Chapter 5-the snake sisters.
Now that's a healthy guy
Today
The shop's window covered in Han zi characters could have been in Bei jing or Shang hai. As the young man strode through the streets leading to the storefront temple, a multitude of faces from all parts of Asia passed and walked beside him.
The smell of fried eggs hovered over the street corner. Charred potatoes and squiggling sausage were swept together on the flat, black colored bubbling metal sheet by the speeding spatula. The large frying pan being prepared for another customer's order took on the appearance of a bubbling cauldron.
"Wode peng you? The vendor, an elderly man with a crop of white hair protruding from the NY Met baseball cap called the serious young man dressed in black his friend. The stranger held his casual stride for a moment.
"Zaocan de wei dao." He wanted to know if the smell of breakfast could sway the stern character of his focused stare.
"Bu yao, xiexie." The young man startled the senior. Answering with a respectful, no thank you, he bowed in the elder's direction.
The vendor did not expect to see such behavior in America.
"Zunjing de yige." Before rising, the polite stranger labeled the street vendor, revered one.
The respectful young man stood in silence. Thoughts of his supernatural combat over shape-shifters in Las Vegas still traveled about his mind.
Are these people aware of the evil that floats about them?
His stature remained rigid, waiting the elder to finish an order.
I do not know of my ancestors, but no doubt they battled as I do, as I have in the past.
The aroma of sizzling eggs entered his flexing nostrils. A smile hid his trepidations.
The wolves that will not keep their place in nature. The foxes that hunger for the blood of a man and the body of a woman.
He licked his lips giving the impression of an all-consuming desire for breakfast as the egg sandwich wrapped in wax paper entered his palm.
His expression covered the truth clawing at the walls of his mind.
Someday, I will prove my heritage and capture the shape-shifters that have proved too elusive for the most virtuous of monks.
He widened his stride away from the breakfast stand.
The White snake and her mischievous sister would have to wait. He must not be late for his appointment.
As the young man continued along Seventh Avenue at a brisk pace, a well-dressed stout man in a dark blue suit whispered to another pedestrian hoping for a fast meal.
"Shenjie de ren." Both men and the proprietor of the street stand straightened their stature and bowed in the direction of the departed young stranger.
This behavior could only be exhibited from a holy man. The revered elder and his two customers remained silent and did not start a conversation concerning the gracious visitor to this area. His clothes and style of hair meant only one thing.
"Yin xing Fo wu qi."
They nodded at the vendor's murmur, invisible weapon of Buddha. There would be no further conversation on the matter.
The young man halted his stride.
Seventh Avenue and Fifty-Second Street?
His mind questioned the location. He scanned the busy street to ponder the surroundings. He looked at the entrance of the temple.
Brooklyn? This is more like China than China.
Two young teenage girls passed cackling a familiar dialect. He remained silent, standing stunned at their conversation.
They speak Fujianese here like it was English.
The young man remained on the street corner, passing his vision from one halter-top to another. A parade of females, showing sparse stomachs, some with belly-button rings gleaming from the morning sun hypnotized the expressionless stranger.
A woman with a pair of black jeans painted on her lower body flaunted the top and vertical strap of a pink thong crawling up her lower back. Black hair streaked with strands of red bobbed up and down over her white fitted T-shirt. She maneuvered her snug sleek shape over a pair of matching high heels.
"Fahai?" the sound from the shaved head encased in a flowing beige robe brought the hypnotized visitor to this unusual area back to his senses.
The man in black bowed and left the scene so reminiscent of a walk down any city street. Or a better description would be any Mainland Chinese metropolis.
Stopping at the door, a glass pane took most of its size.
"Youdian Fujian." He remarked. The sounds could classify this section of Brooklyn as Little Fujian. A grin as he peered at the fruit stand in front of the open shop, its prices in Roman Numerals and Chinese characters. Fahai shook his head turning to the patient monk waiting to welcome him inside and grinned as he spoke. "It's between two restaurants." The side of his upper lip slanted exposing a cracked tooth. "One Chinese," pointing to the restaurant next to the fruit stand, he shook his head in the direction of the other storefront. "yige Younan."
The bald-headed monk smiled, shrugged his shoulders in the draped material and spoke, "only in America." He knew the visitor would eat at the other restaurant. The Vietnamese establishment sported the distinctive tonal markings over its lettering. Fahai found it in his nature to take actions that annoyed the other monks. He appeared to enjoy irritating the elders of the temple.
The journey to the back room brought him past a modest size statue of Buddha. Its light brown coloring faded. The decaying tone did not take away from the reverence shown by the two mid-teenage boys focused on the icon. Heads shaved to a point on the top of their scalp, a long thread of hair hanging down to the nape of their neck.
"And they?" Fahai asked as he removed the black Speerys before approaching the area designated as blessed and free of the world's vices and imperfections.
"I see your footwear is not one of poverty." The monk said. Slim eyebrows of the robed holy man zoomed upward with his observation. A muffled laughed left his mouth. "The young ones are devout in their studies." The monk, educated in America used the meeting with Fahai to practice his English.
"Orphans?" Fahai asked, as he prepared himself to pass through the blanket of multi-colored beads separating the practical world of the West with the mystical forces of the East.
"Yes, but have been adopted by parishioners. The families did not influence their decision to choose this way of life."
Fahai snapped his head causing the young English-speaking monk to flinch. His reply short, "like me? No influence?" The words brought silence to the storefront. The young boys, quiet except for murmured prays halted their homage to the heavens. A middle-aged monk standing to the side of the young visitor stopped lighting a row of candles. He knew the history of Fahai. The priest did not dare turn to look upon this, invisible weapon of Buddha.
A voice filtered through the rustling strings of wooden spheres hanging from the top of the doorway. Fahai understood the Fujianese dialect as it floated to the front room.
"My most accomplished student. I have prayed your visit would be hastened by all that is good." The man in black nodded as the Abbott's soft tone calmed the slight fire arising in his soul. A small hand beckoned him to the dark room.
The aged teacher and confidant sat cross-legged on a thin rice mat. He faced the western dressed young man eye-to-eye. The student had been blessed with powers indescribable. His spiritual nature far surpassed the elder holy man to his front. You would not know that by the young student's perplexed expression.
"Honesty opens doors." The elder said.
With hands clasped for pray, Fahai began. He started his confession.
"I fight every day to be," the familiar contrition repeated on every meeting still kept the Supreme Monk's interest. The tale told throughout time.
"My son," his breath traveled to a nearby candle. The power of his voice flickered as the rooms only light.
"Yes, my Sovereign?" Fahai showed none of the usual sneers or sarcastic expressions demonstrating his displeasure with an interruption. He sat motionless, his wrist rested on crossed knees, middle finger and thumb touching.
"You are so close to perfection, almost." The elder monk's comments concerned the not quite stoic figure facing him. Almost being the difference between divinity and mortality.
"My teacher, pleaseā¦"
The Abbott interrupted his request.
"Son, you have grown so much since that day I found you at our door." The old man referred to the wailing of a new-born male child, abandoned by a distraught parent or parents.
"I thank you for your guidance and help." Fahai bowed and remained looking at the spot between himself and his benefactor.
"It was the love of your adoptive parents that helped you to reach your destiny."
"And what destiny is that my Master?" A stern-faced expression looked into the eyes of the Abbot.
"They were devoted Buddhists and recognized you for what you are." Without the use of his hands, the elderly, rounded shape of a man pushed on the sides of bare feet and became erect from the strict lotus position. The action caused no sign of strain.
"Master, I fear I may not be ready for this destiny." He stumbled trying to raise his body in the same fashion. "I try to send the demons that pretend to be human back to their natural state, but." Two small hands moved to the sides of Fahai's chest. He lost the power of speech.
"Let us commune as only those so selected by Buddha can." A mist began to circulate around their feet. Fahai tensed his chest, feeling the ground disappear under him. Deep breaths showed the young man's anxious reaction to the feel of this mystical gift.
"My son, what are the five hindrances of perfection?"
Fahai held his breath and flushed air from his nostrils. His mind spoke to him.
Control, I must maintain control.
The Abbott's lips pressed together suppressing a growing grin.
"My son, float as you have been so destined."
The pair stabilized in the air a foot from the dark brown wood floor. Fahai kept the urge to scream with delight suppressed hoping to conceal the feeling of wonderment at floating above the worn floorboards.
"Ill will, my father."
"Continue." Replied the monk.
"Laziness and restlessness," the young disciple paused to take a breath. "Doubt, indecisiveness. I know I sin with this fault. I am alone in my battle."
"No," the Abbott laughed. Closing his eyes a broad smile took his expression. "A true believer is never alone."
Fahai looked upon his master with mouth open.
"A monk battles the evil of the world not only with divine powers granted, but with the assistance of the faithful." The Abbott's tone brought a quick reply from Fahai.
"But how can a true human help in the battle with the Immortals?" The young man began to drift downward. "Master, you see it is my doubt that weakens me."
"Nonsense," stated the monk. Black eyes gleamed amid the streaks of red surrounding his pupils. "You will see." A small smile arose on the round face. "I do not doubt. You perform with the confidence of a great mystic of the past."
"Father," Fahai's weakened torn caused the monk to shake his head in disgust.
"You ignore the one hindrance that keeps you from nirvana." The Abbot's words hung about his distressed student. He put his arm on the trembling shoulder of his disciple.
"I know, I know. But I cannot control." Rapid breaths blocked the young man's speech.
"Tell me what I already know." The honored elder demanded.
"I can capture or slay the vilest of all non-human's. I can streak to a battle in mid-air." Waiting till the revered monk stood firm on the rice mat. "Thunderbolts fly from me at will."
"Say it." The soft tone of the elder took hold of his spirit. The young man's body wavered from the thought.
"Voice it, or forever be a slave to it." The monk extended both hands upward to the taller form, now wishing to purge himself of the truth.
"Sexual desire, my combat with it has not come to an end." Dropping to his knees, the young monk known as Yin ying Fo wu qi rested his head on the Abbot's open palms. His forehead brushing the modest beads numbering 108, dangling from his benefactor's grip. "But father. I have never given in, never," the denial ending with a flourish.
"I know your mind now is the place of combat." Reaching for the back of his shoulders, the senior holy man picked the distressed disciple upward. Looking at Fahai he spoke clear and without any doubt.
"The ultimate trial will soon come." The learned monk whispered, "sexual desire." The learned one leaned back. "My son, this trait has been prevalent in all that came before you."
It is believed Fahai is the culmination of countless reincarnations. His adoptive parents so named him after the greatest of all priests that answer this calling. There could be no other explanation for the abandoned foundling's incredible power.
It no longer mattered. His heritage is of no importance.
The chanting began. It would last till evening prays.
The next day would find Fahai traveling to a place not often used by Buddhist monks. Sitting in front of the large screen reporting incoming and outgoing flights from the JFK airport, the young monk thought of the night's discussion with the elder Abbott. More reports of non-humans taking human form had filled Fahai's ears. One report from the East concerned two particular shape-shifters that have escaped punishment for millenniums, the demons known as the sisters that are serpents.
A priest with his special abilities would be needed for this task. He could never train or meditate in a conventional Buddhist monastery, where his need for hair and a trim, muscular body could not be explained. The number of Sovereign Monks of the world knowing of the sacred mission assigned to this young priest could be counted on one hand.
"Huntsville, Utah?" He blinked his eyes as the sign informing travelers of the correct departure gate flipped on and off flashing multiple bits of information. "A direct flight, this proves Buddha is kind. Only a supreme being would even know of a place such as Huntsville, Utah." His statement did not interest the two teenage boys standing to his side as they text and listened to, Come as you are by Nirvana on one of their I-phones.
That's a good sign.
Fahai thought. His ultimate goal is Nirvana.
Carrying one small suitcase and a laptop, Fahai looked the same as any other twenty-something year-old young man off on a month holiday. Passing a group of passengers waiting for a flight to Fujian, the man in black became a little bit jealous.
"Damn, I wish I was with them. Lucky guys." An angled grin took possession of his face.
They should know I'm going to something between military boot camp and Hell.
Fahai shuddered after the thought. He hoped that even the unacceptable trait of envy would be sanitized from his spirit, along with his hindering desire for sexual relations. Fahai stopped to view several attractive flight attendants as the young Chinese women moved through the terminal looking for a quick snack before boarding.
"Now that's a healthy guy." He grinned at the lone passenger sitting at the end of the row waiting for his flight to China to board.
Dressed in a NY Yankee gray t-shirt, the good-looking young American also cast a glance at the uniformed females nibbling at the snack bar. The secluded traveler hinted at the satisfaction gained from seeing three attractive young women. White teeth emerged behind a modest smile. Stopping only to rub his fingers on the opposing shoulder, the young American continued the observation. A twinge of pain in between his joints did not stifle his subtle leer. The American's blue eyes sparkled as his smirk widened.
Deciding to continue to his Gate the penitent monk began to think. His smile widened.
If that guy has yellow fever, well Buddha be merciful. These Americans? I think it's the eyes that drive them crazy?
Taking his first step to Utah and the Trappist Monastery, his mind spun with a growing doubt.
I wonder if he knows how lucky he is? He can give into his urges. I'm the chosen one.
This thought brought an out of place laugh. Being in an airport located in New York City, only the passengers from other areas of America stopped more than a second to look at the young Asian man suffering from a fit of unexplained happiness.
That lucky bastard, he'll never know what it means to be chosen? I wish I was never chosen. I get the same tingle as that guy and they ship me off to a Catholic prison for a month.
He continued to move toward the waiting attendant scanning tickets. He took in a slight breath and thought of his journey toward perfection.
Hearing the announcement concerning his flight, the American stood up. Turning his blue eyes from the mini-skirted crew at the coffee bar, he still possessed the vision of the flight attendants. Calloused fingers pawed the damaged shoulder, he could not hide his thoughts from the acute senses of the invisible weapon of Buddha still eyeing theAmerican.
Do they all have bangs and such beautiful eyes? Jesus, those petite beauties prove there is a God.
Fahai freed a laugh at the amorous young traveler.
A middle-aged Chinese woman with a mouth full of potato chips stopped munching long enough to cast a slanted look at the grinning American. Her tensed eyebrows brought a flash of color to his cheeks. His internal dialogue is as visible as the giant information screen. Hoping no one else could read his mind; the American stopped his train of thought to dig two fingers into a tightening shoulder joint. The tall young Yankee fan prepared for his adventure. Numerous text messages to Janet Malfatore remained unanswered. Maybe it would be for best? His exciting journey would give birth to a new life with Janet.
The type of journey that would surpass night patrols in Afghanistan and jungle skirmishes in the Philippines.
The type that novels are born from.
Note to reader:
And here my friends is the most important, if not most complicated character.
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