Buddha Baby (18 page)

And what of those narrow shoulders, and that particular way of slouching? This specter had even appropriated Lindsey's bad posture. Did they even
have
bad posture in 1928?

Lindsey was spooked. Something was very, very wrong. All she could think about was the end of
The Shining
, when the camera panned across the old party photos from the haunted hotel, then focused on the image of a young Jack Nicholson. Had he lived before, or was he a ghost?

She wasn't sure what to think, but before she could ponder what to do next, she heard a noise by the door.

"Well, hello there."

Lindsey practically jumped out of her skin. She spun around on the floor and looked up to see a figure, motionless as a wax museum mannequin, calmly leaning against the doorjamb. It was Ms. Abilene. Slowly, the woman brought her hand to her face, wiped the corners of her mouth, and smiled menacingly.

Panicked, Lindsey wondered what Ms. Abilene was doing down here. Lunch? Maybe she just returned from one of the cellar dungeons, having just devoured a unicorn to keep herself alive.

Lindsey stood up and brushed herself off. Having read many a fairy tale, she should have known that basements and attics were almost always guarded by hideous beasts.
Think fast
, she told herself.

"I… I was just wondering where Sister Constance wanted me to put those hymn books." Straightening her posture in an attempt to exude confidence, she added, "In fact… I was looking for someone… I'm glad I found you."

Ms. Abilene tapped her fingernails against the wall. She leaned forward and said, "I'm glad… I found you… too."

Lindsey and her former seventh-grade teacher stared at each other for a long moment. Lindsey suddenly remembered why she herself was down here in the first place—to search for the Permanent Record. She speculated that perhaps it was down the next flight of stairs, along with skeletons shackled in rooms littered with the tattered remains of snack-tacular children.

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to get down there now, not with Ms. Abilene here. She figured her best bet would be to get out of there as quickly as possible.

She said, "Well, I've got to go!" and dodged past Ms. Abilene. She peeled up the stairs, careening around the turns.

"Wait…" Ms. Abilene said softly, but Lindsey was already gone.

Not far from the Owyangs' home, near the Moraga Street Hill overlooking the Sunset District, was a beautiful, courtyard-style Chinese house that belonged to the Ahchucks. Months ago they had sent out glossy, red invitations with gold lettering and scented return-envelopes for a thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party that was to take place this evening.

The Owyangs had known the Ahchucks since "the old days," but Lindsey wasn't sure how long that was exactly. No one ever said. "The old days" could have meant anything— since her dad was in college, or maybe back when Yeh Yeh first opened his grocery store. Maybe it meant back when the family lived in Locke, or maybe it went back another generation, back to the village days, back to Zhongsan or some other part of southeastern China.

One thing was for sure, the Ahchucks had been in California long enough to get rich. With better views and twice the lot-space as the Owyangs', their home was decorated with a rock garden in front and well-trimmed bonsai within a hardwood fence with geometric detailing. Surrounding their property was a cinder-block wall in a key-fret design, and the roof was topped with gleaming, ceramic tiles and mythical animal figures on the upturned corners to protect the property from evil spirits. The place was painted a serene moss color, and the interior was filled with blue and white porcelain and rosewood furniture.

When Lindsey was young she hated the Ahchucks' house. She loathed visiting them, and was embarrassed by how Chinese their home was. She felt that the Ahchucks were purposely calling attention to their otherness, and was uncomfortable in the midst of all the Asian motifs.

She remembered one time when the Ahchucks had invited her family over for dessert and tea. She and Kevin, nine and eleven respectively, rolled their eyes as their parents marveled at the traditional landscape paintings and green jardinieres in the foyer. Everything screamed of ancient China, and even the patio panels were decorated with carved Chinese lettering. Lindsey and Kevin were asked to take their shoes off and were supplied with embroidered slippers, a custom that struck them as foreign and weird because they were used to flapping around everywhere in flip-flops and checkerboard Vans. They stared at the Ahchucks' daughter, Janice, who was Lindsey's age and wore one of those Mandarin tops that looked like pajamas. Lindsey was so embarrassed for her. She herself was wearing a yellow T-shirt with an iron-on decal of the
Welcome Back, Kotter
cast, and when Janice pointed to John Travolta and asked who he was, Lindsey was dumbstruck that the girl had never heard the name Vinnie Barbarino.

The Owyangs and the Ahchucks shared jasmine tea and polite conversation around a low table while Lindsey quietly shuddered, noticing additional Asian details. On the Ahchucks' deck were tall, grassy bamboo trees planted in pots decorated with dragons, and a miniature wooden bridge overlooked a koi pond. Lindsey felt stifled. Sitting there, she was relieved to know that at least her own home looked more like the interiors on old television shows like
Family Affair
and
The Courtship of Eddie's Father
.

She wanted to leave and rudely kept asking, "Can we go now?"

Her parents shushed her and complimented the Ahchucks on their beautiful grand piano, which, unfortunately, triggered a command performance by Janice. The girl got up and played a classical masterpiece to perfection as Lindsey and Kevin squirmed, bored to tears. After Janice finished and the Owyangs politely clapped, Mr. Ahchuck asked if Lindsey knew how to play, and her mother answered, "of course," as if it was widely accepted that all Chinese girls were natural piano geniuses. When Mrs. Ahchuck suggested Lindsey play something, her dad must have seen the abject fear on her face and maybe he intuitively knew that she could only play "Chopsticks," despite twice-weekly lessons with Mrs. Yee. The adults proceeded to faux-bicker until the Ahchucks inferred that the Owyangs were humbly refusing to show off Lindsey's prowess lest she put Janice to shame.
Oh
, they seemed to realize.
Lindsey is obviously a virtuoso. The Owyangs are ever so gracious not to point out our daughter's inferiority
.

At the end of the visit, the Ahchucks bowed and nodded their heads like the Chinese servants in movies. Lindsey disdained their subservient style. Thank God her own parents shook hands like normal people. Kevin hid his impatience a tad better than Lindsey, but both could barely wait to get out of there as the adults lingered in the hallway and heaped compliments on one another.

Not long after they had visited the Ahchucks, Lindsey became self-conscious about the small nameplate on the front of their own house that spelled the owyangs. She had always been somewhat uncomfortable with such a pronouncement of their Chinese presence, and she worried if the small sign had something to do with their welcome mat being pelted with rotten fruit in recent weeks. At first she thought some raccoons had knocked over the trash can on a garbage-collecting night, but that explanation didn't account for the outside wall also being splattered with debris. She had an inkling that something was wrong, but hadn't mentioned it to her parents. In the mornings, however, she noticed her dad sometimes scraping the front door and hosing down the driveway before leaving for work.

One Saturday she awoke early, and as she watched cartoons and worked on her third bowl of Sugar Pops, she detected a rustling sound near the kitchen window. She heard laughing, and then some splooshing noises against the window pane, like heavy rain. In her nightgown she shuffled to the side of the window and through the glass, she saw two neighbor boys, Greg James and Steven Kilroy, throwing stuff at the house. When they exhausted their supply of mushy berries and bologna sandwich crusts, one said to the other, "Stupid chinks." Then they left.

Lindsey stood there as her milk moustache dried on her upper lip, and then she calmly returned to eating her cereal. She wasn't quite sure what to do or how to feel. About a half hour later when her mother came into the kitchen to turn on the Mr. Coffee, Lindsey didn't mention what she had seen.

"You're up early," her mom said, and Lindsey only replied, "Uh-huh." She knew that sooner or later her mother would open the front door to retrieve the newspaper, but didn't known how to warn her about what she would find.

Lindsey was fully engaged in watching
The Superfriends
when she heard her mother go to the door, and from outside Lindsey heard her groan, "Oh, no." Her mother came back in and woke Lindseys dad. When they both emerged from the bedroom they were quiet. Once again, her dad went out and cleaned up the mess, and pretty soon it was a normal Saturday morning with her mom sipping coffee and her dad mixing the Bisquick. The only thing anyone asked her that morning was, "How do you want your waffle, Linds? Crispy?"

Kevin woke up later and after their parents were out of sight Lindsey told him about the neighborhood kids throwing stuff at their house and calling them stupid chinks. The weirdest thing was that just last year Kevin used to play with Greg. The boy used to beg Kevin to get bottle rockets and smoke bombs for him in Chinatown, and he had even been inside their house and eaten marmalade sandwiches on Wonder bread that their mom had made for him. Now he was throwing stuff at their windows.

"We have to do something," Kevin said.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed.

"Dad always says not to cause trouble in our own neighborhood," Kevin said. He explained how, a few months ago, when Steven stole and wrecked his jacket, Dad forbade him to retaliate. He refused to allow Kevin to let the air out of the boy's bike tires, doorbell ditch his parents, or throw anything at his house. Lindsey agreed with her brother that they would only get in trouble if they did any of those things now.

The siblings decided to do the only thing they could. She didn't remember how they agreed, but they had. They planned to do something really terrible.

There was a neighbor across the street who always let his German shepherd take a huge crap in front of the Owyangs' house. He never cleaned it up. The turds would pile up and eventually Mr. Owyang would knock them into the bushes with a shovel, but every day there was more shit, and they all knew it was the same guy and his same damn dog. Once again, her dad never talked about it, but everyone in the family knew it happened.

So that afternoon, Kevin and Lindsey got a large plastic bag and went outside. As expected, they found a pile of steamy poop on the sidewalk and used a garden trowel to pitch it into the bag. That step accomplished, they went back into their house and retrieved a carton of milk, and poured it into the bag with the smelly turds. Kevin twisted the bag shut and shook up the nauseating concoction.

Then they went for a walk. They hiked up ten blocks, ducking behind trees along the way. They peered around to make sure the coast was clear, and tiptoed up the landscaped walkway. As Lindsey stood by, Kevin wound up his arm like a discus thrower and catapulted the bag of milky shit onto their target. The slimy, splattering noise was both disgusting and satisfying at the same time. They felt vindicated and laughed as they ran away. The Ahchucks front door was left dripping and smeared with shit.