-Part 2-

"The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace." Exodus 14:14.

The verse of the year at the Santa Clara Evangelical Church taunted me.

I stared at the huge, gold cross pinned to the altar's red wall; the sweetly chiming church bells resonated down my perturbed soul.

Lord, I appreciate Your help, but You can stop fighting for me now. The doomsday is tomorrow, and I've made my peace with it.

After the benediction by Pastor Chris, I zipped my sweatshirt and strode out of the church before the parishioners sitting in front marched outside. Buildings of Stanford rose from the ground a few hundred yards away. The gale moaned through the trees lining up the street. The area was deserted except for a man walking on the sidewalk and fallen leaves rattling up around the tires of parked cars and the black garbage can near the bottom step of the stairs. This was the reason I patronized this church—the route around here was less taken. The midsummer's gust blew my hood and messed with my hair. I flinched in pain when I lifted my arm and bound my hair together. "Godverdomme." I was vaccinated for seven bloody epidemics last month. The shots hurt so much, I couldn't raise my arm for a week.

Sucking my teeth, I stared at the funereal sky and descended the wide terra cotta staircase. The fat clouds concealed the sun, making my heavy eyelids heavier. I barely slept last night. In fact, I had been insomniac ever since Dean Copper assigned me to the Amazon.

I closed my eyes when my head pounded. Kneading it, I took a step but couldn't feel the stair. Adrenaline rushed in my brain when I lost my balance. My eyes flung open. I swung around to try to seize the handrail. When the sky stopped spinning, my pelvis throbbed in pain.

Fuck! What in tarnation just happened?

Someone burst into laughter. "Oh, wow. That was—" A man obstructed my view from the sky when he offered me his hand. "I'm so, so sorry for laughing. How did you end up like this?"

I peered at his small palm and realization came to me like Noah's deluge.

I was butt first in a garbage can. My waist hurt. My body reeked of rotten bananas. My face burned.

"Come on, sir." He bent down and stared at the church. He beckoned to me. "The flock is coming."

The image of more people seeing me in this ridunkulous position overrode my antipathy toward touching a stranger, so I clasped his hand and staggered to my feet.

"Careful, sir." He held me in place.

Looking at his face, I blurted out a recognition. "You're the karate sensei." I nudged my chin toward the dojo behind the church.

His chapped lips parted as he nodded.

Then I felt his hands on my waist. My tongue felt like sandpaper against my palate from the sudden proximity. Too close!

I almost manhandled him. I wriggled out of his arms and cackled like a moron as I tried to assuage my anxiety. "Sorry... I mean. Thank you. God, they should move the damn garbage can elsewhere. I almost died from a concussion."

Calm down. He's just here to help you, Luuk.

I backtracked, and my pounding heartbeat slowed down. It was more relieving to see that he was no taller than me.

"I always tell my students to not curse a fall. The ground is where humility lives." He smiled. "You're lucky you didn't hit your head. You should watch your step next time, sir." He crouched down and pulled a plastic wrapper from the back of my knee.

My insides squirmed in embarrassment, but I tried to act nonchalant by saying, "Humility doesn't live in a garbage can. Maggots do. And what are you doing?" I pulled his hand when he crouched down and let it go the next second.

"We made a mess. We should clean it up."

He spun an empty water bottle in his hand and grinned, wide enough that his canine tooth peeked out between his lips. His eyes caught a streak of sunlight. They were golden, the color of my hair. I had seen him teaching karate to children every time I walked back to my apartment, and from afar, I always thought he was pure Japanese. I had been to Latin Europe countless times to recognize a mestizo like him. He looked... exotic. His eyes reminded me of the eyes of the black cat my baby sister had adopted. They were so golden, they looked devilish.

"We didn't make a mess. I did. I'll do it myself."

He opened his mouth to argue, I believed. But when he looked at my lower body, he stood without a word. His face flinched.

I glimpsed at his legs. He had an accident six months ago. A shuttle bus hit him at the university's entrance when he was walking his dog. Rumors traveled fast because he owned the only gym in the vicinity. Two of my colleagues frequented his gym, and every female student knew the adorable Japanese sensei. They even talked about him in my class. Lord blessed him. It was a miracle he could even walk again.

He dug out wrapped tissues from his pocket and offered me one. "Un... you should stop the bleeding."

"Blood?" I wriggled my aching arms but couldn't find any wound. "Where?"

"Here." He poked the deep, long scrape just above my palm.

"Ow! Jezus Christus!" My brain registered the pain.

His ivory skin lost more color, and he bowed in a ninety-degree angle as he apologized.

Tsk. Japanese.

I snatched the tissue. "You're fine. Stop kowtowing. Jesus." When the parishioners started descending the staircase, I kicked the rolling garbage can out of my way (pop cans, cardboard boxes, and rotten apples sprawled over the pavement) and tugged him to the other side of the stone handrail. I didn't need it to look like I was chastising a random Asian kid after I had just lost my dignity.

The humor went out of his eyes in a hurry. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'm sorry for laughing. I didn't know you're hurt." He apologized ad infinitum and tried to bow again.

I hurt my pride, sure. But sometimes, all we need is the courage to lie blatantly. So I jabbed a middle finger on his chest to stop him from bowing again. "Stop it. I'd laugh too if I saw me spread-eagling in the garbage can. And it obviously made your day. So consider it a slapstick service."

His pink face flushed red. "Un, do you want to go to the dojo and disinfect your wound?" He pointed to his left and ran another hand through his black hair, smiling a trifle uneasily.

"No. I need to go back." I craned my neck to get a better view of the deserted street. But no, the street was not deserted anymore. Adjacent to us, a civilized pedestrian made my life easier by cleaning up my mess. Thank God for small favors.

"Pardon?" He scratched his cupid's bow.

"It's about to rain. I need to go. I smell like stinky tofu." I cringed at the white jelly on my shirt. I flailed the bloody tissue at him, said my thanks, and pussyfooted by the pedestrians.

"You're welcome. Walk carefully!"

Tsk. What is he? My fairy godmother?