Part 7 (1/2)

The town's nominal leader, a belligerent gentleman with graying hair and a perpetually suspicious air, I called Take On Chin. His undersized, constantly complaining wife? As you can surmise: Bit Chin.

Then there were other villagers such as Fet Chin, In Chin, Cleft Chin... you get the idea. What can I say? It amused me, it didn't appear to bother them in the slightest, and it helped me feel at home.

And I came to like them.

You have to understand what a major development that was for me. I tended to dislike people.

Intensely. All people. I would look upon them and try to imagine the darkness in their souls, and conceive of the ways they would turn upon me given the slightest opportunity.

The people of Hosbiyu defied such preconceptions. Their openness of manner was indisputable, and left no room for shadings or negative interpretations. I was not known in this land, so it wasn't as if I was concerned there was some sort of bounty upon my head and they were trying to keep me there so they could collect upon it. They were simple people of the land, extending their hospitality and making me one of them.

And if something happened to me, the chances were it would happen to them.

Which put me in a unique position: that of worrying about someone other than myself. As can happen with any new concept, it became overwhelming. I could think of nothing else.

Weeks pa.s.sed into months, season rolling over into season. I would lie awake at night in the bamboo hut I had built with their aid. I would envision flames consuming their village, some horrific attack being brought down upon them by me. It would be inadvertent, to be sure. Who could possibly know from what direction it might come? I might offend some great warlord. Or perhaps the G.o.ds would take an interest in my relative peace and feel that some new tumult must be unleashed upon me. Perhaps thedisaster would come from below, in the form of fearsome, supernatural beasts, or even destructive quakes. Anything was possible when it came to my unerring ability to s.n.a.t.c.h defeat from the jaws of victory.

And during those sleepless nights, I would tell myself the same thing:Leave. Leave now. Don't wait for daylight. Fade into the night with no explanation. Get out while there's still time, while these people still have bamboo roofs above their heads. On a couple of occasions I even went so far as to pack a bag with the meager belongings the good farmers had provided me.Just go, just go, the voice would keep telling me.

Yet the rising of the sun would see me still in residence in Hosbiyu.

Because there was some small part of me--and I hang my cynical head in shame even to admit it--that held out hope for a happy ending. That I would live out my days in peace and contentment as a simple farmer. That this agricultural life of planting and tilling and cutting down the wheat would last. That I would find a young woman in the village to marry, and we would have little red-haired, narrow-eyed children. There was a chance that the G.o.ds had finally taken pity on me and brought me to this place to reside quietly and harmlessly, until I finally took the long sleep and perhaps my body would be laid in the fields to provide fertilizer for the next season's crops.

If that was the case, then sneaking away, fleeing the village, would be tossing a gift from the G.o.ds back in their faces. I could not imagine that doing such a thing could remotely be considered a prudent maneuver. Considering what vindictive b.a.s.t.a.r.ds G.o.ds could be, I could easily see them venting their ire upon the village after I'd gone. Which would mean that the very act of running away to spare the people of Hosbiyu would guarantee their complete and utter doom.

Not a pretty picture.

And so I stayed, the time continuing apace. Every so often strangers would pa.s.s through, either on foot or on horseback.

Whenever they did so, I would hide in my hut and worry that this was it. This was the disaster that was going to cost these poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds their livelihoods and homes, all because they had shown me kindness. But that was never the case. Sometimes the strangers were merchants. Other times they were just weary travelers, seeking a respite before going on their way. The people of Hosbiyu never failed, in such cases, to provide what accommodation they could.

Inevitably, they would depart, leaving the village unharmed. When they did, I would let out a great sigh and relax, feeling as if the people and I had narrowly escaped a killing blow.

There was one night... well, a day and a night, actually... that stirred up that feeling more than any other time. A day during which the sun never emerged, not once, from behind a solid blanket of black clouds. No work got done that day, as the farmers stood about and looked to the skies. There was much mumbling about the G.o.ds, and the end of times, and the sense of the unnatural in the air.

There was a steady rumbling of thunder so relentless I thought it was going to drive me mad. Lightning flashed across the skies at random intervals, throughout the day and all through the night. But it was pale blue lightning, giving it an even more ensorcelled and otherworldly feel.

I, along with many of the farmers, was up much of the night, staring at the night skies, which looked much as they had during the day. I felt as if I was one of those people who had been severely struckupon the head and was endeavoring to stay awake, since to go to sleep could well mean death. It was the same sensation here: the feeling that if I went to sleep, there would be no world for me to wake up to.

Toward the wee morning hours, however, I did doze, and the next thing I knew, it was approaching noon. The sky had cleared, the clouds had dissolved, and it was a glorious day. Everything smelled new, and the feelings of gloom and disaster that had pervaded the previous day were already distant memories.

Oddly, I couldn't help but feel that I--that all of us--had gotten some sort of reprieve.

It was a sensation that began to haunt me. The feeling that there was more going on than what I knew about. This was most disconcerting to me, for that which I did not know about and did not understand would be the most likely source of trouble in the future. Expect nothing, antic.i.p.ate everything. That was my motto. If there were things occurring that I could not antic.i.p.ate, it left me vulnerable. Worse, it left me discouraged.

Double Chin sensed my mood. ”What troubles you, Po?” he asked me one night, ”Po” being much easier for him to say than ”Apropos.” I was dining with them, and Lun Chin was busy cleaning up after our meal.

I spoke slowly and cautiously in those days, determined not to make a muddle of their language. ”I feel... worry,” I told him.

”About what?” inquired Double Chin.

I shrugged. ”About... what will come. About the life I lead. About many things, my friend.”

He and Lun Chin exchanged looks. Lun Chin initially had disliked me, but she had come to, at the very least, willingly tolerate me. So if Double Chin was concerned about me, his spouse felt likewise.

”You lack balance, Po,” said Double Chin after a time.

”Perhaps.”

He waggled his finger as he shook his head. ”No 'perhaps.' You lack balance. You have no inner peace.”

I laughed bitterly. ”Well, that much I'd have to concede. Inner peace and I are not ideal companions.

Believe me, I would like nothing better.”

”You can find it,” Lun Chin told me. Double Chin nodded in confirmation.

”All right,” I said gamely. ”Where, exactly, would I find it?”

”Chinpan Ali,” they said together, then looked at each other and smiled gently. The people of Hosbiyu rarely laughed, I'd noticed. If they found something humorous, they tended to laugh ”inwardly.” In this instance, the middle-aged couple clearly thought it amusing that they'd spoken simultaneously.

As for me, I didn't think it all that funny simply because I didn't know to what they were referring. I stared at them blankly.

They saw my bewilderment, and they once again exchanged glances, as if to mutely decide who wasgoing to explain what they were talking about. Clearly Double Chin was mutually elected. ”Certainly you have seen the hut on the outskirts of the village?” he asked.

I nodded. It was a decent-sized hut. But I never saw anyone go in or out, and had just figured it was some sort of storage facility. I told Double Chin and Lun Chin as much. Their response? More quiet-but-obvious amus.e.m.e.nt.

Then Double Chin shook his head. ”No. In that place dwells Chinpan Ali. The wisest of us all.”

”He's your village elder?”

”Actually,” said Lun Chin, leaning forward and speaking in a confidential manner, ”it is said he is older than the village. Older than everyone.”

”And how has he achieved such extreme old age?” I asked.

”Through his studies and discipline,” said Double Chin. ”And most importantly--and I believe this will be the most pertinent aspect as far as you are concerned--through peace of mind. His calm is legendary.

It is said it is impossible to cause anger within the breast of Chinpan Ali.”

Lun Chin reached out and, rather sweetly, laid her hand upon mine. ”All living creatures should have inner peace. They should understand the way of nature. The way of the water.”

”The water?”

”We are as the water, Po,” said Double Chin. ”That which ripples our surface, sooner or later disappears without a trace. And we have but to wait and allow it to happen. If you can be as calm and still as the water, your worries would likewise vanish, never to be seen again.”

”That would be nice,” I said sincerely.

”Chinpan Ali can help you in this,” Double Chin a.s.sured me. ”I cannot guarantee that he would teach you, for none can predict the actions of Chinpan Ali or the direction they will take. But...”