9

BLIND EYE

The sodden rag ignited with an angry roar, flaring brightly in the gloom of the narrow side street. Crammed into the neck of a whisky bottle, the flaming cloth spat and hissed like a venomous serpent. The hand holding it drew back before propelling the deadly cocktail towards a flat-topped timber building with small windows, within which had been gummed posters advertising a meeting. THE DEAD SPEAK HERE.

As the firebomb plunged towards one of these windows, a hand came out of nowhere and plucked it from the air without breaking the glass. It was a catch demanding remarkable courage and finely tuned reflexes. The owner of the hand wasted no time in dropping his catch into a trough of horse's drinking water extinguishing the lethal whisky.

A cry went up from the mob and it was a mixture of dismay and anger at the stranger, who had now stepped from the shadows. Barefoot and vagrant, the man was of mixed race and stood with a calm dignity that belied the danger he faced. To defy this mob was an act of foolishness, because they were out to destroy anyone who stood in their way.

"Witchcraft," somebody spat and the word ignited the mob just as the rag would have enflamed the whisky.

"He's Chinese," said a woman but the bomb man shook his head, no not Chinese but a half-breed that most despised of all heathens.

"He's a sin in the eye of god more like, take him."

Surging forwards with an angry roar the massed group of people advanced on their intended victim who could have run into the night and escaped them but he didn't. Parting his legs until they were committed to a more dangerous course of action he leapt into the air. Landing on the lip of the trough with the balls of his bare feet, he next propelled himself higher until his hands gripped the branch of a eucalyptus tree.

As the mob reached him he swung forwards and kicked out with both feet hitting not just two people, but virtually the entire front row of the mob knocking them back into the rest. Collapsing into chaos the attackers became a disorganized rabble, they did not understand what had happened or how one man could do this to them?

Dropping to the ground Caine found himself ringed by five men, carefully and with great precision he demolished them with his feet. His legs shooting out at lightening speed to north east, north west, south west, south east and north.

A man who had been knocked over earlier picked himself up and swung his shovel at Caine in a lethal chopping motion. Rather than trying to avoid it, Caine stepped forwards to seize the weapon and assist it on its way. The holder had no choice but to submit to momentum and he flew around in a crazy, spinning dance that took him off his feet and flipped him head over heels.

A scar-faced thug gripped Caine's shoulder, but instantly found himself pitching sideways through the air as his arm was seized and locked then the legs kicked from under him.

A man in a red hat threw a straight punch. Palming it aside the master of shaolin drove an iron-hard palm-heel into an exposed ribcage and his opponent crumpled with a pained expulsion of air.

Spinning 270 degrees to the left Caine met another incoming foe, a bearded, wild-eyed zealot with a hammer in his left fist. As the arm came down Caine blocked it with his own rising forearm, then his other limb crashed an elbow into the unshaven jaw with concussive force.

A rope with a knotted lasso was thrown around the Chinaman's neck and tugged, knowing it could snap his spine if he resisted the martial artist sat down, back rolled and came up almost on top of the rope man, a kick to the solar plexus doubled him over and the same foot found his temple with concussive effect.

Armed with a Bowie knife from his days in the Confederate Army, a lean man stabbed forwards. Deflecting the attack with a chicken wing block, the lone defender spun and back kicked his rival in the chest to propel him several feet distant where he dropped in a heap on the dusty ground.

So rapid had the attacks and defences been that it seemed like Caine was five men not merely one, his superiority to the members of the mob was obvious but also obvious was the fact that he was hopelessly outnumbered and would eventually be overwhelmed.

This was why James Caxton fired his revolver into the air to cool tempers and bring everyone to a halt where they stood. They found themselves facing a big and dignified man with a barrel chest, flint-hard eyes and two pistols. But it was the star pinned to his lapel that demanded the greatest respect.

Angry though the bigots were they knew better than to tussle with the town sheriff, especially one so dangerous as Caxton who had cut his reputation on the frontier with a quick draw and lethal accuracy.

Only the half-breed was without fear, breathing heavily he met James's gaze with calm acceptance.

"This," said the lawman. "Is over, it ends now. I want you people to disperse peacefully."

Lowering his arms Caine was already peaceful, even in combat he retained a centre of stillness just as the masters at the temple had instilled into him.

The leader of the mob was a different story seething with barely contained rage he eyed the still smoking pistol.

"We're decent Christian folk going about our duty, you've no right to get involved in this sheriff."

Decent Christian folk didn't use firebombs in James's experience, or try to murder an unarmed man. The zealot went on, "The people in there are witches, and witches should burn like it says in the good book."

Having no interest in arguing religion, Caxton aimed his gun at the speaker and cocked it. "Those folk are not breaking the law Jeremiah, but you are. My advice is to go home before I stop wasting my bullets on the moon, and put them somewhere more practical."

It wasn't a bluff and both men knew it, Jeremiah might have been a rabble-rouser and an intolerant thug but he was no fool, and he knew when a situation had turned against him.

"What about the breed?" He snapped cocking a thumb in the direction of the Chinaman who had been so devastating in his defence of these other pagans.

James said, "I don't see him throwing firebombs at innocent people."

Jeremiah nodded at the moaning, twitching bodies around him. "He assaulted us, and we're white folk."

"You deserved it the lot of you, and anyway what would you have done to him?"

Typical thought the preacher, what else could you expect from a man with an Indian wife?

"Now get gone, all of you." The sheriff ordered, as one of his deputies placed on a high roof cocked a rifle noisily to make it clear that there was enough firepower to enforce the peace.

Taking off his hat to expose a balding scalp, Jeremiah dusted it off. "You win this time," he told the half-Chinese drifter with bare feet. "But there'll be another time, because we're doing god's work and nobody can stand in the way of the almighty not even you boy."

With a nod to his frock the preacher backed away, "You ain't heard the last of this either sheriff, it's a foolish man who defies the will of the lord."

Crazy James thought, but influential in these parts and with a real nasty streak. He knew the sort having encountered them before. They worked people up into a frenzied mob with words of hatred and spite backed up by biblical rhetoric. No he thought we certainly haven't heard the last of you Jeremiah Sky.

"You okay son?" He asked the half-breed wondering who he was, and where he'd learned to fight like that? It wasn't a style of fighting James had ever seen in twenty-five years of bars, street corners and shootouts.

Picking up his battered, wide brimmed hat Caine put it back on his head and shrugged. He had bruises but they would heal, the soles of his feet were bleeding from the kicks but it was nothing serious.

"Who are you exactly?" James asked.

"I am Caine." Said simply with no fuss, not even any pride a merely statement of a fact.

"You one of those who speak to the dead?"

"I do not know what you mean," came the honest reply.

"Them folks in the building behind you, the ones who you saved from a roasting." Getting only a shrug in response James frowned, "Well if you don't know them, why did you risk your life to save them?"

"Are they not human beings who have every right to live?"

As if one cue a door opened on the target building and a new man appeared, elderly but straight-backed with a distinguished face and intelligent eyes flanked by lengthy greying hair. James knew him to the leader of these spirit lovers, a man who'd been kicked out of plenty of frontier towns and wouldn't last long in this one either, not if Jeremiah had his way.

He said heartily, "Thank you for what you did young man, you saved all our lives."

The sheriff scowled, even though the bigots were moving away he knew Jeremiah Sky would be back.

"Best if you stayed indoors Mr Matlock, I'll leave one of my deputies on guard duty until you move on." Which he didn't add, I hope will be soon or we'll have a riot in this town.

Smiling his appreciation to the lawman Matlock said, "I appreciate that sheriff," and to Caine.

"Please come and join us for a cup of tea, it's the least we owe you."

At first it looked as though the vagrant would refuse, then he seemed to reconsider and with a shrug he nodded and turned. You're trouble to Caxton thought, a half-breed is bad enough but one that can fight like that will have enemies.

It was cooler inside the small abode, as there wasn't much light but Caine's eyes soon adapted as he followed his host.

"We are spiritualists young man," Matlock informed. "We communicate with the dead, and they communicate with us."

He paused as if uncertain for a moment, "Some people are afraid of this idea, may I ask where you stand?"

The years fell away as the newcomer thought back to another conversation in another land on the same topic.

"You seem troubled today grasshopper, may an old man intrude upon your thoughts?"

"Master, is it possible to speak to those who have passed away?"

"You are thinking of your mother and father are you not?" Asked the blind teacher with a knowing smile.

The boy averted his gaze, "I sometimes wish I could talk to them, and ask their advice."

"And what question would you ask of the spirit world if you could?"

"Just this – am I on the right path doing the right thing, are you please by my actions or would you wish me to do something different?"

Po chuckled, "It is our belief that life and death are two aspects of the same thing grasshopper. When one is born into this life one dies to the world of spirit. And when one dies here, one is born into the spiritual life. If that is the case then communication should not be possible. However, I must tell you that in my quiet moments I have felt the whispers and laughter of this other land, the soft words of those who have passed away. So my answer to your question must be – go within and seek your own truth. If spirits wish to make themselves known to you they will do so, rather like those who inhabit the physical body."

Eventually they came to a room containing a small throng of people, men and women of various ages that were well dressed but pale with anxiety. Caine found his eyes drawn to a strikingly attractive young girl with pale cheeks and raven black hair. There was something different about her, the way she sat and the way she didn't look at him in surprise like the others. Then he realised that she wasn't really looking at anything.

"This is our saviour," Matlock was saying. "He fights like a thunderstorm, but I don't even know his name."

"I am Kwai Chang Caine," A slight bow accompanied these words, but didn't take his eyes off the girl. She had started to smile, and from her throat came the kind of chuckle that young women don't make, and then in a gruff and familiar voice she said one word - grasshopper. So shocked was he by this that he approached the girl and knelt beside her chair, she sat with elegant repose.

"Master?"

But the next voice he heard was feminine, "Your master is here he is very close, but he tells me that you are the master now."

Inclining his head Caine answered, "I am a humble traveller who does what he can."

"Is that not one definition of a master?" The girl enquired, then the gruff oriental voice returned.

"The tree understands that you must learn, and so do I." Once more memory clouded Caine's eyes.

Thwack, thwack, thwack came the noise in a fierce of rhythm and it hastened the boy's steps into the garden where he came upon an amazing sight. Master Po was bare to the waist and yielding a Chinese broadsword with a red tassel, with each stroke he removed a branch from a cherry blossom tree. As the boy watched his blind teacher pivoted and with a complex figure eight he removed another branch from the side of the tree.

"Master, what are you doing?"

Pausing the old man chuckled, "Is that you grasshopper?"

"It is I," the boy confirmed. "Why are you desecrating that tree, are we not taught that all life is precious?"

In response to this the priest moved around the tree until he was positioned on its other side, and with a fierce downward stroke he removed yet another limb.

"Life is precious, but I am only removing dead wood so that the rest of the tree may flourish."

Caine was confused by this answer, "But you cannot see master, how can you tell if the branches you are cutting are dead or alive?"

This was greeted with a low, throaty chuckle. "Have I not taught you anything grasshopper? Come over here and join me," As the youth did so Po said,

"Now close your eyes and think of the tree, feel its size and energy."

Caine tried to do so but it wasn't very easy, he had learned how to sense a human opponent this way but a tree was very different.

"Well?" Po asked.

"I cannot do it master."

"Reach out and touch a branch."

Doing so the boy felt his hand close around timber, he felt it roughness, its sharpness and even its length.

Po asked, "Is that branch alive or dead?"

It took the boy a while longer, "Alive."

"How do you know?"

"It feels strong and flexible, and there are buds along its length."

"Touch another branch."

Moving his hand the boy blindly grabbed out, and this time what he seized was different it was coarser, stiffer and when he applied pressure it did not bend, it felt dry and brittle. "This one is dead."

"How can you be sure?"

"From the feel, my hand tells me it is without moisture or vitality."

"So if your hands can tell you these things, why can't your ears? How a branch sways in the wind, how it crackles and rustles, all these things tell us if it is alive or dead. The two states are quite distinctive, and both in their way are essential."

Opening his eyes the boy turned and nodded, "I think I understand master."

Po offered him the sword, "Do you, let us see? Close your eyes again and prune the tree. Do not worry if you make a mistake, the tree understands that you must learn and so do I."

Matlock was speaking, "My daughter Tara has been blind from birth Mr Caine, but she has other gifts."

Stiffly the girl extended a hand that Caine took gently to shake. "You are not alone Kwai Chang," the girl said in her normal high-pitched, slightly breathy voice. "There is one who is always with you, watching over you from spirit. He was like a father to you, and feels partly responsible for your current plight."

There was no masking his astonishment and Caine blinked at this child, who could know nothing of his time at the temple.

Tara continued, "Like me he was blind whilst on earth, a wise old monk who lived most of his life in seclusion. I feel that his name was very short, and began with the letter P."

Suddenly she clutched her chest and drew in breath sharply, "He died by violence, although not in the temple. I see an ornate carriage carried by bearers, there are armed guards and one of them.."

Feeling tears prickle his eyes Caine thought back to the twelfth day of the fifth month in the year of the dog when he and Po had walked as equals towards a special ceremony, and the terrible events that had ensued events that had defined his life ever since and set him on a new destiny in a strange new land.

"He was my master," Caine said softly.

"And so much more," Tara sighed.

Matlock intervened, "That will do child, you overtax yourself; Mr Caine hasn't come here for a demonstration of your powers he is our guest. Mary bring some tea, please young man have a seat."

As a middle-aged woman moved away with a nod Caine sat on a chair and curled his legs up into a perfect lotus. He wasn't used to chairs, at the temple one learned to sit on the floor.

Clearly the leader of the group Matlock said, "Tara is clairvoyant Mr Caine she has mediumistic powers of astonishing clarity. Sometimes I think the gift is a compensation for her lack of normal sight."

"Compensation," Caine queried?

"Life gives us some things and takes others away," the older man responded.

"Surely life only gives us the opportunities we need to grow and learn." Matlock nodded with a chuckle but didn't comment, however he seemed to consider this wisdom.

"You are searching for something," Tara went on her blind eyes seeing far more than sighted ones ever did. "Or perhaps someone, you are on a quest I feel."

"I am hunted," came the response. "You must know this." It would be unfair not to tell these people that he was a fugitive, and by associating with him they were putting themselves at risk.

"So are we," Matlock replied. "I've met the likes of Reverend Sky before, and he won't be happy until we're driven out of the county. I think the best thing we can do is leave town on the morrow."

"No," Tara shocked them all by this announcement. "We must stay here, this is the place."

Matlock seemed stunned and Caine was confused, the place for what he wondered?

The blind girl added, "This is where we will make our church, and where my mediumship will flourish."

Silence greeted this announcement, and even Matlock had to sit down. "There will be nothing but trouble," he gasped.

"The trouble will pass," Tara replied. "Spirit have spoken," And she turned her unseeing eyes in Caine's direction. "We have a protector."

Caine blinked in surprise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with this statement. His travels had made him many things to many people, and had he not already protected these folk? Perhaps he would again.

"This young man can't look after us forever," Matlock objected. "He has his own life to lead."

"Not forever," said the girl and there was a wealth of meaning in these words. "But he can help us in a way nobody else will."

Suddenly Caine understood what Tara meant, he knew what he had to do and why he had come to this place. According to the Tao a man was always in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. What was the right thing to do here run and hide, or face the wrath of the righteous?

"I'm sorry," the spiritualist leader said unhappily. "We've no right to impose on you like this." But Caine had unfolded his legs.

"There is no imposition," he said. "Merely a duty of care."

It was a sermon of wrath and brimstone delivered by the impassioned oratory of a man who totally believes what he is saying. If nothing else Jeremiah Sky knew how to work his flock into a storm of righteous indignation. There were many quotes about the trickery of the devil in raising spirits, not forgetting the call to burn witches and Jeremiah savoured this, repeating it several times for emphasis.

He had just said it for the third time when the church doors were cast open and a tall figure entered, without pausing he walked along the aisle watched by shocked, outraged eyes until he reached the altar. Also shocked by the audacity of the intrusion, Jeremiah fought to gather his wits. Nobody entered this holy place without invitation, nor they gaze at him with barefaced defiance like this half-breed who not so long ago had beaten up half his congregation.

"How dare you…?" He began his spittle wetting the pages of the good book, but Caine had not come here to be reprimanded.

"They wish to say," he said humbly his quiet voice heard by all. "And I wish you to let them."

Gasps rose from the congregation, after the sermon they had just heard none were in any mood to be tolerant.

"Damn you, you heathen scum!" Jeremiah was puce with fury.

Several burly men rose from pews and advanced with knotted fists, no trace of Christian forgiveness on their faces.

Holding his ground Caine looked straight into the reverend's eyes, "There is enough room for all."

He saw no trace of agreement or concession on the bulging, red face of the bigot merely a rising fever of outrage.

A big hand reached for Caine, bending his knees and dropping his shoulder he pumped back with a palm heel and this found an exposed groin. Pivoting he quarter turned and his left foot found a jaw, the kicked man fell into other men and an untidy scrum tumbled onto the aisle to scatter candles and bibles.

"Not in here," Sky shouted. "Don't fight in God's house."

God's house was made of timber and one of the pews ignited, the candles had found dry kindling and soon this was ablaze.

Rapidly men and women moved to smother the flames with jackets and coats, as they did this the intruder leapt like a panther high over the lectern to land next to their priest.

"I to am a holy man," he said baring his wrists to expose the two brands. "As one priest to another I ask you to show humility."

As if mesmerised by the marks of the tiger and the dragon, Jeremiah swallowed.

"What pagan trick is this, do you expect me to believe that you are a servant of God? Decent white folk serve a decent Christian God."

Po's words echoed inside Caine's head there are many forms of blindness grasshopper, and physical infirmity is far from the worst of them. Spare your pity for those who chose not to see beyond their anger or dogmatic thinking for theirs is the blindest of eyes.

"Did his son not beseech you to forgive?" Said the intruder.

Opening his mouth to rant, Sky made a choking sound deep in his throat. To Caine's amazement he sank to his knees still choking, his red face now purple and eyes bulging.

Catching the man he laid him out flat on his back as a woman ran over, "What have you done to my husband?"

Placing his hands gently about the stricken man's head Caine let chi flow into the reverend, the healing energy he had mastered at the temple from old Yang the teacher of the internal arts. He knew what had happened and that time was short, unless he used his skills to help this man he would die.

"He has had a stroke, I am trying to save his life."

More came to watch none knew what to do or what was going on. But gradually Sky's colour improved, his eyes went back into his skull and he stopped making the awful noise.

"It's a miracle," one little boy said receiving a cuff from his father.

But Mrs Sky nodded in wonder, yes it was a miracle just like the master Jesus often did. "But how?" She asked Caine, "How can you do such a thing?"

"Just as there are many beliefs so there are many ways to heal, no one of these is better than another." Removing his hands from the stricken preacher Caine rose to find himself ringed by the congregation. "Is it not more important to love and forgive than to fight?"