Between the Lanterns(57)
Now, August was quite a local celebrity wherever he went. Despite the world having only one government, and with the advent of free Internet and wifi in every little village in the world, China still held onto its ancient culture with iron grips. So it was no surprise that he was the first black man that many of the local villagers had ever seen.
They all, especially the elderly and the children, wanted to feel his skin and touch his hair. August didn’t mind, though. It was like being loved by someone again. Having them caress his arms and face, or press at his hair – even pulling at it sometimes – he could close his eyes and imagine it was Samantha.
Since coming to China, he had decided that letting go of her was impossible. Instead, what August desperately needed to do was accept his loss. Embrace the love they had shared, because it would sustain him. Sadness visited August almost every day, but he chose to find new ways each time to take his mind somewhere different, to a fearless and positive place.
Sometimes he helped the local farmers with their manual labor. Other times, he sat down and wrote about how he was feeling at that very moment. Mostly, though, when the feeling of sadness came over him so strongly August felt he would suffocate... that was when he cooked.
August would stop into the nearest restaurant or café, or sometimes even someone’s home, and offer him or her a large amount of Credit if they would teach him to cook something new. Every time he smelled the warm aroma of food cooking, and it was his hands doing some of the work, August filled with radiant energy; an almost… magical feeling.
His logical mind told him it was happiness. He was happy because he was doing something of which the woman he gave his heart to forever would approve. At the back of his mind, though, he always thought it was Sam. That she was there guiding his hands and helping him make these unusual and unbelievably delectable local dishes you would never find on a menu back home in a million years. A Nutricator couldn’t even begin to manufacture dishes this intricate.
Nutricators… Every time he saw one, August thought of how much Samantha had hated those. And he saw them everywhere in China, of course. They were mandatory in all homes. But many of the homes out in these local villages opted to use it to feed livestock. They would make pig feed with one of Montek’s Nutricators, and then once the pigs were fat and ready, they would slaughter the pigs and make real food. Samantha would have loved it.
It was one such day that a great idea, a real spark of inspiration, came to August. An idea that would set him forth on a new course, his new life. Because what he was doing now, it wasn’t long-term. It was intermediate. It was all just a space filler. August was merely learning how to adjust to his life without Samantha, but that wouldn’t be enough, and he knew it. August would need to do something important again.
He had been walking down the street in this village, when a Montek.Automaton advertisement caught his eye. It was the first one he had seen since selling the SameSoul to the global mega-conglomerate. This ad was announcing Montek’s newest and greatest innovation.
ARE YOU AFRAID OF DEATH? DO YOU WANT TO LIVE FOREVER? WELL, THANKS TO THE GREAT MINDS AT MONTEK… NOW YOU CAN! ANNOUNCING THE NEWEST AND MOST SIGNIFICANT INNOVATION IN HUMAN HISTORY: NewLife. AS A REPLACEMENT FOR THE BrainSave, THIS MARVEL OF TECHNOLOGY WILL IMPLANT YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS INTO A MONTEK.AUTOMATON SO THAT YOU CAN GO ON LIVING AFTER YOU DIE. VISIT US ON THE WEB OR STOP BY YOUR LOCAL MONTEK.AUTOMATON DEALER FOR MORE DETAILS.
Reading this, August only rolled his eyes and continued walking to his destination.
Later, August stood in a little old woman’s home as she showed him how to make a recipe she had inherited from her mother, who had inherited it from hers, and on and on further back down their family tree.
She spoke excellent English, but many of the ingredients she chose to call by their Chinese names because that was how the recipe was written. So August ended up not knowing specifically every component that went into the dish, but the electric feeling was there, and so he was happy.
“I wish more people would want to learn how to cook the old way, as you do, Nephew,” the old woman said to him.
All the old Chinese people called him nephew for some reason, well either that or laowai – which meant foreigner. He never asked why, August just accepted it.
“Auntie, why don’t they want to learn? I understand that in the big cities, people are so obsessed with technology to the point of eating synthetic food for every meal, just like in my home town. But out here there’s not a ton of tech, but instead so much nature. It seems like people would need to learn how to cook like this.”
As the old woman continued cutting garlic and ginger, August took up a knife and joined her, making sure to match the size of his slices to hers.
“Unfortunately, Nephew,” she replied, “every generation get’s less and less interested in this. They all want to eat the disgusting fake food from those devils at Montek.”
August grinned widely at that. It reminded him so much of his late wife, in a good way. That tingling feeling inside even intensified briefly.
“Well, I think it’s important to grow real food, cook real food, and eat real food. I just can’t stand eatin’ Nutricator garbage anymore. It turns my stomach.”
The old woman put her knife down and wiped her hands on the apron she wore around her waist. Her smile crinkled that old face up even more than the sun and time itself had done already.