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discover these things on its own, without the clouded interference of ancestors. And he laughs again, this time loud enough so that his escort glares at him, as if he has committed a breach of conduct. What would Old Lau say to me now? he thinks. Such a disobedient boy, to disregard your forbears, to ignore the customs and traditions. Yes, disobedient to everyone, to the end. Times change and values change, but disobedience is forever. A cloud of cigarette smoke surrounds the escort as he glances significantly at his watch. It is still hours before the museum is to close, but he appears eager to leave. Is it the guide? the warrior wonders. Maybe a liason. Such an odd match, those two. The girl could be a fresh-faced maiden from any era, but there is something so modern and hard about this man. It would be a  |
good time to depart, and yet, the warrior cannot. Being in this place and drowning himself with thoughts is no way to pay respect. If nothing else, silence and a clear mind for Master Lau. Surely that, if nothing else. The master deserves that much. So he stands, hands clasped together, eyes closed, all sound whittled down to the breath that creeps in and out of his body, and he can taste the smell of the concrete floors, the fresh coated paint, and then it oozes out of him, and now even his breath seems distant, as if crossing a threshold into another chamber… … And with an exasperated click of the tongue, the escort snaps: Hurry it up, hurry it up. Move it! Breath, smells, his heavy limbs, the scrape of his feet against the temple floor, the musty tapestries  |
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