Helper

Once upon a time there were many small people.

They went to a Montessori school in Myanmar.

Their parents drove big cars down a private road owned by the school.

They dropped off boys and girls and helpers.

What's a helper, said Julia, five.

It's a young girl from a village who lives with you. 

Why does she live with us?

She needed a job. 

Oh, I see, said Julia. She's the one who washes our clothes, cooks our food and cleans our house. In math we learned that 26% of our people are unemployed. That's a big number.

Yes. Here's another number. 16% of the population has electricity.

Power to the people, said Julia. I carry my own stuff. I know how the world works. I am independent. Why does she have to carry the kids' books and bright plastic basket of rice, vegetables, fruit and drinks to the classroom?

She doesn't have to. She does it because some parents are afraid of letting their child carry it. They tell the helper to carry it. You've seen helpers dragging wheeled book bags across cement for primary and secondary kids.

Yes I have. They look sad. Why are parents afraid?

Excellent question. Maybe because the kids are small. Like us. Ask them.

Ok, bye. I'm going to meditate on this question now.

Bye Julia. Nice to see you. 

Sitting kids

Kindergarden kids sit in a circle.

Hands on knees.

Fingers curled.

Touch whorls.

Meditation.

Posture.

Breathe in-out. Slow and easy.

Ah. Om. Mmm. Long exhale.

Smile.

Glock's Perfection

Jack walked up to Sister's II - All Day Breakfast & Bakery in Kampot, Cambodia, a sleepy old French port town.

American, slim, late 50's, chiseled face, crooked front teeth, in a Marine style camouflage cap with fake gold insignia, stained camouflage pants, dusty rubber and canvas military boots and a worn black t-shirt with a picture of a Glock automatic and ammo clip featuring a stenciled bullseye target and words, Glock.Perfection.

He stood in front of a display case. Baked goodies. Cinnamon rolls, brownies, banana cake, carrot cake, biscotti, chocolate fudge pie, chocolate chip cookies and apple pie.

One sister came out.

"Good morning how are you,"

Jack mumbled, "Does the apple pie have raisins in it?"

"No," she said.

"Let me have one slice."

"For here or take away?"

"Take away."

She put the pie on the glass counter, sliced a piece and put it in a styrofoam box. She slid the box into a plastic bag. She offered it to him.

He showed her a $10 bill.

"Oh, don't you have small money?" she said.

"That's a you problem, not a my problem."

She left to find change.

Jack turned to a stranger throwing bread crumbs to sparrows, "You'd think by now she'd have a float in the morning."

"Life gives you the test first and the lessons later," said the stranger.

"Yeah," Jack said, "they need more education and experience."

Two sparrows pecked at curbside crumbs.

The sister returned, handed him change and said, "I hope you enjoy the pie. It's fresh this morning."

An experienced Vietnamese woman collecting plastic and cardboard wearing a bamboo conical hat protecting her from intense sun pushed her daily savage salvage wagon past Sister's.

Jack took the bag, curled a lip in gratitude and walked in a different direction.

 

Ice please

In another incarnation they were naked in a meadow. I am blind. He is deaf. Millions have Usher syndrome.

We hold hands. Skin is our unified quantum field theory of tactile language. Beyond feeble illiterate words. Fate introduced us at an NGO charity ball, Save The Children Now & Forever.

Deaf is a famous concert pianist. Blind is an Angkor Wat explorer. She scaled 88 keys seeking tonal quality, perfect pitch and frequency. He explored her twin peaks, smooth geography, labyrinths, valleys, hall of dancers and thick topographical jungle foliage.

They had a tacit agreement to be gentle and kind together. Peel my skin like sweet aromatic fruit, she whispered. I am your skin mistress. One must sacrifice the peel to enjoy the fruit. Play my flute, he moaned.

*** 

Remember this, Leo said to Ice Girl in Banlung. In China we learn the less we do the fewer mistakes we make. The fewer mistakes we make the less we are criticized. I remain safe and happy. It’s called THE SYSTEM. Brainwashed. You see this in all Asian educational systems.

Students shuffle in, remove their brains, soak them in a cleaning solution, which is not the solution for fifty tedious minutes and replace said gray matter at the end of class. It’s endemic. Command and control procedures. Big Brother is watching you. Save face. The fear of public humiliation is greater than the fear of death. Karma is the universal law.

Ice Girl in Banlung

Hunger

She approached him with her hand out, “May you have blessings and prosperity.”

“May God make it easy for you,” he said in Arabic. “I will leave food for you. Wait.”

She walked across the street into shadows watching through slit fabric. Her eyes were the world. He watched her watch people eating. She watched him watch her. Their eyes were married. She was calm and silent. Wild cats roamed malnourished skeletons around eaters’ feet and stayed away from a waiter’s swift shoe. She watched and waited.

He fed abstract scraps to cats. They fought in dust hissing and dragging bones to shelter. The city overflowed with dead dying cats and caravan dust as salt, gold, and slaves traveled across the Sahara.

Everyone choked on historical dust at a personal Ground 0.

Nemesis adjusted her perspective.

Feeding cats became a ritual in Morocco for him. He had a passion for hungry animals. They were all in the same fix, roaming, lost, looking, and trying to survive in desperate circumstances.

He didn’t eat everything. Knowing the waiter had to figure charges he left the table and she closed in. Her blackness swooped like a dream across pavement. They were a team. She was free to collect everything. She produced a plastic bag from her black cloak, picked up the plate and dumped everything inside: bones, meat, rice, and tomatoes. The works.

She was fast and efficient. She glided away to shadows.

He paid, left, and walked past her. They locked eyes. He was naked. She was covered in her belief. Her invisible clear eyes flashed a brief recognition. He nodded. She smiled under her veil. Their relationship of mutual respect ignored verbal language.

A Century Is Nothing

Subject To Change