IDIOPOTENT

Chapter 3: KonnichiJuan's

Phin's confidence in his decision eroded as his return flight crossed the many miles back to his parents. As a rule, he preferred to mull important decisions over for a while. He didn't regret his acceptance of Lazarus' offer, but neither was he certain his enthusiasm in that moment of decision would stand the test of time.

His unease wasn't assuaged by the happy, excited greeting his parents gave him when he stepped out of the peeled-paint autorickshaw that dropped him off. The slums of Mumbai, precariously piled high in defiance of the crowded city geography that prevented them from growing outward, were certainly a step down in surroundings from the magnificence of the Mission's cathedral, but if growing up a continent-hopping child of missionaries had taught Phin anything about such things, it was that people were what mattered in a place; all else was just a setting. The people here knew and loved him. Why had he just committed to spending years of his life among strangers?

He kissed his mother and shook his dad's hand, who pulled him into a hug. "I brought a few things back from Texas for Claire and Sophia," said Phin, pulling two keychains and a stuffed cow in boots from his pocket.

"They're still at school, but your sisters will be thrilled," said his mother, getting back to hanging wash that would double as window shade, "mostly to see you. Meanwhile..." She looked up at his father, who beckoned someone standing inside the tarp-covered doorway.

"Dr. Paul!"

"Please, we're colleagues now," said the man. His salt-and-pepper beard had turned uniform grey since last Phin had seen him. "Everyone calls me Paul anyway. Walk with me?" Dr. Paul looked at Phin's father. "Okay, Cecil?" His father waved them off with a smile, so Phin fell in behind.

"Want a bite to eat?" asked Paul. "Is there a KonnichiJuan's close?"

"We're in the middle of a big city," Phin answered, grinning and suddenly hungry. "Of course there is."

The multi-story shanties turned to tall tenement housing, then the market district, with proper shops instead of street vendors and paved streets mostly free of rubbish. As they walked under KonnichiJuan's pink faux-pagoda, Phin laughed to himself at how much genuine affection he felt for the chubby little cartoon character whose gave his name to the restaurant chain that was ubiquitous around the globe. It had never mattered where Phin's family was, either in the field or on furlough, or how many people Phin knew in the place, which was often "zero" in the first few days; without fail, he'd find KonnichiJuan - along with his friends Domo-Ari-Gato, the cat-eared geisha girl, and Señor Sayonara, with his huge sombrero and samurai armor - waiting for him with the same gap-toothed grin and fast-casual Asian-Mexican fusion menu.

Dr. Paul stepped up to the server and ordered first. "Pad Faji-Thai with SoySteak, matcha horchata." The skinny teenager thanked him and nodded at Phin.

"I'll have the kimchi and carnitas Egg Roll Grande, please."

"To drink?"

"Just water, please."

Paul treated, and they picked a seat by KonnichiJuan's famous kimchi-and-salsa bar. They made a few minutes of small talk until their order arrived, at which point Paul focused intently on his food. He squeezed the wedge of lime into his noodles until it was just dry pulp and rind, then stirred in the beef-like tofu strips, egg, and grilled onions. He took a bite; apparently satisfied, he placed his chopsticks down and looked at Phin.

"Now," he said, "we talk."

"The Mission."

"Yes."

"What's your relationship with it?" asked Phin.

"I did some of my postdoctoral training there," said Paul. Phin wasn't sure what kind of question he ought to follow with, so he waited for Paul to finish the next mouthful and keep speaking. "Tell me: what do you know about me?"