“And after?” said the lama.
“Oh, afterwards they go away, but not before my village has seen.”
“And at the last what wilt thou do?”
“At the last I shall die.”
“And after?”
“Let the Gods order it. I have never pestered Them with prayers. I do not think They will pester me. Look you, I have noticed in my long life that those who eternally break in upon Those Above with complaints and reports and bellowings and weepings are presently sent for in haste, as our Colonel used to send for slack-jawed down-country men who talked too much. No, I have never wearied the Gods. They will remember this, and give me a quiet place where I can drive my lance in the shade, and wait to welcome my sons: I have no less than three—ressaldar—majors all—in the regiments.”
“And they likewise, bound upon the Wheel, go forth from life to life—from despair to despair,” said the lama below his breath, “hot, uneasy, snatching.”
“Ay,” the old soldier chuckled. “Three ressaldar—majors in three regiments. Gamblers a little, but so am I. They must be well mounted; and one cannot take the horses as in the old days one took women. Well, well, my holding can pay for all. How thinkest thou? It is a well-watered strip, but my men cheat me. I do not know how to ask save at the lance’s point. Ugh! I grow angry and I curse them, and they feign penitence, but behind my back I know they call me a toothless old ape.”
“Hast thou never desired any other thing?”
“Yes—yes—a thousand times! A straight back and a close-clinging knee once more; a quick wrist and a keen eye; and the marrow that makes a