WHO DOES NOT TRUST ENOUGH

Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer


I went a little crazy after my lover died of AIDS. Before the end, Bobbie had accepted the situation and made his peace. I was the one who couldn't deal with it.

Now, as those of you who have read previous accounts of my adventures know, I've gotten depressed enough about things in the past to try to kill myself. Strangely enough, this wasn't the same kind of feeling at all. I didn't want to die. I just wanted not to have to remember that Bobble was gone. That wasn't an easy thing to do, under the circumstances.

I had continued to live in his apartment and had even made arrangements with the landlady to take over the lease. I know I wanted to stay, but it was hard to be constantly in the midst of all the reminders of my lost love. His family didn't want any of his possessions. They had long ago disowned him when they found out he was gay. That left me to go through his things, choosing what to keep and what to dispose of. I guess some people would have just tossed everything out, but I'm not like that. I picked and chose and sorted until I had it all organized, using the excessive busywork to deaden the pain from my bleeding heart.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only way I tried to stop the hurt.

I probably could have gotten all the tranquilizers I wanted from the doctors at the hospital where I worked, but you can blot out your mind with nothing more than alcohol, if you try hard enough.

I tried pretty hard.

Unfortunately, alcohol isn't really a very good pain-killer, although there are plenty of people who try to use it that way. Sooner or later, the pain gets through. It's your sense of reason that gets bogged down. Nevertheless, some part of my uptight WASP conscience kept me sober, or at least functionally so, whenever I got called in for work. I wanted to keep that MRI job badly. Come hell or high water, I wasn't about to screw it up at this stage of the game. Not after two years of x-ray school and the offer of a rare opening in the specialty I loved. When you're in your early fifties, you don't get a lot of chances to start over again. I was bound and determined not to blow this one.

But when I wasn't working, I was doing my best to anesthetize my brain with whatever I could afford, or connive other people into buying for me. I'm a pretty cheap drunk. It doesn't take much to do me in.

Of course, being me, I also tried to dull the pain by screwing everyone I could. But the old conscience even pulled in the reins on that. No matter what the circumstances or my state of inebriation, I always seemed to have a supply of condoms on hand and managed to make sure they were put to good use at the appropriate moment. I suppose that's because it wasn't just about me here. There were other people who could be hurt, and I didn't want that. For all I knew at that point, I was HIV+. Oh sure, I'd had myself tested after Bobble died, but it was far too soon to be certain of anything, considering the long incubation period of that damn virus. Hence, the rubbers.

Ever since Bobbie's death, I had also been avoiding Kwai Chang Caine, out of shame for one thing. (And the other reason? Well, I'd always found Caine extremely attractive, but I knew he wasn't gay, so I didn't want to risk running into him when I might be too drunk to take that important fact into consideration. It's real easy to ruin your friendship with a straight man if you make a pass at him.)

At any rate, the way I encountered him again wasn't really how I would have preferred it to happen, but life's like that sometimes, isn't it?

Perhaps because of Bobbie, I had a predilection for oriental types, something not all that easy to come by in the gay bars. But I had been lucky that night, having almost literally stumbled onto some seemingly-interested parties in a dreary and otherwise nondescript watering-hole on the opposite side of Chinatown from where I lived.

So it was that I found myself in an alley behind the bar with my three young prospects, gleefully anticipating a little action.

Turns out the "action" they had in mind was more along the lines of assault and battery than the harmless public indecency and lust that I had been hoping for. I tried to fight them off and actually got in a pretty solid right to the jaw on one of them. Unfortunately, I neglected to lock my wrist as I connected and ended up causing more pain to myself than to my opponent. (I know better. Hadn't my dear old dad forced me to take karate lessons as a child? But, hey, what do you want from a limp-wristed fairy?)

Anyway, after getting hit a few times, I was frantically offering them my wallet, watch, and anything else I could think of to make them go away when Caine appeared, as he usually does, out of nowhere.

What with the darkness and the distraction offered by my would-be muggers, I didn't really see him, but there was no way I could not recognize the voice that told them softly to leave me alone. After all, I'd heard it often enough in the past, hadn't I?

My assailants shoved me roughly to the ground and turned to face the stranger who had dared to interfere with their fun. My glasses fell off as I landed, much to my chagrin. I'm damn near blind without them.

I guess the young punks didn't know who Caine was, because one of them actually laughed when he stepped out of the shadows.

"Hey, old man, you'd better go back to your rocking chair before you get hurt," the youngster said mockingly.

"Uh -- you really don't want to do this," I warned the young smartass as I groped around for my glasses and then scuttled off to one side and out of the way.

"Shut up, faggot. No one asked you." He aimed a kick in my general direction, without taking his eyes off Caine. He missed, since I was no longer where I had been.

Caine was still standing where he had first appeared, to all intents and purposes entirely at ease. "Please," he said, gesturing toward the mouth of the alley, "leave."

"You gonna make us?"

"I have no wish to harm you."

"Harm us?! Not likely, pal."

"Let's teach this old bastard a lesson," one of the others chimed in.

Oh, come on, I thought. You have got to be kidding. But, of course, they weren't. They spread out and headed for Caine.

The "old bastard" wiped up the floor with them. So what else is new?

I would have cheered him on, but I was too busy throwing up by this time, probably due to the combined effect of the booze, the fear, and the punch that had landed in my solar plexus earlier on.

Despite the mess I was in, Caine got me on my feet and held me up enough to walk out of the alley. I'm afraid I wasn't much help. In fact, I was a pretty definite hindrance, being just about able to stumble along next to him.

"Where're we going?" I finally managed to ask.

"Lo Si -- lives nearby."

"I don't think he'll be wanting visitors at this hour," I objected. "Why don't you just take me to my place?"

"It is too far, -- unless you wish me to pick you up and carry you?"

Actually, I wouldn't have minded. But the neighbors might have noticed and drawn the wrong conclusions.

"Uh -- no. Better not."

By now, Caine had me aimed at the porch of one of a row of similar houses on a quiet side street.

"You sure the Ancient won't mind?"

"He -- will not," my companion said, as we climbed the steps.

As usual, Caine was right. Lo Si opened the door, smiling brightly as if he'd been expecting us, even though it had to be somewhere around 2 A.M. by now.

He took me by the other arm, guiding me down the short hallway and into a small living room. I almost knocked over the fern standing by the door as I staggered past. Then I pretty much collapsed on the couch.

Caine fetched a wet towel so I could clean myself up a little, while Lo Si knelt by the couch examining my now very swollen and sore wrist. I had to be at work tomorrow for the afternoon shift, but I figured I could handle the MRI computer one-handed, if I had to, so I wasn't all that worried about it. I had avoided getting hit in the face during the melee, so any bruises I had would at least not be visible.

Glancing around with my usual avid curiosity, I noted that the Ancient's place was done in much the same style as Caine's, a style I decided then and there to dub "Chinese Clutter", or perhaps "Antique Apothecary". They must use the same interior decorator. The most noticeable difference was that the walls were covered with a rather sickly green wallpaper and all the trim was red. Otherwise, the usual collection of odd jars and containers full of heaven-only-knows-what covered virtually every flat surface. And, sure enough, he had a bunch of the same dried lizards mounted on sticks that I had wondered about every time I saw them at Caine's, but never quite got around to asking what they were for.

A small altar sat along the wall by the door, with a rather more elaborate set-up for the statue of the Buddha than I'd seen at Caine's. On the altar, a stick of incense in a brass pot sent up a wavering tendril of smoke.

With the exception of a small desk lamp, the only light in the room came from candles. It would have seemed rather cozy and comforting, except for that bilious green wallpaper. The color alone was almost enough to send my none-too-steady stomach into another session of nausea.

Okay, if you can tell from the quality of the above ruminations that I was still pretty sloshed, you're absolutely right. But at least I wasn't throwing up anymore, so I felt halfway decent. That is, until Lo Si tried to flex my wrist a little and I damn near bit my tongue trying to stifle the resulting scream.

"I do not believe it is broken," he said. "Perhaps sprained."

And how could he know that without an x-ray, may I ask? To me it felt as it every single one of the eight bones that make up the wrist -- the names of which I had learned in excruciating detail not all that long ago, incidentally -- were not only broken but totally pulverized. But I didn't bother to mention this particular insight out loud. Like Caine, the Ancient usually knew what he was talking about, so I was inclined to believe him, despite the clamoring insistence of the agony in my hand. Perhaps, as he had said, it was just sprained and not entirely demolished. That would be nice.

I risked a glimpse at my aching hand. Bobbie's carved jade ring shone warmly where the candlelight touched my right pinky. The ring was actually too big for that finger, but I didn't feel good about wearing it where it fit best, since that would have been in the place usually reserved for a wedding ring. I felt a twinge of guilt every time I looked at it, since I had promised Bobbie to make a panel for the AIDS Memorial Quilt and put that ring, which had been his grandmother's, on it.

"Uh -- should I take off the ring? In case my fingers swell up?" I asked the Ancient.

He turned my hand over and then back, touching it carefully and feeling for signs of further damage.

"That should not be necessary," he concluded. "It is only the wrist that is injured. And the ring is quite loose. Lie back and relax."

That last suggestion isn't too easy to implement, when you more than half expect another stab of pain at any moment. But all Lo Si did was take my wrist between his two hands and hold it gently. It started to feel a little better. And I started to feel awfully sleepy. I closed my eyes, just for a minute, and ended up falling asleep. (Okay, so maybe I passed out.)

When I woke up, sunlight assaulted my eyes from the window behind the couch, so I judged it to be morning. My head ached so badly that I was sorely tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but the couch wasn't all that comfortable. My wrist didn't hurt much, but it sure felt cold. Upon investigating this unusual phenomena, I discovered the cause was somewhat less than arcane: it was wrapped in a towel full of icecubes, standard first aid for sprains.

I sat up, then wished I hadn't. My entire body seemed vaguely brittle, as if I would shatter if I moved too fast. I groaned, rubbing futilely with my good hand at eyeballs that felt as if they'd like to pop out of my head and roll across the carpet.

Caine unfolded himself from where he'd been sitting on the floor.

"How -- do you feel?" he inquired.

"You don't want to know." Licking my lips with a tongue made entirely of cotton, I inquired without too much hope, "I don't suppose you've got anything around here to drink, have you?"

Caine held out a teacup. Whatever was in it, I seriously doubted that it had any alcoholic content at all.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"I -- know. But it will help."

It did. He ought to patent the stuff as a hangover cure. It didn't make all my various discomforts go away entirely, but there began to be some hope that I might be functional by the time I had to report in to work at County General that afternoon.

"Where's Lo Si?" I asked, when I felt human enough to engage in conversation.

"He went to see Mrs. Leong. Her arthritis is -- bothering her again."

"Oh."

So we were alone here, and Caine had probably wasted most of the morning babysitting me. Shit!

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wondering if I dared to stand up just yet. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded once.

"Why do you bother with me?"

He looked at me questioningly. In a fit of self-loathing, I elaborated on my statement.

"I'm nothing, nobody. Just an aging fairy. While you -- you're something special. Something I've never been and never could be."

"Every life is special, -- yours no less so than mine."

By now I knew him well enough to realize he meant it. But I didn't feel very special. In fact, considering the circumstances, all I felt was pretty damn stupid.

He must have noticed that, because he said gently, "Jeremy, you are -- grieving, and seeking comfort. Such a thing cannot be found in a bottle."

I couldn't argue with that, even if I'd wanted to.

"I told you not long before Bobbie died that I wasn't any good at mourning," I grumbled.

Caine looked at me and I had the feeling I knew just how Peter felt when he tried to put something over on his father.

I sorted through a few lame excuses, then discarded them in favor of saying what I thought he wanted to hear. "Okay, okay. I won't do it again. I promise."

His expression didn't change in the least. There was still that "Tell me another one" look in his eyes, so I knew the only one I was fooling was myself.

"All right," I conceded. "I probably will do it again. Satisfied? I know I shouldn't. I know it doesn't make anything any better."

"It is not the -- knowing that is the hard part. It is the doing." He hesitated for a moment before going on, just long enough for me to wonder if he spoke from his own experience or from what he knew of human nature in general. "Especially when -- things go wrong and life is filled with sorrow."

I got the very definite feeling then that he wasn't merely theorizing. Oh, maybe it wasn't alcohol specifically that he was referring to, but it was something.

I don't know what it is about me, but I won't listen to pretty words and preachments from those kindly and virtuous souls who've spent their whole lives in the sunshine. I won't heed any advice unless it comes from someone who has walked through the shadows and clawed their way out of the abyss.

And Caine? Well, despite the aura of almost supernatural calm and peacefulness that seemed to radiate from the man, I got the distinct feeling that sometime in his life he'd reached depths lower than any I'd ever tried to plumb, and walked through fires hotter than those that burned in my own personal hell. Underneath that smooth surface, it was all there. The only difference was that he could face it without flinching, and he could control it.

"It is not just -- the drinking, Jeremy. There are other things, are there not?"

"You mean like screwing everything in sight?" I admitted wretchedly. "Yeah."

"This is not -- the way."

"What would you know about it? You're a priest."

He just looked at me, and I didn't see anything like innocence in his eyes. Okay, rethink that one. I was pretty sure that your traditional Buddhist monks were celibate, but perhaps the Shaolin folks don't put a real high value on that sort of thing? After all, he'd been married. And maybe that wasn't all he'd been doing, since his wife had died a long time ago.

"Well, anyway, you aren't gay," I concluded lamely.

He shrugged. "Gay, straight -- it is still sex."

"So? You got something against sex?"

"No," he replied, looking at me with a sort of tolerant amusement, as if I'd said something really dumb. "It is only your -- reason -- for doing it that is wrong."

Not too long ago, I'd have gotten mad at anyone who told me that. But the anger wasn't there just now. Even worse, I knew he was right. I was doing all this screwing around mostly because I couldn't have Bobbie anymore.

And -- okay, I admit it -- I was also doing it because I couldn't have Caine. There was only one place where I'd ever find myself in bed with the man and I knew exactly where it was: In your dreams, Jeremy. In your dreams.

I thought I'd gotten used to that idea, but evidently I hadn't. Okay, and maybe I never would. But he was not going to know, damn it! Not unless he really could read minds, that is.

"It -- has been almost two months since Bobbie died. Is it not time that you made the panel for the -- AIDS Quilt, -- as you promised him you would?"

He had to mention that. I glanced down at the jade ring on my hand. "Yeah, I guess it is. I just haven't been feeling quite up to it. Besides, I'm not very good at working with fabric and stuff."

"I could -- help you, if you wish."

"What? Don't tell me you're a seamstress too?"

He shrugged. "A -- little."

"Okay, you're on. Come over to my place tomorrow -- No, I have to work tomorrow. How about Friday?"

"I -- am having lunch with a friend on Friday. Perhaps you would like to join us? We can discuss the -- materials that will be needed."

Food was about the last thing on my mind just then, but I figured I was bound to feel better in a couple of days. "Sure. Sounds good to me, if your friend won't mind."

"She -- will not. Do you know where the Ming Chun House is located?"

That was one of the nicer restaurants in Chinatown.

"Yeah, but I've never eaten there."

"I will be at the front entrance at noon."

Noon. That made me wonder what time it was. I glanced at my wristwatch and grimaced. It was almost noon now.

"Oh, jeez! I'm due at the hospital at 3 PM! I gotta go home and clean up --"

I started to get to my feet. Unfortunately, I tried to use my right hand to push myself up and ended the above statement with a few choice cuss words as a result.

"You will -- wait -- until I have bandaged your wrist," Caine said firmly once I had shut up. He produced an elastic bandage from that shoulder bag he always carries. Sitting down next to me on the couch, he proceeded to wrap my wrist with the stretchy pink stuff.

The pain in my hand brought back to my mind the events of the previous evening.

"You sure wiped up the floor with those guys who were beating on me," I said, glad to have a different subject to discuss.

As usual, he just shrugged.

"Shit, I'd sell my soul to be able to do the stuff you do!" I continued, still waxing enthusiastic.

He released my wrist. Drawing back a little, he cocked his head and looked at me kind of sideways.

"Would you -- really?" he asked.

"Really what?"

"Sell -- your soul?"

I snorted and said, perhaps more bitterly than I'd intended, "Why not? I've already sold my body more times than I can remember, sometimes for nothing more than the price of a drink. Why not my soul also?"

"Although sometimes the two -- go together," he allowed quietly, "it is also possible -- to sell the body and not the soul."

That was kind of a new concept for me. He may have realized that, since he let me think about it for a minute before going on. "In any case, it is not necessary to sell your soul to learn kung fu, or any of the other martial arts. It takes only the desire to learn, and the determination to persevere."

I shook my head. "I could never do all the stuff you do."

"Perhaps not. But you could do some of it. I will teach you, if you wish."

"I'm too old."

"Perhaps you will tell Lo Si -- he is also too old?"

He had a point there. I had seen the Ancient in action, and he was pretty impressive. But then again, he'd been doing it all his life. As for me, I'd never be a genuine expert at kung fu, or any other martial art. It really was too late for that. But I could probably learn to do it, to an extent.

"Let me think about that, okay? I'll let you know over lunch on Friday."

He nodded.

"Meanwhile, I better go."

I stood up gingerly.

"Look, Caine --" I stood hesitating at the door -- "Thanks, huh?"

He inclined his head a fraction. "You are -- welcome."


Remember I mentioned how I'd been going through Bobble's things? Well, the next morning before I was due at work, I decided to tackle something I'd been putting off for a while. Like Caine and Lo Si, Bobbie also had a small altar. A short time before his death, he had broken one of the vases in a brief outburst of rage. After that, the altar had been left pretty much alone. My eyes had slid over it repeatedly, trying not to notice that one day I'd have to either get rid of the whole thing as irrelevant, or refurbish it and set it up to suit my aesthetic, and perhaps spiritual, sensibilities.

This was to be the day.

I started by taking all the items off the narrow table and lining them up on the floor, then I dusted and polished the table. I managed all this with my left hand, since my sprained wrist still hurt some if I moved it wrong. (I'd sprained things before though, and it was actually healing quite fast, for some strange reason.)

With the preliminary work done, I sat down and carefully considered each thing. Above and beyond the memories of Bobbie, did it have meaning for me? If the answer was "yes", or even "maybe", I moved it over next to the table. If "no", I set it aside for later donation to the local thrift shop. When I had finished, I was left with Bobbie's statue of the Buddha, a small brass pot for holding incense, two rather plain candlesticks, and the remaining ceramic vase.

There were also the things Bobbie had had hanging on the wall behind the altar: a scroll containing some carefully-painted Chinese characters and a round yin-yang symbol. This last item was rather interesting. About five inches in diameter, it was made from a multitude of very tiny beads, almost surely hand-sewn onto a fabric background. A short tassel of rainbow-colored beads hung from the bottom, adding a spray of color to the stark black and white of the design.

While I figured I'd hang onto the scroll at least long enough to find out what it said before deciding whether or not to discard it, the fate of the yin-yang was never in question. I'd gotten to like it and had read up on its meanings, so that was a definite keeper.

Have you noticed how this symbol has been appearing more and more often on jewelry lately? Especially the inexpensive stuff that young folks are likely to wear? I've got a piece myself. I think it's meant to be an earring, but I've been wearing it on my lab coat as a lapel pin. (Don't wear it unless you're prepared to explain what it means, though. People will ask.)

It even comes in colors that supposedly change as your mood changes, and in friendship rings and pendants, where you keep one half and give the other half to a special friend. That last usage strikes me as somewhat incongruous, since the whole point of the symbol is that the two halves don't come apart. In fact, that very aspect of it always seems to me to be the most difficult part of the philosophy. You don't get the one without the other. I never have gotten used to that idea. I wanted the light without the shadow. I wanted the good without the bad, the pleasure without the pain, the highs without the lows. But, as surely as the night follows the day, the morning after inevitably follows the night before. One way or another, you pay. The wise person realizes this and at least expects it, if they cannot prevent it. The fool hasn't learned that lesson yet.

I was still working on being a fool, but I was beginning to recognize that fact.

I stood up, stretching the kinks out of stiff muscles. Still thinking about the yin-yang, I reached out with the tip of one finger, tracing the edge of the curving line dividing the white side from the black. While doing so, it struck me that it really isn't this clear-cut and distinct. That's only the static version, the only way we can represent such a complex concept in a simple design. It turns, and the sharp edges blur into each other. Black and white become gray, which is more or less what we're accustomed to dealing with in the real world out there.

The wheel turns, the circle spins. You may be able to drive it upwards into a spiral path, if you try hard enough. But, even in classical physics, the potential energy gained by moving something upwards is equal to the kinetic energy expended to get it there against the pull of gravity. The higher you fly, the further there is for you to fall. And the faster you'll be going when you hit the ground.

A shiver ran down my spine at that idea and I withdrew my finger.

I was still staring at the yin-yang and thinking my profound thoughts when I heard the tiger growl behind me.

I spun around to find Bon Bon Hai standing just inside the closed door. He smiled his mirthless smile and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Oh no, not you again," I said in dismay. "Last time I ran into you, you told me you were going to come after Caine yourself, rather than offering money to other people to kill him, as you had been doing. What happened? You chicken out?"

He frowned as he crossed the room. "No. I still intend to kill the troublesome priest. But I have decided to destroy him first."

"You're not making a lot of sense, pal."

"You will understand, in time. But first I have something to show you."

He held out a manila envelope.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

I did, and found myself confronted with a dozen 8X10 photos of myself, in what I can only describe as a number of compromising positions.

Okay, you're not going to let me leave it at that, are you? I didn't think so. Remember when I said I'd gotten a little crazy after Bobbie died? Among other things, I'd gotten involved in a couple of BDSM scenes.

You know about BDSM? Well, if you don't, perhaps it's because you don't want to know.

I'll bet you've got me pegged as the party on the receiving end of the punishment too, haven't you? Well, think again, folks. Maybe I'm not real macho most of the time, but you ought to see what I can do with a fantasy scenario. I can and do play it from either side.

I looked closer at the photos, trying to recall what had been going on at the time they'd been taken. Oh yeah, that was the rich Japanese guy with the interesting tattoos who had been into some pretty heavy stuff. In fact, it had been a little heavier scene than I had bargained for. Maybe I'd gotten a trifle carried away, but my partner had certainly seemed to like what I was doing. He'd wanted me to play samurai. He was my captive and I was trying to force him to betray his lord by torturing him.

I looked downright vicious in a couple of those photos, what with the black kimono and swords and all. (Well, I suppose I'd have looked more vicious without my glasses, but that can't be helped.) I also looked pretty -- shall we say, excited? -- in subsequent shots, when I had opened my kimono in order to get down to the business at hand.

And someone had been taking pictures the entire time?!

I had a very bad feeling about this.

"There is a videotape also," Bon Bon Hai said, adding to my sense of foreboding. "What do you think would happen if something like this ended up in the wrong hands? For instance, your supervisor at the hospital, Kevin Willis. I imagine he would find these pictures most entertaining. Or perhaps your friend the priest would enjoy watching such a tape?"

"Caine doesn't have a VCR," I replied inanely.

"No matter. The photos would be sufficient."

Yeah. More than sufficient to convince a Shaolin priest that I wasn't worth his friendship, much less his respect.

"What is it you want me to do?"

"Caine has offered to be your teacher, has he not?"

I nodded, wondering how he could possibly know about that.

"I wish you to accept his offer. While you are with him, you will find ways to maneuver him into positions which look as if you are doing something other than fighting with each other."

I must have looked totally puzzled, because he went on cheerily, "There will be a photographer in a nearby building waiting to take advantage of the opportunities you will create."

I guess my brain wasn't in high gear that morning, because the full impact of what he was saying took a while to penetrate. It took me until now to realize that he wanted it to appear as if Caine and I were lovers.

"What would that get you?" I asked, still rather confused.

Bon Bon Hai held up the sheaf of photos. "Something very much like what these have gotten me."

"You're gonna blackmail Caine too? I don't think that'll work. He'd just deny it. You'd have to get some much more explicit pictures than we've been discussing before anyone would believe you rather than him."

"Ah, but I shall not give the priest a chance to deny it, because he will never know of it."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you here."

"Kwai Chang Caine is respected and admired by many important and powerful people in Chinatown. His influence in the community is growing. If I were to go to some of the local leaders in private, show them the pictures you're going to help me get, and imply that Caine is something very different from what he seems, that he is not worthy of their respect and support --"

Bon Bon Hai left it hanging, but I filled in the sentence for him, saying bitterly, "Because he's a queer. Yeah, I see what you have in mind. And it just might work, because no one would dare to confront him about it. Hell, they'd probably be too polite. But word would get out and he'd lose his following."

"You are cleverer than I had thought."

"If that's meant to be a compliment, I'd rather you stuck to insulting me."

He almost laughed. Then he turned serious again. "The priest will never know what happened, but he will find himself without influence, spurned by those who once honored him and turned away by the ones who had been his friends. It is only then that I will move in for the kill. This way, there is no chance he will become a martyr."

"I might tell him about all this," I suggested.

"I think not." He flourished the packet of photos again. The son-of-a-bitch had me cornered, and we both knew it. I could betray Caine, or I could destroy my life and everything I'd worked so hard for. If I'd had the least shred of honor, I'd have told Bon Bon Hai to go fuck himself. I didn't. I couldn't.

"I am certain you will wish to give this matter some thought." With what I'm sure was intentional disdain, he set the photos on top of my altar table. "You may inform me of your decision tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? How am I supposed to do that?"

"You will know."

I blinked my eyes and the tiger was there again.

"Yeah, right. I'll come visit you in the zoo, along with the rest of the animals."

The tiger growled as it stalked out of my room. Guess he'd heard that last comment.

I walked over and plucked the damn photos off my altar. No use tearing them up. He would have copies. And a videotape.

I sank down to the floor and buried my head in my hands. How on earth was I going to get out of this mess?


When the next day came, I was still without an answer to that question. But I had figured out how Bon Bon Hai would learn whether or not I had decided to go along with his plan. I was supposed to meet Caine for lunch and tell him whether I wanted to become his student. If I took him up on his offer, Bon Bon Hai would conclude I intended to do as he wished me to. I never for a moment doubted that he had a way to know whatever I told Caine in the restaurant. Oh, shit!


As I waited outside the Ming Chun House, there was a stampeding herd of butterflies in my stomach that made me wonder if I'd even be able to eat. I was too early and stood fidgeting on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. I hadn't come up with any good way out of this. The only thing I could think of to do was to go along with what Bon Bon Hai wanted and try to stall for time. The smile on my face felt phony even to me as I caught sight of Caine coming down the street and greeted him with attempted nonchalance.

"I am -- glad you could make it," he said.

Oh god,I'm not! Not under these circumstances! I wanted to scream. All I said was, "Yeah."

As we walked inside, I was abruptly distracted from the turmoil in my mind by the apparent chaos reigning within the restaurant. The aisles were filled with small carts of food pushed by attendants who circulated constantly between tables, serving whatever was requested. I'd never been in a Chinese restaurant where anything like this was going on, so it took my preoccupied brain a few minutes to sort out the confusion. Meanwhile, the hostess had seen Caine, greeted him with a smile and a bow, which he returned, and led us to a spot in the corner. They exchanged a few phrases in Chinese as we sat down on opposite sides of the table. Almost immediately, a waiter appeared with a pot of tea and three cups, so I assumed Caine had said someone else would soon be joining us.

When the first pushcart approached, I looked it over quickly and realized I had no earthly idea what was on it. Most of the food looked like a variation on your basic dumpling, but I had no way of knowing what might be inside those dumplings.

"Uh -- Caine? I don't know what most of this stuff is," I admitted. "You order for me, huh?"

He nodded, then spoke briefly with the man pushing the cart, who went away without serving us anything. "I asked if they would be -- kind enough to wait until the rest of our party arrived," he explained. "Would you like some tea?"

I nodded. He had barely finished filling our cups when he glanced up and caught sight of someone. He was looking sort of past my shoulder and beyond me, and I saw his face change. Oh, not a whole lot. After all, his expression doesn't change very much, regardless of what he feels. But his eyes lit up and the edges of his mouth almost decided to smile. I'd never seen him look at anyone quite that way, but I knew what it meant, even before the object of his attention moved into my line of sight.

An attractive woman with long dark hair sat down at our table. For the first instant, I thought I didn't know her. Then I remembered. We had met briefly at the AIDS Quilt display, before Bobbie had died. At that time, Peter had introduced her as Detective Mary Margaret Skalany, his sometime partner.

"Hi," she said cheerfully, holding out a slender hand. "Jeremy, right?"

I nodded and took the proffered hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip, for a woman.

"Glad to see you again." She glanced down at our teacups. "Am I late?"

"No," Caine hastened to assure her, his eyes never leaving her face. "We were -- early."

They smiled at each other, then he placed his hand over hers where it rested on the table.

You're welcome to draw your own conclusions, of course. But I figured I knew what was, or soon would be, going on between Caine and this very lovely detective, even if they hadn't quite realized it yet.

When I know something is totally beyond my reach, I've learned not to be terribly jealous. I could actually find it in my heart to be glad, for both of them.

Much to my relief, Mary Margaret was as much adrift in this sea of Chinese cuisine as I was, so Caine ended up choosing items from the various pushcarts for both of us, consulting us from time to time for food preferences. I'm afraid I can't say everything he chose was delicious. Most of the flavors were simply too foreign for me to be sure if I liked them or not on first encounter.

Mary Margaret's presence served to distract Caine from paying too close attention to me, which was fine, under the circumstances. I listened in silence as Caine filled her in on the plans for Bobbie's Quilt panel. She offered to help, which further endeared her to me. I'm afraid I didn't exactly keep up my end of the conversation, since I was pretty much preoccupied with other thoughts, but at least I managed to deal with the chopsticks with a certain amount of expertise, despite the remaining stiffness in my wrist.

Even though he had the major portion of his attention on his lady, Caine actually noticed this. "You -- are doing better with the chopsticks, Jeremy," he said at one point.

Yeah. The first time I'd eaten in a Chinese restaurant with him had been in Niagara Falls, and I'd dropped a couple of things in my lap way back then.

I reacted to the compliment with a very Caine-like shrug, then said in a fair imitation of his usual speech pattern, "I have -- practiced -- a lot."

Mary Margaret laughed. Caine looked at her in pretended indignation, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh too.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Caine brought up the subject I wanted fervently to avoid.

"Jeremy may wish to learn kung fu. I have offered to teach him."

He glanced at me expectantly. That was obviously my cue to let him know what I had decided.

Bon Bon Hai aside, I still wasn't too sure about all this. "I dunno. When it comes to athletic ability, someone else must have gotten my share."

"I believe you once told me you had studied karate for time, as a child?" Caine said.

"Yeah, but that was my father's idea. I was never real good at it. I actually wanted to study ballet, or maybe tap dancing, but my dad figured that was for sissies, and I was enough of a sissy as it was."

But I had to take Caine up on his offer, or Bon Bon Hai would ruin me. "How about if I started with something less strenuous? Like maybe T'ai Chi?"

"That -- would be fine."

"Okay," Mary Margaret chimed in. "Now that that's been decided, how about that Quilt panel you mentioned? How much material do you need? What color? What kind of fabric?"

I pulled out the page of instructions I'd gotten from the Names Project, which is the organization in charge of the Quilt, and gave it to Mary Margaret, who promptly translated the general guidelines into practical suggestions.

I let myself get caught up in the details, trying hard to forget that I had just agreed to betray Caine. I figured I now knew pretty much how Judas must have felt, and it wasn't a nice feeling at all.

To make a long story short, we spent the rest of Mary Margaret's lunch break purchasing fabric and sewing supplies. She had to go back to the precinct, but Caine and I took everything over to my place to start the preliminary measuring and cutting.

I hadn't decided yet on all the details of the design, but the background fabric was a heavy white cotton and I knew I wanted to make the letters of Bobbie's name from some medium-green velveteen I'd bought, so we began with that. We first drew the letters on paper, then cut them out and used them as guides to cut the velveteen.

When the fabric for the panel was actually spread out on the floor to its full 3 X 6 feet, I realized just how big a job this was likely to be. All those letters needed to be turned under and hemmed, then stitched onto the white cotton.

I looked up at Caine, who was diligently plying the scissors around one of the B's. "Does Mary Margaret happen to have a sewing machine? Perhaps she'd do this for us," I suggested.

Caine shrugged and kept cutting, both at the same time. "It will have more -- meaning, if you do it yourself."

"I guess you're right. But it's going to take quite a while that way."

"There is -- no hurry," was the quiet response.

We didn't say too much else as we sat there on the floor. Actually working on Bobbie's panel brought back too many memories and I just didn't trust myself to speak. Every time I glanced over at Caine, a fresh wave of self-disgust swept over me. How could I do this to him? I should refuse. I should tell Bon Bon Hai to go to hell. (And let him show those photos, so you lose Caine, your job, your friends, your self-respect?) (What self-respect, Jeremy, you idiot?)

When we'd finished cutting out the letters, Caine took a few sheets of paper and a pencil from my desk and asked, "What -- do you wish the rest of this to look like?"

I really wasn't sure. While I knew the jade ring had to be a part of it, I couldn't decide what else to include.

Seeing my indecision, Caine asked tentatively, "Would you like Bobbie's name to appear in Chinese characters also?"

"Yeah. I think he would have liked that." Then I frowned. "But it would be pretty hard to cut that out and sew it on, wouldn't it? The English letters are already becoming quite a project."

"It is -- not a problem. I can paint them onto the fabric, if you wish."

"How would that look?"

He did a quick sketch, putting Bobbie's English name over to the left and then adding a row of Chinese characters down the right side of the panel.

"I like it. How about if we put the English name in a slight curve, instead of on a straight line?"

So Caine drew it that way, with "Bobbie" on top and "Ling" beneath it. He glanced up at me for approval.

"Yeah. Good. Now, the ring can go down here, under the curve. But how can we attach it securely?"

We finally came up with the idea of a clear plastic pocket to keep the ring safe, sewn down around the edges with green embroidery thread. I made a note to go out and buy what we'd need for that later.

By now it was getting on towards late afternoon. Figuring I'd used up enough of Caine's time already, I suggested we call it a day. He was agreeable to that, but first we set up a schedule for the T'ai Chi lessons I was to take. My heart wasn't really in that, thanks to Bon Bon Hai, and I knew Caine was sure to notice. I hoped he'd assume I was just bummed out over working on Bobbie's panel, which was true up to a point.

As I walked him to the door, Caine put his arm around my shoulder.

"Do not worry, Jeremy. It will be -- all right," he said, just before he gave me a quick hug.

All I could think of as he walked out the door was "Oh jeez! What if he does that when Bon Bon Hai's photographer has us in his sights?"


So it was that I became one of Caine's students. Much to my delight, it turned out that I wasn't as totally inept at T'ai Chi as I had feared. Not that I can take too much credit for that, you understand. It was just that many of the moves and stances were familiar to me because of my forced stint as a martial artist as a kid. No, I hadn't been great at it even then, but, as I struggled to duplicate Caine's movements, my body remembered what I thought my mind had long ago forgotten.

Despite my guilt, I greatly enjoyed spending two hours twice a week with Caine, as the sole focus of his attention. I stopped drinking and wasn't even tempted to go out and screw around anywhere near as often as I had been doing. It just seemed that the urge wasn't as strong anymore. But then again, perhaps it had merely been refocused.

And no, I hadn't forgotten Bobbie. I remembered him all too well every night I went home alone to my apartment and saw the bits and pieces of his Quilt panel in neatly-folded piles around my living room. At this stage of the game, just thinking about the Quilt depressed me. (Did you know it already contains some 70,000 names? And that amounts to only about one fifth of all the AIDS deaths in America. Heaven knows what the statistics are world-wide, or what they're going to be before this epidemic is over. If that isn't depressing, I don't know what is.)

During the course of our lessons, I made a few half-hearted attempts to do what Bon Bon Hai wanted, but it wasn't all that easy. Perhaps if I had been trying to learn judo instead, that would have generated a lot more opportunities for some easily-misconstrued photos, since judo involves fairly close physical contact with your opponent. T'ai Chi simply wasn't as good for my underlying purpose, something which I hoped Bon Bon Hai would take into consideration as I continued to fail at my assigned task.

This state of affairs dragged on for over a month. Although I took great delight in my lessons, I was at the same time totally wretched because I knew what was to be the final outcome of these lessons. Caine was a terrific teacher, endlessly patient with my fumbling attempts to learn the various positions. He even managed not to laugh every time I stumbled over my own feet.

Once a young woman by the name of Cheryl joined us for a session. She was good! I got the impression she was some sort of protege of Caine's but I could have been mistaken.

My progress on Bobbie's panel during this time was about the same as my progress at T'ai Chi: slow but steady. A seamstress I'm not, and I've already told you how just the thought of it bummed me out. Nevertheless, I had almost finished stitching the letters onto the background fabric. It looked pretty good, and would look even better once Caine had added the Chinese calligraphy. But that still left a lot of empty space to fill, even after taking the jade ring into consideration.


Late spring gave way to early summer. Children were playing in the wading pool in the small park across the street from where I lived when Mary Margaret stopped by unexpectedly to ask how I was doing with the sewing.

As it happened, I was working on the final letter that very day, so she stayed to watch and chat with me while I completed the job.

I didn't know her real well at the time, so it took me entirely by surprise when she said, out of a clear blue sky, "You like him too, don't you?"

I stuck my finger with the needle, but went right on sewing, carefully not looking up at her. "Did he tell you that?"

"No. He didn't have to."

"Yeah, I like him," I admitted. "But don't worry. I'm no competition for you," I went on, trying to make light of the matter.

Before she could reply, the phone rang. I rushed to pick it up, thankful for the diversion -- until I recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

"I am not a patient man, Jeremy. If you cannot do better soon, your boss will be receiving the package we spoke of. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"No," I replied shortly. "I'll get you what you want."

"I am glad to hear that."

The phone went dead. I hung up the receiver.

Mary Margaret came over and took my arm. "Jeremy? What's wrong? You're white as a ghost."

"It's nothing. Just a -- problem at work, that's all."

I could tell she wasn't buying that, but she didn't probe any further. She just nodded and said, "Speaking of work, I guess I ought to get back to the precinct. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for stopping by. You're welcome here anytime." I tried for a grin. "After all, any friend of Caine's --"

She smiled and gave my arm a squeeze before leaving.


I went to my next lesson knowing full well that this was it. I'd have to come up with something that would satisfy Bon Bon Hai, or I was in deep shit. I had a pretty good idea how to go about it, too. All I needed to do was fake a little accident, like maybe trip and fall down at some point during our practice session, then pretend to be hurt. I knew Caine would be down on the floor with me in a second, trying to find out what was wrong and doing what he could to fix me up.

As you may or may not have noticed, the process of caring for someone who is injured can appear almost sexual, if it's presented properly. The necessity of touching the injured person, perhaps putting your arms around them to lift them up, and all that sort of thing can give the impression of a sexual encounter. Even the expression on the face of someone in pain can mimic sexual ecstasy. I figured I could use this fact to my own advantage and give the damn photographer whatever opportunities he might need.

But I purely hated myself for what I was about to do, make no mistake about that. I'm not much of an actor, but I knew I could pretend to be in pain fairly easily, considering the agony that was raging in my heart and soul at the prospect of so cravenly betraying the one man in the world that I held in the highest regard. It would serve me right if he hated me for it. But then, Caine would never know what I'd done, would he? Not unless he could read my mind, and I really didn't think he could manage that, despite the uncanny insight he could show at times.

He sure knew something was wrong, though, even if he didn't know precisely what it was. I saw the way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn't looking, as we practiced the first half-dozen or so movements of the form we were learning. (And he had said this was the short form. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to know what the long form was like!)

"Jeremy, -- you are not concentrating. Something -- is wrong?"

"No," I said quickly, knowing I'd have to throw him off this track somehow. "I guess I'm just not getting this. I'm too old. I'll never be any good at it."

He shrugged. "It is -- not important how far you get. What matters is the path you choose to follow."

I nodded, trying to act as if I believed him.

"Come. I will demonstrate the moves once more, then you will do them."

Watching him run through the beginning of the form, a strange thought intruded itself into my head. It all seemed so easy for him, as if it took no effort at all. But was that really true?

When he stopped, I caught his eye and asked softly. "Caine, all this comes with a price tag, doesn't it?"

"What -- do you mean?"

I waved my hand to take in the practice room, which also doubled as his meditation room.

"All of it: the martial arts, the impossible stuff I've seen you do, even the peace you seem to have found. None of it came without cost, did it? I mean, even the karate lessons I had as a kid: what little I learned came only after a lot of effort and bruises. And that's just on a physical level. I'm not even going to speculate on the spiritual part of it. Am I right?"

"Yes." He was quiet for a moment before he went on. "Most people -- do not notice this."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've paid for a few things myself. Maybe I'm still paying." And maybe I'm going to pay even more, I thought wretchedly. "It never really ends, does it?"

"No, Jeremy," he replied. "It -- does not."

I closed my eyes and shook my head in an effort to dispel the solemnity of the moment. Better get on with this, before I chickened out.

"Okay, my turn to give it a try," I said gamely, stepping over a little nearer to one of the windows along the side wall. If I was going to do this, I might as well be sure the photographer could get a clear view of the action.

Keeping to the frustratingly-slow rhythm of T'ai Chi, I went through the opening moves. When I reached the part where you've got your arms out in front of you and you've got to swing around and go sort of pigeon-toed for a moment, I deliberately shifted my weight wrong, tangled my feet together, and tumbled ungracefully backwards in the general direction of the window.

I had planned on a fairly clean fall, after which I would feign having the breath knocked out of me. What actually happened was that I miscalculated the distance and ended up striking the back of my head on the window ledge as I went down.

After that inauspicious beginning, there was no need to pretend to be in pain. As the explosion of stars cleared away, I knew I had Caine right where I wanted him. He was kneeling on the floor, holding me against his chest with one arm under my shoulders, while the other hand carefully explored the back of my skull. I could feel his silk shirt on my cheek. That had to be a pretty good pose, so I held it as long as I could, pretending to be more dazed than I actually was.

Unfortunately, what should have been merely pretense turned out to be just a little too close to reality, at least as far as I was concerned. Despite the throbbing pain in my head, I purely loved the feel of his arms around me. My traitorous imagination wasn't helping matters any, since it insisted on showing me lots of very desirable endings to my carefully-staged and thus far successful scenario.

If I dared to make the attempt, was there even a ghost of a chance that Caine would respond? Perhaps I was wrong to think he was irrevocably straight. After all, quite a few supposedly straight men aren't above a little fooling around now and again. I myself would consider sex with a woman under the right circumstances. (Hadn't I been married, many years ago? And there had been the occasional female since then.) Possibly Caine would be willing to be, shall we say, flexible? Or at the least, might he not be just a little curious?

What did I have to lose? Bon Bon Hai was going to make me out to be Caine's lover anyway; why not make the lie into the truth? As well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, right?

It wouldn't have been very hard to do. He was so close to me already; all I needed was a few more inches. I could easily pull myself up far enough to kiss him, and see how it went from there. Even if I got a negative response, I could still feign dazed incomprehension of what I was doing and apologize profusely a moment later, after I had supposedly regained my senses. Why, I could even say I'd been confused enough to mistake him for Bobbie, couldn't I?

If nothing else, I'd at least have gotten Bon Bon Hai his damned photos and I could stop this ridiculous charade.

My fingers clutched at Caine's shirt as I pulled myself closer against him. Give me half a chance and I could make him want me. I knew I could. But should I? Especially under these circumstances? No, of course not. I was insane to even think such a thing. But, oh god, how I wanted to!

Balanced on the knife edge of temptation, I just lay there, as he continued to probe the bump on my head with gentle fingers.

Would I really try such a thing? With Kwai Chang Caine, who had saved my life more than once, and to whom I owed more than I could hope to repay in one lifetime? When it came right down to it, had I truly fallen so low that I could repay his trust with this betrayal? Had I so little honor left, that I would even consider it?

I pushed him away and jumped to my feet.

Leaving Caine staring after me in blank amazement, I raced out the door and down the stairs, mumbling, "Oh, shit, shit, shit!" between the sobs I couldn't suppress.

Once outside, I continued to run, getting into my car and driving to my apartment.

I was in the bathroom scrubbing my face and trying to compose myself when I heard the front door open. My head still hurt, but I didn't feel any blood and the pain had turned into a dull ache.

"Jeremy?" Caine's voice called softly.

How had he gotten in? I knew that door was locked. I always locked my doors. Besides, I'd barely been home for ten minutes, and here he was already. The man never ceases to amaze me. I dried my eyes, put my glasses back on, and went into the other room to face the inevitable.

"Why did you run away?" he asked, as soon as he saw me. "What -- is wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. I mean, I bumped my head, but --"

Forget it. You don't lie to Caine. I looked away, ashamed to meet his eyes. "I can't tell you," was the best I could come up with.

I heard him sigh. Then he put one hand on my shoulder and pointed at the scroll above my still-disarranged altar.

"Will you not -- take the advice which hangs on your own wall?"

"That was Bobbie's. I don't know what it means," I admitted, all too willing to get him started on a different subject.

"'The one who does not trust enough will not be trusted'," he translated. "It is from -- the Tao Te Ching."

Somehow I kind of figured that. But why had Bobbie picked that particular verse? It must have had some sort of special meaning to him that I didn't know about.

Yeah. And what meaning did it have for me, who was usually pretty short on trust? I'd been stabbed in the back too many times in my life, after all.

True enough. But never by Kwai Chang Caine.

"Are you real sure you want to know?" I asked him, half hoping he'd say no.

Unfortunately, he nodded.

Before I could change my mind, I pulled the manila envelope from my desk drawer and handed it over to him. Caine took out the photos and leafed through them slowly, as I flung myself down on the sofa and tried very hard to die of shame so that I wouldn't have to face him.

"Perhaps you would -- explain -- about these pictures?" he asked at last.

Well, that wasn't the worst thing he could have said, under the circumstances.

"You really want to know what was going on?"

"I -- would not have asked, -- if I did not wish to know."

So I told him, in perhaps more detail than was absolutely necessary. I figured he was either going to listen and understand, or he was going to walk out on me forever. Either way, it would be for the truth, not for a lie or a mealy-mouthed cover-up.

I didn't have the guts to look at him directly as I talked, but I was watching out of the corner of my eye. His expression didn't change in the least, regardless of what I said or how explicit my descriptions became. He didn't frown, nor did he look particularly uncomfortable or upset. But then again, he never does, does he?

"Jeremy, --" he said after I had finished, "are you ashamed of all this? Do you feel you have done wrong?"

That wasn't what I expected to hear. It took me a moment to answer, since I had to think about it. Was I ashamed?

"Uh -- no. Not really. To be perfectly honest, I don't see a lot of harm in this sort of thing. But I know most folks think it's pretty sick."

"Tell me -- why I should not agree with them."

I wasn't sure what I heard in his voice when he said that. Was it censure, or an honest request for information? Before I could decide, he went on, "How is this different from what Alice did to you, when she kidnapped you shortly before Bobbie died?"

"Well, for one thing, Alice had every intention of killing me! And she didn't exactly ask if I wanted to be hurt. A true criminal sadist isn't the same as a person who engages in BDSM for sexual satisfaction."

He looked just the slightest bit puzzled, if you can believe that. I had realized some time ago that Caine isn't as naive as he often seems, but perhaps he really didn't quite get this, since it was pretty much outside his experience.

Cocking his head to one side, he held out the photo of me whacking my bound and gagged "prisoner" across the butt with the flat side of my samurai sword. Mind you, the edge was dull; I couldn't have seriously sliced him up, even by accident. But the welts across his backside stood out in vivid streaks of red. (Of course, that wasn't the only thing standing out vividly, but you couldn't tell that from the angle of this particular picture.)

Caine asked skeptically, "This -- is done willingly, -- and brings pleasure?"

"Oh, yeah."

He didn't appear totally convinced, so I decided to use his own previous argument against him. "Caine? We've been talking a lot about trust here. How much do you trust me? You know me pretty well. Do you truly believe I'd do that to someone if they didn't want me to?"

He met my eyes pretty squarely then. After an endless moment, he shook his head. And I started breathing again.

He leafed through to a few later pictures, which rather graphically showed just how much my victim was enjoying what I was doing. He raised one eyebrow a fraction.

I took that as my cue to explain further.

"Look, I'm not trying to convince you to go out and try this sort of thing. It's not for everyone. All I'm saying is that it isn't as truly vicious as it can appear. It's an elaborate game with its own set of rules, and it's played with the full consent of both partners. There's no force involved, and no one really gets hurt. Well, no more than they want to, anyway."

He nodded, but still looked a bit doubtful. "I will -- take your word for it," he said at last. Placing the photos on my desk, he sat down next to me on the couch and made one of those intuitive jumps he does so well.

"There is -- more to this than you have told me, is there not?"

I squirmed. "Yeah. But I'm not sure I can tell you the rest."

"Jeremy, --" he said, pointing at the scroll on the wall, "that does not mean you must -- trust all people at all times. But you must trust enough." His emphasis was on the final word.

"Good point," I conceded. "But how much is enough?"

"That is something -- only you yourself can know."

He looked at me expectantly.

Did I dare tell him the rest of it? And yet, was there anyone on this earth I had more reason to trust than Caine? Somehow, I didn't think so."

"Uh -- you're right. There's more."

So I told him how Bon Bon Hai wanted me to set him up for some incriminating photos, and how he'd blackmailed me into helping.

"Such a thing would never have worked," Caine said with skeptical frown when I had finished. "No one would believe I was gay -- if I simply denied it."

"No, you don't quite get the idea. You wouldn't have known what Bon Bon Hai was doing, so you'd never get a chance to tell the truth." I put it in terms I knew he'd understand. "If no one ever attacks, you have no chance to defend yourself, do you?"

"I -- see what you mean."

"So what do I do now?" I asked desperately.

"Tell Bon Bon Hai that -- the photos do not matter."

"Don't matter?! Are you crazy?"

"I do not -- think so." He put one hand on my shoulder. "Jeremy, -- consider: if you refuse to do what Bon Bon Hai wishes, what is the worst thing he can do?"

"I already told you that. He can send those photos to my boss."

"And --?"

"Kevin will fire me."

"Why?"

He couldn't possibly be that naive. He had to have another point. "He'll despise me --" I waved one hand at the incriminating pictures -- "for doing that."

"Has he fired you for being gay?"

"Well, no," I admitted.

"Yet he knows, does he not?"

"I suppose so. People always seem to know, somehow. Besides, I never tried to hide it."

"And he has not fired you?"

"True. But this is different."

Caine shrugged. "You told me about it. I do not despise you."

"I'm kind of surprised you don't!" I blurted out.

"You have -- explained to me how it works. There is nothing despicable here. Unusual, perhaps --" His mouth tightened a fraction and his eyes narrowed. It was a very subtle change, but it made my hair stand on end as he went on sternly, "but I have seen far worse torture done for far less a reason than sexual pleasure."

Hmm. Maybe he had gotten the idea after all.

With what appeared to be an effort, he rearranged his face into its usual pattern of calm tranquility before suggesting, "It is possible Bon Bon Hai will not bother to use the photos as he has threatened."

"Why not?"

Caine did his characteristic shrug. "What would he gain, once he has lost your cooperation?"

"Humph. He'd probably do it out of spite."

"I -- do not think so. I know this man far better than you do. There is a chance he would not follow through, -- when he sees there is no advantage in doing so."

"Okay, a chance. But there's also a good chance he would. What then?"

He spread his hands. "How much do you trust your boss to understand?"

I really had to think about that. Kevin had been real good to me, as far as gay went. But the rest of it? "That's expecting a lot from him," I replied slowly. "I dunno. Maybe yes, maybe no."

Caine considered that for a moment. "In any case," he concluded, "you have lost nothing that has not already been lost when you told me of this. You can no longer -- deliver the goods, as I think my son might say. But Bon Bon Hai does not know this. He also cannot know how far you would trust Kevin."

"True enough." I could almost believe Caine's crazy suggestion might work. I nodded and said hopefully, "So you think I stand a good chance of bluffing my way through this?"

"Yes. But you must be prepared for him to -- call your bluff. And you must live with the consequences."

"I'm not real good at bluffing. Especially when I'm not holding any of the cards."

"But you do -- hold cards. There is your belief that Kevin is a kind and just man, whether or not he shares your -- sexual preferences? Your conviction that you have done nothing wrong, even if many people would disapprove."

Well, he did have a point there. "You may be right," I replied slowly. "And I've got one more card you didn't mention."

"What -- is that?"

"You."

He shrugged.

"I dunno. Seems like I'd be going awfully far out on a limb." But I knew I'd do as he said, even as I objected. After all, how many other options did I have?

"That -- is true. There can be no -- guarantees of what other people will do."

My eye fell once more on the scroll that had gotten me into this conversation in the first place. I turned to Caine and said with an absolutely straight face, "Then I guess it's kind of like Confucius says: 'The one who goes barefoot must be prepared to sometimes step in shit'."

"Confucius -- never said that," he replied, a look of perplexed consternation coming over his face.

"I know." I looked pointedly down at his callused and dirty bare feet before I went on. "But he should have, shouldn't he?"

Caine followed my gaze, then smiled.

"Perhaps," he allowed softly.


For a week after that, I kept strictly away from my T'ai Chi lessons, skipping two classes in a row. We had decided this would be a good way to make Bon Bon Hai contact me again, so I could tell him I wasn't going through with his scheme.

Nothing happened. Maybe the son-of-a-bitch had found better things to do than concern himself with me, and this whole mess would just blow over with no harm done. That would have suited me just fine.

I'd been working a lot of extra hours at the hospital, so when I finally got a day off, I fully intended to put in some more time on Bobbie's Quilt panel. It was nearing completion now. Caine had done the calligraphy a couple of weeks ago, and I had only to work on the pocket for the ring.

However, I had barely begun measuring the plastic when I got sidetracked by another neglected project. Ever since that fateful meeting with Bon Bon Hai, I had done nothing more about Bobbie's altar. Everything lay pretty much as I had left it, except where I'd pushed things back out of my way. As a general rule, I can't stand clutter, so I'm really not sure why I had left it for so long. Maybe I had just been too uptight about what was going on. Or maybe finally re-designing the altar was kind of like finally finishing the panel: in both cases, it would mean Bobbie was really and truly gone. And in both cases, I had to admit I'd been dragging my feet.

Whatever the reason, this morning it really bugged me to see this disorderly mess. I set aside the sheet of plastic, promising myself this wouldn't take long and I'd get back to it shortly.

With unaccustomed decision, I put the few items I had determined to get rid of into a paper bag, setting the bag next to the door so I'd remember to take it to the thrift shop.

There. That wasn't so hard.

Now for the stuff I wanted to keep.

I believe I already mentioned that Bobbie had a wooden statue of the Buddha. I had left it sitting on the floor for so long that it had gathered a layer of dust, so I fetched a rag and polished it up a bit before placing it in the middle of the altar table.

It wasn't the usual pose you'd associate with a statue of that sort, and that's exactly what had made me curious enough to look through a couple of library books to find out the significance, if any, of the way the Buddha had been depicted sitting cross-legged with his left palm turned upwards in his lap while his right hand reached beyond his knee to touch the ground just in front of him.

What I discovered was that Bobbie's statue illustrated Gautama's victory over the demon Mara, when the demon tried to shake his confidence and throw him off the spot where he sat in meditation by claiming that Gautama had no one to bear witness to his merit. The man reached down and touched the ground, summoning the earth itself to bear witness to the fact that he had every right to the place on which he sat. The earth did as requested, in no uncertain terms, with earthquakes and floods. Thus came about the conquest of Mara, a precursor to Gautama's later enlightenment.

Something about the legend struck a chord with me. Perhaps it was nothing more complex than the idea of having a right to your place, your life, your self, despite the clamor of events and circumstances trying to tell you otherwise.

Then again, perhaps it was merely the look of confident peace on the face of the little statue that won it its place in my heart. I wished just once that I could look that way, and mean it.

Gazing at that placid expression, I suddenly realized that there was something else that belonged on my altar. I went into my bedroom and rummaged through the bottom drawer of my dresser until I found the small cloth-wrapped bundle I had kept with me ever since that last time I had parted with Caine, close to four years ago now. We had driven clear across the country together, having a few adventures along the way, then I had left him, unwillingly and unhappily, at the ruins of his Temple, after we'd spent the night there. (And almost gotten ourselves killed in the process. But I've already told you about that, haven't I?)

Anyway, I had taken one of the half-burned candles from the Temple, more or less on an impulse. Now I knew why I had taken it and where it was meant to be.

Unwrapping it from the purple and gold bandanna, -- and there's a story behind that too, you know -- I placed the thick candle on one side of my makeshift altar and lit it carefully with a match, then lit a stick of incense from the flame and stuck it into the little sand-filled brass pot.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork, making a note to get some fresh flowers for the vase I had placed in the corner opposite from the candle.

"Very pretty, my friend," came Bon Bon Hai's mocking voice from behind me.

I spun around in shock, then gathered my wits and scowled. "What do you want?"

"What I have wanted all along, of course. Why have you stopped going to Caine's classes? I thought you were remarkably successful during that last encounter."

"Yeah. Maybe a little too successful."

I took a deep breath in a futile effort to still my pounding heart. Okay, Jeremy, time to get this over with, one way or another.

"I'm through playing your little game. I'm not going to do it."

"Need I remind you of the photos?" my adversary replied smoothly.

"You can do whatever you want with them, up to and including putting them in the place where the sun doesn't shine."

I could see he didn't like that much, but he still thought he had me. "Then you are truly ready to throw away your job, your friends, your honor?"

"What honor?" I replied bitterly. "I was going to betray Caine to you. There's no honor in that. Better the whole world turns against me than that I continue on such a despicable path."

The other man shook his head and tsked. "Pretty words, my sanctimonious friend. But they won't pay the bills when you lose your job, and they will lose you the respect of the very person for whom you are now so nobly willing to sacrifice everything."

Time to play one of my aces.

"Think again, pal. Caine's seen the photos. I'll even show him the videotape, if you'd like to make me a copy."

"You have told the priest of this?" he asked slowly, emphasizing each word with menace.

Seeing the fire in his eyes, I was tempted to back away a few steps, but instead I stood my ground. "Yeah. So you can just show your dirty pictures to anyone you want to. I don't give a damn," I said, trying very hard to sound as if I really meant it. "You can't blackmail someone who doesn't care if people know what he did."

"You begin to annoy me. There are few things more loathsome than a self-righteous pervert."

"Now you are beginning to annoy me," I retorted. "I don't recall inviting you into my house, so why don't you just go on back out in the alley with the rest of the stray cats, huh?"

"I have taken people apart with my bare hands for such insolence," he said poisonously. "Perhaps you would like to be found dead before this altar you have so lovingly arranged?"

Oops! Maybe I had pushed him a little too far this time. But it was too late to back down now.

"Sure, kill me. Caine knows about all this. If anything happens to me, he'll tell his son who did it. Do you really want that kind of police attention?"

He smiled. "And if your body is found mauled by a wild animal, do you think anyone will believe that it was my doing?"

He had a point there. Things weren't looking too good for the home team.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself facing a tiger. Now, I've seen Bon Bon Hai do this before, so I can't say I was surprised. Terrified might be a better word, considering the toothy snarl with which the beast greeted me.

As the tiger took a few silent steps forward, I backed just as quickly away. All too soon, I found myself against the wall, next to my altar. The creature stopped, but I know enough about cats to recognize when one is getting ready to pounce.

"Wait a minute," I stammered. "Let's not be hasty. Couldn't we talk about this some more?"

I'd have sworn the damn beast smiled at me as it launched itself into the air.

I grabbed the altar table with both hands and swung around just as fast and as hard as I could, slamming it into the side of the cat's head. At the same time, I ducked sideways and away, leaving the oncoming tiger to collide most ungracefully with the wall as I scuttled toward the door. (Don't ask me how I figured out that move. It just seemed like something Caine would have done.)

The creature came to its feet again, shaking its massive head as if I'd done some damage. Unfortunately, it wasn't damage enough. Now I'd really made him mad, and I hadn't even gotten halfway across the room. There was nothing else I could throw at him. It looked as if I'd called one bluff too many this time around.

Oh well, you can't win them all.

With a roar of triumph, the tiger rushed forward --

-- and came to a sudden halt as if it had run into a solid wall a few feet in front of my face, then bounced backwards. At the same time, I heard Caine's voice say from somewhere behind me, "Enough!"

I spun around. He still had one hand outstretched with the palm forward in that gesture I've seen him use to put out candles. I never realized it worked on tigers too.

The beast growled, spat viciously, and slunk away. I rather expected it to turn back into Bon Bon Hai, but it didn't. It just sort of disappeared.

Caine came over and took me by the arm. "Are you -- all right?"

"Yeah. I guess so. But where did you come from? I thought I was supposed to face him down alone."

He shrugged. "I -- sensed there was something wrong."

Okay. He's done that before.

"Well, your timing's great, as usual."

Caine set the altar table back in its place, then bent to retrieve the Buddha. Together, we gathered up the rest of the things. Nothing had broken, not even the little blue-patterned ceramic vase. When he picked up the candle, Caine got this sort of faraway look in his eyes that I had seen a couple of times before. Then he sighed and put it on the altar.

"I -- do not think Bon Bon Hai will pursue this matter any further," he said at last.

"That would please me no end."

I lit the candle. We stared at it in silence for a long couple of minutes. The beads in the yin-yang symbol on the wall caught the flickering light and shimmered faintly.

Could it be that the wheel had turned and the nightmare was over at last?

I looked at the scroll, with its quote from the Tao. Thanks, Bobbie, I thought gratefully. Thanks for that last gift of trust.

Then I knew what else Bobbie's panel needed to make it complete.

"Caine?" I said softly, reluctant to break into his reverie.

He turned to me questioningly.

Indicating the scroll with a jerk of my chin, I asked, "Could you put that on the Quilt panel? Not the scroll itself, but the words?"

"Yes. But very few people will understand -- what it means."

"I'll know. That's enough."

He nodded. "If you will -- spread the fabric and make it ready, -- I will get my brushes and ink."

"Now?"

"Is not now as good a time as any?"

"Can I give you a ride?"

He shook his head. "It is not far. By the time I return, you can have completed the pocket for the ring."

"How'd you know I wasn't finished with that yet? I mean, it's all folded up over there on the chair. You can't see --"

He looked at me and smiled a little, the way he does when you ask him to explain impossible things.

"Okay, forget I asked. Just go get your stuff, huh?"


I had the plastic pocket in place by the time he came back an hour later. It took Caine only a few minutes to do the calligraphy. Then we both sat back on our heels to admire the overall effect of our handiwork, with the entire panel spread out on the floor before us.

"Jeremy, -- is it not time that you completed this project?" he asked, glancing pointedly at the jade ring still on my hand.

For as long as I'd known Bobbie, that ring had been on his finger, except for the brief time he had loaned it to me to wear. "For luck," as he had said then.

Sliding the jade circlet off my finger, I held it out to Caine.

"Here. You do it. Please."

He shook his head a fraction, then took my hand and curled my fingers around the ring lying warm in my palm.

"Okay," I conceded glumly, "I guess it should be my job, after all."

Leaning forward, I slid the dragon ring into the clear plastic pocket, then laced the top of the pocket closed.

That done, I placed my hand flat down on top of the ring. Closing my eyes, I let the memories flow through my head. The good times -- and the bad. The look in Bobbie's eyes when the loving had been good between us. The terrible hurt and anger in those same black eyes when we had fought. It was all part of the same thing, like the yin-yang that hung on my wall.

"Good-bye, Bobbie," I whispered brokenly as I sat back on my heels. "Go in peace, kiddo."

Caine looked at me. When I nodded, he proceeded to fold the panel and place it in the box I had gotten from the Post Office several weeks ago. I suppose there must have been tears running down my face, but I wasn't too concerned about that. I sealed the package carefully.

It was over. I had done what I could. Now it was time to send Bobbie's panel off, allow it to become part of the monument that was the AIDS Memorial Quilt.

And perhaps it was time to do more than that. It was time to allow Bobbie to leave also. Oh, not that I would cease to miss him, or forget, or anything like that. No. But it was time I set him free, and went on with my life. He would always be there in my memory, of course. But now he would be a tender echo, instead of a gaping wound.

I took a long breath and looked over at Caine.

"Walk me to the Post Office?" I asked hopefully.

He draped one arm around my shoulder.

"Of course. And we will stop -- for a cup of tea with the Ancient on the way back, if you wish."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.

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