"No doubt," the Reverend mumbled. He clenched his teeth and hoped his convert understood that his lack of enthusiasm was no indication his faith was faltering.
Yet his mind was narrowing, his vision closing in. He placed trembling fingers over the second bullet hole, where blood had begun to appear. Using all that was left of his blurred and pain-filled brain, the Reverend pieced together that he must have been turned sideways when the gunman, lying prone on the dirt floor, had fired. The second bullet had risen at an acute angle, grazing his rib until something— something quite impenetrable— had stopped it from bisecting his heart.
The Reverend looked up with wonder in his eyes. If he was going to live, which remained to be seen, he now fully grasped that he would owe his life to poetry and, by extension, to the Lord's great whimsy. There was a lesson in it, one he would exploit for a future sermon should he be allowed to live long enough to give another. As his vision fully darkened and he began to topple, the Reverend managed a final wish: that his son be brought home on just such a tide of good-humored grace.
Four
A hcho pushed open the screen door and joined Mai Lin on the front porch. She crouched on the top step, chewed betel quid, and spat the juice over the side. They acknowledged each other with customary grunts. He brought out his pipe, struck a match against the rough side of the mud-brick home, and puffed. Smoke wafted into the restless air. Ahcho squinted into the darkness, where the wind rustled under a moonless sky. He was thinking about the boy out there somewhere.
"Your patient is the easy one," Mai Lin started, interrupting any peace Ahcho might have hoped for. "He has merely a gash and a broken rib. Those will heal with little help from you. As always, you're the lucky one."
"It's not so simple as that, and you know it," Ahcho said. "The man has lost his son."
Mai Lin shrugged. "Well, at least the mistress did not lose the baby in her belly. I saved it. No one else could do that. Am I right? You tell me anyone else in these provinces who could have done that?" She did not wait for a reply but carried on. "I will be up all night, giving her remedies and burning incense over her. You know all that must be done. Her female organs are— "
"Enough, woman," Ahcho said wearily. He bit down on the stem of his pipe. He had no intention of listening to a medical report about their mistress. Mai Lin had no sense of propriety.
"Ha, you are still squeamish?"
"Quiet, I said."
Mai Lin let out a long yawn.
Ahcho tried to think of where the kidnappers might have taken the boy. There was little chance that the opium sots from the nearest hamlet had been involved. They existed only in an ineffectual haze, although he did not blame the Reverend for starting his search there. By the Reverend's description, though, Ahcho could tell that the bandits had traveled a great distance to get here. If still alive, the boy was no doubt being taken far away.
Over the past seven years, Ahcho had accompanied the Reverend further than any men from Shansi Province had gone before. They had seen the Mongolian steppes and the great Gobi Desert, about which Ahcho had previously heard only fantastical stories. He admired the Reverend in many ways, but not least because the younger man had shown Ahcho a world he had dreamed of since he was a child. And now, the Reverend's only son was out there in that vast land.
"She kept calling for her boy," Mai Lin's grating voice interrupted again. "So I gave her something to ease her."
"The Master doesn't like you giving her that," he said.
Mai Lin let out a disgusted puff of air. "He should understand by now that I know best. I saved her twice already when she lost the other babies. The man thinks only Jesus can perform miracles. I am better than that long-faced Ghost Man with the straw-colored hair. You have seen the picture of him in the chapel? Why would anyone believe a person with pink skin and watery eyes the color of a summer sky? That Jesus person doesn't even look healthy."
"This is a sacrilege, you know. Besides, you should be careful. Their bodies aren't like ours."
"That is my point. You be careful of the Jesus man. He is not one of us." She reached into a pouch, and her fingers reappeared with more betel quid, which she packed into her already full cheek.
Ahcho sucked harder on his pipe and watched the small clouds billow and disappear into the darkness around them. The grasses on all sides swayed. How could the Reverend possibly go back into that unfathomable landscape to rescue his son? The long mission trip that had taken place before the mistress had arrived from America was, without a doubt, the most remarkable experience of Ahcho's life. And yet he knew his tired body could not go forth for months on end like that again. At sixty, he was too old. He shook his head and told himself not to worry. There would be time to consider such options. What was that expression the Reverend liked to use about a cart and a horse?
"I am not the one who needs to keep track of my charge," Mai Lin started again with a chuckle. "You let yours wander off, and look where he ended up. He is a grown man, but I believe he had never seen anything like that before." Mai Lin's laugh scraped at Ahcho's weary heart, but her eyes sparkled with mischief that was hard to resist.
"Yes," he conceded, "the Master was out of his element."
She spat into the bushes. "It's high time he had some fun," she said.
"Woman," Ahcho scolded.
"Aha," she said and pointed at him. "You know what I'm saying."
Ahcho straightened up and knocked on the porch railing with his knuckles. He was too old for such talk. It was not proper. Mai Lin adjusted her skirts around her and spat onto the ground. He sensed that she was too tired to tease him any longer, and he was glad.
"It's strange," she said after a moment, "but the Mistress calls out not just for her son and her other babies who were never born but also for the others, the ones who died long ago."
"What ones who died long ago?"
"You know, the other American children. They never live long in Shansi." She shrugged again and spoke as if this were a fact. "They do not belong here and are simply whisked away."
"What are you saying? Of course they belong here," Ahcho said, puffing on his pipe to calm himself. The woman could agitate a stone in a dry riverbed.
"No, they don't," Mai Lin said almost cheerfully. "Remember the boy who was washed off in the Fen River when it rose too high? He fished like a man without the sense of a man. And that other one who snatched fruit from the market, ate it without washing, and died the next morning. Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "And I am not even mentioning the hordes that came down from the mountains to slaughter all the white babies. You see, they have no business being here in the first place."
Ahcho cleared his throat and spoke as sternly as he could muster, despite his fatigue. "That's enough now. I remember the Boxer time better than anyone, but it is past. And besides, the Lord takes away babies only when he has a better use for them elsewhere, not as a punishment. The Lord is not a foolish old woman like you."
"Suit yourself. I'm just saying there are reasons for such disasters. The Spirits do not like things to change," Mai Lin said and squirted an arc of juice onto the ground. Ahcho heard it land as always with a splat, and this time it infuriated him.
He raised himself up to his full height,
