Achmed Abdullah

“ Tzu Po filled his lungs with gray, acrid opium smoke. “Can you, my friend?”
“Prove? The devil! You don’t have to prove. You can arrest him on suspicion—shoot him out of the country if you want to—”
“It would be against the law.”
“Laws are rather in abeyance these days. You have some leeway in wartime.”
“China is not at war—yet. China and Germany are still at peace. No, no!” Tzu Po made a gesture of finality. “I can’t help you, my friend—except”—he winked elaborately at nothing in particular—“if you should—”
“What?” whispered Michael Crane. “If I should do—what?” ”

“ It is natural that he should take an interest in this old lamasery—”
“I know all that, Tzu Po! The chief Lama of Urga is second only to the Dalai Lama of Tibet in holiness. He is a continuous reincarnation of some damned Buddhist saint or other, and Mengel, as you say, does know a lot more about Buddhism than the priests do themselves. But, man, this is war! Not even a single-minded German professor will cross all Russia and half of Asia, these days, simply to swap theological lies with some old yellow-capped priests! ”

“ And they pushed on, on, ever more of them pouring out of the little squat stone houses, from the streets and alleys, the low-roofed bazaars and the market place, regardless of the bitter cold, of the snow that thudded down moist-hissing into the flickering torches, of elbow and fist and foot, and occasionally, pricking dagger point. ”

“ At the very last moment, he had remembered the ancient Buddhist law that the body of a suicide means pollution unspeakable, that a priest may neither touch it nor step over it, and that the spot where the deed has been done must be made clean with many and lengthy ceremonies before priest or worshiper may set foot on or across it. ”

“ He was a favorite with the yellow caps. He stood high in their councils. He would doubtless play a big role during the coming election, as soon as Tengso Punlup had died. Though a European, a white man, he was acknowledged to be the leading authority on northern Buddhism and, as such, looked up to by the lama priests.
But—mused Michael Crane—given the fact that the yellow caps were in the majority, that one of the Lara clan was practically certain to be chosen chief abbot, why had the Berlin government, which Mengel doubtless represented, gone to the trouble of sending him here, to Urga? ”

“ It seems to be a town in—” Again he had studied the map. “Let me see. Yes, it is the capital of Outer Mongolia, steen million miles from nowhere. Jack,” he had continued, lighting a cigar, “I have a hunch that the United States of America needs a consul out yonder. What do you say?”
“I say yes. And I nominate Mike Crane for the job.”
“Seconded and carried. Perhaps he won’t be able to get whisky in Urga. Anyway, he won’t do much harm there!”
Thus Michael Crane had become United States consul in Urga seven years earlier. Urga! Outer Mongolia! Central Asia! Quite unimportant! ”

“ Only one thing mattered to them. They must reach the council hall of the lamasery as quickly as possible before the half-hour during which the spirit of Subhuti was permitted to roam in the outer ether was over, and muster there a sufficient number of priests to decide who should be the next chief abbot—yellow cap or red cap. ”

“ He only knew that for some vague reason, which he could not quite decipher, it was important for the cause of America and her allies, whom he represented, that the yellow caps should be defeated at the coming election to Subhuti’s saintly succession.
Back in his old Chicago ward, he would have known how to handle the situation. At least, he might have made an attempt. There he knew the ropes that controlled the political machine of the ward, and they were simple enough ”