The Race to Salvation

Three things separated Jesús from the typical ex-pat English teacher. He ran everywhere, he was American but had smooth brown skin, and he didn’t eat rice.  When he explained the Paleo Diet to the group of his Thai colleagues, the reactions following the collective gasp ranged from the assumption it was a slow suicide to a confirmation that American privilege led to insanity. Nit, who had taken a World History course at university, said with a voice of authority,

“But paleolithic people died at 30. How old are you?”

“29”

Sumontha, who was certain the young man wanted to end his life, gave a little cry and covered her mouth.

“But now we have medicine and less war. If we eat the food our bodies were designed for which is meat, vegetables, nuts, and berries—stuff that grows naturally in the ground—we could live to be a 100!”

“But rice is life!” This was an inarguable point and everyone nodded in agreement. Jesús smiled and finished his fried morning glory and steamed seabass. After he cleaned his dishes, he changed and began running around the track in the center of the campus.

As the teachers finished their laab and sticky rice, they continued to talk about the young man and passed on some gossip from the students, half of whom were in love with him, and half who resented being taught English by someone who looked the same as they did.

“They say he runs around the room jumping and stretching like an Olympic monkey!”

“He’s going to die. It’s too hot for foreigners.”

“We will have to take care of him for his mother’s sake.”

During this conversation, a teacher who had hidden himself behind a copy of Ulysses, put his book down and went outside to watch Jesús. Adisak was the English Department’s most beloved teacher. Part monk, part grandfather, and part Mr. Bean, Adisak was treated with reverence by the students who laughed loudly and often during his lectures and who took to heart all he said. It was a well-established fact that he fasted five days a week. Saturday and Sunday he enjoyed a bit of the fish he caught in a nearby pond, the rest given to the department’s cleaner who had three small children under the age of 5.

Jesús ran over to Adisak who handed him a bottle of water.

“Buddha says, ‘To keep the body in good health is a duty…otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear.’ But why do you run in circles?”

“I’m training for the Sea to Sea Marathon from the Andaman to the Gulf of Thailand.”

“That is quite a journey. Why did you decide to do this?”

Jesús always found it difficult to answer this question. It had made him eccentric enough to run marathons in the relative cool of a Midwestern spring, but to quit his job and move to SE Asia to run in an obscure race made him plain “loony”. He had been unable to make them understand the meditative effects running had for him. It was never about the finish line but the process. He said as much to Adisak.

“Yes, of course. You cannot travel the path until you become the path.” And with those parting words of wisdom walked away, his hands clasped behind his back.

Adisak meandered around the campus, thinking about the young farang. Adisak had been at the university for several years and many a pale Western had graced the classrooms. Most of them seemed to be broken and in need of a clear mind. He knew they were prone to drunkenness and sloth from the sweaty smell of beer they left behind in every room. He knew too that the English teachers were driven to his country by desires of the flesh rather than the soul. He often had to remind himself to “Have compassion for all beings, rich and poor alike; each has their suffering. Some suffer too much, others too little. “ But Jesús was different. Adisak felt a wave of gratitude that his students were being exposed to a Westerner who lived like the Buddha.

After Jesús had explained the Paleo Diet, the teachers began a campaign to feed him properly. Every evening he heard the sounds of plastic bags being placed on his doorknob full of two or three servings of rice, curries of various colours, and grilled banana leaves full of something sweet and gelatinous. At first he moved the bags to the doorknob of a man who lived alone down the hall, but after the fourth night, he sought counsel from Adisak.

“I will take the food to the orphanage. Those ting tong ladies will be making merit without even knowing it!”

On the day of the race, Jesús was one of the first across the line, but instead of feeling proud, one thought kept repeating itself: If I return to America, no more food. Late that night, he discussed the problem with Adisak.

“A jug fills drop by drop.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart give yourself to it.”

Jesús’ life soon became a pleasant circle of running, teaching, collecting food, and joining Adisak on trips to the orphanage. The women gossiped that Jesús was becoming a skeleton and even began to bring him KFC and McDonald’s much to the delight of the children. When Jesús did at last collapse and never awaken, the women sobbed that they had murdered a helpless foreigner. Adisak addressed the distraught group.

“Never is there any effect like that of Merit. The most valuable service is one rendered to our fellow humans. Especially the young poor ones with no family.”

Sumontha, who had designated herself as “Most Guilty” was desperate to remove the mark on her soul.

“Ladies! I know what we can do. Let’s go to the orphanage. Adisak, do you know where it is?”