sides and asked, "Is this not trousers?"
The mistress and Ahcho waited for more, but the Reverend's expression shifted again, and he appeared suddenly lost and confused. He pulled his spectacles away from his eyes and wiped them on the tails of the filthy shirt that hung below his threadbare jacket. He did not speak again to his sorry parishioners but only muttered to himself, "Heaven and earth are my dwelling, and my house is my trousers. I am no better than the Confucian lice and no wiser than the Daoists who invented this parable to illustrate Confucian profligacy. I am Lui Ling, a gentleman corrupted by my narrow, spoiled vision of the world. I am, without question, a louse."
The Reverend placed his glasses back upon his nose, and Ahcho noticed that one of the lenses was cracked. The Chinese gentleman's name the Reverend had spoken sounded familiar, but Ahcho could not place it at first. Then it came to him. He recalled that Lui Ling had been a drunken, hedonistic poet of the Han Dynasty, many hundreds of years before. In his incoherent and impromptu sermon, the Reverend had been citing a foolish ancient argument, a common Daoist story invented to illustrate Confucian corruption. The Daoists hated Confucian immoderation, but the Daoists themselves were heathens of the first order, too, believing as they did in the dangerous old superstitions. Mai Lin's frequent mutterings about Fate and Destiny were an example of their wrongheadedness. All those old religions were like haggling crones at the market, Ahcho thought. They had nothing of use to say anymore.
"Reverend," Ahcho said, "you shouldn't be bothered by such stupid, outdated arguments. Your way is far better and more modern. Don't fill your mind with such absurdity."
The Reverend looked up. "You believe that's so?" he asked.
"Of course I do! And you do, too!" Ahcho answered with what he hoped was a strong enough jolt of enthusiasm and reality to dislodge the Reverend from the shoals of religious relativism where he had momentarily been beached. "Come now, the Mistress is right, we must go home. The little chapel is waiting for you. Tomorrow is Sunday!"
"Ah," the Reverend said, his voice far off again. "Sunday is the holiest of days. But you know, some religions say that Saturday is the chosen day."
Why was the Reverend bothering to concern his great mind with other religions? Ahcho had the urge to knock some sense into the bedraggled man. But at just that moment, Mistress Grace beat him to it. She pulled back her tiny fist and socked the Reverend in the arm.
That finally got his attention, and he stared at her with remarkably
fond eyes and a charming smile. "I have been ignoring you again, my love," he said. "You must learn to speak up, but that love pat you just bestowed upon me also works quite well, too. I gather that today's women employ that method quite often. Gone are the meek feminine souls of yesteryear."
She let out an irritated growl and said, "You must listen to me."
"I shall do my best to concentrate on your every word," the Reverend said, "although parasites, hunger, and overall misery and fatigue can drive a mind to distraction."
He raised his bushy eyebrows and actually smiled. This was the Reverend that Ahcho knew: clever and bright and true. And yet Ahcho felt he should not be encouraging his wife so. Modern did not mean undisciplined.
Mistress Grace planted herself before her husband, her hands on her hips, and spoke with surprising authority. "While you have been occupied elsewhere, I was forced to make the most difficult decision of my life. Our precious daughter, whom I love with all my heart, needs a safer and healthier setting to grow up in. America, not here. But I'm not well, Reverend. Not well at all, and I fear I wouldn't survive the long journey home. Also, I couldn't possibly leave without you, my love."
He smiled at her in genuine, fond reciprocation.
"So," she continued, "I have asked the Reverend and Mrs. Martin to take her with them when they leave Fenchow-fu tomorrow morning. They will raise her until we are able to be reunited. I can't bear that I might not see dear Rose again, but at least she won't die of some disease or starvation or be kidnapped in this frightful land. I came to fetch you back to the compound tonight so we may bid them farewell in the morning."
The Reverend's calm expression shifted. Ahcho waited for his