After wandering around the city all day, my throat was on fire and my tongue felt as if it had fallen into a wok of fried noodles.
I walked into Chinatown. Outside a Chinese grocery store, a Mexican boy stood by the street with his head tilted back, drinking a Coca-Cola.
Ah Bing should be home from school by now, I thought. Before leaving that morning, I had told him to lock the door after he got home and wait for Dad to return.
I had asked at every shop with a HELP WANTED sign. I had even tried my luck at markets, hotels, and stores without signs.
Some wanted local experience. Some said there were no openings at the moment. Some told me to leave a telephone number and wait for a call.
Oh—oh. The boy drinking Coke let out a long burp and stared up at me curiously.
I reached into my trouser pocket and felt the two dollars inside. Better endure it. My tongue moved slowly around my dry mouth.
I left the crowded street and turned onto Ord Street. There was a small, brightly visible temple with a single Buddha inside.
Taishanese! So familiar. So intimate. Curiosity stopped my feet.
Suddenly someone seized my left hand. I turned in surprise. A fat monk in a yellow robe stood there, looking like Lu Zhishen the Tattooed Monk from the novel, except without the beard.
“Come, come.” The fat monk smiled without quite smiling. “Go inside and take a look.”
His hard, powerful hand pulled me in. The Buddha hall was pitch-dark, and I became nervous.
“We’re renovating. No lights yet.”
He dragged me up to the loft.
“So big, so good, so cheap! Want to rent a room?”
I thought of the murderous inns in old novels. My speech became confused.
“Mm… oh… let me think… maybe in a few days…”
Coming back out of the darkness and passing through the Buddha hall, I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
“Worship!”
The command came sharply from behind me. I froze.
“Here!”
A stick of incense was handed to me. Mechanically, I took it and bowed three times with both hands.
Please, Bodhisattva, help me find a job, I prayed silently in my heart.
I placed the incense in the burner and had just turned to leave.
“Give money!”
Another short bark.
My hand instinctively went into my pocket and touched those two dollars.
I hesitated for a moment. Without daring to look back, I quickened my steps and slipped out of the temple.
As I walked down the road, a little drum beat inside my heart:
“Will the Bodhisattva punish me?”
Originally published December 4, 2000.