Brenda Ling
Think in Chinese“You shake these sticks here, like this,” Lin said, revolving the sticks in a circular motion. “Can you do that? No. Like this. Watch me. A little slower. You have to think about a question that you want answered. Just concentrate on that question. When a stick falls out. You’ll get your answer.”
Lin walked over to the side of the room and sat on a fold out chair. She had watched her daughter Nina listen intently but Lin knew in her heart that Nina never really listened. They often visited this storefront Buddhist monastery in New York’s Chinatown together. She has seen her daughter wander off during ceremonies.
Nina knelt down on a worn yellow cushion, its center turned black with use. She shook the wooden cylinder, half full of long thin match sticks, with tiny Chinese characters lining the edges of each, each one symbolizing a different meaning. She tried to think of a question. Maybe instead of a question about her life, she could wish for happiness, or money. She shook and shook and no sticks tumbled out. A better job with more money would be good, she thought. Maybe those mean coworkers could get fired.
She shook and shook. She looked over sideways at her mother, who was making a shaking motion with her hands, suggesting to Nina to speed up her action.
Shake. Shake. Shake. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Nina was getting bored. She looked up at the ceiling. Are those Disco lights? Globes of silver and gold dangled over a smiling Buddha, who filled the back of the room from ceiling to floor. Nina asked, “Why did someone hang Disco lights in a Buddhist temple?”
The people around her began to get up and leave. Their prayer sticks had fallen out. Her mother was still waiting off at the side with patience. Nina began to shake harder and haphazardly, simply for the sake of having something fall out.
Lin rushed over and picked up the stick that finally fell out. She was happy with anticipation. “Let’s see what the blessed Buddha says about your future,” she said, holding up the stick with reverence. She walked over to a wall stacked with slots. Each section held slips of yellowed rice paper. She walked the far end and pulled a fluttery translucent piece out. Her smile gave way to a frown. “Not right,” she said. “Not right.”
Nina looked at the writing. “What is not right?”
Lin walked to a nearby chair and sat. She read the paper again, then looked at Nina. “Not right,” she said.
“What does it say?” Nina asked.
Lin crumpled the paper. After a few minutes, she smoothed it out, looked at it, and repeated, “Not right.”
She turned to Nina. “It says that you will have a difficult life, full of hardships. That will you never find happiness no matter what you do.”
Nina looked at the smiling Buddha. “Can temples provide such nasty information?” she asked. She thought, Maybe I shouldn’t have fixated on those disco lights.
When Lin didn’t answer, Nina said, “Let’s go home.”
Lin refused to budge from her chair, and Nina felt bad, not for herself but for her mother. She knew Lin took these matters seriously and would blame herself for such ill fortune.
Lin said, “Go shake again.”
“What?”
“Go shake again. I know what happened. You asked your question in English. I know you prayed in English. That is why you got such a bad fortune. He couldn’t understand you.” She nodded and smiled in Buddha’s direction. “Go shake again and this time, think in Chinese, okay?”
Brenda Ling has lived in North Dakota for six years and though she has not yet learned to love the winters, she has learned to adapt exceptionally well. In May 2004, she earned a master’s degree in English from the University of North Dakota. Her day job is information officer for the USDA-ARS Grand Forks Human Nutrition Research Center. She lives in Grand Forks with her husband, two dogs and a cat.
