Lesson for a Master
By
Tracy LeCates
The mortar
and pestle hit the wall with a loud thunk, the
crushed contents spilling and scattering on the floor. The level of frustration
in the rooftop apartment was palpable as the young priest stood at his worktable,
fuming and cursing softly at the small jars of herbs before him.
A stream of
words, mostly consisting of four letters, poured from the mouth of Peter Caine.
A quick glance at the clock on the wall, alerting him to the fact he'd been at
this particular exercise for most of the morning, increased the volume of the
muttered oaths. Three months had passed since he'd handed in his gun and badge,
and he was yet to master the art of concocting even the simplest of remedies.
A growl
rumbled deep in his throat as he stalked across the room toward the small bowl
on the floor. His foot drew back and aimed at the offending object… and halted.
Foot back on the ground, the priest stooped to retrieve his implements instead.
C'mon, Pete, he mentally berated himself. If you can't get this, you
may as well just hang it up. Can't very well tell Mrs. Leong to go to CVS and
pick up a bottle of Nyquil.
Returning
to the worktable once again, Peter took a deep breath, and focused on the task
before him. The jars of herbs were paid out along the front of the table; each
labeled, and relabeled. Once by Lo Si, and once again by himself, in laymen's
terms. So many times he's sat in this room while his father worked at the very
same table. Caine's hands had move swift and sure, mixing this and that without
hesitation. Now, Peter found himself wishing very much that he'd paid more
attention to what was going on in front of him instead of fidgeting and
rambling, his mind always two minutes or two steps ahead.
"Damn,"
he muttered, staring helplessly at the jars once again. Through the open
terrace doors he could feel the soft, warm breeze on his face, and smell the
distinct scent of fall. The sun shone and he knew the nice weather wouldn't
hold out much longer. Peter's feet yearned to move, away from the table, away
from the project at hand, and out into the world. Like a kid in school with a
burning desire to play hooky, his gaze was pulled to the window.
"No!" he chastised himself loudly, forcibly directing his attention
back to the worktable. His jaw set in determination, he mentally walked himself
through the inventory of powders and leaves, removing pinches and portions.
"Gotta get it right this time…" he coached himself.
Peter sank
so deeply into concentration, he failed to hear the soft-footed approach behind
him.
"Very
good, you Caine," the Ancient's smiling approval came through in his
voice. One a day as gorgeous as this, he'd scarcely expected to find the new
priest in residence.
Startled,
Peter jumped, knocking over the jar closest to hand, spilling its contents to
the floor. "Lo Si! Don't DO that!" he snapped. Great, now people
are sneaking up on me. I've really lost it. "And don't call me 'Young
Caine', okay?" he half pleaded.
The elderly
priest stooped to assist his young student gather what was left of the herbs
off the floor.
"Well,
if you were coming by to check up on me, here I am," Peter grumbled.
"You
have been working very hard," Lo Si commented gently.
The reply
came softly. Barely audible over the sound of the broom against the wood floor.
"Not hard enough…"
Bright,
clear eyes, which belied the age of the owner, glanced up and smiled.
"Your classes are going well?"
With the
last of the leaves swept away, Peter stood and nodded. He was not quite able to
meet the eyes of his sometimes instructor, forever dreading what he would see
there. Disappointment, pity, reproach? "Yeah, the classes are going okay.
I really like teaching, working with the kids. It's just this other stuff… I
can't do it, Lo Si," he finally admitted out loud.
"You
can," the priest insisted with gentle rebuff. "It does not come
overnight. Just as it took many years for you to reach this level of
proficiency at kung fu, so will it take time for you to acquire the skills of
an apothecary." Climbing to his feet, he dusted off his knees and looked
up at his tall companion. "I did not come by to 'check up' on you. I
wished to know if you were in need of any supplies."
Peter
smiled despite himself. "Yeah, I could use another jar of… what it was
that I just spilled all over the floor."
"Very
good," Lo Si chuckled softly. "I will return in a few hours. Perhaps
we will work together," he offered.
Temptation
flickered briefly through him before stubborn resolve squashed the urge.
"Thanks, Lo Si, but I have to do this myself," he stated miserably,
turning back to the table.
Amusement
glittered in the ancient eyes as the priest took his leave. "I will return
later, You Caine," he called back with a wave.
"Lo
Si, please don't call me that--" Peter began to protest too late.
"Damn."
It took
less than thirty minutes for Peter to lose his patience, once again in a flurry
of flying bowls and jars as he took out his frustration on the blameless
objects. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!!!" he shouted. Whirling
around, he grabbed his jacket and growled at the small, smiling Buddha perched
atop the altar. "I QUIT!"
"Pete?"
Kermit's voice broke through the mindless haze Peter had sunk into, sitting on
the fire escape steps.
Hazel eye
snapped up, recognizing the figure of his old friend, climbing up half way to
meet him. "Kermit," he sighed in frustration. "Now is not a good
time for a social call."
The small
smile tugged at the corners of the ex-mercenary's mouth. "What are you
doing out here?" Kermit asked, approaching undaunted. He'd known Peter
Caine since the younger man had come to live with Paul Blaisdell as a teen, and
could read his moods like a meteorologist read the clouds in the sky.
"Well,
it's the only place for me to be, since I'm not going back in THERE
again," Peter grumbled, jerking a finger back towards the apartment above.
"Ever."
With a
shrug, the visitor took a seat a few steps down from his old friend. "Too
nice to be inside anyway."
"No,
you don't understand, Kermit. I am never going back in there. I can't. I quit.
I slipped my letter of resignation under the Buddha and walked. No two weeks
notice, effective immediately. And as soon as I get up the nerve I'm going
downtown and I'm going to ask Commissioner Kincaid for my badge back."
Kermit
nodded calmly. "So, that's it, then."
"That's
it," Peter confirmed. With a heavy sigh, the former detective leaned back
on his elbows, turning his face towards the afternoon sky. "I just can't
do it. I'm knocking myself out, and getting nowhere. Maybe I'm too old to learn
this shit, too old for such a drastic change. Too set in my ways. If things
hadn't happened the way they did, if Pop and I hadn't been separated all those
years, who knows, maybe I would have been prepared for this. I would have spent
my teens learning all this stuff, not suppressing everything I did know, trying
to fit in with the rest of the world."
The bearded
detective smiled vaguely. "Maybe. But it's a little late for 'should have'
and 'could have', isn't it?"
"Never
too late for regrets, Kermit," he replied, letting his eyes slide shut.
"People used to say, 'Come to Chinatown, ask for Caine. He will help you…'
Do you know what they're saying now? 'Come to Chinatown, ask for Young Caine.
He will… run and get Lo Si.'," he scowled.
"'Young
Caine'," Kermit chuckled. "That's what they're calling you?"
"Oh,
sure, laugh at that… the man who's going through life named after a cloth frog
with a guy's hand up its ass."
Kermit's
grin spread from ear to ear as he heard the laughter behind his friend's words,
like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "So, talk to me."
"I
don't want to be Young Caine," Peter said softly, only the barest traces
of frustration remaining in his voice.
"Who
do you want to be?"
The answer
was long in coming. "I'm not sure anymore. When Pop left I thought I was
going to be 'Caine'. I thought I could do it. I thought I could step in and
fill his shoes. And now I've got blisters on my feet from trying. I thought I
was going to be 'Caine', and instead, I've become 'Young Caine', which, roughly
translated, mean 'Note Quite Caine'. I'm letting people down; my father, the
Ancient, the whole damn community."
"Reminds
me of your days as a rookie cop," Kermit snickered.
Peter
pinned his old friend with a glare of reproach. "What is that supposed to
mean?"
"I
mean you spent so much time trying to be Blaisdell, or trying to be Eppy, or
trying to be, dare I say it, me, that you almost got yourself killed."
"I did
not," he protested indignantly.
"Yeah,
you did," Kermit shot back. "It wasn't until you stopped trying to
emulate al the others around you, and found your own style, that you stopped
getting hurt all the damn time."
Peter
sighed softly. "I can't go back, can I?"
"I
think you know the answer to the question. Look, Pete, you're not your father.
Never have been, never will be. That doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's only
been a few months, give yourself time. You didn't become a detective overnight
and you're not gonna become a priest overnight either."
Peter sank
back against the steps, reclining on his elbows and allowing the warmth of the
sun to soak into his skin. "I completed my training, Kermit. I took the
brands. I should be able to do this. All that was supposed to mean that I'm
ready for this. And I'm not. I just can't do it."
"Have
you thought about… ohhhh, I don't know… asking for help?" Kermit
deadpanned.
Peter
uttered a short laugh of frustration. "When my father left he said that I
was the Master now. The only thing I see to have mastered is the art of making
a mess of thing. He said that I was the Master and he would be kneeling at my
feet. Well, if he's kneeling at my feet, it's because I've just dropped
something and he's picking it up."
A long
silence grew between the two old friends as the afternoon drifted by. For those
moments they could have been two people anywhere in the world. Sitting by a
stream, waiting for a fish to bite, on a bench waiting for a bus…
Kermit's
soft words seemed to tear through the air when at last he spoke. "You
think that if you can't get the hang of this your father will come back?"
Peter's
half closed eyes snapped open as he stared in confusion and sharp denial.
The
ex-mercenary climbed to his feet silently. A hand came out in a gesture of
brotherly affection, briefly resting on the shoulder of the young priest.
"I'll be around," he offered quietly. With a quick readjustment of
his glasses, Kermit made his way down the stairs, and was gone.
The
multitude of candles burned brightly in the small room. A lone figure sat
cross-legged on the floor in the center, at peace. The sound of shallow, even
breathing softly filled the room. Senses heightened and attuned, open to the
world around him, Peter heard the front door as it swung quietly open. The soft-footed
approach of the apothecary reached his ears. Hazel eyes slowly opened and the
young priest gracefully unfolded his body, and rose from the floor. A gentle
wave of his hand extinguished the candles, the thin tendrils of smoke drifted
into the air to dissipate.
Lo Si's
diminutive form appeared in the doorways, a small brown sack in his hands.
"Hi,
Lo Si," Peter greeted him quietly as he moved to join him.
Taking a
visual survey of the outer workroom, the elderly priest smiled in amusement.
"You have been cleaning."
The young
mane smiled, his eyes casting about the room with a slight glimmer.
"Yeah," he admitted with the faintest of smiles. It had taken a
while, but he'd managed to clean up the mess his earlier tantrum had caused.
"Is that bag for me?" he asked.
The old
priest nodded in response. "Yes, as requested. I will leave it on the
table for you." He moved back towards the door.
A hand
reached out to halt his progress toward the exit. "Lo Si…" Peter
began. "I was thinking maybe you might want to stay for tea?"
The Ancient
accepted the invitation without giving voice to the questions in raised in his
mind. There was something different about his youthful counterpart. Something
new. Something peaceful, as though some weight around his neck had been let go.
He watched the young man move around the small kitchen area, putting on a
kettle of water to boil. Peter's actions were fluid, and near silent, so unlike
the careless, random motions Lo Si had observed in him during his years at the
101st.
Aware of
the quizzical stuffy going on behind his back, Peter smiled as he turned.
"And after tea, I was hoping that we might work together for a little
while. I think the "Master" is desperately in need of a lesson,"
he confessed. "How about it, Lo Si? Would you be willing to be my 'backup'
for a while?"
"You
are ready, Young Caine," Lo Si said with a nod.
Peter held
up one hand, a look of patient amusement on his face. "Lo Si, don't call
me that."
FIN
