Birds of Paradise Lost

The Palmist

33 The Palmist The palmist closed up shop early because of the pain. He felt as if he was being roasted, slowly, inside out. By noon he could no longer focus on his customers’ palms; their life and love lines had all failed to point to any significant future, but blurred and streaked instead into rivers and streams of his memories. Outside, the weather had turned. Dark clouds hung low and the wind was heavy with moisture. He reached the bus stop’s tiny shelter when it began to pour. He didn’t have to wait long, however . The good old 38 Geary pulled up in a few minutes, and he felt mildly consoled, though sharp pains flared and blossomed from deep inside his bowels like tiny geysers, and they made each of his three steps up the bus laborious. It was warm and humid on the bus, and crowded, and a fine mist covered the windows. He sat on the front bench facing the aisle, the one reserved for the handicapped and the elderly. A fat woman with rosy cheeks who stayed standing gave him a dirty look. It was true: his hair was still mostly black, and he appeared to be a few years short of senior citizenship. The palmist pretended not to 34 Birds of Paradise Lost notice her. He leaned contemptuously back against the worn and cracked vinyl and smiled to himself. He closed his eyes. A faint odor of turned earth reached his nostrils. The palmist inhaled deeply and saw again a golden rice field, a beatific smile, a face long gone; his first kiss. The rain fell harder on the roof of the bus as it rumbled toward the sea. At the next stop, a teenager got on. Caught in the downpour without an umbrella, he was soaking wet, and his extra-large Tshirt that said “Play Hard . . . Stay Hard” clung to him. It occurred to the palmist that this was the face of someone who hadn’t yet learned to be fearful of the weather. The teenager stood towering above the palmist, blocking him from seeing the fat woman, who, from time to time, still glanced disapprovingly at him. So young, the palmist thought, the age of my youngest son, maybe, had he lived. The palmist tried to conjure his son’s face in his mind but could not. It had been some years since the little boy drowned in the South China Sea, along with his two older sisters and their mother. The palmist had escaped on a different boat, a smaller one that left a day after his family’s boat, and, as a result, reached America alone. Alone, thought the palmist and sighed. Alone. It was then that his gaze fell upon the teenager’s hand. He saw something there. He leaned forward, and did something he never did before on the 38 Geary. He spoke up, rather loudly, excitedly. “You,” he said in his heavy accent. “I see wonderful life!” The teenager looked down at the old man, and arched his eyebrows . “I’mapalmist,”saidthepalmist.“Maybeyougivemeyourhand?” The teenager did nothing. No one had ever asked to see his hand onthisbusbefore.Thefatwomansnickered.Oh,she’dseenitallon the 38 Geary. She wasn’t surprised. “This my last reading, no money , free, gift for you,” the palmist pressed on. “Give me your hand.” “I don’t know,” the teenager said, scratching his chin. He was nervous. He felt as if he was caught inside a moving glass house and Andrew Lam 35 that, with the passengers looking on, he had somehow turned into one of its most conspicuous plants. “What, what you don’t know?” asked the palmist. “Maybe I know. Maybe I answer.” “Dude,” the teenager said. “I don’t know if I believe in all that hocus-pocus stuff.” And though he didn’t say it, he didn’t know whetherhewantedtobetouchedbytheoldmanwhohadwrinkled, bony hands and a nauseating tobacco breath. To stall, the teenager said, “I have a question, though. Can you read your own future? Can you, like, tell when you’re gonna die and stuff?” Then, he thought about it. “Nah, forget it,” he said. “Sorry, that was stupid.” The bus stopped abruptly at the next stop, and everyone who was standing struggled to stay on their feet. But those near the front of the bus were also struggling to listen to the conversation. “No, no, not stupid,” said...