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	CLUE NUMBER NINETEEN (from Costa Mesa): For the Hidden Journey: From acceptance of loss comes renewal. For the Puzzle: Here is the nineteenth clue for the puzzle/cryptogram: The answer comes from American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson. This is clue 19, the last clue. Putting all the clues together will help you solve the puzzle/cryptogram. Bonus clue: What is Daz's favorite beer (or beer commercial)? The answer lies within Chapter Six and the Web.                                     The Story: I go back to the living room and squat down next to Old Man Ching. He's cleaning the grimy black pilot fitting with a soft rag and some solvent, and he doesn't say anything. I don't know how to start, so I put my coffee cup on the hardwood floor and take his travel diary out of my jacket pocket. I say, "I found this in your car. I thought you might want it back." His expression changes from pure jank to surprise. His eyebrows knit and he puts down his rag and takes the thin little notebook out of my hand. He opens it and reads an entry, turns to another page and reads another one. He does this a few times and then Mrs. Ching calls out, "Come and eat." I grab my coffee and stand up and Mr. Ching gets up slowly like he's dizzy, and we go into the dining room. Mrs. Ching smiles at me and says, "I hope you brought your appetite," and I nod, trying to smile back. She serves the scrambled eggs and white bread toast, and then she sees Mr. Ching's face and her smile disappears. He takes the chair at the head of the table and hands her the travel diary. "Look what Daz found," he tells her. She looks puzzled and asks, "What is it?" She opens the book, reads for a few seconds and says, "Oh, my." Mrs. Ching look nervously at her husband and then turns to me. "Please eat while it's hot." She sits down and glances over at Mr. Ching again. I take a bite of egg. It's good, but I don't feel hungry. "I hope you don't mind me asking," I say, "but where's your son now?" Mrs. Ching's face turns to ashes and Mr. Ching's hardens into a frozen mask. He looks just like he did when he yelled at us for sneaking into his yard, and I wish I hadn't asked. "He's dead," Mr. Ching says gruffly, and he takes a big bite of toast. Mr. Ching noisily chews his dry toast and stares straight ahead and I feel like I just saw a car crash; my head is spinning and my chest feels heavy. I swallow hard and say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories. It's just that I never heard you mention him." "It's okay," Old Man Ching, says, but I know it's not okay. Mrs. Ching gives me a quick look. "He was killed in Vietnam," she says. "Very early in the war." I hate this situation because everything I say sounds so lame. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," I tell them. "How could you?" Mr. Ching says gruffly. "It was a long time ago." Mrs. Ching forces herself to eat a bite of egg and I feel real bad that they have to act like everything's fine. "Could I see some pictures of him?" I ask. "What for?" Mr. Ching says real meanly, and sips his coffee like, forget it, end of subject. "I don't see any harm in it," Mrs. Ching says cautiously, and looks at Old Man Ching with a worried expression. He glances at me, not her. "It's a private matter," he tells me. "Yeah, of course," I say, all embarrassed. Mrs. Ching starts to say something, but Mr. Ching's rockhard old face makes her think twice and we all choke down a few mouthfuls of egg and cold toast. Then this idea hits me, I don't know where it came from, and I see instantly that's it's totally right. I clear my throat and say, "I've been thinking that you should take the Lancer back." This spins Old Man Ching out and he looks up at me. "It's still your car," I tell him. He puts his fork down with an exasperated look and shakes his head. "You mean after all that trouble to get the car, you want me to take it back?" he yells. "Why on earth would I do that?" "It still runs great," I tell him. "I think you guys should take a trip in it, just like you used to." Mrs. Ching gives me a puzzled look and Mr. Ching squints at me like I just beamed down from Pluto. "Young man, I don't know where you get these notions." he says, but when he sips his coffee again his eyes are looking into the distance, and I know the wheels are turning inside his mind. Then he shakes his head again and says, "We don't need another car," he says. "You're the one that needs it." "You can borrow it from me for a while," I say, and this torques him loose again. "Now why in hell would I want to borrow your car?" he yells at me. "To take a trip," I say. He snorts and tells me, "First, you fight me for the car, and now you fight me to give it back. Do you just like fighting me?" "No," I tell him real flatly, "I just think you'll have fun." Old Man Ching mutters something irritably and goes back to his toast. I figure that's it, nice try, Daz, now leave the old bastard alone. "Daz, I'll show you our photo albums after breakfast," Mrs. Ching says, and when Mr. Ching looks up all outraged she gives him a Mount Rushmore gaze, like don't waste your breath. So he doesn't. He takes his plate into the kitchen and goes back to his toolbox and his dead furnace. (continued in Chapter Thirty of I-State Lines) All content and coding copyright © 2006 by Charles Hugh Smith, all rights reserved
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