in a flash he understood: the antimacassar and the lace collar had once belonged to the missionary families that had perished in the Boxer Rebellion a decade before. This grandfather standing in front of the Reverend wore loot from the massacre of the American faithful.
"You must leave now," the old man said softly. His voice again surprised the Reverend with its high timbre. "You see, no son here."
"Grandfather," the Reverend began, but then, through some strange intuition, he corrected himself and said, "I mean, Grandmother."
The old woman looked up at him and offered a crooked smile as she squeezed his elbow. Then she took a thin leather rope from around her neck. From it hung a brass coin, though of no denomination that the Reverend had ever seen before. She held the thing up before her, and the Reverend understood that she meant for him to wear it. He hesitated. While he had no intention of taking on the appearance of these types, it did not seem wise to refuse.
"This will help you find your way," the grandmother said.
The Reverend had no idea who these people were, and he was fully convinced that evil ruled their every thought and deed, and yet the old woman's expression seemed somehow convincing. He bowed low, and she placed the necklace over his head.
Then her ancient hands worked at a knot on a strip of cloth that served as a belt around her thick waist. After a moment, she had it off, and he could see that from it hung a small sack embroidered with twin golden dragons.
"And this will help you find your son," she said, holding it up in offering.
The Reverend took the soiled red fabric from her hand and kept it in his open palm. With quick gestures she showed him how to wear it slung over one shoulder and across his breast. He lifted it into that position, and she nodded. The Reverend did as she instructed and strapped the ragged red cloth across his chest, over one shoulder, and down toward his waist so that the pouch with the yellow dragons hung at his hip.
When the Reverend looked up from this complicated business, the room had grown silent. The men who had been gambling in the back stood now and were watching. The girls in their open robes stared with dark eyes. Even the steady, almost comforting murmur of the opium pipes had stopped.
"I remember your people," the grandmother said. "They all died. But you, you come out from the desert. You are the man we have heard rumors of for years." She looked around at the others with gleaming eyes. "This, before us, is the Ghost Man. He is alive!"
"No, you see," the Reverend started to explain, but then he stopped and did not continue. Perhaps, in this instance, it was best to leave them to their ignorant beliefs. He took a small step backward toward the exit, their eyes still steady upon him.
Suddenly, a man lurched out of the darkened corner where the gamblers huddled. He was young and strapping and the only healthylooking specimen in the place. He pushed past the grandmother, although she pawed at his shoulder with an arthritic claw and shouted for him to stop. He yelled back and shook her off with ease.
As this commotion took place, the door behind the Reverend swung open. He glanced back over his shoulder and was overwhelmed at the sight of his manservant, Ahcho. Never had the Reverend felt so grateful for a familiar face.
"Good God, man, how did you find me?" the Reverend asked.
"I know this place," Ahcho answered.
"You do?" the Reverend asked.
"No, no, not I. Everyone knows it."
The Reverend made a mental note to follow up with Ahcho, his most devoted convert, on this unsettling suggestion. Then he looked back at the grandmother and, in a flash, saw the young gambler raise his hand. A loud noise sounded, followed by a puff of smoke. The Reverend felt a thud against his chest. He stared out at the room and swayed slightly. He prepared to fall, and yet he did not.
"Ghost Man is shot!" someone shouted.
The Reverend watched as the grandmother used her fists to pummel the strapping gambler. "You idiot!" she shouted. "Ghost Man will rain curses on us like never before."
"We will all die!" screeched one of the girls.
"He will haunt us forever!" another shouted.
"But look," someone else pointed, "he does not die."
A frightened screaming and general agitation overtook the room. Ahcho raced