“I tend to think that I am simply a survivor, hardened by long experience.” He looked up into the open, inquiring countenance of the disheveled man. “How does one become a hail chaser?” he asked.

“You could never do it, Constable, if you couldn’t sit to listen to the mountain.”

“You mean it is a gift. A heavy burden of a gift, I suspect. Men die in hailstorms.”

Yankay grimaced. “There used to be shrines dedicated to those who died in hailstorms. The lamas always had a hard time knowing how to treat them. Those who died violently usually can’t attain a higher level of existence, but many people felt a man killed by hail had been called by the gods.” He stood and dropped more wood on the fire. “I never wanted those soldiers to die. Sometimes I think that Lieutenant Huan was right, maybe I had committed murder that day. If I hadn’t stopped the convoy, they would have lived.”

“If they had worn their helmets, they would have lived,” Shan said. “If the trucks had broken down climbing the mountain, they would have lived. If Huan had not been in such a hurry and taken the shortcut, they would have lived. If they had left that morning ten minutes later, they would have lived.” He shrugged. “Murder is a construct of human law,” he observed. “I’m not sure those laws apply on this mountain.”

“They don’t,” Yankay agreed.

“Then one year in the Shoe Factory seems penance enough.”

Yankay lifted a foot, showing a heavy boot. “Every graduate gets a pair of the army boots made there, did you know that? Best boots I’ve ever owned. Cost one year of my life. Sometimes I think I should put them on a shrine.” The old man sighed loudly. “But the stones of the trails are sharp, and my bones get weary.”

Shan had so many questions, about how Yankay had become a hail chaser, about how he had sensed the earthquake, about how he had evaded capture by the authorities all these years, and what he knew about the sacred valley before the heavy equipment had arrived, but he said nothing. He felt like a nervous young novice in the presence of a renowned lama. Even after so many years of living in Tibet there were so many things about the land, about such Tibetans of the old world, that he didn’t understand. He knew Lokesh would say his compulsion to understand everything was Shan’s particular weakness, that he had to stop questioning and, as Yankay suggested, immerse himself in the wonder. But wonder was proving elusive in the Valley of the Gods.

They sat in silence. A night bird called from the trees. The shadows shortened as the moon rose higher.