Occupational Changes

Chris finished his workout with a flurry. His wrapped hands pounded the heavy bag, and he fired kicks from both feet. The workout soaked his crimson and gold sweats he’d had since high school. Upon finishing, he released a primal scream. With that, there was a pounding on the wall. Chris smiled. He was 5’ 11”, 190 pounds of solid muscle, with close cropped hair and a dark completion.

“Sorry, Mrs. Kham!” He said loudly, which was followed by a language he couldn’t really understand. He thought it was Laotian, but there was no way for him to tell. Chinatown is a misnomer, he thought. It may have been founded by Chinese immigrants, and the first two blocks past the Friendship Gate were for tourists. Past the restaurants, various shops full of trinkets martial arts weapons, and fireworks, it was a melting pot of many Asian cultures living in relative harmony.

The apartment in the very back of the district was cheap rent, but was small and had paper thin walls. Yet, it fit his needs. It was a short subway ride to Temple where he took classes, and eight blocks to the restaurant where he cooked two nights a week. Best of all, three blocks from his dōjō. Chris loved teaching, and although he was a master, all but one called him sensei. The one, of course, was his teacher.

Even at the restaurant, where he cooked on Tuesday and Wednesday, he was more than happy to show others how to create Creole dishes. It was a calling, and one day he would educate young minds.

He’d started there washing dishes, but once the owner realized his talent, they had him cooking. Then, once the staff tasted a dish or two, they made a change. Chris couldn’t work full time, but they found a compromise. The two middle weekdays would have a special Creole offering. It packed the place. He’d turned down numerous offers from his employer to chef full time.

-

He grabbed a towel and dried sweat off his body after working out. Shadow, his mastiff, left his guard position across the doorway to the room, assuming it was play time. He plowed into Chris from behind, knocking him down, and grabbed his sweaty shirt and shook.

“Shadow! You shit!” He wrestled with his dog. The breed naturally covered doorways and held people down, but Chris trained him well in other aspects. However, this was his fun time! Shadow, who weighed about 175, twice had him down and laid on him.

“Okay! You win! No more treats for you, though. You’re getting fat!” In reality, the dog was all muscle and had a nice treat dropped in his bowl. It was one place he would take food. He also went everywhere his “owner” went, and because he was so well behaved, got away with being where canines were generally not accepted. So, per usual, he was put in his harness and ready to go to school. It was Tuesday, and that meant class, then cooking in the evening. After showering up and smelling nice, because there were lovely ladies on campus, the two-headed for the Broad Street subway.

They waited for a local, but an express came through first. It didn’t apply any breaks, as it was not stopping. Unfortunately for all who saw it, as the cars flew through, there was a push from the crowd awaiting the local, and a man fell just a bit forward. He wasn’t in front of the train, but it was just enough for him to catch one of the metal handholds that was traveling at a high speed. It spun him to the ground, bleeding from a head wound, and people backed away. Except for one man, perhaps a doctor or paramedic, who worked to staunch the bleeding. It was then that the unexpected happened, or more, almost unbelievable.

“Do you see that thing?!” Chris said to a random man next to him.

“Yeah, I saw it. Not sure he’s going to be okay…”

“No, the thing! On top of him!”

“A medical person?”

“No no… No not that. Something else. It’s black and like… came out of nowhere.” The other subway patron moved away from him, and Shadow didn’t even raise his hackles.

What Chris, and apparently only Chris, had seen was some kind of spirit. He watched as it didn’t so much materialize, but dropped down from above over the injured man. It hovered above him for a time, and then there was a spark.

“No one saw it. No one saw it!” He looked around.

He bent and put his hands on his knees, looking at his dog. “Not even you.” After a moment he said, as much to himself, “Forget class, I need to go process.” With that they headed home, and when they got back, even Shadow sensed the mood and was very quiet. As much as sleep would have been good, it simply wasn’t going to happen. Time moved slowly, but not slow enough, and Chris had a job waiting.

-

“Shadow! Ready to go?”

The dog wandered in, still in his harness. Sadness, mixed perhaps with shame, came with the realization he hadn’t removed it from that morning.

“Sorry, pal. It’s been an odd one. But hey, we’re going to Reading!”

Shadow wagged because he knew the word, and it was always fun. In fact, it was fun for both of them. As much as it was a mission to get ingredients, Reading Terminal Market was a place of people and was easy walking distance. They knew him there. They knew his dog as well. As usual, animals were not permitted, but exceptions could always be made.

“Hey, Chris! I got him now!”

“Yeah, Tony, how’s that?”

“Burger… infused with duck fat, bacon covered, and deep-fried!”

“Sounds like a heart attack, but get on with yo’ bad self!”

Tony, a legend in the market, got Shadow to sit near him and proffered the tasty treat. But, as he had every time previously, he would not take it. Every week he tried something new, but could never get him to eat.

“Why you warp this poor animal?!”

“To teach him not to eat from knuckleheads like you!” They both laughed. Tony tossed the treat to Chris who handed it down to Shadow. It was gone in seconds.

“See? He loved it!” They laughed again and then headed for their destination. The seafood place had, only because it was ordered by a great client, forty-pound sacks of crawfish waiting. They were packed in ice and flown in overnight, but when the cold wore off they would be squirming.

Chris grabbed two of the mesh sacks and lifted. Even not a large man at 5’ 10”, Chris had plenty of upper body strength. He nodded to his dog and headed out of the market. When they arrived, the boil pots had already been set up, and he dropped the sacks. The water was getting hot, and he opened the sacks and dumped them into the strainer baskets. Then started giving instructions.

“Okay, toss two seasoning bags in the chipped pot and one in the Yankee pot. Add in all the stuff y’all prepped in the basket with the mudbugs. Once it comes to a boil, drop them in, and bring it back to a full rolling boil. Then shut the heat off in two minutes. Time that shit, it’s important. Then let it soak for five more. Add ice to the chipped pot.”

“Why?”

“Gives ‘em more heat. Oh, and don’t throw out the water, it’s our stock. I need to head inside, because first…”

“…you make a roux!” They all yelled and laughed as Chris and Shadow trotted up the steps into the kitchen.

“Y’all are learning! Pete, c’mon, I’m going to need you in here.” The man followed, eager to learn, and Chris knew it. Pete was lanky, with long dark hair, and though he looked slow, he moved with quickness in the kitchen.

He grabbed various pans and implements and was happy to see the prep had been done. He made a dark roux and started adding ingredients and seasoning. Once the boils were complete, Chris showed them how to snap off the head, squeeze out the juice into a bowl, and pinch out the tail meat. He also made everyone “suck the head” because he wanted to see their expressions.

“Hot! Hot… hot…”

“Shoulda gone with a Yankee one!” The dishwasher howled.

“That was.” He grabbed a water mug.

“He’s from Maine, been eating spuds all his life!” There was more laughter.

“Hey, heads up, here comes Art.” Art was a diminutive man with a fake prissy attitude and an impeccable wardrobe. He was a perfect maître‘d.

“Shadow. Closet.” Chris said, and the dog slipped into the janitor’s closet, and Pete closed the door.

“How soon?" Art asked as he looked around. “People are already asking for it. Most of them don’t even know what etouffee is… just that you’re cooking it.”

“Asking for it? It’s not even on the board!”

“Well, someone might have leaked it.”

“Someone?”

“Yeah, someone. Is that enough crayfish? I expect we’ll have orders all night.”

“No. You only get about twenty percent tail meat, and it’s crawfish. All this might get you twenty bowls or twice that in cups.”

“What?!” Art panicked, “That’s not nearly enough!”

“Relax, there’s eight more sacks at the market, someone just has to get them. We can only make so much at a time…”

“Oh, well I’ll get James to run and get them.” He turned to leave. “Your dog is under the mop sink again.”

“How do you know? Did he fart?”

“No he didn’t fart. If you’re here, he’s here. If we get fined, you’ll be paying it!”

As soon as he was out of earshot, they all chuckled, and Shadow was released from doggie jail. It turned out the night was a big hit, and while some just had the appetizer bowl, almost everyone tried it. Philadelphians hadn’t had much opportunity to try crawfish and were intrigued. At least a half dozen times Chris had been called out to meet various well-known guests. He spoke to them in his best “N’awlins” accent, even though his Philly had come back as soon as he returned to the city. Chris was beat.

He was back in the kitchen starting a fresh boil and stirring ingredients when he heard the commotion. He pushed through the kitchen staff to the one counter where it was possible to see a good part of the dining floor. A patron was either choking or having a heart issue, and after a 911 call, the staff was working to help. It was too late. The darkness dropped on him, and Chris saw it. It seemed unnatural, and as he tried to contemplate it, the head turned. The red eyes that appeared to be in a fleshless skull turned on him, focused, and went bright, just like a spark. There was no way to discern if it smiled or not, then it left. Not fading away, but almost drawn away if sucked back by a straw. The ambulance was unnecessary. He asked the crew if they’d seen anything unusual, but no one had witnessed anything aside from the dying man.

“Pete, take over, I’m tired as hell.”

“What? I can’t cook like you!”

“You just watched me do it four times, and I know you have the chops. You’ll be fine.”

With that, he changed into his street clothes, leashed Shadow, and headed out the back. The walk home seemed longer than usual, and perhaps thinking about the events of the day added to it. This time, he didn’t forget to unharness his dog, but once that was done, he just reclined on the couch where he sat. Sleep took him quickly.

-

Suddenly, however, he awoke and popped up into a sitting position. What he saw in his living room chilled him to the bone. The apparition wasn’t in the distance this time, it was only ten feet away. Chris was frozen for a moment, if he hadn’t seen it that morning, he’d have thought he was dreaming. Now, he got a look at it he wished he hadn’t. It was cloaked in black that almost looked like mist, but it was the portions of the creature he could see that were terrifying. Along with the fiery red eyes, he could see the elongated hands and skull that both had some type of flesh attached. As fearful as Chris was, his training took over. He grabbed a throwing knife, one of the many weapons hidden about his apartment. The throw was perfect, center of mass, but unfortunately there was no mass. It passed through the specter with nary a change in direction. A hideous laugh, either in his head or filling the room, frightened him. Then, it pointed at him, then slowly floated back through his wall, and was gone. It took several minutes for his heart to stop thumping like a jackhammer.

“Shadow! Mae!” The dog came to him. “Sei za.” His dog sat. “Yō I house.”

Leaving Shadow to watch his place, Chris dressed quickly and headed out. It was only a few blocks, and he was at the red door. Freshly painted by new students, it was set into a round frame and opened into a Japanese garden. The door itself was on many historical maps, and during the day, much photographed. But few, aside from some dignitaries, ever saw beyond it. Chris walked in, knowing he was watched for a moment, and then accepted as someone who should be there. He made his way to his teacher’s quarters and knocked.

“Come.”

“Sensei, I know it’s late, but I need to talk,” Chris said as he entered the teacher’s inner rooms.

“Nonsense, it is my time for tea. Join me?” The man was perhaps 5’ 8” with short white hair, but physically fit for his age.

“Of course.”

Words were spoken in Japanese, only some Chris understood, but by the time they sat cross-legged at the low table, a young woman with flawless skin, long jet black hair, and in a silk kimono delivered tea. It was very bitter, but no sugar was added or asked, and they drank.

“You are here late, deshi, does something trouble you?”

“Yes. Very much.” He recounted the day to his teacher, and though the old man in his late eighties knew much, he had no answers.

“Why this thing haunts you is a mystery.”

The old man, who looked so frail, rose to his feet. He went to a place where he honored his ancestors, and brought back a sword. His most prized possession.

“Christopher, you are my son. I only have days, perhaps a week, until I join my ancestors. But you are what I have left. Take the sword, it has been in our family for generations and was forged long before that. The rest the attorney will explain. I am hopeful you will continue in my place and keep open the school. Also, please, take good care of my grandson’s niece, she can teach you Japanese…”

“What is it?! What’s wrong?”

“Cancer, Christopher, we all must die. I missed you when you went away, I am glad you are home.”

Unable to respond, Chris took the sword, and fearing tears, he left the school. The blocks to his place passed quickly, because he was working it all out in his head. When he arrived back home, he added a bit of kibble to Shadow’s bowl, and mechanically did a few minor chores. Nothing, however, could take away the profound sadness he felt, nor could he picture the future. He fell back on his bed, and even as thoughts swirled in his head, weariness took him and he slept.

It wouldn’t last long, and once again his eyes snapped open. This time the black phantom floated almost atop him. Chris drew up a knee, and to his surprise, it connected. For whatever reason, the being now had form, and along with it a smell of fetid carrion. Before it could recover, Chris rolled left and struck his enemy, pushing it away from him. With a full roll back to his right, he fell off the bed. Popping back up, he took a defensive stance.

“Do not fight. You gain nothing, as you have passed from the mortal world.” It pointed to the bed where the lifeless body still remained.

“Yeah? Well, fuck you.” Chris stepped forward and drove his tormentor into the wall with a side kick. It was then he noticed the sword he’d been given within his reach. It laughed at him.

“That is a tool of the old world. Embrace me, or be left to walk this earth in pain for as long as it exists.”

“We’ll see about that.” He grabbed the sword, and his nemesis stopped laughing. He unsheathed the weapon, and without so much of a feint, stepped forward and drove it into the dark creature. The howl was loud, but only Chris heard it. He pulled the sword free and slid it back into its scabbard, then placed it in his own place of honor. He knew what came next.

He crossed the room, picked up the now empty cloak, and slipped it over his head. He glided past his sleeping dog, and straight through his front wall to the street. He was headed for a famous round red door, because he knew an old man was waiting for him.

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