NEW DEAL

“Eastern Paradise” serves the best fried rice in the city an authentic Chinese menu

It is raining. The streets are shiny black. The reflections move upon the asphalt surface

like ghosts. We are sitting in the corner booth in a small restaurant along King Street in Metro Honolulu. All eyes are upon us. There is something elevating about being in the company of a beautiful woman. Even other women take notice. The mere fact that beauty is paying attention to me is empowering. There is no music—just the pleasant aroma of food being prepared. I peer out the window. Actually it is the uncovered portion above the white lace curtain, which is drenched in pouring rain. A flock of colorful birds fill this space in a flying art form. The food is brought to our table in small bowls, atop larger, oval-shaped plates accompanied by chop sticks and silence. English is seldom spoken here.  Now I hear the music. The pretty woman speaks: The greed in man is great—even his thoughts and desires are consumed with power and pride, and he is always demanding more, while being pursued by un-resting death—is that a complete sentence? The pretty woman asked.

I look into her face. It is a face stark with beauty, with bright brown eyes, and sparkling white teeth, but at the corner of her mouth a small bit of sadness lingers. I smile. Speak on, I demand: It’s a new deal. The fix is everywhere and within everything. I now believe like a homeless person, a financial crippled, or a servant who is not allowed to speak; while the rich get richer and the poor and the poorer get the picture.  Those of us in the middle are at risk of being disenfranchised—finally the center understands the new deal, and that our government is a set up, Wall Street is a metonym and Madison Avenue is a marketing concept that no rational middle minded, self educated, moral being can explain. I know now that being afraid is a commitment to cowardice. But how can I stand upon ideas when negative forces travel ten times faster than positive force.

 I reach across the table and take her hand into mine and say that everybody needs somebody to love and to believe in them—speak on: Is life deceiving us, or teaching us? Or will I pass this way not knowing if life was a succession of little things or bigger schemes, or was it just another dream?

 

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