Travelling Gods
The taxi driver in Japan asks me why I'm in the town. On pilgrimage, I explain. I'm following the route laid out by Kobo Daishi. I'm just another one of the thousands of people who've taken the path in the past eleven hundred years. The taxi driver bows slightly and turns off the meter. Settai, he explains. A small gift to make the pilgrim's trip easier. He looks at me in the rear view mirror. Pilgrim. Yes. Then he asks me about American contraceptives.
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In Hong Kong, the taxi driver turns around nervously at a red light, twists back to see us. Politely, he asks for my wife's hand. He has been studying to be a palm reader. The textbook lies open on the seat next to him, like the spread wings of a dream. The light changes, but we're soon stuck in traffic again. He twists, my wife offers up her hand. He checks the pages of the book, then makes several oracular pronouncements about her past. Every one of them is correct. He then talks about her future, and years later I wonder why I wasn't paying more attention.
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The taxi driver gets lost. Around us are open rice fields where pure white herons bob for frogs in the dark stubble. I know where I am. I've been this way before, on foot. I offer directions, but the driver doesn't believe me. Twenty minutes later and after much frantic crackling over the radio, he figures out where he is. The ride costs triple what it should, but at least he apologizes.
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The soldier leans in the window, his gun at port arms. He asks a couple of questions. Then he points to the taxi driver. "This man is cheating you," he says to me. "Do you understand?"
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The taxi driver in Nepal bends over his dead engine. The meter clicks from time to time, the price we pay for bothering to find an honest driver who will use the meter instead of bargaining at tourist rates. Looking at the silent engine, the driver has an expression of utter despair on his face. After a while, he points us down the road. The car is not going to move again. We are surprisingly close to where we want to be, and we tip the driver, stepping past a nursing mother whose baby never notices the dead car or the heart broken man staring at a dead engine, while color postcards of eight gods and three movie stars on his dashboard offer no help at all.
.
In Hong Kong, the taxi driver turns around nervously at a red light, twists back to see us. Politely, he asks for my wife's hand. He has been studying to be a palm reader. The textbook lies open on the seat next to him, like the spread wings of a dream. The light changes, but we're soon stuck in traffic again. He twists, my wife offers up her hand. He checks the pages of the book, then makes several oracular pronouncements about her past. Every one of them is correct. He then talks about her future, and years later I wonder why I wasn't paying more attention.
.
The taxi driver gets lost. Around us are open rice fields where pure white herons bob for frogs in the dark stubble. I know where I am. I've been this way before, on foot. I offer directions, but the driver doesn't believe me. Twenty minutes later and after much frantic crackling over the radio, he figures out where he is. The ride costs triple what it should, but at least he apologizes.
.
The soldier leans in the window, his gun at port arms. He asks a couple of questions. Then he points to the taxi driver. "This man is cheating you," he says to me. "Do you understand?"
.
The taxi driver in Nepal bends over his dead engine. The meter clicks from time to time, the price we pay for bothering to find an honest driver who will use the meter instead of bargaining at tourist rates. Looking at the silent engine, the driver has an expression of utter despair on his face. After a while, he points us down the road. The car is not going to move again. We are surprisingly close to where we want to be, and we tip the driver, stepping past a nursing mother whose baby never notices the dead car or the heart broken man staring at a dead engine, while color postcards of eight gods and three movie stars on his dashboard offer no help at all.
posted by e. Readicker-Henderson at 11:59 AM
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