Chapter 6-The story of the Snake Sisters

I am not human

Angelo arrives in Fujian

The Xiamen Gaoqi International Airport showed itself to be as hectic a location on a weekday, as the weekend. Mothers with children in tow, flooded the already wiggling line of passengers for the United States. The anxious feeling of leaving this region, which is one of the most picturesque and fertile areas in China, multiplied with the permanent status of the relocation. Laborers at one of the many tea farms or other agricultural concerns, and their families knew this to be a one-way ticket to a new life. They left with everything they owned, leaving nothing behind. Wives showed the strain of relocation as small hands began to tremble over the thought of her children in strange foreign schools. Clenched teeth stemmed the fear of their future in America. Their young ones will spend most of the day and part of the night alone in a foreign country, as she and her spouse work long hours seven days a week to pay back relatives for their assistance. On occasion, the family member used the generosity of a professional lender, whose interest on the loan demanded quick payment. The possible retribution for lateness never discussed, in public. This tumultuous sentiment would soon vanish upon greeting her husband at JFK International Airport. Sometimes a male would be at the Xiamen ticket counter stating the necessary information concerning his departing family. Though many fathers found the expense of traveling back to escort his brood to their new home a drain on his finances. Spending a number of years working at any and all types of jobs to earn enough capital for airplane tickets and a substantial nest egg, a short local car service trip to the Queens' airport would be just as good.

Immigration from Fujian would soon eclipse the amount of Irish and Italian immigrants that poured through the harbors of Northeast America. Their numbers from the mid-nineteenth to twentieth century would be dwarfed by the Chinese migration of the last forty years; the bulk of that influx from this part of Southeast China.

The tall American looked with a blank expression at the stream of expatriates from this land. Minutes before he flew over the lush fields dotting the area of the city. The city itself, as seen from the air shocked the New Yorker.

"It's so damn clean." Whispered as he peered through the small window of the jet as it prepared for a landing.

Walking to the baggage area he heard the words repeated over and over again.

"Mei guo. Mei guo…" The Chinese word for America.

Another step would hear a different voice filled with wonder but laced with a minute amount of fear, "Mei guo ren." The small boy possessing a round plum

face had correctly identified the visitor, American.

He grinned. "I guess you guys are right?" The murmur's volume felt only in his ears. "Wode guo gia." spoken as the grin widened. His limited use of the difficult language told him what he knew some Americans refused to believe about their own homeland.

He understood the words used in the Chinese language to describe America.

Mei guo?

He repeated his thought in English. "Beautiful country."

"Sir?" With a hint of an Asian accent, the request and the vision of a law enforcement uniform brought the Western traveler to a quick halt.

"Please, just moment?" It took a few seconds, but Angelo realized this had to be the most beautiful police officer in the world.

"Sure, anything?" His words managed to conceal a pair of roving blue eyes. Following the young woman to the back of an empty ticket counter, he trailed her with a meek stride. His thoughts did not mirror the woman's calm outward appearance.

She is gorgeous. My God, what an ass.


The inner sanctum of Xiamen Airport used for special investigating possessed no character. White walls could have been those of a hospital. Lacking specks of dust or dis-color increased its value as a serious and at times life-altering place of interrogation.

"Sir, we are happy to welcome you to our country." The young police officer continued without a pause. The one-way conversation sounded as if read from a manual. "What is your intention in this visit to our country," her words flowed non-stop. The intrigued visitor ignored her stern tone and the older man standing to her right. His dark blue uniform resembled hers in shade only.

This guy looks like he's arrested half of China.

Angelo's thought inspired by the vast array of different decorations seated on the senior officer's chest.

The young woman, in the area of five feet two and a breath of air over one hundred pounds explained travel regulations and the necessity for safeguards to ensure the protection of those using Xiamen Gaoqi International Airport.

Angelo stood amazed at the young woman's able pronunciation of this apparent tongue twisting English translation of the terminal's name. As the female officer paused for a modest inhale to gain strength, the hypnotized detainee ignored her loss of breath and concentrated on the oval shaped eyes on occasion batting in slow motion. Using this gap in questioning to regain some of his lost composure, the American swallowed and straightened his melting posture. Standing erect, he hoped to show a strong and serious front. It became a losing battle.

She's like a doll. Are all Chinese girls like her?

The young woman's hair wrapped tight under the police officer's dark blue cap, squared off bangs fell just over her almost non-existent eyebrows. The badge contained two silver wreaths on a well-polished star of the same color. It reflected any light touching its surface.

This doll's bangs are so neat and so straight.

The seriousness of the growing interrogation escaped him, as he remained motionless. Struck by her face and hair, he still managed to supply his passport upon request and answer other standard questions. If asked to describe the young female officer from the neck down, the foreign visitor would be at a loss.

"Weapon?" She asked. The word had been bracketed with other incidental nouns and adjectives. "You will be teaching English? Or weapons training?" Her last queries were scented with the stink of sarcasm. It brought a different expression to the detainee.

Another police officer entered the room. He carried one of the two suitcases Angelo brought for this summer long stay.

The older officer walked to the entering male policeman standing over the larger brown piece of luggage. A worn case, it would function for its original purpose.

In Chinese, the obvious supervisor of the two younger officers told the young woman to ask Angelo for permission to open the brown bag.

"Go ahead," a short and annoyed reply from the American.

"On X-ray examination, we found…" As she explained, Angelo grew flustered. It had been less than a day since this scene first took place at JFK.

"And, you found what?" He did not hear or intended to hear or answer any further questions from the Chinese security force. The experience at JFK still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The TSA at Kennedy International brought him to a side room and wasted some thirty minutes of his life. His unspoken thought when a supervisor in plain-clothes apologized for the inconvenience.

This situation some 12,000 miles away took on the same dismal atmosphere.

The incident appeared to be replaying itself across the world.

The young male officer reached in to the corner of the large suitcase and took out the small wooden box. He held it for the supervising officer to see. A circular medallion sat in the middle of the gleaming dark mahogany wood. It held a crest, that of the United Sates Army.

"You might be asked to return to America, or even brought to our station for questioning." The young woman's small mouth with a hint of lip-gloss sounded the same as her counterpart at the Queens' airport. He being a short rotund young man with a rough Brooklyn accent and spiked black hair told Angelo a corresponding threat.

"If I don't get some answers? You'll be taken away in handcuffs."

The young passenger's only reply to the TSA agent a grunted laugh.

Opening the box, the young Chinese policeman showed his superior its contents. Angelo could see the stunned look on the older man's face.

A low-toned mumble from the higher-ranking elder silenced the doll-like interrogator. He called her over, as the three of them huddled over the 1? inch star, its brilliance caught the attention of the neon lights running across the ceiling. A ribbon showed vertical blue, white and red bars leading to the north point of the medal. As the senior officer took the case and put it back into the worn brown piece of luggage, Angelo felt relief accompanied by a twinge of disgust.

It took those geniuses at JFK a damn half hour to know what these commies knew in ten seconds.

He did not present a stern or bewildered look. Blue eyes downcast, a bottom lip felt the scratch of upper teeth.

Bowing in his direction, the older policeman turned to the young woman. He told her to translate for him.

"It is an honor for our country to have a man of moral and courageous character to teach our children." She too became moved by the discovery, bowing and taking a step backward.

"Welcome, to Fujian." The hoarse voice from the senior officer brought Angelo's head down. It would not be difficult to bow to those that know the meaning of the Silver Star, America's third highest award for valor.


Escorted to the waiting area, the impressed foreigner bid goodbye to his new friends. The farewell appeared cordial, though the man holding a sign with the name CIELO did show some sign of fear at this new foreign teacher flanked by police officers. The raised dark eyebrows of the fortyish balding man preceded the beads of sweat erupting from his bare forehead.

"Xie Xie, wode xin pengyou." Overhearing the American thanking his new friend eased the anxious mood preparing to take control of the waiting chauffer's appearance.


In an airport, a half a world away the same fearful disposition did not dissipate with the equivalent speed of Angelo's perspiring driver. Utah can be a mysterious place.

A tall young man in black stood in silence with a somber expression. Blasting announcements of needed information echoed from the Salt Lake City Airport's P.A. system. Fahai remained motionless as the bearded man in clerical garb extended a thick, calloused hand toward him.

"Brother Fahai, I am called Thomas." A smile crept over his expression. "I was filled with doubt after arriving here at this same airport. And thus, so christened." The round face of Thomas showed a modest smile. He knew the young Buddhist did not know the story of Doubting Thomas. Though telling it did ease the welcoming monk.

Taking the black suitcase from Fahai, "we have prepared a place of contemplation and pray for you." A simple nod after the words would be the only form of communication by this foreign visitor. The Trappist monk dressed in dark brown shirt and pants led the timid newcomer to Utah through the throngs of luggage seeking passengers and a waiting taxi.

Exiting the terminal familiar sounds of horns blaring and muffled conversations brought an even greater feeling of apprehension to the Buddhist holy man. Short skirts in various bright colors acted as magnets to nails. Two young Asian women showed flustered expressions, one shaking her body in anger as a yellow cab refused to stop for them.

Beautiful young females, please do not ask me for help?

Fahai did not need to look upon the attractive women to feel temptation of the flesh. A slight glance itemized their short pants that rode above shapely thighs. The hems of the garments ending an inch or two below trim crotches He showed disciplined restraint as he focused on the Trappist's lips, even when they held no movement.

A sigh of relief eased his tightening chest muscles. The girls spoke English with the accent of a Mid-Westerner. Long hair traveled down the bare backs of the attractive duo. The only cover for the cream-like skin, yellow spaghetti straps crisscrossing over their shoulders.

Am I to be enticed to sin by these twin wood nymphs?

His thought caused by the great care the young women took in mirroring the other.

Thank you, Buddha. They are bananas.

His spirit remained safe, the description familiar in Beijing for foreign born Chinese. They were yellow on the outside, but pure white inside.

"Our Abbot is anxious to speak with you."

Fahai again bowed his head. This warrior for Buddha that commands the power of the elements for good remained stripped of speech. The raging cyclone in his mind demanded all his will to subdue the temptation of its questions.

Am I ready to waste a month in a world of isolation and…

He stiffened his stature, as the Trappist opened the backdoor of the yellow Crown Victoria.

Am I to hide in fear? Oh, Buddha, not the fear of the evil demons and shape-shifters that desecrate your world.

Seated behind the taxi driver, a white-faced American with pale, thin hair, he chose to make one final plea to Buddha.

Deliver me from my urges. I know my abilities and powers derive from a pure heart and soul. That is why I was born. Blot out the weakness of the flesh. Blind my spirit to the passions of life.

"Our Abby is about an hour from here." Brother Thomas sensed the inner contemplation of the young visitor. He chose to follow Fahai's example and eased onto the black cloth backseat, silent.

The trip to Our Lady of Trinity Monastery would continue in stillness. This muted atmosphere welcomed by both clerics.

Fahai accepted this assignment knowing the strict environment linked to the Trappist lifestyle would cleanse his soul of the wicked characteristics associated with men. Or so he hoped.

Seeing the beige colored buildings growing in his vision, Fahai also became struck with the majestic Wasach Mountain Range framing the Monastery grounds. He knew the Fujian hillsides were as beautiful. Stories of the lush scenery and pure, clear streams of Fujian often came from his adopted father's lips. The elderly couple entrusted with the abandoned infant by the Supreme Buddhist Monk nurtured the boy as if he carried their blood. A childless couple, the dream of returning to Fujian with their son ended with the death of his mother. A grieving father soon followed.

Deep breaths from the young visitor brought a quick glance from Brother Thomas. Fahai hoped the Trappist monk would interpret the irregular respiration, an effect of seeing bright reflecting white caps of snow undisturbed by this 80-degree morning in June. Fahai did admit to himself the flora colored mounds under the snowline of the range looked as if something on a mural, rather then real life. The young monk knew the truth. Any thought or mention of that part of China, the homeland of his adoptive parents would bring the Yin xing Fo wu qi uncontrolled joy or sadness. With all his mystical powers, he could not bring a return to health for a dying mother. The teenager's character formed as he watched helpless, unable to sooth the broken heart of his father.

Buddha, my soul, my spirit wonders for the truth. The strength.

Biting his lower lip as his closed eyes tightened.

I will be flushed of such vices, or such desires.

A feeling of relief traveled his skin.

My revered parents will be proud of my victory.

He hoped a month in isolation will purge him of the desires of men.

Passing through the row of full-headed trees, the taxi drove along the stone path to a trio of awaiting Trappists standing in white robes with a black pullover.

Fahai rethought his present situation.

I must lose the corruption of humans.

Bowing to the welcoming committee anxious to see this monk of a different discipline, he could not shake the growing doubt.

I will defeat these human imperfections.

A smile covered his face.

After all," his grin widened.

I am not human.


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