Water Touching Stone
“"Marco laughs at me, but I tell him every proper town needs its own orchestra." "You were outside," Shan said, then added with sudden realization, "you were gathering singers." Deacon looked at the cages with a satisfied grin. "Got him, finally. Old Ironlegs, we call him. Makes a rasping sort of song, like his leg is made of metal." He turned to Shan. "You know crickets?" he asked in English. Shan looked at the American in silence and slowly grinned. It seemed a wonderful question. "Wh...en I was young," he said, awed that the memory should have leapt out and found his tongue after being lost for so many years, "my father would take me to an old Taoist priest who had avoided all the suffering in the cities by fleeing to the mountains. He lived alone and spent most of his time weaving baskets and meditating on the Taoist scriptures. The only other thing I remember about him is that he collected singers. He taught me about them." How remarkable, Shan thought, to be in the desert, with a strange American, looking for a killer, and suddenly have one of the darkened doors of his memory opened. Deacon smiled.MoreLess
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