by Jay Sherfey
“OK,” Jason had told him. Like the other boys in the house Stephen wore worn jeans and a tee shirt. “Lie down here. I need something from the shed. I’ll be right back.”
Jason pushed through a hedgerow and discovered an overgrown rock garden. The hedgerow circled the remnants of a garden whose main feature was a small fountain where water would cascade down smooth rocks to a pool, long dried up. Overgrown with weeds and small trees trying to take root, the beauty of the place lay hidden. A little effort, he thought, could bring it back.
Jason never returned to his room. He nudged the boy comfortable on his bed into a deep sleep while he sat on the back porch steps. Stephen acted as the guide to his solution which worked well with Suzy and Rachel. The only new tack was the Etcha-Sketch. Jason created a mental construct under his control for erasing memory. A long row of the thin, red boxes with silver screens and white knobs appeared side by side on a control panel. It stretched forever like a mirror reflected in a mirror. Jason picked up three or four, turned them upside down, and shook. Stephen’s recent memory of Jason disappeared. He awoke confused and left Jason’s room, wondering why he was there. Suzy would report if the intervention helped.
Jason forced his way through the hedgerow on the other side of the rock garden; he froze. He stumbled on a man who sat cross-legged beneath a huge oak tree; his eyes were closed. Startled, Jason made no sound. The man, only twenty feet away, did not react to his presence. In defense mode, Jason’s mind on automatic reached out and touched the stranger’s thoughts.
* * *
Chiang Chin, a thirty-four year old agriculture professor, lived and taught at the University of Taiwan. A survivor, he started life in a small village along the Yellow river in China, Zhiangzhou. The Japanese war machine destroyed his village. The civil war in which he fought for Chiang Kai-Shek against Mao Tse Tung destroyed his soul. With Mao victorious, Chin and tens of thousands like him retreated across the Formosa Strait to Taiwan. With no one to fight, Chin sought mindless work in the fields outside of Taipei as a common laborer. Nightmares, corpses piled in the main square with their severed heads stacked against a wall, plagued him. Depressed, suicide became a viable solution. It was a village elder who pointed the way to hope and forgiveness. Buddhist discipline, honest talk, and a desire to do good finally salvaged Chin. It was 1949 and he was twenty-one years old. In 1962 Chin entered the United States on a professor exchange program with the University of Pennsylvania.
Mildly shocked when he discovered he was not alone, Chin waited for his new companion to finish his meditations. Jason opened his eyes minutes later.
“Tell me, you have a name?” Chin rose and slipped on his sandals. Tall and thin with short black hair, he moved with a fluidity which comes from strength and confidence. He wore a sleeveless black sweat shirt and baggy black pants. His arms looked muscled from long days in the field.
“Jason, sir.” Jason felt stronger, refreshed. He uncrossed his legs and stood. Chin stood a head taller.
“My name, Jason, is Chiang Chin. Call me Chiang. How long have you been meditating?”
“You mean doing what we have been doing here?” Jason stared at his feet, moving a small pebble around. He felt guilty about entering Chiang’s mind uninvited.
“Yes.”
“Today is the first time.” He looked up.
“Ah.” Chiang’s surprise did not show. He gathered his things and packed them away in a black duffel bag.
“It’s amazingly calm in my head when I do this.” Jason frowned. He hoped he did nothing wrong. “I apologize if I disturbed you, sir.” He almost blurted out that he unintentionally took the art of meditation from his mind.
“Disturb me? No, my young friend, you did not disturb me.” Chiang scanned the surrounding area. “I am here everyday at this time, if you wish to join me again please do… but only if you call me, Chiang.”
“Yes sir. I mean, Chiang, I would like that.” Relieved, Jason smiled and nodded.
Chiang nodded. “Tomorrow then?” He threw the bulky, black bag over his shoulder.
“Yes,” said Jason. He turned to follow his track back the way he had come.
Chiang watched him walk away. “Strange child,” he thought, “…but very special.” Only this spot in the park had a lush, deep summer, green with late, summer flowers in full bloom. A month’s growth exploded in an hour.
* * *
A few days later Lydia confronted Frank who sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.
“What is going on around here?” Arms crossed, foot tapping, her anger built, as Frank slowly lowered the paper. “It feels different. Don’t you get that something strange is going on?”
“The kids strike me as happier and are helping each other out. This is a new, unexpected twist. That what you mean?”
Frank felt better too but couldn’t quite understand why. The house was bereft of children except for Jason. Frank recalled that they had been surprisingly cooperative and helpful with one another, as they prepared to leave for camp. This was a good thing. He would not, however, contradict Lydia who obviously did not see the benefits.
“Yeah, that’s very strange. Why now?” She shook her head and sat down at the table. “Another thing bothers me. Why haven’t the drug goons come back?”
“Well maybe we aren’t worth the effort.” Frank closed and folded the paper. The phone conversation with Sly was fresh in his mind. “Maybe they don’t see the profit in coming after us since we’re such small potatoes.”
“Those guys are never satisfied and they get even. Why haven’t we heard anything more if the arrangement was such a bust? No, there’s something goin’ on.” She rose from the table and looked out the window over the sink. Jason sat alone with his back against the tool shed wall with his legs crossed. He looked asleep; she knew better. “It has something to do with that kid.”
“What? The tool shed kid?” Frank stood and together they considered the boy. “What could he have done? He’s only a kid and pretty screwed up at that.”
“Not screwed up enough for the shrink to keep the pills comin’.” Lydia watched him sitting there. She hated the boy. He had something; she did not understand. “Got that damned doctor to call an inspection on us. On us!”
Frank stood silent. He expected that sooner or later there would be an inspection without Will running interference. He didn’t think the doctor had anything to do with it.
“I don’t know,” continued Lydia. “How come he’s a mess in December and suddenly pretty normal a few months later?” Lydia paused, thinking. “It doesn’t make any sense. Come with me. Time for a room check.” Lydia left the kitchen. Frank followed. When she reached Jason’s room, she turned and said, “Let’s tear this place apart.”
“Looking for what?” Frank felt uneasy.
“I don’t know. Something…” Lydia grabbed either side of her head, trying to remember. “Arrgh. I can’t remember. Look for anything like a notebook or journal.”
It took them fifteen minutes to ransack Jason’s room. They found nothing.
“Do we leave it like this?” Frank surveyed the mess, scratching the back of his head.
“No. Let’s put it back.” She did not know why but felt it was important that Jason not know they had invaded his space. “This thing he’s been doing…this just sitting like he’s asleep is new.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Frank stuffed the last of the socks and underwear back in the drawer under the bed. “I remember saying to myself right about the time he started this stuff, ‘kids are happier.’ Course, that’s OK by me. The less running around I have to do to keep up with their fighting and nutsy stuff, the better.”
“The less money in our pockets. Have you forgotten?” Lydia folded her arms, challenging him to argue.
“Yeah, you’re right. But I fig’red maybe we got off easy with the goons.” He stood up. “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.” Lydia’s foot tapped. “Let it go, Lydia. It coulda been a whole l
ot worse.”
“Worse? Worse…yes.” She turned to Frank. An idea, a plan blossomed in her mind. She paced around the room. “That’s it.” She stopped. “I hav’ta call Will at social services. We can turn this getting better angle into money.” She moved around the room agitated. “We catch the worse cases and get more money to cover the poor sick children no one else wants. The kids will get better. No one will know for a time. We pocket the extra cash until the damned doctors report on their improved conditions.”
“We have only so much room, Lydia.” Frank followed her; she strode into the hallway. He saw the signs of obsession. No arguments could change her course.
“We ship out the new kids as their doctors become aware that they are better.” She snapped her fingers and spun around to face Frank. “You get it?”
“Wait a minute.” Frank frowned and stood; his hands beat the air in time with his words for emphasis. ”Ship them where?”
“Let Will work that out.” She turned away, not caring that Frank did not buy into this plan. “The boy needs to be kept close. He is the key. I know it. Give him chores. It will be easier to keep track of ’im.”
Frank just stared after her, as she rushed back to the kitchen. This whole idea struck him as nuts. He worried that Lydia might be losing her mind.
“OK.” He called after her. “We try it for awhile. But if I wind up like I did with the boy before he got better, we drop the whole thing. We’re doing fine. Let’s not get too greedy.”
“No such thing, Frank, as too greedy.” She yelled. “Let’s get Will on the horn.”
As Lydia dialed the phone, the meditation in the backyard ended. Jason regained self-awareness. If asked about where his thoughts took him, he could not answer. One second with controlled breathing he calmed, his heart slowed. The next second he left to who knew where until something kicked him back to himself. The only thing certain was that Jason felt invigorated, alive, and ready to meet whatever challenges came his way.
Jason pulled his notebook out from under him, opened it, and made some notes. He finished scribbling, rose, and returned his journal to its hiding place in the tool shed. The shed was the best place. The spiders, he noticed, were busy as ever in the ceiling corners.
“Hey, guys, how’re you doing?” He never received nor sought an answer. It did his heart good to see something working as it should. When he entered the kitchen Lydia waited for him.
“With so many of the kids at camp and such, we need you to run errands.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s the grocery list.” She walked over to the door leading down to the basement and opened it. An old fold up cart hung from two hooks on the backside of the door. She took it down and handed it to Jason. “You know where the A&P market is, right?” He nodded. “Good, here’s twenty bucks which is plenty. See you bring back the change.”
Chapter 11
“You are nothing and everything. Seek nothing first. Everything will follow.” Chiang began the sessions the same way each day. After two weeks of meditating with his new, young companion, he decided it was time to discuss a few things.
“You have special talents, Jason.” Chiang remained in his meditation pose, legs crossed, back straight. Concern wrinkled the older man’s forehead. “Yet you have not spoken of these things.” Jason stared at him. Caught in the rays of clear, bright, morning sunlight Jason felt like he stood in a spotlight. There was no place to hide. “You are either unaware, which I think is not possible, or you are afraid to reveal yourself or playing a joke of some sort at my expense.”
“I…,” he stopped. Jason slowly climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt and leaves off his sweat pants. Dry mouthed and fearful, Jason realized either direction, running away or talking, might bring pain and potential danger.
“It’s too scary to talk about this stuff.” He clenched his fists. “I don’t really know you. Things have been… happening. I can’t deal with them all. If I talk to you it’s another thing to worry about.” Jason turned to leave, his heart heavy. “I…I hope you kinda understand.”
“Wait, my young friend.” Jason hesitated. He turned his ear to listen; he did not want to see the judgment in Chiang’s face. “I believe,” Chiang said and smiled, “it is time we took a meal together. Will you join me for lunch? I find it easier to talk over good food.” He got to his feet and gathered his things ignoring his pupil.
Jason swung around and eyed his meditation partner suspiciously. His sense of Chiang was clear; he had been in the man’s head if only for a second. The reticence he felt with Dr. Lipton was not there. This would be the first adult he might trust with his secret or the start of a huge mistake. Go, he decided, since he was hungry. Jason would clear his memory if necessary.
“I’ll join you.”
“Excellent.” Chiang bowed slightly and gestured toward the path with his up-turned hand. Jason led the way. Once outside of the bird sanctuary, Chiang took the lead.
A half mile away near the local Penn State campus, Chiang knocked and entered a small white cottage; ivy grew up the wall around the windows. Jason followed. Something wonderful simmered in the kitchen. It filled the house with a seductive aroma. It lured him like Sirens tempting unwary sailors. His stomach grumbled. A small, old Chinese woman stepped into the hallway directly in front of them. She wiped her hands on a dish towel.
“Mrs. Lim, may I introduce Jason my new associate,” said Chiang. He dropped his bag to the floor beneath the coat rack by the front door.
She looked the boy over; then smiled. “You are welcome young man. Come in, come in. I have just finished preparing lunch.” Before Jason could say a word, she put her arm around his shoulder and guided him to a chair at the kitchen table.
“I… I am honored.” He did not know why he spoke those words. It struck him as the right thing. Mrs. Lim stared at him delightfully shocked to hear such unexpected courtesy from an American. She nodded her approval at Chiang.
“Mrs. Lim has been a great help to those of us who visit your country. She’s mastered your culture and acts as a bridge between the old and new worlds.” Chiang took a seat next to Jason. “She also makes the best dim sum on this side of the planet.”
An hour later Jason and Chiang sipped jasmine tea over their empty plates not able to eat another bite.
“You like dim sum?” Chiang placed his cup on the table and folded his hands before him.
“It’s amazing. I’ve never had anything like it.” Jason sat back thoroughly sated.
“Mrs. Lim will be pleased to see the honor you have given her efforts.” Chiang paused a moment not sure how he wanted to proceed. He did not want to scare Jason off. “Mrs. Lim is my landlady. I rent a room here.” Jason nodded. He considered one more dumpling before he left the table.
“I teach horticulture at the University campus nearby. Do you know what that is?” Jason shook his head. “Plants, Jason. The how, when, where, and why of successful growth. I specialize in the growing of hardier species of plants used for food in my country.”
“Oh.” Jason thought this job sounded important. Although exactly what he did, remained a mystery. He eyed the dumpling but decided against it. He would need to loosen his belt to get out of his chair.
“I want to show you something. Come into the backyard.” Chiang rose, held open the backdoor, and waited for Jason to step onto the porch. Slowly the boy pulled himself up. He walked under Chiang’s arm; then looked out over a field of incredible color.
The backyard spanned the width of the house and stretched fifty feet to a wooden fence that bordered a dirt road. A path of white stones divided the yard evenly with a garden on either side. A bench sat amid a circle of the same stones at the midpoint of the garden. The air blossomed with the sweet smell of hyacinth, orange blossom, and lilacs. The flowers in full bloom painted the yard in a spectrum of purple, white, yellow, orange, and some colors Jason had never encountered. He stood amazed. The buzzing, he realized, came from outside of his head. The bees, little
black dots, hovered over and among the flowers.
Chiang laid his hand on Jason’s shoulder; then stepped down to the path and waited for him to follow. He walked ahead down the center path to a spot near the fence and squatted, examining some plants. Jason was mesmerized. He felt and heard the stones crunch beneath his feet; he watched fascinated as pollen gathers moved from blossom to blossom or a butterfly crossed his line of sight. He came up and stood behind Chiang who crouched and gently caressed a white petal with an orange tongue along its center.
“These flowers,” he said, “grow only in the soil in my country, Taiwan.” He stood and walked among the two foot stems. “They will not grow elsewhere. But here they are.”
Jason stared, dumbfounded.
“I planted the seeds,” continued Chiang, “in small paper bags of soil from Mrs. Lim’s backyard and brought them with me to our meditation sessions. They grew. The ones I did not bring are there.” He pointed to a row of three small opened brown bags propped up against the fence; nothing grew over their tops. Chiang continued his examination of the stem and leaves. “These shouldn’t have been able to grow.”
“So, you think I did this?” Jason, stunned, found his voice. His heart skipped a beat; his breathing labored.
“I am a scientist, Jason.” Chiang turned his head and looked at him, “I study the data provided and make conclusions based on that data. Without you, there is no growth. With you, there is growth. Somehow you have changed these plants into something new that can survive here. You changed their genes.” Chiang stood, walked back up the path, and took a seat on the bench.
Minutes passed before Jason calmed his panic and trudged up the white path, kicking stones to the side. He sat and studied his sneakers. Afraid to say anything, he glanced at Chiang; then turned away. Chiang’s reassuring smile did not help. Jason had to make a snap decision.