“Why, that’s what I have an assistant manager for,” Lin Shu replied. “I’m sure you’ll handle it all. I’ll give Wilbur a call later today and make sure everything is okay with his family.”
“But...but,” Shing stuttered.
“I think you had better get to it. Speaking of trash, it looks like that darn raccoon came back last night. How about going out there and cleaning up the mess he made. Wouldn’t want our neighboring businesses to complain, now would we?”
BY THE END OF THE DAY—A day filled to overflowing with dirty dishes, trash that had been trashed by the local wildlife, and carrying crates and bags of supplies that weighed almost as much as he did—Shing decided to end the experiment. He upgraded it to a full fledged vendetta against Wilbur.
Shing recalled a classmate of his once trying to enroll him into playing a computer game where the main character was a mythological god by the name of Ling Tian. While Shing found the game to be silly, as he found most such games, he did become fascinated with the god. According to Chinese legend, Ling Tian had fought against the Supreme Divinity, only to have apparently lost the battle and been beheaded. But not so fast. Even though his head was buried in some distant mountain, Ling Tian persevered, his nipples turning into eyes and his belly button becoming a mouth. It was time for Shing to persevere as well.
Somehow he needed to discredit Wilbur, not only in the eyes of Lin Li but also in her father’s eyes. In fact, why not shame him so severely that news would spread all over town? Shing knew what a powerful rumor and gossip mill Foster Flat possessed. He just needed to come up with some elegant plan that would ruin Wilbur’s reputation, maybe even the reputation of his aunt and uncle while he was at it. Drive the whole pack of them out of town. Yeah, that was the goal. Now, he just needed a plan.
It came to him in an unusual way, as his most ingenious plans often did. He was standing in the checkout line in his neighborhood Fast Mart, fuming that he had to wait while several people in front of him bought lottery tickets. As he studied them, he realized that they all had one thing in common, not only with each other, but with Wilbur as well. They were all losers. When it was finally his turn to check out, he smiled at the old man behind the register.
“You have a lot of people buying tickets today, don’t you?” he asked noncommittally.
“Yeah, today and every other day,” the wizened old man replied, shaking his head and frowning. “Don’t they know they’ve almost no chance of winning. Better to just throw their money away.”
“Or give it to you or me,” Shing replied.
The man chuckled. “There you go.” He gave Shing his change. “To me, it’s the height of irresponsibility as they try to take the easy way to riches and it never pans out, not only for the person, but also for their loved ones. What a waste of time. I told my daughter when she was old enough to start dating, find out if your beau likes to buy lottery tickets. If he does, run the other way. For once in her life, she took my advice. She’s now married to a hardworking man who’s never bought a lottery ticket in his life, and she’s happier for it.”
That’s it! Shing thought, as he strolled out of the store and to his car. The old man had sounded just like Lin Shu, who also held hard work as an important virtue. He just needed to persuade Wilbur to buy some lottery tickets and make sure Lin Li and her father found out about it. This will be a piece of cake, Shing thought. Fortune cookies already had lottery ticket numbers printed on them. Shing whistled all the way back to work. It had turned into a very good day. Tomorrow would be even better.
That evening Shing made it a point to stay late even though several customers refused to leave at closing, making it even later before they could finally lock the doors. He assured Lin Shu that he’d stay until everything was set for the next day, then sent him home. A short time later, Wilbur appeared with mop and bucket in hand. Shing nodded at him but then returned to the order forms he was pretending to work on. Finally, when Wilbur was close to finishing mopping the floor, Shing stood up, stretched, and walked over to the bin of fortune cookies. He picked up one for himself and added it to the one in his palm, being careful not to get them mixed up.
He tossed the doctored up cookie to Wilbur, who caught it, but then just stared at it without opening it.
“What’s the matter?” Shing asked as he opened his and broke off a piece. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“It’s not that,” Wilbur replied. “I’ve just been thinking. If I don’t open the cookie, I won’t have to worry about offending the gods. While I enjoy eating them, it seems like there’s a risk that comes with it. I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
“Ahh, I see,” Shing replied, momentarily puzzled by Wilbur’s response. “Just one thing wrong with your thinking, Wilbur, my boy. You’ve already accepted the fortune cookie as soon as you caught it. Failing to open it to read the fortune is the ultimate offense. Everyone knows that.”
Wilbur gulped, a worried look growing on his face. “Well, I didn’t.”
“Tch, tch. You know what they say, ‘ignorance of the law is no excuse.’ Ignorance of these mystical laws of the fortune cookie included. Besides, what do you have to worry about? Everything has turned out well for you so far, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Wilbur replied, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“That cookie might just have the best fortune ever right inside that delectable cookie, and besides, I’m right here to help you if you need it.”
“Well, okay,” Wilbur finally said. He stripped off the cellophane and cracked the cookie in half to reveal the slip of paper inside. “Here goes.” He sighed heavily and read what was on the paper. “Amazing fortune is on its way with these lottery numbers.”
He glanced up from the paper to meet Shing’s gaze. “That’s a weird one. What does it mean?”
Shing returned Wilbur’s stare with a straight face. Like shooting fish in a barrel, he thought. “Sounds to me like the gods are asking you to trust them enough to play the lottery. You do know what the lottery is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, kinda,” Wilbur replied, “but I’ve never played it. I’m not sure I’d know how.”
“It’s easy. See those numbers on the back of the paper? Every fortune has them.”
“Yeah, I was wondering what those were for.”
They’re for fools like you, my idiot child, Shing thought. “Those are the numbers you use. Just take them into any place where they sell lottery tickets. Give them those numbers.”
“That’s simple enough.”
Yeah, even an idiot like you can’t screw it up. Shing smiled. “Easy, peasy.” Then he frowned.
“What? What’s wrong?” Wilbur asked, noticing the change in his Shing’s expression.
“What happens if you don’t win?”
“Oh, yeah. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”
“The worst.” Shing pretended to mull this over, chewing on his lower lip before finally adding, “The more tickets you buy, the better your odds of winning.”
“O...kay,” Wilbur replied. He thought about it for a minute more. “Well, I did get my paycheck today.”
“Perfect! And the big drawing is tomorrow evening, so by Sunday you could be rolling in the dough,” Shing exclaimed, even though he’d known all along that it was payday. It had been why he’d waited to spring his trap. “Each lottery ticket is only good for one set of numbers, but you could buy more tickets with numbers around these until your money runs out. That should do it.”
Wilbur’s brow crinkled as he tried to grasp this strategy. “I was planning on sending some of the money home to my mom.”
“Well, it’s your life,” Shing answered. “Not sure the cookie gods will be all that pleased with that decision, but...” He left the thought hanging in space, waiting for Wilbur to hang himself on it.
“You’re right,” Wilbur finally replied. “I can always send her money next time I get paid. Or better yet, I can send her some of my winnings.”
&n
bsp; “There you go! Problem solved.” At least Shing felt certain his primary problem by the name of Wilbur Peterman would soon be resolved once and for all.
Shing thought the next several hours would never pass. He could hardly wait until Sunday morning when the restaurant opened. Everyone arrived for work early on Sundays since it was one of their busiest days, so it was easy to arrange to have Lin Li and Lin Shu in the same room when Wilbur shuffled in.
“Well, how did it go?” Shing asked, trying hard not to gloat, but failing miserably.
“Okay,” Wilbur replied with a slight smile on his face. “Yes, I’d say it went okay. At least I haven’t had any sign that the gods are mad at me.”
“What are you two talking about?” Lin Shu asked, as he paused folding napkins in the shape of swans, a trademark of the Pagoda’s Sunday brunches.
“Oh, nothing,” Shing replied before Wilbur had a chance to speak up. “Wilbur was just telling me the other night how he planned to spend his entire paycheck on lottery tickets. Pretty wild, isn’t it? That’s where part of the restaurant money went this week.”
“Really?” Lin Shu replied, a frown growing on his face. “That seems rash to me.”
“Father,” Lin Li spoke up. “It is Wilbur’s money to do with as he pleases.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” her father replied. “Still...”
“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t spend my paycheck that way.” Wilbur turned to Shing. “I’m sorry. I know that was what you advised me to do, but after thinking about it, well, it just didn’t feel right. So I kept with my original plan and sent my mom some money and I’ll put the rest in the bank on Monday.”
“What did you just say?” Lin Shu came around from behind the table where he’d been working and walked over to Shing. “You advised him to spend his entire paycheck on playing the lottery? What kind of advice are you giving this boy?”
“Well, I...huh, I don’t know...” Shing stammered, backing away from the little man. “I might have suggested that as one possibility, but...”
He turned in Wilbur’s direction. I’ve got to shut this idiot up, he thought. He pulled the nunchucks from his back pocket and showed them to Wilbur while hiding them from the Lins with his body. “Remember what happened to that sack of rice?” he whispered between clenched teeth. Wilbur shrugged and smiled.
“It’s okay, Mr. Lin, really it is,” Wilbur assured him. “Like I said, it all worked out. I figured this was another opportunity to trust the fortune cookie gods and see how it went.”
“Fortune cookie gods? Where did you hear such a foolish...” Lin Shu stopped as he noticed Shing’s face growing red and perspiration beginning to run down his face. “You?”
“I’m shocked that you would fill this boy’s head with such drivel,” Lin Li agreed.
Shing glanced first to Lin Shu and then to Lin Li. It had suddenly grown very hot in the restaurant and he felt like he was going to faint. He took another step towards Wilbur, spinning the nunchucks in front of him, trying to hide the motion from the Lins.
Once more Wilbur stepped in to defend him.
“It really is all right. We were just having some fun playing a game. I never really took his story about fortune cookie gods all that serious. It was just something to pass the time. Besides, turns out I really like the taste of fortune cookies.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a single lottery ticket.
“I still don’t know if there’s a fortune cookie god or not, but if there is, he seems to like me just fine.” He held the ticket up for everyone to see. “I won the big prize. I won’t just be able to send money home to my mom. I’ll be able to buy her a whole new home wherever she wants it.”
They were the last words Shing heard clearly. As he took a final step towards Wilbur with the intention of silencing him once and for all, something happened that he would never be able to explain. The spinning path of the nunchuck altered slightly, crashing the end against his own head. As he fell to the floor like a sack of rice, he could just make out Lin Li throwing herself into Wilbur’s arms. As the darkness folded over him, he thought he heard Lin Li exclaim, “I love a man who stays in good favor with the gods.”
THE APOTHECARY
The Apothecary was teeming with energy even though it was well past lunchtime. Lunch-goers filled most of the fifteen tables and booths, many of whom were enjoying a second cup of coffee. The stools at the counter were also filled. Entering into the Apothecary was like stepping back in time to the early fifties, even for the residents of the rustic mountain town of Foster Flat. Fatima Flat, the great-granddaughter of Phineas Flat, founder of the mountain village, had meticulously restored the narrow hall-like breakfast and lunch spot. It had grown into one of the most popular hangouts for residents and likewise a not-to-miss location for tourists.
A young woman with flowing jet black hair cascading down her back stepped out of the back room with her latest patient, elderly Mrs. Elnora Primcastle, following close behind.
"Oh, Fatima, I'm feeling better already," Mrs. Primcastle said in her high-pitched voice that carried throughout the restaurant. "You're just the best." She turned to the other lunch-goers who had turned in her direction. "She's the best, I tell you. Whatever you've got that ails you, she can cure it."
Fatima turned in her direction, blushing. “It’s not me, Mrs. Primcastle. As I’ve told you before, I’m just an assistant to the great healing powers of your own body, along with a little help from good ol’ Mother Nature and her herbs.
"Be sure to put the cream I gave you on that area for the next several days, and let me know if the rash doesn't continue to clear up," Fatima continued, as she grasped the old lady's hand and gave it a gentle pat. Mrs. Primcastle strolled out of the Apothecary, stopping at several tables to again applaud Fatima's amazing abilities. Fatima smiled as she watched her leave, then turned around to prepare for her next patient.
She stopped at one of the tables, where a young girl about ten years of age sat with a scattering of papers in front of her instead of food. She was turned in her chair, chatting with a large man wearing bib overalls.
"Remember, Flower,” Fatima admonished, “I said you have to stay focused on your schoolwork if you're going to insist on taking up a table during lunch. Now, leave Mr. Whimpleman alone so he can finish his meal.”
"Oh, she's no..." Mr. Whimpleman started, but then noticed the stern look from Fatima and stopped. "Yeah, uh, listen to what your mother says. Back to your studies, young lady."
“Yes, Mommie Dearest,” Flower replied.
Fatima waited for her to turn back in her seat, then gently caressed her daughter’s hair, which was as thick and curly as her own.
“What a lovely child,” Mr. Whimpleman added, “but then again, why should I be surprised? She has such a beautiful and gifted mother.”
"That's enough of your blarney, you old coot. Finish your meal and get on with your day," Fatima replied, but with a lilt to her voice that suggested she enjoyed the farmer's kind words. She turned her attention from him to gaze towards the front of the building that had been such a vital part of her life ever since she was the little girl doing her homework at one of the tables. She loved this place with all of her heart, everything from the coin-operated carousel horse that still worked despite the hundreds of kids that rode it every year, to the rows and rows of antique apothecary jars lining the wall behind the lunch counter.
She shook her head. Now who's woolgathering? she thought. She was about to turn around again when she noticed a young, distinguished looking man standing at the front door, his deep blue eyes staring straight at her, a slight smile on his face. Who’s he? she wondered, surprised to feel the heat returning to her cheeks. She knew everyone in town, so that must mean he was a tourist, but for some reason, he didn't seem like a tourist. Then she remembered hearing a rumor that a new physician was supposed to be relocating to the area. It had been close to five years since Dr. Plimpton had retired and moved to Florida. Since th
en, if you needed a doctor, you had to travel to Black Mountain, over thirty miles away. Could this be him? If so, wouldn't that make him my competition? Don't be silly. There's plenty of room for another person dedicated to healing and helping. She finally broke her gaze and started back to her office in the rear of the building. So why do I suddenly feel so threatened by him?
DR. HAROLD HARPER GAZED around the restaurant he'd heard so much about from the few townsfolk that had wandered into Plimpton's old office as he was in the process of cleaning it up. So this is the Apothecary, he thought, surprised to find it so full considering it was close to three o'clock, well past the regular time for lunch. His gaze fell on the bright face of a young woman standing in the middle of the room. Is that her? he wondered. She certainly fit the description he'd been given: long, luscious hair the color of a tunnel in midnight, a creamy texture to her complexion that suggested some Eastern influence in her lineage. He watched as she turned around and headed towards the back, stopping long enough to talk to a little girl sitting alone at one of the tables. No one told me she had a daughter, he thought. But the lack of any signs of another parent around was just one clue. The most obvious was that the girl looked like a mini version of her mother...with one small, yet significant difference, Harper noted, as he watched the girl close her books and start to follow her mother to the back with a noticeable limp of her left leg.
Even from this distance, he could tell that the problem was with her deformed left ankle. He'd seen several similar cases through the years while assisting at his father's orthopedic practice, but he couldn't remember seeing one quite so severe and in such a young patient. How unfortunate, he thought, to have dedicated your life to helping other people with their sore throats and rashes, but be unable to help your own daughter.
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Volume Two Page 7
