“Lhakpa’s is a complicated spirit,” Tserung said. The mechanic himself was speaking more and more like a learned man. “Some days I had the impression he had been trained as a scientist, others as a historian. The goat was not make-believe, not a prop for a man pretending to be a hermit. I think she played an important role in his changing, in his taking the role of snow monk so seriously. I was in the hall one night and I came upon him sitting here, stroking her head. He didn’t know I was behind him. ‘Who knew this would be your journey,’ he said to Tara, then added, ‘Transmigration of the soul. You are the proof of the unproveable.’” Tserung shrugged, and he touched the gau that hung from his neck. “Not entirely sure what he meant, but those were his words, to his niece the philosophical goat.” The mechanic looked at Shan as if for an explanation.

“One thing I have learned in the Tibet we live in,” Shan offered, “is that everyone has their own unique path to enlightenment.”

Shan left Yara and Tserung energetically reviewing more dusty manuscripts and ventured onto the cobbled alley behind the junkyard. Seeing a light on in the rooms inside, he knocked then opened the door, on which was painted a sun cradled in a crescent moon, surrounded by a number of small protector demons.

The astrologer was sitting at her easel, working on one of her elegant horoscopes. A broad smile lifted her wrinkled countenance as she saw him. She made a clucking sound, and with a blur of motion a furry brown creature hopped from a nearby table onto her shoulder. “Look who’s here, Uncle Kapo!” she exclaimed. “Our friend the constable!”

Shan put a hand out and the gerbil leapt onto it and climbed to his own shoulder, where it began making a purring sound. He and the gerbil were well-acquainted. Kapo had once been a renowned lama.

“There’s tea,” Shiva said, gesturing with a paintbrush to the small brazier by the window.

Shan poured two cups and pulled a stool to Shiva’s side as she painted a tortoise, the foundation of many horoscopes, on the heavy paper set in the easel. She was devoted to her work and as one of the last of the traditional astrologers was in great demand, receiving many of her commissions by mail.

“I remember the day last month when I followed the snow monk’s goat through your open door,” Shan said. “I thought she would wreak havoc with your charts and paints but she just came in and laid down beside Uncle Kapo’s cage.”

Shiva nodded. “Tara’s a sweet girl, very respectful. She was too feisty before, Lhakpa says, so this goat life has been good for her.”