He smiled at Papa and praised him for his fine poem.

Absalom Sydenstricker was his name. The locals called him the “plow-nosed and demon-eyed crazy foreigner.” He had been a fixture in town for as long as I could remember. Not only was he ceiling tall, he also had hair growing on his forearms and the backs of his hands like weeds. All year long Absalom wore a gray Chinese gown. A queue went down his back, which everyone knew was fake. His costume made him look ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to care. Absalom spent his time chasing people on the street. He tried to stop them and talk to them. He wanted to make us believe in his God. As children, we were taught to avoid him. We were not allowed to say things that would hurt his feelings, such as “Go away.”

Papa was familiar with Absalom Sydenstricker since he, too, spent time wandering the streets. Papa concluded that Absalom was laying up credit for himself so that his God would offer him a ticket to heaven when he died.

“Or else why leave his own home to wander among strangers?” Papa questioned.

Papa suspected that Absalom was a criminal in his own land. Out of curiosity that day, Papa listened to what the foreigner had to say. Afterward, he invited Absalom home for “further discussion.”

Thrilled, Absalom came. He didn’t mind our dirty hut. He sat down and opened his book. “Would you like a story from the Bible?” he offered.

Papa was not interested in stories. He wanted to know what kind of god Jesus was. “Based on the way he was tortured, stabbed to death, nailed and tied to posts, he must be a royal criminal. In China such elaborate public torture would be given only to criminals of high status, like the former Imperial prime minister Su Shun.”

Excitement filled Absalom’s voice. He began to explain. But his Chinese was difficult to understand.