The Fat Innkeeper by Alan Russell

women.”
    “What’s
ren’ai?”
    “Romantic love,” she said.
    “I’m surprised the Japanese even have a word for such a thing,” he said.
    “Don’t stoop to their level,” she said. “Don’t automatically assume the worst. Surprise them, farm boy. Who knows? Maybe they’ll
     even surprise you.”
    “Is this sayonara?”
    “Not before my folktale.”
    “You wouldn’t consider phone sex instead?”
    She didn’t answer. Eventually, Am told her about the two elderly neighbors, the one honest and good, and the other black-hearted
     and evil. They saw each other on the road just before the new year, and the subject of their new year’s dream was raised.
     For the Japanese, the first dream of the new year is very propitious, foretelling what is to be.
    “A few days later,” Am said, “the neighbors saw each other again and compared their dreams. The honest old man said that he
     had dreamed that luck would come to him from the heavens, while the vile old man said in his dream he had seen that luck would
     come to him from the earth.
    “That very day the honest old man started tilling the earth on a field he shared with the evil old man, only to find a huge
     jar full of coins. He decided that this was the fulfillment of his neighbor’s dream, and that the right thing for him to do
     was to go and tell him about his find. He tromped next door and told the evil old man about the booty that awaited him, then
     went home to warm himself in front of a fire.
    “The evil man hurried over to the site. As he turned the buried jar toward him, he was overjoyed to hear the sound of clinking
     gold. But instead of finding coins inside it, he found it was full of writhing snakes. Vowing revenge, the evil man carried
     the jar over to his neighbor’s house. He climbed a ladder that was propped alongside the house and, straining with his load,
     made it up to the roof. Looking down through the smoke vent, the evil old man could see his neighbor and his wife warming
     themselves. The sight incensed him. He hoisted the jar up over his head and decided to dump all the snakes atop the good man
     and his wife. But when he overturned the container, it wasn’t snakes that fell into the room, but coins of silver and gold.
    “ ‘Isn’t it wonderful!’ cried the honest old man, as the room filled with lucre. ‘First our neighbor receives his luck from
     the earth, and now we receive our luck from heaven!’“
    Sharon didn’t say anything for several moments. Maybe, Am thought, he could have chosen a better story. With a little doubt,
     and a little defensiveness, Am announced, “Japanese folktales aren’t necessarily like Aesop’s, or Hans Christian Andersen’s.”
    “I wouldn’t expect them to be,” said Sharon. “I was just thinking about the story. Thank you for sharing your pennies from
     heaven.”
    Cued, he offered his own good-bye. He wanted to tell Sharon that she had been his new year’s dream, but that would have been
     a lie. If he remembered correctly, he had dreamed about the Hotel. Was it a sweet dream? He couldn’t recall, could only remember
     his having to work through a hangover the next day.

Chapter Eight
    Mass transit is not something considered synonymous with Southern California, but it was Am’s preferred method of getting
     to work, partly because he enjoyed the pleasant bus ride along the coast, and partly because he didn’t have to explain himself
     to Annette. But today he needed to drive, reason enough to plead.
    “Going to La Jolla Strand,” he told his car, using the same kind of tone you would to mollify the gods.
    Annette was a 1951 Ford Station Wagon, but not just any station wagon. She was a “woody,” a wood-paneled wagon. Am had bought
     her under false pretenses, had figured only to hold on to her a few months before getting a nice return on his investment.
     That never happened. Anyone who owns a collectible soon learns that Emily Post could have written a three-volume