LESSON OF THE FOUNTAIN

Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer


In the half-light of a cloudy dawn, I sat in the park bordering on Chinatown and stared at the fountain. It was an ungainly structure, made up of many twisted and curled pieces of some sort of metal. Judging by the greenish patina, I figured the metal to be brass or copper. Suspended on several pipes like spindly legs, the fountain squatted above a cluster of rocks in the middle of a shallow pool, an exercise in modern abstract sculpture. A crystal umbrella of water spread moisture in a small arc above the highest part, but it was off to one side, giving the entire thing a distinctly lopsided appearance. The water trickled or flowed over and through the various bits of metal, most of it rushing along relatively straight paths down into the pool below with the sound of gentle rain, while some took the long way around, following random twists and turns on the convoluted surfaces. Some few dribbles never seemed to reach the bottom, having been sent by the winds of fortune on such a long journey that they finally gave up and evaporated before reaching their goal.

I felt like one of those unfortunate dribbles as I sat cross-legged on the concrete wall around the pool. I'd gone on a lot of detours and hit quite a few dead ends in my half century of life. Now I was beginning to feel as if I'd come to the end of yet another road and I was still left stranded, like the one sad drop of water whose progress I was currently watching, alone on a hard and arid surface, making no progress at all. While my fellows dripped cheerfully down into the pool, I lay, like an exhausted teardrop, without the energy or inclination to go further.

Somewhere on the road to my destiny, had I followed another wrong turn and gotten lost again? It had all seemed so right while Kwai Chang Caine was around. I was really into Taoist philosophy and all this other Chinese stuff, even studying T'ai Chi Ch'uan with Caine for a time. But now he was gone, off in France somewhere searching for his wife. (And not having a whole lot of luck finding her either, according to what Lo Si had told me after he and Peter and a few of the other folks from the Precinct had returned from a recent trip to Paris.) It was going on nine months now since Caine had left Sloan City. Yeah, he'd kind of said he'd return, but he'd never said when, and I knew full well he was capable of disappearing for a good long time when he felt he had to.

Pulling my sweater closer around me in the chill of early morning, I glanced around the park in the direction of Chinatown.

Come on, Jeremy, old boy, I whispered to myself. Who do you think you're fooling? You're not Chinese. This isn't your heritage. Why bother trying to be something you're not? Who are you trying to impress? Caine? He isn't here, and anyway he doesn't care. Didn't he say you needed to find your own way without him, just before he left? Face the facts. Maybe this isn't your way. Maybe you're off on another spiritual detour, and you've come to the end of the road.

I rose somewhat stiffly to my feet. Taking off my glasses, I wiped the smudged lenses clear of moisture with a tissue. Spray from the fountain must have splattered in my face. Couldn't be tears. Nah. I wouldn't sit out here in public, crying. Of course not.

I wasn't due for my shift at the hospital for several hours yet, so why was I up and prowling restlessly around the park, instead of still snuggled under the covers of a warm bed? That's what I asked myself as I continued to walk the streets of Chinatown, searching in vain for something I couldn't name. To the Chinese who lived here, I must seem nothing but a strange outsider, even though I'd made an effort to learn the customs and even a bit of the language.

Although the sun had risen high enough to peek between the buildings, a damp autumn breeze reminded me that I should have worn my jacket. A few other folks were out and about now, but I knew things wouldn't really get busy for a couple of hours yet, when the shops would open, spilling merchandise out onto the sidewalks in exotic displays.

I walked amongst the babble of foreign signs, only now and then catching sight of a word I recognized in the complex Chinese script. The memory of that ungainly fountain still nagged at me and my thoughts were as sharp-edged and twisted as the metal pieces of that tortured sculpture.

It was with a small shock of surprise that I realized I was standing in front of Caine's old kwoon.

There are a lot of memories scattered around Chinatown. Sometimes they take me by surprise, lurking in places I don't remember until I actually get there. Some are of Bobbie Ling, my deceased lover, but most are of Caine. However, the old kwoon wasn't one of them, since I hadn't even known Caine was here in Sloan City until well after he'd stopped teaching and moved into his other quarters. Cheryl had told me about those earlier days though, so I knew where the kwoon was and had passed by it many times.

I couldn't read the Chinese sign on the door, but from the deserted look of the building I figured it said the equivalent of FOR RENT. Cheryl had mentioned that the exterior hadn't changed much, so the multi-colored designs above the door were probably the same as they had been when Caine had been there teaching.

The sidewalk was lined with small trees in square concrete pots. One of them happened to be just in front of the building, so I leaned my rear against it, trying to look as if I were merely resting, not studying the kwoon. The street behind me was quite wide, but there wasn't much traffic as yet.

I couldn't help but wonder what had become of Caine's original students, when he had closed the kwoon and left for six months a few years back. Had they found other teachers, or simply quit? A few, like Cheryl, had sought him out after he'd returned and continued their studies, just as Cheryl and I had continued to study T'ai Chi with Lo Si, now that Caine was gone again.

"Jeremy?" came a familiar voice from behind me. "What are you doing here?"

I turned around to find Peter pulled over to the curb in that fancy blue sportscar he drives.

I shrugged. "Nothing really. Just walking around on my way to work."

"Want a ride to the hospital? I'm headed there myself."

There was still almost two hours before I was supposed to be on duty in MRI, but I figured a leisurely breakfast in the cafeteria wouldn't be a bad idea. Beats wandering the streets, anyway.

I got into the car. Now, Peter and I have never been real close, but you can hardly know Caine without knowing his son. I think it made the boy nervous to have a gay guy like me be friends with his father. He was never anything less than polite to me, of course, but somewhere inside he was on guard. I could always see it in his eyes.

Peter didn't say much as he threaded his way through the streets. Traffic was just beginning to pick up, as rush hour approached in the city. I studied him out of the corner of my eyes. His forehead was crinkled in a slight frown, and his lips were too tightly pressed together. He wore a Chinese-style shirt, with a Mandarin collar. Now that I noticed it, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Almost as if he were trying to be his father by dressing like him.

Well, I could hardly criticize the boy on that score. My taste in clothes had certainly swung in that same direction. I've been known to look at a shirt in the store and think to myself, "Yeah, Caine would wear that. I think I'll get it."

As a result, very few of my shirts had regular collars anymore. Of course, I knew I couldn't pretend to be Kwai Chang Caine in any even remotely serious way. It was just sort of an expression of my feeling about the man. My wish to be like him, if you will.

I glanced over again at Peter, who was still frowning. Poor kid. You really do have to be like him, I thought. And it isn't easy, is it?

He was uncharacteristically quiet as he drove, so I kept quiet also. The radio announcer had just begun the morning news as we neared County General. I only half-listened to a story about some wild animals escaping from one of those little zoos that are really just roadside tourist traps outside the city, and the disgraceful conditions the investigators had found at the so-called zoo. The police spokesman was confident that the animals would be quickly found and captured.

I only half-listened to the broadcast, caught up as I was in my consideration of Caine's son.

By the time we pulled into a space in the parking lot, Peter still looked distinctly unhappy, to say the least. Something was more than usually wrong.

"You know Mrs. Tung, don't you?" he asked as we got out of the car.

"Yeah, a little." No one in Chinatown didn't know of her, even if they didn't know her personally. Mrs. Tung and her husband had run one of the more successful import/export businesses. After her husband's death, the widow had turned the company over to her adult children, but she had set up a number of grants for projects to help the local community and had spent her time overseeing their progress. Now in her late eighties, her health was failing rapidly. About a year ago, I had done an MRI on her, after she'd had a small stroke. Just yesterday, I'd noticed her being brought in unconscious from the ER for a CT scan. She had coded in the ambulance, but been resuscitated. Peeking over the CT tech's shoulder, I had seen the tell-tale swatch of white smeared across the image of her brain that indicated a massive hemorrhage.

Peter ran one hand through his hair. "Well, she's dying. I know the family expects me to be there, but I don't know what they think I can do for her."

"I doubt there's anything anyone can do for her, at this point."

"My father –"

"Even your father couldn't cure terminal illnesses."

"I know. I just feel as if I should --" he shook his head, his words trailing off.

"Mind if I come with you? I don't have to be at work for a while yet, and I'd like to pay my respects to the family." As a matter of fact, I had a personal reason for being grateful to Mrs. Tung. One of her projects had been helping to arrange a display of the AIDS Memorial Quilt in Chinatown, about a year and a half ago. That display had been very important to my dying lover.

Peter nodded, so I trailed after him through the corridors and up to her room in ICU. Mrs. Tung looked bad. The tube from the respirator snaked down her throat and the usual assortment of monitors bleeped unhappily. The old woman showed no signs of life or consciousness, other than the forced rise and fall of her chest. Any improvement in her condition was unlikely.

I knew the family would have some hard decisions to make in the very near future.

When we reached the room, the only person I recognized was a young woman standing near the window, so I went over to her and spoke a few words of respect for her grandmother, inquiring whether there had been any change in the old woman's condition. Everyone else was speaking Chinese, so I had only the sketchiest idea of what was going on. But I did see the very slight evidences of disappointment in the faces of the older people when they saw Peter. It was nothing deliberate, of course. That would have been most impolite. But I'd lived here in Chinatown long enough to pick up on nuances that might not have been apparent to most Westerners, so I knew that Peter wasn't the one they truly wanted to see.

Peter tried his best, his voice expressing the utmost respect and concern as he made several passes with his hands over the unconscious woman, much as I had often seen his father do in such a situation.

Then the Ancient walked in the door, and everything changed. Immediately, all eyes were on him as he too examined Mrs. Tung. I still couldn't understand what was being said, but the conversation became animated as various family members questioned Lo Si, clearly wanting to know what he thought and if there was anything to be done.

From a cloth shopping bag on one arm, the old man unpacked several things, setting out a small incense burner and a few strangely-shaped bottles on the bedside table. He spoke at length to the family, his voice and expression grave. Clearly, he was telling them bad news, rather than offering hope for the patient's recovery. I saw a tear slide down the cheek of the grand-daughter who was next to me, then she went to stand beside an older woman who might have been her mother.

As the unhappy discussion continued, I noticed Peter still standing by Mrs. Tung's bedside, virtually ignored by everyone. Our eyes met, and I saw a brief flash of pain before he turned on his heel and walked quietly but quickly out of the room. I followed, as unobtrusively as I could.

He was already halfway down the hospital corridor as I hurried after him.

"Peter, wait!"

When he turned to look at me, the stricken expression on his face made me realize just how much he was hurting. There were actually tears in his eyes.

"Jeremy, I can't do this. I just –"

"I know. Look, a hospital corridor is no place for talking. Come with me."

I led him down the closest stairway and out the exit door. Off to one side of the parking lot, there's a little patch of lawn, landscaped with trees and bushes and a couple of benches. No one else was there. I sat down on one of the benches. After a moment of hesitation, Peter sat next to me.

"They didn't want me there, Jeremy. I could tell. When the Ancient walked in, it was different."

"Peter, the Ancient is --" I shrugged. "Well, he's the Ancient. He's had a lot more experience with this than you have. What did you expect?"

"I don't know. My father left me to take his place, but it isn't working. It's not just Mrs. Tung's family. It's everybody. I can't do what Pop did. I don't know enough about the herbs or about any of it." He held his hands out in a helpless gesture. "It isn't that I don't want to. I just don't have the same knack for it that he had."

He shook his head and frowned before adding bitterly, "Come to Chinatown. Ask for Caine. Yeah, sure. But when they find out which Caine I am -- " He left it hanging, shaking his head again. "I don't get it. People won't come to me. I'm just not one of them. Is it my American face? Pop doesn't look much more Chinese than I do. Heck, even Master Khan is better accepted as one of them. It can't be that."

"No, it isn't," I said. "Look, I don't quite know how to explain this, but you don't come off as Chinese, whereas your father did, despite his face. And if even I can feel this, imagine how obvious it must be to everyone else around here?"

Peter nodded. "I know what you mean. But what can I do?" He shook his head again. "It's not working. It's just not working. I wish my father would come back."

So do I! I thought, but I couldn't say that out loud. Before I could figure out what to say, Peter stood up and turned his back to me. When he started talking again, his voice came out rough and broken.

"Pop never had to worry about paying the bills. Everything just seemed to work out for him. Well, nothing's working out for me. I can't even meet my car payments anymore. On top of everything else, I'm going broke." He laughed bitterly, then turned to face me again. "Shit, I don't know why I'm telling you this. You can't help me."

"I'm – really not sure what to tell you, Peter." I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. "I envy you, in many ways. I'd be proud to be Kwai Chang Caine's son." I glanced pointedly down at his forearms, concealed beneath the long sleeves of his shirt. "I only wish I were worthy of being Shaolin – " I meant to go on to say that I knew it wasn't easy for him, but Peter interrupted me before I could continue.

"What would you know about being Shaolin?" he asked angrily. "What would you know about any of it?"

"Peter – " I reached out one hand to touch him, in a foolish attempt at comfort. I shouldn't have done that. He grabbed my arm. The edge of my shirtsleeve pulled up far enough to show the network of thin white scars that criss-crossed the inside of my wrist. I was hoping he was so involved with his own problems that he wouldn't notice, but my hope was dashed by the look in his eyes. He let go of my arm.

I pulled my sleeve down again, trying to pass the whole thing off as casually as possible. "I once heard your father, or perhaps it was the Ancient, say something to the effect that the wise Shaolin goes around with his arms covered. Well, for far less commendable reasons, so does the failed suicide, especially if he made mincemeat of his wrists more than halfway to his elbows. It really isn't anything I want to show off."

"I guess – I can understand that," was the somewhat strained reply. To his credit, Peter didn't ask me why I had wanted to kill myself. We weren't so close that I wanted to talk about it. Besides, that had been many years ago. It really didn't matter anymore. I had worked through my tendencies to off myself with Caine, shortly after I had first met him. Ever since then, I hadn't even been tempted to try it again. .

"Shit, Peter, at least the scars on your arms stand for an admirable accomplishment. That's a hell of a lot more than I can say about mine."

The anger went out of him then. In a voice startlingly gentle, he replied, "Maybe they are admirable, if you survived and learned something." He shrugged, then went on, "It wasn't really like I had a choice. I had to do this to save my father. Not the best reason in the world."

"Lo Si once told me he originally became a Shaolin priest to avenge what a warlord did to his family. Saving your father's life is certainly better than that. Maybe a worthy goal can come about even from a less-than-worthy reason?"

"Yeah. Maybe." A crooked grin brightened his face for a moment, then was gone.

I tried to smile back. "You'll get it all sorted out eventually, kiddo. I know you will."

He still looked far from happy. Well, who could blame him? I was far from happy myself. "Look, it's gonna work out. I don't know how, but it is. Hang in there. Okay?"

"Okay. Yeah." He ran one hand through his hair. His smile was as ragged as mine, but it was there. "How about some breakfast? Is the cafeteria still open?"

I looked at my wristwatch. "We've got twenty minutes. Let's go."


I was late getting out of work that night. By the time I rushed home, changed into my T'ai Chi uniform, and got to Lo Si's place, I was barely in time for class. I'd been thinking about Peter all day long so I guess I must have been kind of distracted. It wasn't until I was already on the porch that I remembered our class was supposed to meet in the park tonight, weather permitting.

Rats, now I'd be really late. Maybe it wasn't worth going at all.

I turned and headed back to the street, just in time to see Peter pull up at the curb. We both grinned.

"This is twice in one day, Peter. We've got to quit meeting like this," I quipped.

"Lo Si not home?"

"Nah. I forgot our class was in the park."

"Hop in and I'll take you there. I – need to talk to the Ancient."


When we got to the park, Peter pulled over to the side of the road. Just across the lawn, we could see the T'ai Chi class, almost finished their warm-up exercises.

"Why don't you join us?" I suggested to Peter.

He shook his head. "I'll wait here. I want to think."

Getting out of the car, I hurried across the grass, watching the Ancient and marveling at the grace of his movements, as always.

Lo Si. The little man with the wispy beard and the glasses, the odd accent and fragile-looking body, who seemed like someone from another world, another time, living only half in the present. Behind him shone the glory of an incredibly rich spiritual tradition, and a civilization so ancient it boggled the mind. I sensed a complexity and a depth to this man that I might never fully comprehend. I couldn't help thinking wryly that I wanted to be like him when I grew up. (If I ever do grow up, that is. Even though my hair is turning gray now and I feel the years invading my bones, somewhere inside I'm still twenty-one. Aren't we all?)

Bowing hastily, I slipped into a place at the edge of the class and started stretching.

I'm sorry to have to admit that my attempts to learn T'ai Chi with Lo Si as my teacher were unremarkable at best, perhaps because his other students were so much better at it that I felt utterly inept in comparison. There were rare moments when things just worked, when some of the movements seemed almost to perform themselves, when something that had previously been hard was no longer very difficult. But those moments were overshadowed, in my mind at least, by my general lack of grace and coordination. Let's face it, the Karate Kid I wasn't. (And never had been, even way back when my father had sent me off to karate lessons in a vain effort to make a man out of his sissy of a son.)

I wasn't exactly a quick study either. After more than a year, I still had quite a few more moves to go before I'd know the entire Long Form, and that night I was doing poorly indeed. My mind was divided between the Form and the thought of Peter sitting in his car, stewing over his own problems, which weren't really so unlike my own. As any martial arts student will tell you, distraction is not the recommended state of mind. I fumbled through the first part of the Form, then came to a move with the elaborate name of Carry Tiger to Mountain.

Unfortunately, instead of carrying anything even remotely resembling a tiger to a mountain, when I stepped around behind myself and turned, I caught my foot on the exposed root of a nearby tree. I lost my balance and started to fall sideways.

Before I hit the ground, I was grabbed from behind and set back securely on my feet. I wasn't particularly surprised to find that Lo Si was the one who had caught me, although the last time I had noticed, he had been a good distance away observing one of the other students.

"Uh -- sorry. Guess I didn't see that root."

Lo Si shook his head the slightest fraction before replying. "Jeremy, you must learn to see with more than your eyes."

"More than my eyes? Shit, I can't even see with my eyes!" I replied emphatically.

"All the more reason to learn to do without them," the old man said, inclining his head so that the sunlight reflected off the rather thick glasses he too wore.

I sighed and nodded, acknowledging his point. My clumsiness had fortunately not disrupted the rest of the class, who were now much further ahead of me.

"Return to the beginning and try again," Lo Si suggested.

I did as directed, while the Ancient turned his attention back to Cheryl and the other students. Several minutes later, I was once again ready to Carry the Tiger to the Mountain. I stepped around behind myself and turned into the proper position without losing my balance. Then I happened to glance up at the small grove of trees to one side of our practice area --- and found myself looking at a real tiger!

I did the proverbial double-take, figuring I must be imagining things. Nope, the tiger was still there. It was crouched partly under cover of the trees, watching us intently.

My next thought was "Oh, no! Bon Bon Hai again! What does he want now?"

However, this particular tiger was scrawny and scruffy-looking. Bon Bon Hai wouldn't look like that, not even as a animal. Oh, shit! That meant it was real! Probably one of the animals that escaped from that disreputable zoo I'd heard about on the radio this morning.

"Uh – Lo Si – " I began, nervously. But the Ancient had, of course, already noticed our peril. He was standing not far from me, looking in the same direction.

"Begin the form once more," he instructed the class, his voice barely audible. "Slowly, calmly. Do not hurry."

By now the others had also realized the danger. However, we were so accustomed to obeying the Ancient that we did not question his directions. Everyone fell into the beginning posture automatically, starting the movements on his soft command.

"Cheryl," he continued, "guide the class away from the trees. Gradually. Make no sudden movements. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

We followed Cheryl, lengthening some of the stances and shortening others in such a manner that we steadily increased our distance from the watching tiger, which had now dropped down into the distinctive crouch of a feline getting ready to attack. Lo Si, meanwhile, followed his own trajectory and moved progressively closer to the creature.

Still, we went on. How we kept our cool I don't know. My brain was screaming at me to run like hell, but if I had, that would probably have provoked the tiger into chasing me. Instead, the slow, almost hypnotic rhythm of T'ai Chi must not have engaged its instinct to pursue, since we weren't acting like the usual prey. Every time I caught a glimpse of the tiger, it was just crouching there, watching us intently, tail switching from side to side.

I came to the end of what I knew of the form. All I could think of to do was start over again, but now I was out of synch with the others. We no longer moved as a unit. For a moment, that disrupted my concentration and I forgot what came next. I did the only thing I could think of: picked up with whatever movement came to my mind and kept going from there.

I was lagging behind the others, turning in different directions but trying hard to move at that same calm and measured pace, gradually creeping further from the trees but at a different angle. I turned slowly in what was called a Single Whip. That's when I saw Peter getting out of his car, gun in hand. He must have noticed the tiger, even though it would have been pretty well hidden in the woods at that distance.

He couldn't get a clear shot because we were in his way, so I saw him circle out to one side. He moved slowly, gracefully, keeping to the same languid rhythm of the T'ai Chi moves we were doing. His trajectory would bring him closer to me than to the other students, not an entirely unwelcome thought under the circumstances, since I was now closer to the tiger than all of the others, with the exception of Lo Si. Let it just hold off attacking for a little longer, and I might be safe.

As I turned carefully and began the next part of the form, I could see the Ancient still heading toward the beast, who now appeared to be watching him intently. The old man moved with quiet confidence, his entire attitude radiating peace rather than fear. He executed the side kicks slowly and perfectly on balance, so they seemed a part of a dance rather than martial arts. He was only about ten feet from the tiger, whose ears were now pricked forward with apparent curiosity. There was something very strange going on. No one in his right mind approaches a tiger, but that's exactly what Lo Si had done. At first I thought he might be using himself as bait, trying to draw the creature away from his class, but now I wasn't so sure

On the surface, the only thing I could see was an old man foolishly approaching a wild beast, and yet I knew – I saw – that in some strange way there was more to it than met the eye.

Peter, meanwhile, was almost next to me, his gun raised in front of him as he tried to find his aim. Lo Si must clearly be in his way, as the barrel wavered minutely from side to side.

I was once again up to the Carry Tiger move. I stepped around and turned, bringing my hands carefully into position. As I did so, I deliberately pushed the barrel of Peter's gun sideways a few inches.

If it hadn't been totally unexpected, I doubt I'd have been able to do it, but Peter's attention was focussed entirely on the tiger, not me. I stopped right there, face to face with the young man, the side of my hand still touching the cold metal of the automatic pistol.

"Don't shoot," I hissed.

Peter looked past me, not daring to take his eyes off his target. "Are you crazy?! That tiger's going to --"

"Hold still. Give Lo Si a chance."

"Lo Si?" he said, as if he'd just now noticed what the old priest had been doing. "Chance to do what?"

"I don't know. Whatever he has in mind. Just don't move."

Turning slowly, I tried to see what was happening behind me, hoping I hadn't read the situation entirely wrong.

The Ancient went into the final move of the Form, coming to rest directly in front of the tiger. For a long moment, he simply stood there. All I could see was his back, but it seemed as if he bowed slightly to the beast. Then he stepped forward and turned just far enough that I could see him reaching out one hand.

I almost expected the tiger to bite off the old man's arm. Instead, it sniffed tentatively at the outstretched hand.

Lo Si touched the tawny head. Some of the tension went out of the tiger's body. I could see the powerful hindquarters relax and sink to the ground. Hardly able to believe my eyes, I watched Lo Si carefully stroking the tiger's head, his other hand moving down over the top part of its body but not quite touching.

Peter and I stood there gaping. The spell was quickly broken as several vehicles pulled up to the far side of the grassy stretch of lawn. A crowd had begun to gather, but it stayed far away, behind a rapidly-deploying line of police officers. A couple of the officers carrying rifles began scrambling through the crowd. The cavalry had obviously arrived.

I turned my attention back to the tiger, which still sat docily beside Lo Si. Even as the sharpshooters sought a clear shot, I saw the scene before me change subtly. Instead of a fierce and vicious beast about to kill an old man, there was only a hurting, hungry, terrified animal, and a human nearby offering comfort. I blinked. The image remained. I could see the tiger's shrunken sides, bony vertebrae poking through matted, lustreless fur. Several long scars crossed the wide face and nose, and one eye was half-closed and runny.

Incredibly, I found myself taking a few steps closer, even as Peter drew back, his gun no longer trained on the tiger.

Ironically, I recalled something Caine had said to me once, about turning to face the tiger. He'd meant it metaphorically, not literally, trying to get me to look at the secret fears that hid in the darkness of my soul. But still –

"No!" Lo Si called out loudly across the expanse of lawn separating us from our would-be rescuers. "Do not kill her!"

Peter slipped further away, moving with the same easy grace I'd often envied in his father. He covered the distance to the police line with incredible quickness. I saw him talking earnestly to the officer who seemed to be in charge.

And still the tiger remained quiet under the Ancient's gentling hands. I debated slipping away as Peter had done, but found myself too hypnotized by watching the Ancient to be able to move.

In what seemed the space of only a few heartbeats, Peter was back. He touched my shoulder in reassurance as he passed me, then moved closer to the old man and the beast, holding something out in one hand.

"This is filled with a tranquilizer. Can you keep her calm, while I inject it? If not, they're going to shoot her. The tranquilizer won't take effect fast enough, if she goes for us."

"I will try," Lo Si replied. "Do it, Peter."

I didn't so much as breathe as Peter moved in and deftly plunged the hypo into the tiger's flank. She jerked once at the minor pain but otherwise kept her attention on the Ancient. Peter touched the scarred hide also, imitating the older priest's motions, murmuring soothing words as the beast slowly relaxed and rolled down onto one side, her eyes finally closing as she lapsed into unconsciousness.

Then it was all over, and we were thronged by police and animal control people taking charge of the situation.


After everything had been sorted out, Lo Si gathered Peter and me together and told us to come with him. We looked at each other and shrugged, but did as ordered, following the old man along a path until we came out near that very same fountain I had spent time contemplating much earlier in the day. Darkness was falling around us now, but the water glistened in the hard radiance of a nearby streetlamp.

Lo Si turned to us at last. "You are troubled," he said, "both by what just happened, and by your lives in general."

Peter nodded, while I bit my lips and looked at the fountain.

"What you did with the tiger --" Peter began hesitantly.

Lo Si nodded, but said nothing, encouraging the young man to go on.

"That's what a real Master can do, isn't it? And I'm not a real Master. I've been pretending to be what I'm not. That's why it's not working."

"Very good, young Caine. I have been wondering how long it would take you to realize that. But what are you? And what is to be the path you follow?"

"I don't know. I'm confused. Lost – " Peter shook his head in frustration.

With a pang, I realized he could be speaking for me also.

The Ancient nodded. Then he waved one hand at the pool of water beside us.

"Sit. Watch the fountain. Learn what it can teach you."

Peter and I glanced at each other then we each sat down where Lo Si had indicated, on the flat top of the rock wall surrounding the pool. I had the good sense not to attempt a half lotus position, since I knew I couldn't hold it for very long. And let's not even mention full-lotus, okay? Perhaps Peter could do that one, but I sure couldn't. It was uncomfortable enough just sitting there tailor-fashion on the hard rock. In no time at all, my rear felt cold and numb, while my back and knees ached dully. One leg seemed to be falling asleep.

This was getting me exactly nowhere, except more frustrated and upset. I can't do this meditation stuff real well. My mind just keeps running on and on.

I closed my eyes, trying vainly to focus on my breathing. Nope. That didn't work either. What was there to keep me from getting up and walking away? This was clearly a waste of time.

I opened my eyes again. Lo Si sat peacefully on the hard rock wall halfway between me and Peter. He was so still I could barely tell if he was breathing. His entire attitude radiated a sense of total relaxation combined with intense concentration.

"Watch the fountain," he had said. "Learn what it can teach you."

With a growing sense of impatience, I watched. I saw the same thing I had seen this morning: the ungainly cluster of twisted metal pieces, the water slipping over dull greenish-brown surfaces, following the inexorable pull of gravity down towards the earth. Although I faced it now from a different angle, I still could see a number of lonely trickles and streams that seemed to have made a wrong turn somewhere and taken the long way around. For a brief moment, my eye was caught by a hanging droplet trembling at the sharp edge of a curled bronze lip. It hesitated, gathering strength and substance enough to allow it to let go and plunge down to the next level. When it finally fell, it splatted into the middle of a broad and almost flat triangular piece, then began a painfully slow crawl onwards.

So? What was I supposed to learn from this?

I shook my head in disgust. The slight motion allowed the corner of my eye to catch a glimpse of someone sitting next to me, where no one had been just a moment ago. Even before I turned my head, I knew who it was.

Caine had that enigmatic half-smile that I knew so well on his face. "Jeremy, you are – confused?"

"Yeah, you might say that. And now I'm even more confused. What are you doing here?"

He gestured at our surroundings. "I am – not here," was the cryptic reply.

"Oh, that makes everything much clearer. I've gone totally off my rocker and am imagining this whole thing."

"That is – one way to look at it," Caine admitted.

"Okay. You're not here and I just think I'm talking to you. So now what?"

"Now you will – look again at the fountain."

"I'd rather look at you."

He sighed. "That – is the problem."

"Problem?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "What am I -- to you?"

That was a tough one. I couldn't answer immediately. Caine waited patiently while I searched for the words.

"I don't know. I just know I see you, and how you act, and I think to myself that I want to be like that. I want to know how you do it. And I don't mean the fancy martial arts, or even the seemingly impossible stuff. I mean the love and the caring, the peace and the calm, the way you can connect with people and touch – what? – their hearts? Their souls? That's what I want to learn."

I shrugged uncomfortably, still searching for a way to put it into words that would make sense. "I guess you're a role model. Someone who shows me it's possible to be good and honest and admirable in a world that laughs at such simple concepts. You're strong and gentle both at the same time."

Something I'd read popped into my mind. "As it says in the TAO, 'Know the strength of man, but keep a woman's care'."

Caine nodded, apparently familiar with the verse.

"You're everything I wish I could be, but I'm not," I finished lamely.

"Jeremy, do you know what it is that you are describing ? It is the traditional concept of Master/student. You wish to learn what you feel I can teach you. Is this not so?"

I considered for several long moments. Was it really that simple? Yeah, maybe it was. "I once told myself that I would gladly step off the edge of the earth with you, simply in order to follow you and learn from you."

Caine nodded. "That – is it." Then he fixed me with that look that seems to see into your very soul and asked, "But -- is that all?"

I almost lied and said it was.

"No, not quite," I admitted ruefully. "You – know the rest."

"Yes. I know that you – desire me."

I nodded my head, not trusting my voice. Then he asked me the last question I ever expected to hear.

"Jeremy, -- if you had a choice, which would you want most? Me as a -- lover, or as a Master?"

I couldn't quite suppress a bitter laugh. "Isn't that obvious from the way I've acted with you all along?"

"No, it is not. You have always known I am not – gay. What if the choice were yours?"

This was a new concept for me. What if Caine were in fact gay, and could potentially return my feelings for him? It took a while to turn it over in my mind.

"Master," I concluded at last. "I can find lovers elsewhere, but not a Master like you."

He nodded, apparently pleased with my answer. "That which you attempt to be -- is what you will eventually become, so be sure it is something you can live with."

"Well, there are worse things to want to be than you, aren't there?"

"Yes," he said simply. "But you must be sure you do not confuse the outward seeming with the inward being. One must love the truths to be taught more than the teacher who teaches them."

"I know," I admitted uneasily. "But -- "

He cut me off with an upraised hand. "In your study of things Chinese, -- what have you found to be of value?"

"Does it really matter? After all, I'm not Chinese. This isn't my culture."

"Truth – is not only Chinese. Love – is not only Chinese. Honor – is not only Chinese. What you have found that is of meaning to you – that you must keep. All else is shadow, not substance. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Jeremy, -- you cannot be – me."

"I know that. But without you, I don't know who I am."

"You – do know. Here – " He placed the palm of one hand lightly against my chest. "And here." With the other hand, he touched the side of my head. "You are – " He shrugged -- "Jeremy. And you must be – Jeremy."

I shook my head in fierce denial, tears running from my eyes, moisture fogging my glasses. It isn't worth being me. I'm nothing special. Just your average human being, fumbling through life as best I can.

Caine smiled gently, as if he had heard my unspoken thought. Then he repeated something he had said to me once before, a long time ago. "Each life – is special, yours no less than mine."

"But – "

He shook his head and raised one hand, palm towards me to stop my objection.

"Take what you have learned from me – and use it to find your way through the darkness and into the light. It – will not always be easy --" He took my hands, turning them over so I could see the edges of the thin white scars on my wrists just below the loose sleeves of my T'ai Chi jacket -- "But it can be done."

The scars on my wrists reminded me abruptly of something that had happened earlier that day.

"Has Peter learned this lesson?" I asked Caine.

"Not yet. But I will tell him, as I am telling you."

He smiled that gentle smile of his. "Now – look again at the fountain – and see with more than your eyes."

I knew this was a dismissal of sorts, but I didn't want to let him go. Catching his hand, I asked wretchedly, "This is good-bye, isn't it? You're not coming back?"

As usual, Caine shrugged. "No one may know – the future."

"But you think --?"

"I think – I will not see you again," he admitted, gently withdrawing his hand from my grasp.

I fought the gathering tears. "But -- you will be with me?" I put one hand over my breaking heart. "Here?"

He bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Always."

I took a shaky breath, bowed to him, and turned sadly to the falling water, knowing full well Caine wouldn't be beside me if I turned back. The last thing I heard was his voice saying gently, "Jeremy, -- in the end -- you are your only Master."

I stared dutifully at the fountain, through tears that ran as freely as the water I was watching.

And this time, I saw something I hadn't seen before.

No two drops follow exactly the same path, but they can all reach the pool. Some go directly in sparkling cascades of water, some meander in rivulets and streams across slick, smooth metal surfaces, some follow a tortuous path from level to level over jagged edges and through slicing twists. Some, like me, might go the long way around, splatting on out-of-the-way pieces of verdigrised copper and crawling slowly across paths arid with depression and despair, and yet dripping down at last and coming to rest in the placid waters below, when the journey is done.

Go to wherever this path ends for you. Then drop off onto something going in another direction. Or perhaps from here you fall all the way into the pool? Who can know for sure?

How much does it matter what paths we follow, so long as we reach the same end?

And when we do reach the end, is it over? The water goes on to evaporate, turn to clouds, rain down again.

Follow the path until you reach the end -- and then look around for the beginning of the next path. For the journey never truly ends.

I don't have any idea how long I sat there staring at the fountain. It may have been seconds or minutes or hours. All I know is that it was getting dark when I became aware of Peter's voice and blinked myself into ordinary awareness again and paid attention to what he was saying.

"I'm going about this all wrong somehow, but I don't know what I should be doing. If I don't follow my father's path, what do I do? Damnit, Lo Si, I just don't know enough yet!"

The Ancient smiled and nodded. "The brands were a beginning, not an end. You are trying to be a Shaolin Master before you have even learned what it is to be a Shaolin priest. There are many ways of being Shaolin. Your father chose one way. You could choose another."

"But I don't have any idea of where to begin," he objected.

"Start with what you know," the old man said gently.

I stood up on legs that were numb and tingling. "This may be a totally dumb suggestion, but have you ever considered teaching Kung Fu? You certainly know that aspect of it well enough."

"Me? Teach?" Peter looked doubtfully at Lo Si, who cocked his head in my direction and raised one eyebrow.

From the slight smile on the old man's face, I concluded I had said the right thing, so I went on. "I'll bet you'd be a wicked good martial arts instructor. You've got the fighting down pat, anyway." A further inspiration struck me. "You could probably re-open your father's old kwoon, if you wanted to."

Peter looked at the Ancient. "Is that what you had in mind?"

"It is just one of many possibilities, young Caine. As Jeremy has said, you are surely not deficient in your knowledge of the Shaolin fighting arts. And it would be a good place to begin."

"Yeah, it might at that. And I could have special classes for problem kids. You know, try to get them back on track again? I could get the folks at the 101^st involved. They'd know which kids would benefit from such a thing. And I could--"

The Ancient laughed and held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Enough, Peter. You could do all that and more. The question is, do you wish to?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I need to think this through a bit. It might be a good idea."

"But if you do it, do it your way, not your father's," I put in. I caught Peter's troubled eyes, meeting them as squarely as I could. "Because in the end, you are your only Master," I finished, deliberately using Caine's words to me.

Peter's face registered his surprise, and then his quick understanding. "He told you that too?"

I nodded, trying to keep my composure. I didn't want to break down in front of Peter. I was reasonably sure Caine hadn't told his son good-bye, as he had me. Surely, he would see Peter again, someday.

Lo Si glanced knowingly at us. Behind him the water dripped steadily into the pool below the fountain, and a streetlamp flashed into life beside the fountain, lighting up the growing darkness of the oncoming night.


Peter made a lot of changes in his life after that day. As may be expected, he stopped trying so hard to be his father and became himself instead.

And me? Well, I never saw Kwai Chang Caine again. About a year later, I moved away, after getting a job offer I couldn't refuse from a hospital in Alaska. I've never regretted leaving Sloan City. But even though I've moved on to other places, other people, other interests, I'll always remember Caine, and the lessons I learned during the time I was lucky enough to spend with him. I still hear his soft voice in my head now and then, and see him smiling at me the way he did beside that fountain. Some things you just never forget.

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