‘I was.’
‘What happened to your wife and child?’
The directness of Yin’s questions angered Kilkenny, but he felt an overwhelming urge to answer.
‘Kelsey and I wanted to start our family once we were married, and she became pregnant last February. In the spring, we learned she had cancer. The disease was treatable, but it required a horrible sacrifice.’
‘The life of your child.’
Kilkenny nodded. ‘Because she was pregnant, my wife’s cancer was very aggressive and required equally aggressive treatment. The doctors gave us three choices: end the pregnancy and attack the cancer; attack the cancer while she was still pregnant with the knowledge that it would either kill or seriously injure our child; or postpone treatment until after our child could be safely born and hope the cancer hadn’t spread too far.’
‘A difficult choice,’ Yin agreed. ‘What did you two decide?’
‘We both wanted Toby, and we wouldn’t do anything to endanger his life. Kelsey and I chose to postpone treatment to give our baby the time he needed to be born. We knew this choice was the most dangerous one for her, but Kelsey was already thinking like a mother, and she was willing to risk death for our child. It was a race against time, and we lost. Kelsey was dying when the doctors delivered our son. He was so small,’ Kilkenny’s voice cracked as he recalled the scene, ‘he fit in the palm of my hand. Toby died just a few hours after his mother.’
‘And now you carry the grief of a devastating loss, and the anger. They are your constant companions, lurking on the fringes of your consciousness. You can hide from them in your work, or numb yourself with alcohol or opium, but the grief and anger will continue to gnaw at you like rats until you confront their source. You loved your wife, yes?’
‘Of course.’
‘Yet you chose not to treat her illness, knowing that it could cause her death. Why?’
‘Because we believed that it was morally wrong to do anything that would have killed our child.’
‘But still your child died, along with your wife. Knowing that, would you have decided differently?’
‘Kelsey and I talked about that, and we couldn’t trade his life for hers. With the choice we made, we still had hope.’
‘So you did what you believed was right. You acted in accordance with your faith?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you pray?’ Yin asked.
‘Occasionally.’
‘Near the end, did you offer your life to save your wife and son?’
‘Yes,’ Kilkenny admitted.
‘And still they were taken from you. Who took them?’
‘Nobody,’ Kilkenny shot back. ‘They died because my wife had cancer.’
‘But when you offered your life for theirs, who did you think would accept the exchange?’ Yin demanded. ‘And when He didn’t, and your family died, who did you blame?’
‘God,’ Kilkenny replied.
‘But the decision that led to their deaths was not God’s. It was yours.’ As Yin spoke, the tone of his voice remained calm without a hint of accusation. ‘I do not believe God causes earthquakes or floods, nor do I believe He afflicts people with disease or allows some to commit acts of evil. All of this is part of His creation, including the gift of free will.
‘You and your wife made a decision based on faith and hope, yet still suffered a great tragedy. I believe God is aware of this tragedy, and in His own way seeks to restore harmony. This is akin to the Chinese belief that crisis and opportunity are two sides of the same coin. But in keeping with our free will, God does not force harmony upon us. Instead, He presents opportunities, but it is up to us to recognize them. To overcome your grief and anger and to survive your loss, you must forgive yourself.’
‘We got company!’ Han shouted.
Drawn by the tall column of black smoke, five men were striding down the slope toward them. They moved as easily over the uneven terrain as the yaks that thrived in this region. All wore long chubas, felt boots, and richly embroidered hats. Except for the two youngest — who looked to be in their late teens or early twenties — Kilkenny found it difficult to estimate the men’s ages. Their faces glowed with a rich bronze patina acquired from a lifetime of harsh weather and brilliant sunlight.
Kilkenny and Yin joined the others by BAT-1. The men stopped about twenty feet away, carefully assessing the group.
‘Think they’re here to pick over the bodies?’ Gates asked.
‘More likely curious,’ Tao replied.
The men spoke quietly among themselves, keeping a careful eye on the five strangers in their land.
‘The younger ones seem curious about you,’ Kilkenny said to Tao. ‘I’m sure you’re dressed more provocatively than they’re used to.’
‘It is our clothing that intrigues them,’ Yin offered. ‘They wonder how we stay warm in something so thin.’
‘You understand what they’re saying?’
Yin nodded. ‘I may be a little out of practice.’
Kilkenny walked up to the men, smiling and keeping his hands where they could see them. He held out his arm and rubbed the fabric, indicating they could touch it if they liked.
At first only one accepted Kilkenny’s offer, then the others joined in. A rapid discussion ensued that ended with the apparent spokesman asking a question about the suit.
‘Bishop Yin?’ Kilkenny asked, looking for help.
‘Our suits do not appear to be felt or silk. They wonder if they keep us warm and what kind of animal produced the fabric.’
Kilkenny smiled. ‘Tell them we are very comfortable, and the fabric was made by a very small insect called a nanotech.’
Yin relayed Kilkenny’s answer and the five men nodded, pleased with a new piece of knowledge.
‘Na-no-tek,’ one of the men said to Kilkenny, enunciating the syllables carefully.
Kilkenny nodded. The leader asked Yin another question, his tone more serious.
‘Three of us are Chinese and two are not,’ Yin translated. ‘He wonders where we are from.’
Kilkenny pondered the question. Although all but Yin were from the United States, their presence in China was not officially sanctioned and something Washington would deny. In telling the Tibetans the truth, Kilkenny feared exposing them to reprisal from the Chinese government.
‘I’m having a little trouble with that truth thing again,’ Kilkenny said to Yin. ‘If Beijing thinks these people knew where we were from and suspects they helped us in any way, it could be bad for them.’
‘I think I may have an answer,’ Yin replied.
Yin walked up beside Kilkenny and offered a response. The Tibetans all nodded and talked excitedly.
‘What did you tell them?’ Kilkenny asked.
‘I said that I was a priest and that you and your associates came to China to accompany me to the West.’
The spokesman offered another question, and Kilkenny noted that he said one word with a particular reverence: Kundun. Yin clasped his hands together and bowed before answering — the word clearly had special significance.
‘They ask if I am a lama, a holy man, and if I am going to the West for my own protection, like the beloved Kundun.’
‘Kundun?’
‘A Tibetan name,’ Tao explained. ‘It means the presence. They’re talking about Tenzin Gyaltso. In the West, he is known as the Dalai Lama.’
‘A fair analogy,’ Kilkenny said.
The Tibetans greeted Yin’s response warmly and drew close around, questioning him further. All but ignored, Kilkenny stepped back and left Yin with his enthralled audience.
‘Seems the natives have taken a liking to our holy man,’ Gates opined.
‘He definitely has a way with people,’ Kilkenny observed.