THE RAILROAD CAMP334Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSSB6Pz51zU
334Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpaRAoZHLad
At the end of the day's work, Robinson followed Yoshihiro to the laborer's tent.   It was cold with the sun down and the wind rising, and the tent offered no comfort to the exhausted men who sat silently, huddled in blankets.  A single candle provided the sole illumination, its flame flickering in the wind that blew throughout the tent flaps.

Under a rugged burlap cover lay a very old man, moaning with fever.  Next to him sat Kimoto, the farmer.

"Cold," the old man muttered.  "Cold...."

Kimoto, half-asleep, rose and pulled the burlap closer around the sick man.  "Rest, old man," he said kindly. "I'll try to get you some hot tea."334Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzq7BwLNOVQ

As Kimoto left, Yoshihiro said tentatively to Robinson, "Forgive me.  For every man, there's a proper place.  But you.....a man like yourself should do what is his calling.  Pardon my rudeness----perhaps I was wrong to bring you here."

"What happens in a man's life is already written," Robinson answered quietly.  "A man must move through life as his destiny wills."

"True," said Yoshihiro slowly, "yet each man can live as he chooses.  Though they seem opposite, both are true.  I fail to understand it."

Robinson smiled at him in the half-dark of the tent.  "You have taken in much, old man---like the raging waters of the Yellow Sea."

"By living longer, the old learn---" Yoshihiro broke off as Hoga, who had come in with a bowl of rice and a cup of hot tea, abruptly settled down between Yoshihiro and Robinson.  Raising his voice a little, the older man said in annoyance, "The first thing the young cast aside is manners!"

"You value manners, old man," Hoga said imperturbably.  "We value other things."334Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLzorFXFEad

"Would you acknowledge the worth of this priest?" Yoshihiro asked, nodding towards Robinson.

Hoga spat a mouthful of rice to the floor of the tent. "Yes, if he will get us some decent food to eat and will provide us with a way to stay warm.  Or will he sit there with his good manners and polite smile while we starve, and the old ones die of the cold?"

In the silence that followed Hoga's angry question, a sudden gust of wind extinguished the candle.  Sitting there in the dark, with the exhausted, underfed men around him, Robinson recalled his first night at the Hwarango temple as a novice---a little, topknotted boy lying alone in his tiny cell, cold under the burlap covering, watching the eerie shadows cast by the flickering candle.334Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRi1X79C7x6