “My nephew, Jing-nan.”

The priest put his hands together and nodded at me. “Tu Di Gong blesses you.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

He blinked. “Don't thank
me
.” He handed two joss sticks to Big Eye. “Please.”

Gao stepped forward, touched a lit lighter to the joss sticks and then slipped behind a thick column carved with a dragon spiraling up to heaven. Big Eye blew out the fire at the end of the joss sticks. The glowing embers that remained would slowly digest the rest of the sticks and release the poison into the air. Release the scent, rather.

Big Eye held out a stick to me. A thin curl of smoke trailed from the tip.

“Thank you, Big Eye,” I said as I took it.

“Do what I do,” Big Eye said. He clasped the stick in his hands and gave three forty-five-degree bows. I did the same. When I thought I was done, Big Eye grabbed my left wrist and whispered, “Do it again, Jing-nan. This time face Tu Di Gong square-on.”

I obeyed and when Big Eye was satisfied he jabbed his stick into a sand-filled censer. I did the same.

“That was a nice ceremony,” I said as I checked my phone.

He glared at me. “We're not done by a long shot.”

Gao returned and handed him a pair of crescent wood blocks, each about the size and shape of shoes for a ten-foot-tall marionette. One side of each block was flat, the other rounded.

Big Eye got on his knees and pressed the flat sides of the blocks together. I heard my uncle take in a deep breath and hold it. He cast the blocks to the floor with a flourish and finally exhaled. One block stood on its flat end and the other teetered on its rounded side.

The priest tilted his head and evaluated the blocks.

“You should ask again,” he said. “Let's have Jing-nan kneel down, too, to show how devout your family is.”

Big Eye, still on his knees, gathered the blocks together and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I dropped to my knees and felt the floor smack back, cold, hard, and angry. I grimaced and noticed the priest's smirk.

Big Eye blew imaginary dust from the back of both hands and cast the blocks once more. The priest nodded. “All right,” he said and withdrew. Big Eye remained on his knees.

“Can I get up?” I asked.

“No!” he snapped.

The priest returned and handed Big Eye a bamboo canister filled with carved wooden strips.

Big Eye shook the canister with the vigor of a mischievous toddler.

“Careful,” admonished the priest. Big Eye reduced his fervor and a single stick slid out apart from the pack, centimeter by centimeter, until it clattered on the floor. Big Eye handed the canister back to the priest and snatched the stick from the floor. We stood up and Big Eye's knees cracked before he read out the characters on the stick.