Hello family, friends, and gentle readers,
TA-DAH! This marks my 100th blog post! Thanks for reading.
Apologies. I realized that for the last few journal entries of Clete's, I've gotten the project dates out of synch. Events that happened the week of July 22 should be indicated as Week 5. I'll get around to correcting those soon.
I went to a writers conference yesterday and I learned a term that applies to any of you reading this blog right now. You are "Alpha Readers"--readers of a draft work AS it is being written, chapter by chapter. "Beta Readers," on the other hand, are those who I may give this to review once everything has been put into more or less final form. So, thanks to all you Alphas out there. It would be nice if you sent me comments if you have any. If you're so inclined, post them to my Facebook page. If you're not a friend, send me a request. I accept ALL Facebook friend requests.
I'm going to throw a question out to you folks who have tried to read this thing (this was an analysis question that was brought up in one of the writing workshops): What shelf would you put this book on in the Barnes and Noble bookstore? I suppose I'd say General Fiction, but it crosses into several genres to me; which is a problem if I want to pitch it to an agent to represent for me. I'm curious what any of you might think. To me, it's mostly a satire, but there is no satire section.
We are still looking at recollections of Sunday, July 29. A lot of things happened that day. There will be a recollection of a fishing lesson in the next installment on that day as well. I'm not giving spoilers, but this should be a clue to remember details of things that happened that will come into play later when the climax starts and facts start colliding with one another.
Thanks for being here for my 100th.
Love,
Pops
Personal Journal Entry
US Time: Sunday,
July 29, 2012
Island Time: Dragon, Month 6, Day
11, Xingqi 7
Project Date: Week 6, Day 1
This Sunday was my day to be a good religious neighbor. I
said my prayers and did my scripture reading, which is about all a go-to-church-when-possible
guy like me can do on my own. My pastor, who is a pretty liberal guy, would be
having a fit if he knew I was praying in a pagan temple, surrounded by gongs,
charms, wheels, and stone idols, pouring water on a ocean god statue and
burning incense to a turtle. But it was all good to me. I mean, wasn’t it
Luther who said “Without faith, there is no sacrament?” It has to work the same
for sacrilege too. It’s only fair. It was nice to be in a place set aside for
quiet contemplation.
Once Jie had taken me all about the Shrine and took me to
the altar of the 10th God, the God with No Name, I knew how the
Apostle Paul felt when he was in Athens when he found the altar of the Unknown
God. It looked like familiar territory. Not sure why. Probably because the
symbol inscribed on the little idol, the Chinese number 10, shi or sup depending on your dialect how you say it, looks like a cross.
A word about the altars. They are essentially platforms
about the size of a large desk with maybe two or three tiers built up. In a
couple of cases, wings are added on. There’s enough working space where you can
set up, say a full dinner place setting. All of them have a sand-filled ceramic
urn for holding burning joss sticks. Vessels in which you can pour oil or water
or wine or anything else. All kinds of hooks and hanging clips where you can
attach written prayers or banners or picture icons. Every other bit of real
estate is taken up with what I would call religious folk art. Hand-carved
figurines. Statuettes brought from far places, jewelry, found stones, branches,
you name it. Some of these figurines were familiar—characters I had seen in
small, glazed ceramic forms in family members’ homes. Old men holding canes and
peaches. Guys riding oxen. Women with hair like midnight and skin the color of
snow. Come to think of it, Snow White must have been a Chinese princess.
The altars reminded me of all the Chinese graphic art that I
would see when my Dad would stop in a Chinese-owned business. I remember all of
the colors were too bright and garish. Pictures of people looked really stiff
and they had bad haircuts. The Chinese “fine art” hanging in homes were
embroidered pictures of flashy animals like dragons, phoenixes, ducks, and
tigers—again all done in extremely bright, over-the-top colors. At my
grandmother Yin-Yin’s house, I remember she kept blue-and-white porcelain vases
filled with cheap, plastic artificial flowers held in a “soil” of either washed
pebbles or cat’s-eye marbles. When she occasionally set up a new arrangement
she’d put a clear plastic bag (which had been saved from some earlier purchase) over it so that you could still see them, but
they wouldn’t get dusty because they were hard to clean. Of course, the bags got dusty and opaque,
defeating the purpose of having a flower arrangement. I'm a self-admitted cheapskate, but her idea of thrift made no sense to me.
I thought for years that the Chinese race was terminally
cheap and tacky until I took a Chinese art history course in college and
discovered all the smart guys with taste, scholars and literati, were drawing
in brush and black ink only. Apparently the scholars didn’t make it over to
America and open knick-knack shops. Cheap and tacky laborers and mechanics like
my family were the purveyors of a 5,000 year old culture. It was eye-opening.
Even my Dad’s Chinese porn was different. Chinese porn models had pubic
hair—Americans did not. But I digress. Let’s get back to religion.
The other altars had centralized themes running through them
according to the element or totem animal for the caretaker Guardian Princess
that maintained it. Altar No. 10, though, was hodge-podge. It took on all
comers. There were airplanes, mermaids, Ganeshas, statues of geisha girls,
cats, a Star of David, all kinds of empty wine bottles, a couple with sequins
glued all over them. These altars had the feeling of 20th-century
assemblage art, heavily Asian-themed, but with none of the oppressive darkness
or psychological heaviness of despair, depression, or decay that
assembler-artists typically portray.
“So each princess then keeps an altar?” I
asked Jie.
“Yes. That is their duty. Some have items
outside in the yard. Maybe stone carvings that are too large to be in the
Shrine. Or items that are to have water poured on them.”
“There’s a lot of stuff on these altars.
What happens when you get too much?”
“That has not occurred in my lifetime, but
when it does, we gather much of the older offerings, burn them ritually, and
then put the ashes or remains at one of the sacred trees in The Grove.”
“Who maintains Altar No. 10?”
“That is the duty of the Sea Witch.”
“I haven’t met her. I hope it’s OK that I
used her altar without asking.”
“On the contrary, I think she will be
quite pleased.”
“I’d like to meet her. Is she available
for an introduction?”
“I can ask her daughter, but I have heard
she has been quite ill. They live nearby as we are on the border of The
Outside. I can summon one of them by ringing the bell outside of the main
entrance.”
“Seems like a lot of trouble. Like I might
be interrupting them.”
“It’s possible. They have many duties as
they are just two where we are eighteen in number.”
“How often do you summon them that way?”
“Never. When we wish access into The
Grove, or into any part of The Outside, we place a written prayer on the altar.
The answer comes back on the reverse. It’s always YES.”
“Is the Sea Witch … evil?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Everybody’s tone of voice changes when
they speak her name. And it’s always her title. Never the name. That’s social
distance.”
“I suppose it is. Distance I mean. I don’t
think of her as evil, no. But what tone do you think we’re expressing?”
“I’d say … fear. And the word ‘witch’ in
English carries a lot of negative meaning.”
“As her name says, her domain is the sea.
Which is different than Auntie Lee’s, which is the element of water. We
Islanders fear and respect the sea.”
“I
understand that. I don’t like the ocean either.”
“It is thought that the Sea Witch controls
who comes onto the Island and who does not. The marine terrain is treacherous
for experienced sailors.”
“If you believe that, then she controls
your destiny doesn’t she? It’s up to her whether you ever see your prince or
not. That’s pretty powerful.”
“Which is maybe why she is feared.”
“Good thing I came by helicopter then.
Hope she’s not mad at me for circumventing her defenses.”
I pulled out my note pad and wrote my meeting request, tore
off the small slip, and attached it to the one of the alligator clips that was
dangling from the third tier.
It took a while to make the rounds of the other nine altars.
Angel’s total recall in reciting prayers for each deity was most impressive. Of
course, she could be faking it and I’d not be the worse for my ignorance. And
the music! It was ethereal. I asked if that was a part of their regular worship
and she said “no.” There are silences, claps, and soundings of bells or gongs,
depending on what ritual is being requested.
We eventually finished up and Angel excused herself to clean
up. I offered to help but she would have none of it so I decided to go pay my
respects to the church musicians. Feng was hunched over her instrument and I
came up behind her and whispered in her ear.
“Brava Maestra.” She nearly jumped when I
said that.
“My Heavens! Clete, you startled me,” said
Feng.
“You are quite skilled. Your music was
beautiful. I don’t know the technique of this instrument, but I knew you were
putting the notes exactly where you wanted them.”
“If you were thinking about how I was
playing then I failed.”
“Not at all. But it’s the curse of being a
musician.”
“How’s that?”
“You take up playing an instrument or
singing because you hear a sound that transforms you (or maybe your mother
forces you to like mine did, but at some point it’s a choice) and you just want
to make that sound and spend years perfecting it. And then once you master that
sound, you hardly ever get that same transcendence again. At least that’s how
it works for me. You have to content yourself that you are doing that for
others. But once in a while, you do go back to that time when the sound was so
new.”
“So,
how was it today then?” asked Wen. “Did we achieve transcendence?”
“Gwendolyn! Would you believe me if I told
you ‘yes’?”
“Yes, Professor, I would.”
“How would you know that I was not just
being polite?
“That answer is easy. You are never
polite.”
“Why Gwen, you’ve absolutely cut me to the
quick.”
“And you are my teacher. I expect and
demand totally honest assessments from you ... so that I can become better.”
“You’ve done an excellent job there with
her Feng,” I said. “There’s nothing better for a teacher than to have my own
intellectual honesty dished right back to me. I know the future is going to be
in good hands. It was transcendent in spots. Except for one persistent
enharmonic.”
“Which one?”
“Got a minute?” She nodded and opened up
the case and took the qin back out. “Hit ’em all.”
She sounded all the strings in turn, placing her fingers in line with the
pearl markers that sound the higher overtones above the basic pitch.
“THAT one. Hit the others on that string.
Yeah, to my ear 3 and 5, I don’t know what you call them, need sharping
especially when you hit a sympathetic fundamental. Brings me right back down to
earth and reminds me that you are a human being plucking silk after all. Of
course, maybe that’s what you meant to do. And I think you need to strengthen
your right ring finger. Give me a run up and down.” She did. “Slightly hurried
going up on the switch from ring to middle don’t you think?”
“I agree,” she said giving me her full attention.
“Put your hand up. Match your fingertips
to mine. Press each in turn and let me test your pressure. I have a couple of
exercises . . .”
“Ahem. Thank you Clete,” said Feng
interrupting. “WE are glad you found it so transcendent.”
This was bad. I’ve done it again. Feng is Gwen’s teacher. I AM rude. Time
for a self-deprecating save attempt.
“But then again. What the hell do I
know? I’ve never touched a … ‘goo chin’
is it?”
“Would you like to?” asked Feng. “I can
give you a quick introductory lesson. The stories I have heard of your being a
string instrument player are obviously true.”
“I do play guitar. A little bit of violin.
Piano also. Thanks for the offer, but I’d best not start. I’ll descend into
practicing hell if you give me half a chance. I’d probably constantly pester
you to reserve time on it. I’ll just enjoy your talent at the blessing from God
that it is.”
“Clete,” said Feng, “that reminds me. I’ve
been meaning to ask you. Why does a scientist believe in an unseen world or any
kind of god? It’s not what I would expect.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have
colleagues who give me shit about it all the time. All I can say is I do not
know what I do not know. And the God that my mother introduced me to is the
presence who seems to be able to hold that space for me.”
“Does he answer your prayers?”
“He doesn’t, but that may be because I
don’t ask him for anything.”
“But isn’t that what a god is for?” asked
Wen.
“That’s what your parents are for. Or
having a job and making money. God is just there who made things the world the
way it is and we try figure how to live in it. That’s what religion is to me.”
“But what were you doing in your worship
service there?” asked Wen. “It seemed entirely internal.”
“Being in the shrine, looking at the
words, thinking of the scripture, listening to your music, smelling the
incense, hearing the fountain outside, feeling the floor against my knees as I
sit on the floor—it’s all about looking for and enjoying the patterns of nature
and of intelligence in the created world. If you’re at all curious, sit with me
when I study my Bible and you can see my approach.”
“If you don’t ask things of your God,”
asked Feng, “what do you pray about?”
“I give thanks mostly. Oh, I guess I ask
forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness for what?”
“For doing bad things to others.”
“Like what? If you do not mind my asking?”
“What? You wanna be my Goddamned confessor?
Well lately, my greatest sin seems to be irritating Lee. I guess now I’ll have
to add being rude to you.” Wen put her hand to her mouth and suppressed a
giggle. Feng shot her daughter a warning glance. “Did I say something wrong?”
“It is nothing,” said Feng.
“Say, I was wondering if your instrument
has a sound hole? It’s so quiet!”
She picked it up and flipped it over. “There
are two on the qin. They are on the underside. The larger one is called the
Dragon Pool, the smaller the Phoenix Pond.”
“I see an inscription inlaid there. What
does it say?” he asked.
“This is the maker’s mark. This is a
dedication poem for my great grandmother—this was made for her especially. I
don’t know all the words. There are two that nobody knows and they are not in
the dictionaries.”
“Maybe it’s some Classical expression. Might
not even be Chinese. If you’d like, I can take a picture or write them down and
ask a colleague to give her version of what it says when I get back to the
States. She’s an East Asian languages professor. If she doesn’t know, I know
she’s got literary contacts in China.”
“That would be nice to know what it says.”
“So you two have to share using this ‘qin’
then?”
“There is another, but it is an antique.”
“Is it not playable?”
“It is so old, I’m worried that if we were
to fully string it and put tension on it, that it would give way and it would
crack or fall apart. Would you like to see it? It’s kept here in the Shrine as
one of our sacred objects.”
“I would.”
“Wen, would you fetch the Firebird Qin
please?” Wen rose, gave a quick bow and dashed off into the back. She returned with a large ornately carved
rosewood case. She undid the latches and pulled open the hinged lid. She
brought out the ancient qin and set it beside their playing model on the table.
“Wow. This is not just any model. This
looks like it was a special edition.”
“Doesn’t it though? The lacquer is quite
old, crazed, and clouded, but if you use your imagination, it almost looks like
it could have been finished to look like a reptile’s skin. It was probably
brownish-greenish.”
“May I turn it over?”
“Allow me.”
“That pattern is carried to the back as
well. The sounding holes on this one are circular rather than the elongated oval
on the newer. There is rosette inset on the Phoenix Pool.”
“The figure carved
into the gold is actually that of a phoenix.” The rosette was essentially a
golden screen set into a carved jade border.
“Exquisite,” said Clete. “I see there was
to be another rosette to be in the Dragon Pond.”
“Yes, but it’s been lost for generations.”
“I can only imagine how fancy that one may
have looked judging from the detail on the Phoenix rosette.”
“In my imagination, I see it as being a
highly contrived figure of a dragon. Probably why it was pried out. Likely sold
for food at one point. The remaining phoenix rosette appears to be 24K gold so
it’s probably valuable. There have been many hard times sustained on this
island. I am glad they never sold the qin.”
“This is quite the museum piece. Do you
know the history of it at all? Who owned it?”
“All my grandmother could tell me that it
belonged to a highly educated court lady who found herself in political exile,
as so many who came here found themselves.
It was passed down from mother to daughter, at least to the daughter who
could play it best I suppose. It’s funny, when I was small, I always thought
that if you looked at it straight-on level from the small end, it looked like a
frog about to jump. It’s an optical illusion. It’s quite clever. Who could have
thought of such a thing?”
“I see what you mean. But why was it
called the Firebird Qin? I was expecting it to be red or orange.”
“I have no idea; that’s what I was told.
But see here, on the case are inscribed the characters for “little” and “fire”
and “bird” and “two.”
“Have you ever heard it played?”
“My grandmother strung it once and played
it. It’s much richer than our current qin. Let me do this.” She pulled out a
spare string and strung it on the third place on the old instrument. She
plucked it and then for contrast plucked the same string on the newer qin. The
difference in resonance, complexity, and warmness was palpable for just that
one string, and even then sound of the ancient lingered longer.
“Amazing. That’s a different fundamental
than you were using earlier.”
“Good ear. I left it at E rather than push
it up to F. I’m concerned about that
much tension.”
“So do you think you’re in the
generational lineup of this Court Lady?”
“It’s possible. I asked my grandmother the
same question. She didn’t know, but she entrusted
this ‘old froggy,’ as she called it, to my keeping and she had received it from
her grandmother. But it was very unclear. One thing is clear is that I love to
play the qin, and so does Wen. I think because it is so quiet. It’s like
thinking with your fingers.”
“Well, it is remarkable that such an old
piece of wood has held up so well in a tropical climate.”
“You are right, but there are signs of rot.
I sand down a piece of camphor every now and then and put it inside the case
discourage the boring insect that might find it tasty. Sometimes I think I
should donate it to someplace that can take care of it in a dry place. I have
no idea how old it is.”
“I think you should have it repaired, have
the rot spliced out, and play that thing. Since it sounds that good, it seems a
shame not to.”
“I know. There are so many ‘shoulds’ on
this Island.”
“Well if you ever need a luthier, I know a
guy in L.A. who does a great job. I just noticed something. May I?” I reached
for it and she handed it to me tentatively. “I’ll be careful. Follow me,” I
said as we walked back to Altar #10.
There was a depression in the wooden platform into which the guqin fit
perfectly. The platform in turn nested into a depression carved into the stone
floor. “Fits like a glove.”
“I’ve never noticed that before,” said
Feng.
“Maestra, sound the E,” I said. She fired
her index finger off and the entire Shrine resonated like one large hollow
instrument.
“WOW!” I said. “Can I try that? It’s like an amplified bass
guitar.” I stepped up and plucked the string. Again the building sounded a deep
E. “This gives so much lateral support, I think we can bring the fundamental up
to its proper F. Is that OK with you?”
“It’s
fine, go ahead.”
I found the tuning knob and slowly tightened it, bringing everything
around us into the key of F. There was only one Chinese tune I know and I
plucked it out, starting on F, ending on F.
“What did you just play?” asked Feng.
“A tune my granddad, Yeh-yeh, always
whistled. He said he used to sing it as a work song with his crew when he
traveled as a worker picking fruit.”
“I think it comes from a classical opera.”
“The tune is pretty catchy. Only five
notes, so you’ve got to get the lengths right. Probably got repurposed into a
lot of different songs eh? Do you know what the original was?”
“If it’s the song I’m thinking of, it’s a
song of longing for home.”
“Which would explain why it got made into
a work song. We all wish we could just quit and do nothing … WHAT THE FUCK?”
And then we had an earthquake. At first I thought it was recurring
resonance of the guqin’s F strike. The tremor was not a big one, but enough to
make us all stop.
“Magnitude 4 is my professional opinion,”
I said. “I’ll have to go back to the lab and see what we’ve got. Largest one
since I’ve been here.”
Feng stepped up, loosened the string and removed the guqin from the
altar platform.
“I think this needs to be put away RIGHT
now. Wen, would you please unstring it and return it to storage?” She turned
back to me. “Dr. Wong, thank you for your piety.”
“Have I been? Pious, that is?”
“You made a offering at my altar.”
“Is that so strange? I am a visitor.”
“It is unusual. We DO NOT get visitors. I
never thought about it before, but we never burn offerings at altars other than
our own. I should probably change that about myself. You are quite considerate
despite your reputation here.”
“I’m a bad boy aren’t I? You’ve been
talking to Lee,” I said.
“Ah, that girl. She is so tiresome, but if
I may comment?”
“You’re not asking permission to address
me as a friend are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what Mei said right before she
took me down a few notches.”
Feng smiled at that, “Did she? Good for
her.” And then Feng went right ahead and did exactly the same thing. “Speaking
as friend or not, I think you provoke her.”
“Yeah? Well I don’t think I do.”
“Then there we are.” Then she just sat
there expectantly.
“So, you’re not going to follow that up?”
“Follow up? In what way?”
“Personal remark, belittling my
understanding of things, venting frustration at me. That kind of thing.”
“I stated my thought, you stated yours. And
that is fine. I don’t feel a need to convert you to my way of thinking.” Feng
just continued to hold my gaze, smiling ever slightly. “You’re holding back too,
aren’t you?”
Damn but this girl was good. Strategic uses of silence. Now she’s
calling me out.
“OK. You got me. Maybe I do provoke her. You
sure AREN’T Lee.”
“She and I have very different approaches
to disappointment. You probably enjoy pushing her past her tolerances. But I
would like to talk to you about her sometime.”
“How about now? Your gig’s over, right?
I’m just going fishing next. I’d invite you along, but Lee will be sitting in
the boat.”
“What is a gig?”
“Slang for a freelance musical job.”
“Ah! Yes. We will make some other time.
When we can speak privately.”
“Sounds like a performance evaluation for
Lee coming up? Or me? Look, I kid a lot about her, but really, the kid is doing
a bang-up . . .”
“That’s NOT what I have in mind. Please
save your comments for then.”
“So tell me. Is there an equivalent of an
offering plate here?”
“Do not concern yourself about it.”
“Ah, but I must. A big part of Christian
worship is to ritualize personal sacrifice.”
“And that is done with money?”
“Well, we certainly don’t do it with
blood. Where I come from, money is the medium through which we convert work and
time into something we can exchange with others.”
“I tend not to think about money and what
it means too much. Although maybe I should. I am the Island’s official
treasurer. We don’t handle any currency here. All of our transactions with our
suppliers and clients are done by wire transfer. And we never travel off the
Island.”
“Then I guess it would be meaningless to
leave a check or cash.”
“Ting Ting and Jie would understand your
intention.”
“Wow. I could leave a check for a million bucks!
But then it’s not an actual sacrifice then. What would you suggest?”
“Excuse me.” It was Jie. “I couldn’t help
but overhear my name. Truthfully, I was listening. I hope your needs were
served?”
“I thank you, my dear. It was a blessing.”
“You would like to give a temple
offering?”
“I would.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It seems fitting. I can include a
provision when I settle the bill with your Island?”
“Money is always good for the Island, but
actually it’s not a bad idea that you should do something. Mother tells me that
you’ve broken several taboos since arriving. We weren’t going to mention them,
but she’s starting to worry if you don’t make amends that you will start to
have a lot of misfortune.”
“Oh really? Ugh. What kind of taboos?”
“Mostly entering certain places at times
when you should not.”
“How do I get right? Not that I believe
that superstitious horse shit, but ritual is important.”
“Next time you’re at the beach off the
reef, gather enough perfectly formed shells of any size to put nine each on the
altars of the gods you’ve offended.”
“How many have I offended?”
“Seven so far. But you may as well get
enough for all of them. Mother thinks it’s only a matter of time.”
“Can I hire Eve and Eight to get them for
me?”
“No. You have to get them yourself.”
“Figured as much. Is that the only way?”
“There is one other. I have brought here
some paper and ink and you may write out a contract. Just put yourself at the service
of the gods and be ready to do a major service for the Shrine if we need to
call upon you. I think that would be most appropriate. I will post it on our
wall. Any of us can then claim the marker.”
“What kind of service?”
“We don’t know in advance. If your heart
is willing, you will avoid misfortune.”
“All right, I'll do it.” And I took up the brush and wrote out an IOU for 'requisite labor to appease any and all curses.' “You guys had best think of
something soon. I’m not going to be here much longer.”
“If nothing else, I will probably have you
pray on someone’s behalf. That’s what has greatest value here.”
“You can ask that of me anytime. You need
not call in that marker for that.”
“Thank you Dr. Wong. I will keep that in
mind.”
© Copyright 2012, Vincent G. Way, all rights reserved.