“Which dynasty was he born in?” Gray asked himself aloud, his voice humming in the air.

Gray told Dad, “He had nothing to hide. I saw everything.”

“Of course, he’s an old man with a big heart. Do you like him?”

Gray nodded vigorously.

“Once, he led the villagers out of a sea of fire,” Dad said.

“Now he’s surrounded by roses . . . an old man, who was leading such a wonderful, pure life, is right next to us . . . I had never realized that! Dad, do you think he is a kind of mountain god?”

“What else could he be?” Dad was lost in thought.

Every day, Gray thought about going with Grandpa Beard to see the roses of the past. But the old man never brought this up again during his daily treatments. The day that a course of treatment ended, and Grandpa Beard’s staph infection was much improved, he held Gray’s hand, pointed to the window, and asked if he noticed anything. Looking out, Gray didn’t see anything.

“Just sniff it,” Grandpa Beard said. “The roses of the past are coming.”

He sniffed hard for a while, but he couldn’t smell the roses.

Grandpa Beard patted him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t lose heart. Keep trying and you’ll smell it. The roses always come in from the windows. When you sleep at home, if you’re alert at dawn, they’ll come. This is something you can learn through practice, especially a young guy like you.”

Gray began staying alert. But the roses did not come in the hazy dawn; they came in broad daylight, under bright sunshine—it was a complete surprise.

It was like daydreaming; Gray couldn’t remember the details. He was working in the herb garden, and Mrs. Yi and her husband were out. The weasel suddenly ran directly toward him. Gray rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, and then he was horrified to see a paring knife in its back. Holding the weasel, he ran to his medicine kit which he had set down in a corner of the garden. He opened the kit, pulled out the paring knife, sterilized and bandaged the wound, and gave the weasel some medicine. He did all of this mechanically. The weasel was weak and its eyes were half-closed, as if it were dying. Looking into its eyes, Gray was overwhelmed by a sadness which he had never experienced before. After a while, Mr. and Mrs. Yi returned. Gray had no memory of anything after that. He didn’t even remember how he got home. Dad made him sit in a recliner in the yard. Sitting there in the sun, he remembered the weasel and sniffed his hand to see if it had left a bad smell. But no. When he sniffed again, he smelled the roses. He looked at his hands over and over, wondering how that stinky little animal could smell like roses. He turned and saw his father smiling at him.

“Gray, let’s go to the backyard and take a look,” Dad said.