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The Monk and the Slinky
by Laura Finkelstein
Excerpts:
A soft tap on the door woke Noa and me from our daydreams, and in walked two of our new friends with a novice monk trailing behind them
. . . We welcomed the monk and immediately warmed to him. He was about 12 years old and wore dark orange robes and a lovely shy smile. We were at a loss as to how to entertain him during the several hours remaining until we reached Bagan. And then I remembered the slinky. The psychedelic, glow-in-the-dark, plastic made-in-China slinky Noa had bought me in Darjeeling. The slinky had charmed and befriended many children in Northeast India and Burma . . . . . . . . . The boy became ever more creative with the game. He would bolt to the top of the stairs, let the slinky go, then sprint to the bottom and place one of a variety of body parts under the slinky as it landed. His favorite seemed to be his head. The clean-shaven globe acted as a perfect slinky deflector. Eventually, he got a few compatriots to release the slinky for him, allowing him enough time for fancier catches such as twirls and dives. . .
