Dukkha Reverb. Loren W. Christensen
his right is still floating palm down a foot and a half away. It remains open so it couldn’t hold a coin, unless he’s really good at pinching it somehow in his hand. Wait. Isn’t his… yes, I’m sure of it. His right hand is a tad to the right of where it was a moment ago and I think his right shoulder is a little higher. So he did move, it’s just that—
The coin. I can still feel the coin in my hand. He didn’t get it. I beat him.
I lift my fist in the air and bob my eyebrows at him.
“You are indeed fast, Son,” he says seriously, though I detect a twinkle in his eye. “Fast like lightning.”
“Oh, Father,” Mai says, shaking her head.
I frown. “Uh, okay?” I’m not understanding the demonstration.
“Look at your change on the table, Sam,” Mai says.
“A nickel and two quarters. I’m still not understanding…”
Samuel turns over his palm. Empty.
“I know,” I say. “I still have the—”
He lifts his left hand off the table, revealing a dime resting on the table. He bobs his eyebrows at me. I look back at the table. Wait. Didn’t I set down two nickels?
I slowly uncurl my fingers…
Jefferson’s profile mocks me. I’m holding a nickel.
“No—Damn—Way,” I breathe.
“Father switched the coins before you closed your fist, Sam.”
Wait, he would have had to have grabbed the dime with his right hand because it was closest. But how did he transfer it to his left that was resting on the table? And he would have had to pick up the nickel from the table with his left and transfer… How is it possible that someone can move that fast?
She laughs. “Your mouth is hanging open.”
I look back at Samuel.
“But I didn’t see you move.”
“Good,” he says sitting back down. “My vitamins are working.”
*
“Did you bring earplugs?” Mai asks, her lips tickling my ear.
“Yes,” I manage, nuzzling the silkiness of her hair. “I did as you told me.”
“That is good because the new noises might keep you from sleeping.” Her nose is making little circles on the side of my neck. “And it is also good that you obeyed me.”
“I must obey you, huh?” I ask, nibbling her earlobe.
“But of course.” Her body leans into me. “You have a problem with that?”
“Not even a little bit,” I squeak, just before our mouths meet and my head roars like one of the rocket attacks that slammed into Saigon forty years ago.
After we finished our tea, Samuel, Mai, and I sat at the table chatting about Vietnam’s weather, politics, crime, customs, and food. When I started to bring up what happened at Portland State University, Samuel lifted his palm, and said, “Let’s not talk about that your first day here.” And that was fine by me. I just brought it up because it seemed like an elephant in the room.
I was starting to slur my words, and was grateful when Samuel suggested that we carry my luggage to my room and say goodnight. He said it was an hour past his bedtime. He grinned when I asked him if he moves more slowly when he’s up late.
That “coin trick” was an amazing feat of speed. I refuse to think that his hands were invisible, but the more I think about it, it’s hard not to. I saw, or perceived, or felt, some kind of movement, plus there was evidence that he had moved. But the fact remains, he carried out a complex maneuver of picking up the nickel, snatching the dime out of my hand, replacing it with the nickel, handing off the dime to his other hand, and moving his grabbing hand back to where it started, hovering about eighteen inches from mine.
After we hauled my luggage to the triplex and Samuel showed me where things were, he shook my hand, and said, “Jet lag is demonic. Get up when you feel like it.” As he headed away, he shot Mai a fatherly look that I interpreted as: Listen up, soldier girl. Have your goodnight kiss and then move out sharply to your own room.
For the past half hour, we have been standing outside my door under a bug light chatting, laughing, and laying some lip action. The hedge blocks the view from the house, but we’re still under video surveillance by whoever is watching the monitors tonight.
Finally, we separate slowly and painfully as if we were Velcro. Not because we want to, but because we’re losing our balance and about to fall onto the cobblestone walkway. It makes us giggle. Yes, euphoric from jet lag and from all that is Mai, I actually giggle.
“I better go in, Sam,” Mai says.
I hold her upper arms and step back. “I agree, but I don’t want you to. But I agree.”
“English is such a hard language to understand.”
“I need a cold shower.”
“That I understand. And I agree.”
Neither of us move.
“Are you going in?” I ask.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes.”
Neither of us move.
Finally, Mai extends her hand. “I will be the stronger person. Good night, Sam. In Vietnamese good night is chúc ngủ ngon.”
“Chúc ngủ ngon,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Yes, very good.” She pulls me into her for one final, all-too- quick kiss, and a whispered, “Chúc ngủ ngon.” Oh man. I’ve never heard anything so sensual.
She walks quickly to the end of the walkway, turns and shoots me that heart-stopping smile, and disappears beyond the hedge.
“Die-amn!” I say, and step into my room for an ice cold shower.
Usually, I can do full splits, but two days of sitting has tightened my hamstrings and groin muscles so that I’m about a foot short of going all the way down. No problem, my muscles will loosen in a couple of days. I get to my feet and throw a few easy front kicks, some muay Thai roundhouses, and a dozen jab and cross punch combos.
Slept like a baby for eleven hours. The earplugs shut out any strange sounds and the mattress was sent from heaven. A couple of lizards parked on the ceiling above the bed worried me for maybe a minute before I drifted off to la-la land. They could have laid on my lips all night and I wouldn’t have known.
I drop down onto my back and rep out fifty jackknife sit-ups, fingers to toes as fast as I can do them. Okay, that’s enough. My body doesn’t feel quite right yet and my head feels as if it were full of oatmeal. Don’t want to burn up what little I got before the day even begins.
My cell rings.
“Reeves,” I say, my mind still in Portland.
“Reeves. Nguyen here.”
“Smart ass,” I laugh.
“I never understood that,” Mai says, with feigned confusion. “How can the word smart and ass be in the same sentence?”
“Well, an example might be, Mai Nguyen is very smart and has a great—”
“Okay, Sam. You woke up… feisty. Is that the right word?”
“Frisky. You would say ‘You woke up frisky.’”
“Thank you. You woke up frisky today. Do you