Morning in the Parking Lot of Good and Evil

It's 6.30 a.m. and the sun is just rising over the San Benardino Mountains, already casting a fierce, dry glow over the dew-soaked streets of Los Angeles. I am in the office parking lot discussing the meaning of life with Ramon, the attendant. "We human beings are caught between good and evil," he says, "We must make a conscious decision to reject evil. It is the only important choice we face."

His earnestness startles me. I think about the implications of what he has said and decide it's a little too early in the morning for me to deal with. "I don't know," I say, lamely. "Anyway, how did the Pumas do on Saturday?" I inquire of Ramon's Mexico City-based team, steering the conversation towards our favorite (and easier to deal with at the crack of dawn) topic - soccer.

Ahmed, Ramon's colleague, comes over with a coffee in his hand. He is a refugee from Afghanistan and doesn't talk much and never smiles. Ramon is determined to continue with his train of thought. "Ahmed, do you believe in good and evil?" he asks. Ahmed looks long and hard at him and then shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe, " he says. And in that "maybe" I can hear the wind howling across the Pamirs, the thud of Katusha rockets finding their targets, mingled with the groans of dying men.

Nadia's car pulls into the lot. She waits as Ramon and Ahmed race to be the first to open her door. She steps out, self-consciously flinging back her blonde hair and walks unsteadily towards me on impossibly narrow stiletto heels. On an impulse, I ask her, "Nadia, do you believe in good and evil?" She looks at me and passes without stopping. "Don't be silly," she says over her shoulder in her fabulous, thick Slavic accent, "Of course I do."

Nadia's appearance has turned the conversation to, well, other things. But later on, as I stare out the window, squinting at the glare reflecting off the buildings, I think of Los Angeles, of all the people who have come to live here, of their dreams, hopes, fears, and desires. And I am glad they can share some of their experiences, feelings, and thoughts with me.

Let's take a moment to salute those dedicated ESL teachers who have helped our immigrants begin their American journey. Ramon, who came to this country speaking no English, wants to be a civil rights lawyer: As I write, he is studying his textbooks while the lot is quiet. Ahmed is just happy to have got out of hell in one piece and to have been taught enough English to hold down a steady job. And Nadia? She works in a shipping firm where Russian, Azeri, Farsi and other exotic tongues freely intermingle with English and a lot of cigarette smoke. But Nadia is bored. She tells me on more than one occasion she'd like to pack it all in and move to Las Vegas to be a croupier. "My friend, Anoush, she works at the Rio. Very good money, very good tips," she says.

Hey, at least in Vegas she'll be putting those Adult ESL night school classes to good use.