One morning, spring and all, like some May day they had assumed would never come again, Charlie drove out to Great Falls and met Frank and Drepung. Frank was going to teach them the basics of rock climbing.

Anna did not approve, but Frank assured her he would make it safe, and her risk assessment realism impelled her to concede it was probably all right. Charlie, disappointed that he had lost this best excuse to back out, now walked the short trail to the gorge, carrying a backpack of Frank’s gear and a few tight loops of nylon rope. They came to a spot on the gorge cliff which Frank declared was the top of a good teaching route.

He uncoiled one length of rope and tied it off around the trunk of the tree. He pointed down the cliff. “See the flat spot down at the bottom? We can walk down to it, like on stairs, over here. Then you can climb the wall. It’ll be like a climbing wall in a gym.” They stood on the rim looking down at the river’s white roil and rumble. “There’s almost every kind of hold here,” Frank continued. “Conveniently identified by chalk marks. I’ll have you top-belayed the whole time, so even if you slip, you’ll only bounce in place. The rope flexes, so you won’t get cut in two. I’ll have you jump off on purpose to see what it feels like.”

Charlie and Drepung exchanged a glance. Apparently neither would die today as the result of being a bad student, something both had often been in their pasts. That established, they became happier and put on their harnesses cheerfully, indeed prone to sudden bursts of muffled hilarity. It was pretty lame, and Frank shook his head. Then they studied Frank’s knots, and learned the simple but effective belaying systems used by climbers. Frank was very clear and businesslike in his explanations, and patient with their fumbling and misunderstanding. He had done this before.

When he seemed to feel they had absorbed the necessary minimum, he retied all their knots himself, then ran Charlie’s rope through a carabiner tied to their tree and wrapped it around his waist. Charlie then carefully descended the staircase analog that ran down to a floor just above the river. Standing at the bottom Charlie turned to look up at Frank.

“Okay,” Frank said, pulling the rope between them taut. “On belay.”

“On belay,” Charlie repeated. Then he started climbing, focusing on the wall and seeing it hold by hold. The chalk marks did indeed help. Monkey up the chalky knobs and nicks. He heard Frank’s suggestions as if from a distance. Don’t look down. Don’t try to pull yourself up by the arms. Use your legs as much as possible. Keep three points attached at all times. Never lunge.

His toe slipped and he fell. Boing, fend off wall; bounce gently; he was okay. Relocate holds, get back to climbing. Was that all? Why, it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he had thought it would be! With such a system in place, there wasn’t the slightest danger!

The way Frank failed to agree with this served to refocus Charlie’s attention on the wall.

Some of what Charlie was doing resembled the scrambling he had done on backpacking trips in the Sierra. The motions were the same, but here they happened on a surface drastically more vertical than any he and his backpacking friends would have attempted. Indeed if he had ever wandered onto such a face during a scramble in the Sierra, he would have been paralyzed with fear.

But being top-roped really did remove most of the fear, and with it gone, there was room to notice other feelings. The action felt like a kind of acrobatics, unrehearsed and in slow motion. Charlie became absorbed in it for a long time, slowing down as the holds seemed scarcer, until his fingers began to hurt. For a while nothing existed except for the rock face and his search for holds. Once or twice Frank spoke, but mostly watched. The tug of his belay, while reassuring, did not actually pull Charlie up; and now he began to struggle, with only a final awkward lunge getting him up to the rim.

Very absorbing stuff! And now a surge of I’M STILL ALIVE was flowing through him. He saw how people might get hooked.

Then it was Drepung’s turn. Charlie sat with his feet swinging over the edge, watching happily. From above Drepung looked bulky, and his expression as he searched the rock face was uncomfortable. Charlie had years of scrambling experience; Drepung did not. After hauling himself up the first few holds he looked down once, and after that he seemed a bit glued to the rock. He muttered something about a traditional Tibetan fear of falling, but Frank would have none of it. “That’s a tradition everywhere, I assure you. Just focus on where you’re at, and feel the belay. Jump off if you want to see how it’ll feel.”

“It seems I will get to find out soon enough.”

He was slow, but he kept trying. His moves were pretty sure when they happened. His small mouth pursed in a perfect little O of concentration. In a few minutes he made it and hauled himself beside Charlie, uttering a happy “Ha.”

Frank had them do it again, trying other routes on the face; then they belayed each other, nervously, with Frank standing beside the belayer making sure all was well. Lastly he had them rappel down, in a simple but scary operation like the old Batman, but for real. They practiced until their hands got too tired and sore to hold on to anything.

After that (it had taken a couple of hours) Frank changed his belay to another tree on the cliff top. “It looks like Juliet’s Balcony and Romeo’s Ladder survived the flood. I’m going to do one of those, or Gorky Park.” He dropped away, leaving Charlie and Drepung sitting happily on the cliff’s edge, kicking their heels against the rock and taking in the view. To their left the rearranged falls roared down its drops, every step along the way boiling whitely. Below them Frank was climbing slowly.

Suddenly Charlie leaped up shouting, “Where’s Joe! Where’s Joe!”

“Not here,” Drepung reminded him. “With Anna today, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Charlie sank back down. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“That’s okay. I take it you are used to watching him.”

“Yes.”

Charlie sat back down, shaking his head. Slowly Frank ascended toward them. As he looked up for his next hold his face reminded Charlie of Buster Keaton; he had that same wary and slightly baffled look, ready for anything—unflappable, although not imperturbable, as his eyes revealed just as clearly as Keaton’s that in fact he was perturbed most of the time.

Charlie had always had a lot of sympathy for Buster Keaton. Life as a string of astonishing crises; it seemed right to him. He said, “Drepung?”

“Yes?”

Charlie inspected his torn hand. Drepung held his own hand next to it; both were chewed up by the day’s action.

“Speaking of Joe.”

“Yes?”

Charlie heaved a sigh, feeling the worry that had built up in him. “I don’t want him to be any kind of special person for you guys.”

“What?”

“I don’t want him to be a reincarnated soul.”

“…Buddhism says we are all such.”

“I don’t want him to be any kind of reincarnated lama. Not a tulku, or a bodhisattva, or whatever else you call it. Not someone your people would have any religious interest in at all.”

Drepung inspected his palm. The skin was about the same color as Charlie’s, maybe more opaque. Let that stand for us, Charlie thought. He couldn’t tell what Drepung was thinking. Except he did seem at a loss.

This tended to confirm Charlie’s suspicions. He said, “You know what happened to that new Panchen Lama.”

“Yes…”

“So you know what I mean. They picked a little boy, and the Chinese took him and he has never been seen again.”

Drepung nodded, looking upset. “That was bad.”

“Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Drepung grimaced. “The Panchen Lama is the reincarnation of the Buddha Amitabha. He is the second most important spiritual leader in Tibetan Buddhism. His relationship with the Dalai Lama has always been complicated. The two were often at odds, but they also help to choose each other’s successors. Then in the last couple of centuries the Panchen Lama has often been associated with Chinese interests, so it got even more complicated.”

“Sure,” Charlie said.

“So, when the tenth Panchen Lama died, in 1989, the identification of his next reincarnation was obviously a problem. Who would make the determination? The Chinese government told the Panchen Lama’s monastery, Tashilhunpo, to find the new reincarnation. So, that was proper, but they also made it clear they would have final approval of the choice.”

“Of course.”

“So Chadrel Rimpoche, the head of Tashilhunpo, contacted the Dalai Lama in secret, to get his help, as was proper in the tradition. His group had already identified several children in north Tibet as possibilities. So the Dalai Lama performed divinations to discover which of them was the new Panchen Lama. He found that it was a boy living near Tashilhunpo. The signs were clear. But now the question was, how were they going to get that candidate approved by the Chinese, while also hiding the involvement of the Dalai Lama.”

“Couldn’t Chadrel Rimpoche just tell the Chinese that’s who it was?”

“Well, but the Chinese had introduced a system of their own. It involved a thing called the Golden Urn. The three top names are put into this urn, and the name drawn from the urn is the correct one.”

“What?” Charlie cried. “They draw the name out of a hat?”

“Out of an urn. Yes.”

“But that’s crazy! I mean presumably if there is a reincarnated lama in one of these kids, he is who he is! You can’t be drawing a name from a hat.”

“One would suppose. But the Chinese have never been averse to harming Tibetan traditions, as you know. Anyway, in this case the Dalai Lama’s divination found a boy in a region under Chinese control, so it seemed as if chances for Chinese approval were fairly good. But there was concern that the Chinese would use the urn to deliberately choose someone other than the one Chadrel Rimpoche recommended.”

“Sure. And so?”

“And so, the Dalai Lama decided to announce the identity of the boy, thinking that the Chinese would then be pressured to conform to Tibetan wishes, but be satisfied that it was a boy living under their control.”

“Oh no,” Charlie said. “I’m surprised anyone could have thought that, knowing the Chinese.”

Drepung sighed. “It was a gamble. The Dalai Lama must have felt that it was the best chance they had.”

“But it didn’t work.”

“No.”

“So what happened to the boy?”

“He and his parents were taken into custody. Chadrel Rimpoche also.”

“Where are they now?”

“No one knows.”

“Now see? I don’t want Joe to be any part of that sort of thing!”

Drepung sighed. Finally he said, “The Panchen Lama is a special case, very highly politicized, because of the Chinese. Many returned lamas are identified without any such problems.”

“I don’t care! You can’t be sure whether it will get complicated or not.”

“No Chinese are involved in this.”

“I don’t care!”

Drepung hunched forward, as if to say, What can I do, I can’t do anything.

“Look,” Charlie said. “It’s upsetting Anna. She doesn’t believe in anything you can’t see or quantify, you know that. It upsets her even to try. If there’s this kind of stuff about Joe, it will freak her out. She’s trying not to think about it right now, and even that is freaking her out. She’s not good at not thinking about things. She thinks about things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I mean, think of it this way. If she hadn’t befriended you guys like she did when you first came here, then you would never even have known Joe existed. So in effect you are punishing Anna for her kindness to you.”

Drepung pursed his lips unhappily. He looked like he had while climbing.

“Besides,” Charlie pressed, “the whole idea that your kid is somehow not just, you know, your kid—that he’s someone else somehow—that in itself is upsetting. Offensive, one might even say. I mean he is a reincarnation already, of me and Anna.”

“And your ancestors.”

“Right, true. But anyone else, no.”

“Hmmm.”

“You see what I mean? How it feels?”

“Yes.” Drepung nodded, rocking his whole body. “Yes, I do.”

They sat there, looking down at the river. A lone kayaker was working her way upstream against the white flow. Below them Frank, who was standing by the shore again, was staring at her.

Charlie gestured down at Frank. “He seems interested.”

“Indeed he does.”

They watched Frank watch her.

“So,” Charlie persevered, “maybe you could talk to Rudra Cakrin about this. See if there is some kind of, I don’t know, exorcism he can do. Just some kind of I don’t know what. A re-individuation ceremony. To clear him out, and, well—leave him alone. Are there such ceremonies?”

“Well…in a manner of speaking, yes. I suppose.”

“So will you talk to Rudra about doing it? Maybe just without much fanfare, so Anna doesn’t know about it?”

Drepung was frowning. “If she doesn’t know, then…”

“Then it would be for me. Yes. For me and Joe. It would get to Anna by way of us. Why, does it have to be public?”

“No no. It’s not that.”

“What—you don’t want to talk to Rudra about it?”

“Well…Rudra would not actually be the one to decide about such a matter.”

“No?” Charlie was surprised. “Who then? Someone back in Khembalung, or Tibet?”

Drepung shook his head.

“Well who then?”

Drepung lifted his hand as if to inspect it again. He pointed the bloodied thumb at himself. Looked at Charlie.

Charlie shifted to get a better look at him. “What, you?”

Drepung nodded with his body again.

Charlie laughed shortly. All of a sudden many things were becoming clear. “Why you rascal you!” He gave the young man a light shove. “You guys have been running a scam on us the whole time.”

“No no. Not a scam.”

“So what is Rudra then, some kind of servant, some old retainer you’re doing a prince-and-pauper switch with?”

“No, not at all. He is a tulku too. But not so, that is to say, in the Khembali order there are also relationships between tulkus, like the ones between the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama.”

“So you’re the boss, you’re saying.”

Drepung winced. “I am the one the others regard as, you know. Leader.”

“Spiritual leader? Political leader?”

Drepung wiggled a hand.

“What about Padma and Sucandra?”

“They are in effect like regents, or they were. Like my brothers now, advisors. They tell me so much.”

“I see. And so you stay behind the scenes here.”

“Or in front of the scenes. The greeter.”

“Both in front and behind.”

“Yes.”

“Very clever. It’s just what I thought all along.”

“Really?”

“No. I thought Rudra spoke English.”

Drepung nodded. “His English is not so bad. He has been studying. Though he does not like to admit it.”

“But listen, Drepung—you do these kinds of switches and cover stories because you know it’s a little dangerous out there, right? Because of the Chinese?”

Drepung pursed his lips. “Well…”

“And think about it like this—you know what it means to suddenly be called someone else! You must!”

At this Drepung blinked. “Yes. It’s true. My mother was never really reconciled. She would put my hand on her and say, ‘You came from here.’ ”

“What do they think now?”

“They are no longer in those bodies.”

“Ah.” He seemed young to have lost both parents. But who knows what they had lived through. Charlie said, “But you know what I’m talking about.”

“Yes.”

For a long time they sat in the misty rumble of the Great Falls, looking down at Frank, who had now unclipped from his rope and was walking over the jumbled rocks by the water, attempting, it appeared, to keep the kayaker in sight as she approached the foot of the falls proper.

Charlie pressed on. “Will you do something about this then?”

Drepung rocked again. Charlie was beginning to wonder if it signaled assent or not. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Now don’t you be giving me that!”

“What? Oh! Oh, no, no—I meant it for real!”

They both laughed, thinking about Phil Chase and his I’ll see what I can dos. “They all say it,” Charlie complained.

“Well, they are seeing what they can do. You must give them that.”

“I don’t give them that. They’re seeing what they can’t do.”

Drepung waggled a hand. He too had had to put people off, Charlie saw.

They leaned out to try to spot Frank.

As they peered down, Charlie found that he felt better. Talking with someone else about it had eased his sense of isolation. He wasn’t used to having something he couldn’t talk to Anna about.

And the news that Drepung was the true power in Khembali affairs, once he got over it, was actually quite reassuring. Rudra Cakrin was, when all was said and done, a strange old man. It was far better to have someone he knew and trusted in charge of this business.

“I’ll talk to Rudra Cakrin about it,” Drepung said.

“I thought you said he was a front man.”

“No no. A…a colleague. I need to consult with him, for sure. For one thing he would probably conduct the ceremony. He is the oracle. That means he will know which ceremonies. There are some precedents. Certain accidents, mistakes rectified…there are some things I can look into.”

Charlie nodded. “Good. Remember Anna welcoming you to NSF.”

“Yes.” Drepung grimaced. “Actually, the oracle told us to go there.”

“Come on, what, he said, ‘Move to 4201 Wilson Boulevard’?”

“Not exactly.”

“No I guess not! Well, whatever. Just remember how Anna feels. It’s probably very much like your mom felt.”

Charlie was surprised to hear himself going for the jugular like that. Then he thought of Joe clutching at him, frightened and pitiful, and his mouth clenched. He wanted all this business cleared away. The fever would then also leave.

They watched the river roil by. White patches on black water.

“Look—it looks like Frank is trying to catch that kayaker’s attention.”

“It sure does.”

The woman was now resting, paddle flat across the kayak in front of her, gliding downstream. Frank was hurrying downstream to stay abreast of her, stumbling once or twice on the rocky bank, hands to his mouth to cup shouts out to her. He started waving his arms up and down. He came to a flatter patch and ran to get ahead of her. He semaphored with his arms, megaphoned with his hands, jumped up and down.

“He must know that person?”

“Or something. But she must be hearing him, don’t you think?”

“It seems like it. Seeing him too, for that matter. She must not want to be interrupted.”

“I guess.”

It was hard to see how she couldn’t be noticing him, which meant she must be ignoring him. She floated on, and he continued to chase her, scrambling over boulders now, shouting still.

She never turned her head. A big boulder blocked Frank’s way and he slipped, went to his knees, held out his arms; but now she was past him, and did not look back.

Finally his arms fell. Head bowed, shoulders slumped: the very figure of a man whose hopes have been dashed.

Charlie and Drepung looked at each other.

“Do you think that Frank is seeming kind of…”

“Yes.”