Henry Chang - Chinatown Beat

She brought the tins of roast pork and chicken, bolt tong go, and packed them into the backseat of the Fury, next to the azaleas.

They visited her grandfather's plot first, where he lay under a foot-long grave marker in the old bachelors' section of the cemetery. They completed the ritual silently and then headed toward his father's grave.

The leaves were falling from the trees, dappling the landscape with swatches of amber, brown, and yellow. The sky was a crisp cool blue, stark sunlight shining, illuminating the autumn day.

They came to Pa's headstone. The ground was cold and hard, and Jack had to force the folding shovel into the ground before he was able to turn enough dirt to plant the bushes.

They ran through the prescribed motions dutifully: Incense. Bowing. She braved the firecrackers.

They finished up with the bok tong go and the cha sieve and bundled the incense and papers back into the car.

They had dinner by the bar at Tsunami, sake and beer, with sushi that floated by on a chain of wooden boats, new-tech Japanese style. When the distraction passed, Jack said soberly, "It's official. I'm transferring out. Two weeks vacation, then I report to the Ninth Precinct, in the Alphabets."

"Won't you miss the old neighborhood?" she asked.

"I'm not going far," he answered. "I'll still come by to eat and shop, but at least I won't spend every day in Chinatown."

"Feel bad?"

"I wish things could have worked out better. With what I knew, who I knew, I thought I could make a difference. But everything I do gets compromised. Makes me feel like I'm losing something."

She touched his hand. "This is your home."

"Was my home. I live in Brooklyn now."

Alex clinked her glass against his in a toast. "To home, wherever that may be."

"And where's home for you?" he asked.

"I've got folks in Hawaii. Oahu, where I grew up. You know, Waikiki Beach?"

"Sure." Jack grinned. "Paradise."

"I miss my family, sometimes, and the friends I left behind. The things we used to do when we were younger."

"Childhood in paradise," Jack toasted. They drained their sake cups.

"At all the family reunions there'd be a luau, with poi and roast pig, mahi mahi, and maanapua. There was sweet fruit and sunshine and we kids would just run wild."

Listening to her speak, Jack realized where he'd take his vacation time, before the transfer became reality, before the change of seasons.

Oahu, he thought, downtime in paradise. Recharge himself.

"This time of year," Alex was talking as if in a dream, "we'd visit the other islands, sell pineapples and macadamia sweets on board the cruse ships."

Jack could almost see it happening…

The local children clad in brightly colored leis and pareos performed the hula halau, dancing down the wooden Promenade Deck to the call of the Hukilau song.

Mona leaned back in a deck chair, relaxed in tan linen pants and canvas espadrilles. She loosened the silk scarf draped over her white T-shirt. The azure blue of the sheltering sky stretched as far as she could see. The ocean below was darker, sparkling and clear only when it rolled in over the reefs toward the whitesand shores. The caressing warmth of the sun had already put color back in her skin, and the rhythm of the ocean breaking against the bow soothed her, made her feel ping on, in harmony with the world. When she touched it, the jade sang, Wind over water. Flowing. Auspicious omen to cross the great stream. Selfpreservation. Water purges, revitalizes, but may bring chaos, danger. Weather the danger. Flow…

She peered across the deck, saw the Chinaman's Hat in the distance, as the Tropicali made its idyllic journey past Oahu. A seascape of sailboats sliding through translucent green-blue water, whipped by wind.

She took a sip from the pina colada with the umbrella in it, adjusted her Vuarnets, and casually checked the straw Aloha bag on her lap. She saw the mahjong case containing the gold Pandas, the neat bundles of money, and the velvet pouch with the diamonds inside. After a moment, she put the drink down, and untied the Hermes scarf that had accompanied her from New York. She held it for a moment, letting it flutter in the wind, then released it, watching it sail free, disappearing into paradise.

In that moment she felt her soul set free, her body set free, from the oppression of men, of the world. She felt the tropical breeze through the gauze of the bandage on her thigh, the bullet wound healing, just a scab now. She knew the scars inside her might never heal, those memories were etched into her heart.

But here, and now, she was free, and nothing could force her back to that life again. She closed her fist over the jade, holding earth under heaven. Who could find her now?