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KOREA, 1850292Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhCmzasYqpX
292Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRaavgLmrZF
Robinson remembers: They have been waiting outside of the Hwarangdo temple for a long time and now at last the patience of the crowd is beginning to break. Boys are wrestling with each other in the mud, shouting, and playing tag, the quiet group that had assembled there three days before now slowly coming apart into individual personalities once more. Chaos, disorder. Only young Robinson and a few others held their ground quietly, standing in the sun, looking up towards the great temple that looms before him as mystery and promise, little shrouds of haze around it now in the early morning.
He has been waiting for a long time and he will wait longer. Young Robinson is only dimly aware of the fact that there are others around him; what has brought him to this temple is so profound and individual that it has nothing whatsoever to do with these people. Perhaps they feel the same way; he doesn't know. Perhaps it's not restlessness but only an excess of feeling that has smashed the discipline of the boys. That's for them to decide. All he knows is that he has been as stone waiting here, waiting for the grand master to come as the teachings say he will at this time of the year. He has been stone; he will be stone. He will not be moved.
The noise and heat increase. Robinson waits through it. Hours or minutes have passed. Perhaps it is days and his vigil has made him lose all sense of time. He will not think about this. A door opens and a man steps out of the upper levels of the temple, peering from a balcony at the crowd below. He wears the ceremonial robes of a grand master, Robinson notes. He looks up at this little man and for a moment he thinks their eyes may lock but then again they may not. Perception is hard. The little man looks over the crowd.
Then the monk gestures. With his right hand, he motions toward the crowd and like a man picking fruit from a barrel plucks out boys with eye and hand contact. That finger passes by Robinson and then returns. Now he knows the monk is looking at him. He looks back. The monk's finger points and then moves on. Robinson stands there, only vaguely conscious of his breath. The hand moves gracefully a few more times and then stops. The priest stands, poised. Robinson hears the sound of the wind.
"Come forth," he says.
Robinson knows what the priest means and moves from the crowd toward the base of the glowing walls surrounding the temple. Around him a few others gather, boys like himself, their faces covered. He looks up with the rest of them towards the priest.
"The rest of you," the priest says, "begone."
There is a moment of indecision in the crowd. It seems that they might approach the wall, overwhelm it with sheer force, five or six hundred boys scrambling at that glowing wall, but then something close to a sigh passes over that crowd and the moment is broken. The boys turn. Slowly, then faster, in groups and alone they disperse. They move from the temple into the surrounding streets and in less time than it took them to gather, all of them are gone.
Only young Robinson and six others stay near the walls. Robinson folds his hands and looks downward toward the ground. The priest has made his wishes known twice. In due course, he will make a third statement. In the meantime, there is nothing to do but wait. He knows of this. He appreciates it instinctively. All of his life he has been waiting.
The priest looks down on them for a long time and then bows intricately and ceremonially. His features are closed. "You have waited for a week," he says in a high, delicate tone. "Please wait a little longer."
He turns and goes back inside the temple.
Some of the others murmur but Robinson says nothing. All that he thinks about is how interesting it is to learn that it's been a full week's wait. The wait has suspended time. It might have been days or a month. A week is a lot of time but in some ways known only to the priest, it is not sufficient. All right. All right, then. He will wait. He has nowhere else to go.
Minutes or hours later the rain begins. Robinson stands to greet it, faces the temple, and stands at attention as the thick drops hit him. It is a gesture of respect that he makes instinctively; rain is not only a test but only another aspect of nature, of the temple itself. The others, he notes, are looking for shelter under trees at some distance, huddling miserably under their coats. They do not understand, as he does, that the rain is merely another condition. He holds his gaze to the balcony of the temple where the priest stands and he waits.
The rain ends. The sun bakes them again. Shuddering from the chill, Robinson now finds his body distended by the heat, growing, opening small apertures of pain. Or of knowledge. He stays at attention. Having assumed the position, it is simply easier to keep it. The accomplishment of something makes its continuance inevitable. This is something he has learned. Three of the others are playing a game with pebbles; the remaining three squat near the temple gate. They, like the young Robinson, stay away from one another.
The temple gate reopens and the priest reappears. Hastily the boys near the gate rise and bow, as Robinson does; for a moment the game players fail to notice what's happening. The priest moves along the temple steps toward them until they look up from their pebbles. Then they, too, rise and bow. The priest's voice is soft, still kind, as he tells them, "Please leave now."
Turning to Robinson and the others, he says, "You will follow me."
The others, speechless, adjust themselves. They move away from the temple. Robinson, staring, feels an absent sense of pity but one glance upward towards the priest and resolve strengthens once more. The little man knows what he's doing. It can be no easier for him than those who had vainly waited. His responsibility is awesome.
Slowly, Robinson in the lead, the four follow the priest up the stone flight of stairs toward the balcony where the priest awaits. The stones are smooth, yet hard against the soles of his feet, the stairs thick, the climb somewhat harder than he thought because the distance of the stairs from one another makes balance hard. Robinson wills himself to move slowly. Preserve balance. The priest can wait. He's been waiting, with them, for more than a week now, Robinson realizes.
Seen closely, the man is both younger and older than he looks from a distance. The face is unlined and serene but the eyes bear a curious depth of knowledge into which Robinson thinks if he looked intently he could vanish.
Robinson has waited a long time for this moment, but the touch of a curious reluctance falls like a cloak upon him. This temple is awesome. It cannot be entered lightly; it is some summation of the quests of hundreds, of generations of denial and dreams. This feeling passes quickly, however as he follows the priest into the strange coolness of the temple. Now he finds himself walking in a dimly lit corridor upon smoothly polished wood the color of rose, down that long corridor in which torches flicker to an enormous room to the side. In this room, barren save for a small table in the middle, a single candle on a tray on the table is the only source of illumination. Across the table, Robison can see dimly, the seated figure of another monk. He and the other three boys form a line in front of the table facing the seated monk. "This," says the priest who escorted them, "is Grand Master Kang Hak Lee."
He says nothing. He stands in his posture of attention once more, looking towards the unmoving seated figure. He thinks that in the darkness he may perceive the eyes of Kang, looking upon him with compassion and measuring judgment, but it may only be a trick of light. Kang's body is in a position that Robinson thinks might be uncomfortable, crosslegged on a large chair, and yet he sits austerely, without sign of restlessness. This helps Robinson to maintain his posture although the atmosphere of the room is very dense and for the first time, he becomes fully aware of his fatigue. Much has been taken from him in these days. It is hard, Robinson finds, not to stare at the teapot and cups on the table between him and the monks.
At Grand Master Kang's gesture, the boys sit on the floor facing him. The priest who brought them into the temple pours a steaming cup of fragrant tea and hands it to Robinson, who passes it along to the next boy. When the boys all have their tea, the first priest offers a cup to Grand Master Kang. Robinson watches intently as Kang makes a gesture towards the tea, motions that they may drink. Robinson watches this and then holds his ground, not reaching towards a cup. The others do. They raise the cups towards them.
"Please go home," the first monk says politely.
The boys holding the tea look at one another in dismay. One of them almost panics in his haste to replace the cup, spills a little hot tea on his hand, and cries out. The others, putting down their cups, surround him. They begin to move towards the door and Robinson turns to join them. The failure of one is mutual, he thinks. All of us are intertwined. This is the lesson of the monks. The one behind them, however, touches Robinson lightly on the shoulder.
"You may stay," he says.
Robinson stops. Led by the first monk, the others vanish through the open door, gone from his life and the temple forever. Robinson finds that Grand Master Kang is looking at him intently. Robinson returns his gaze. The eyes are deep, complex, and yet curiously penetrable. Looking into them Robinson decides that what this monk knows might, after a long while, be understood. Or at least comprehended. Perhaps. Politely, at last, he looks away.
"Why did you not drink?" the monk asks quietly.
Robinson bows. "After you," he says, "after you, honorable sir."
Motioning to the boy to sit down again, Grand Master Kang reaches forward and sips his tea. Only then does Robinson pick up his cup. He drinks slowly, savoring the first food or liquid he's had in more than a week. The tea, at first bitter to the tongue, is sweet. It feels restorative. He allows it to become part of his body and then sips again.
The monk looks at him over the cup. "From whom did you learn your manners?"
"My grandfather," Robinson says. "He taught me much."
"He taught you well."
"I am honored," Robinson says. He sips the tea again, feeling that something momentous is about to happen in this room. Then again, maybe not. The others have been dismissed and he may yet be too. But that too is momentous, he thinks. Everything matters.
Grand Master Kang says, "Might I inquire, what name do you go by?
"I am Ji-Hoon Robinson."
"Robinson is not typically considered a Korean name," Kang says. "Pray tell, how does it come to pass that your locks bear the fiery hue of a sunset, while your complexion remains as fair as moonlight? And what of those captivating slanted eyes, reminiscent of our people?"
"My father was an American, venerable sir," Robinson says flatly. "Only my mother was Korean."
"Do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of your esteemed guardians?"
Robinson bows his head. "My mother is dead. Of my father's whereabouts, I know nothing."
"And your grandparents? The grandfather who taught you so well? Tell me about him."
"He is dead as well," Robinson says. "Most of my family is dead."
"You realize," the monk says, sipping his tea, putting the empty cup down gently, "that we of the Hwarangdo Temple have never accepted anyone of other than full Korean birth. Neither master nor apprentice, not even as a worker within the temple."
Robinson looks at the floor. "I did not know that," he says. "I will leave if you wish me to."
"But," Kang smiles gently and says, "every journey begins with a first step. Every discovery starts with an initial leap of faith."
Robinson's relief shows in his face as his eyes meet those of the grand master.292Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiLOaZjWuFW
"Come here, lad," Kang says. He extends his hand, the hand which had previously held the tea, and shows within the smooth, ancient surfaces of his revealed palm a single bright stone.292Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ4Y2DS2uQf
"Do you see the pebble?" Kang says.
"Yes. It is very beautiful."
Kang nods. "This pebble holds great meaning. It symbolizes an opportunity for growth and understanding," he says. "Now, as quickly as you can, snatch the pebble from my hand."
Unhesitatingly Robinson girds himself, then in a single deft motion, without preamble, dives his right hand for the pebble.
And comes out empty. Kang's hand has closed. The grand master looks up at him, his face bland, and then his mouth breaks into a curiously elfin smile.
"When you can take the stone from my hand," Kang says, "then it will be time for you to leave."
Robinson says nothing. There is nothing to say. He bows his head and reverence overcomes him. Kang stands. "Please excuse me now," he says, picking up his cane.
And so silently, so quickly that Robinson can barely catch the moment, Kang is gone. Robinson hears the door whisk, a different play of light coming into the room.
"That was Kang Hak Lee," the first grand master says, "you have spoken to he who guides us."
Robinson stands there. His hand rises to his chin. He rubs it meditatively. In the distance, he thinks he can hear the music of the temple.292Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0ZA8kxPvYg
