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276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡedB6dkhqER
Robinson found himself bound, staked, and chained as he was before in a different tent with the same two guards.  There were two differences, though.  This time a 3rd guard had been added; sitting on a crate nearby, he had his gun trained on Robinson.  The barrel glinted in the lantern light.  The other difference was Yoshihiro.  The old man, in some visible distress, was tied in the same way, lying on his back, gasping.  Bronco supervised the tying of the bonds this time and then stood at the open flap of the tent, looking at the two of them and the guards.

"All right," Bronco said, rubbing his palms together, his eyes glinting with pleasure.  "That should do nicely."

"Release the old one," Robinson said.  It was the first thing he'd said since his return to the camp.  "You have me and my word. Free him."

"What's your word worth?"

"In Korea, a Hwarangdo's word is the word of his ancients," Yoshihiro said weakly, trying to lift his head off the ground. "What else does any priest have but his word."

Bronco looked at the old man and then away, seemed to think for a moment.  "Nope," he said, "can't do that.  Sorry.  I need insurance."  He turned to the guards.  "If he makes one move," he said, pointing to Robinson, "kill them both." The guards nodded.  Bronco exited the tent.

Robinson stood against the stake, trapped in his bonds.  The guards over at the side of the tent looked at him, then at one another, and after a while two of them began a card game.  It meant nothing.  Robinson didn't listen.  He called upon his ki and found it, making the time pass.  Now and then he looked at Yoshihiro.  The old man had now closed his eyes and was lying on the ground in a partially relaxed position.  Robinson hoped that he had found some comfort.

Through half-shut eyes, Robinson watched the guards.  Yoshihiro, too, was studying them, Robinson saw.  What was the old man thinking?

Then, as the lantern near the third guard began to flicker and die, Yoshihiro started inching nearer the tent flap.  The guard was looking at the lamp, searching his pocket for matches.  Yoshihiro's feet were under the flap of the tent when the guard struck a match and knelt to relight the lantern.  His hands shook a bit, Robinson saw.  As the flame brightened Yoshihiro thrust himself through the flap.  

The guard wheeled and fired.  Robinson could hear Yoshihiro's groan through the blast of the gun.

The cardplayers dropped their cards and leaped up.  Yoshihiro, shot in the back, turned him over, and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"His hands are still tied," one of the guards said, looking down at the old man.

"I thought he was loose!" the third guard said.

In the wave of pain that rushed through Robinson, he barely heard them.  For a moment it wasn't Yoshihiro who lay dying before him, but Grand Master Kim.  He saw again the blood on the old priest's robes, felt the grief, shock, and rage; visualized Colonel Orville Wright on his horse....He disconnected the bayonet from the rifle and hurled it through the air to impale Colonel Wright.  He held  Grand Master Kim as the old man said,   "I regret to inform you that a bounty shall be placed upon your head. Alas, there exists not a single crevice in this realm where you may seek refuge. Henceforth, it is imperative that you depart from this kingdom with haste.....If fate had granted me a son, alas, all that I possess for him lies within this humble pouch.  I beseech you, kindly accept it as my offering....."

Then he was back in the tent, chained to the post.  One of the guards was crouched on the floor, his ear against Yoshihiro's chest.  "He's still breathing."

"Come on," the first guard said. "Help me get these ropes off!"

As they fumbled with the ropes that bound the dying man, Robinson gripped the post to which he was chained.  Bracing against it, summoning all his strength, he pulled it from the ground.

Robinson bent forward and swung his body.  The end of the pole caught the guard who had shot Yoshihiro.  Robinson lunged, knocking the guard through the tent.  Whirling again, he caught the first guard across the head, with the post, knocking him unconscious.  Behind him, the remaining guard pulled his gun.  Robinson sensed rather than saw the motion; he kicked backward.  The gun exploded; harmlessly into the roof of the tent and the guard fell back.

A glance satisfied Robinson that the man was unconscious.  He bent over a crate and slammed the post against its top.  The wood splintered but didn't break.  Again he hurled himself onto the crate.  This time the piece broke in two.  Shaking himself free of the pieces, he summoned all his strength and broke the chain of his handcuffs.

Yoshihiro. Was he still alive? Robinson knelt beside the old man and heard the ragged flutter of breath.  There was no chance for him to live, Robinson knew.  Why had the old man done it: risked the life that was in no danger as long as he and Robinson stayed motionless?  He stared down tenderly at Yoshihiro.

The old man was dying, blood bright on his chest but he still had that smile.  That smile which was the one he had seen when the old man greeted him was the one part of him which would never change.  The spirit, at least, was unconquerable.

Robinson did what he could.  He broke the old man's bonds, freed him, held his hand, and pressed it.  The wound was mortal.  Nothing could be done.  The old man returned his grip with shocking strength.  Robinson thought again of Grand Master Kim.  Yoshihiro moved his mouth, trying to say something.  Robinson moved his head closer to him. 

"Respect," Yoshihiro said.  "Respect."

"Yes," Robinson said.  He was crying.  It felt perfectly in place for him.  "Yes, respect.  I respect you."

"Respect for us," Yoshihiro said, "that's all we want.  Respect for our customs, our traditions, our people.  Our countries, our violated countries; the children born and unborn who have been destroyed.  Not mercy.  Never that.  Merely respect."

"Yes," Robinson said, "yes," and he looked at Yoshihiro.  Yoshihiro closed his eyes and died.

Robinson held his hand for a little while and then of its own volition, the dead hand fell away.  Robinson stood.  

Outside the tent, he could hear shouts and men running.  Stepping outside the tent, past the unconscious body of the guard who'd shot Yoshihiro, Robinson emerged into the night.276Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEplc7exY2K