Incensed by Ed Lin

a turn and the temple sailed into view. It wasn’t that big, just a single-hall deal. The roof, with its curled corners, probably wouldn’t shelter more than thirty people from the rain. As the SUV slowed to a stop, Big Eye sprang out of the vehicle. I almost pitied Big Eye for his unabashed affection for Tu Di Gong. He was a boy who believed in Santa Claus.
    The rest of us exited with undisguised reluctance. It was distressing to see the skepticism of his right- and left-hand men.
    I’d spent my childhood being dragged to temples. It must be in my karma. Now, I neither believe in nor fully understand the concept of karma. I blame myself, my incarnation as the young man known as Chen Jing-nan, for my present circumstances.
    Well, maybe I could ask if I could stay in the SUV and rest. When he saw me last I was a boy but now I was a man. I could speak my mind, even to him, an older relative.
    Big Eye bounded from his side of the car and put an arm around my shoulders.
    â€œLet’s go, Jing-nan!” he said, adding needlessly, “I’m excited you’re here!”
    I wilted as his enthusiasm bowled me over. “I am a little tired, Big Eye.”
    â€œTired? What the hell are you talking about? You know how much sleep I get? Zero. C’mon, now. The incense will wake you up.”
    He guided me to the temple’s entrance with Gao lagging behind us. Whistle leaned against the SUV and toyed with his phone.
    â€œHow come Whistle’s not coming?” I asked.
    Big Eye stifled a laugh. “Aw, Whistle? He’s been on this Jesus kick.” Dammit, that’s what I should’ve said!
    â€œHe’s been born again,” offered Gao.
    â€œJust once?” Big Eye coughed. “Whistle should become a Buddhist. You know how many times they get to be born again?”
    â€œHe seems serious about Jesus,” said Gao. Big Eye waved a hand and grumbled.
    The temple wasn’t as gaudy as others I’ve been to. There were only two pairs of ceramic dragons and phoenixes perched on top. Two ten-foot-high wood columns at the entrance were painted over with scenes of gods, mythical creatures and a shape-shifting monkey. A pair of stone guardians, modestly human-sized, stood at either side of the door, hands on the hilts of their swords, their hollowed-out mouths in eternal grimaces.
    The Tu Di Gong idol sat on a throne holding a ruyi in his right hand and a gold yuanbao in his left. The ruyi is a short curved scepter with a knob at one end. It resembles a backscratcher with a tassel attached to the bottom. The yuanbao is a metal ingot shaped like an egg with a brim around the long oval circumference. From the side it could pass for a sailor’s cap or a boat. Tough guys in Chinese historical novels could break off pieces of the brim with their bare fingers to pay for trifling amounts of food and drink.
    This particular Tu Di Gong idol was the unhappiest one I’d ever seen. The smile was pained, one that a now-diabetic old man would have while remembering the first time he had tasted chocolate. His fellow idols were depicted in chortles approaching Buddha’s open-mouthed guffaw.
    The offering table was crowded with dishes of cooked meats and candy, and planters of burning joss sticks, some already reduced to fuzzy columns of ash.
    Big Eye and I stood side by side at the offering altar. Smoke from the incense gave the glistening skin of a roasted-chicken offering an Instagram-like filter. The lack of sleep weighed on me and I yawned again. My uncle pushed a finger against my arm and whispered.
    â€œStay awake and be respectful, Jing-nan. I’ve been to many Tu Di Gongs all over Taiwan. This one’s the strongest.” He gestured to the bare stone floor. “See? No padded cushions here. We feel the floor when we kneel down.”
    Alarmed, I whispered back, “ We have to kneel?”
    A Taoist priest, suspiciously young at about fifty and suspiciously