Roadside Bodhisattva by Paul Di Filippo Read Free Book Online Page A

there was that crap about growing up in California and working for some famous car guy until you were eighteen. But you told me you ran away from your prep school around age sixteen. Both those stories can’t be true. So all that bullshit you just shoveled out makes you a liar and a hypocrite in my book.”
    “Kid, didn’t you ever try getting on someone’s wavelength and using their own language in order to smooth out the bumps in the dialogue between the two of you? You know, synchronizing your rap with his.”
    “That sounds like the same kinda Buddhist crap my parents were always handing out. Preaching through skillful means.”
    “’Skillful means’ I like that phrase.” Sid repeated my words once more, then chuckled. “Maybe that’s what I was doing. But it’s not crap. It’s using your wit and ingenuity and insight into the habits and patterns and prejudices and needs of people to lead them in a good direction they don’t necessarily want to go in. Back at the diner, I could see that everyone was tense about me and Malatesta getting into some kinda brawl. So to cut through their anxiety, I cracked a lameass joke about his name. The stunt worked, and they all breathed a little easier as you and me strode off High Noon style. Then, when I got face to face with Angie, I switched tactics. I went all non-threatening, letting him be the alpha dog. I sussed what he was passionate about, and made myself into a mirror for his interests. Maybe I had to stretch the truth of my autobiography a little to cover all the bases, but so what? Who did I hurt? No one. Did I lie in order to rip him off or get some personal advantage over him? I don’t think so. In fact, I made my life a little more tedious in order to keep the peace. Now I have to spend my lunch break with the surly mook, listening to his boring gearhead chatter, instead of with you and Ann and the others. So yes, maybe by your strict standards I’m a mendacious two-faced son of a bitch. But that’s not how I see myself. And your opinion of my character is not going to keep me awake nights. However, maybe if you fart as loud and frequently as you did last night under the tree, that will do the trick.”
    “Fart! I don’t fart in my sleep!”
    Sid clapped me on the back. “No, Kid, you don’t. But as soon as I said you did, you forgot all about my supposed sins, didn’t you? That’s skillful means! And it just goes to show how fleeting moral indignation is now, don’t it?”
     
    Back at the shed, Sid wheeled the ancient lawnmower out and worked on getting it ready to use. I found a rake inside the shed, figuring I’d rake up the clippings, since the mower didn’t have any catcher bag. I circled around the overgrown lawn, picking up any rocks and litter that might interfere with the mowing. The sun was hot, and I unbuttoned my shirt. But I didn’t take it off, feeling kinda self-conscious. But before Sid even got the machine running, Ann called me from the diner door.
    “Kid A! C’mon inside. I’ve got a job for you here. We don’t need two men to do the lawn.”
    I tossed down the rake, kinda angry at having to go work inside. I’d been looking forward to helping Sid outdoors.
    “Hey now,” Sid said, buffing the grime off a spark plug, “that’s no way to act. Pick up that rake it stow it away properly. Then go inside and do whatever Ann tells you to. And do it with a smile, hear?”
    “Oh, all right.”
    “And remember, she just called you a man. Try to act like one.”
    About a dozen people filled half the seats in the diner. The air was even thicker with good smells than earlier, and my mouth started watering. Sonny the chef was moving like some kind of skinny spastic tornado, but he seemed to be getting everything done pretty efficiently. Behind the counter Ann waited on the customers seated on stools, while Jasmine threaded her way from booth to booth, plates full of food stacked on her bent arms up to her elbows. I didn’t see