Brian Drummond posted:

1.
In the foothills of the Himalayas, the East wind blew steadily,
chilling on the face, seeking out every hole in the eaves of the ancient
drystone building.

Yet within, there was peace, and contemplation, far removed
>from  the weather and politics of the world outside. There was community,
and learning, and preparation for life in the world.

But the centre of all this, the old man, was dying. In recent weeks his 
closest friend had delivered a letter to a safe place in India, he had 
given his last teaching, and announced that his time had come.

As the old man, seated and serenely smiling, drifted away, the 
assembled monks paid their respects, chanting, beneath the booming voice
of ancient trumpets. Tears were on many faces, for it is not easy to 
give up attachment to such a one as he.

Now he was beyond the need for bureaucracy, visas and passports.

No-one noticed the light-skinned novice with the unfamiliar accent 
slip out and run down the mountainside.


2a.
Captain Li Peng studied the orders again, although he knew what had
to be done, having prepared for this day for years. He had only one 
chance - and he could not know for sure that he would even find
his quarry, let alone track or intercept him. He sealed the last letter 
to his wife and only son, inserted a single round in the chamber of 
his service pistol, and clicked off the safety catch.

Then he dismissed all conscious thoughts, placed the muzzle against his
temple, and focussed his mind on the task ahead. With the last trace of
conscious effort, he would pull the trigger - then he would face the
unknowable.

2b. 
[chase scene open to tender. Invited bids from Stanley Kubrick and
Arthur C.Clarke, also Steven Spielberg...]

3.
In the foothills of the Sierra Madre, the East wind came in fitful
gusts, hot, but bringing welcome relief from the suffocating still air. 
The shirt stuck to his back as he lumbered towards the cantina for an
early lunch, or a very late breakfast.

There was an unusual commotion in the village - not because the first
car in weeks had rattled up the dirt track, but because it brought the
doctor from the city, to the house of Conchita. 

Conchita, he thought. Oh, those sparkling brown pools, her eyes! 
She lived alone, and had worked in the trading post until recently.
Then, following several absences, she was sacked, and now lived meagerly

on whatever sewing jobs she could get. 
The absences from work, the store manager's cruelty, and the doctor's 
(long expected) visit were the usual village gossip's fare - and though 
several men's names had cropped up, none had stuck - possibly to prolong
the story's usefulness. 

The cantina could wait. Its staff were among the spectators anyway, so 
the man joined the thinning crowd by the parked car. He did not have
long to wait - a window creaked open, and the doctor's head appeared.
"Esta uno bambino! Esta muy bueno!" - and that was all. He was a gringo,
from el norte, and didn't know much Spanish. Never mind, the details
would come out later.

As he turned away, towards the cantina, something about the run-down
house, and the richness and poverty within, stirred his heart.


4.
Pancho's sow felt oddly uneasy - first one nipple had been unattended 
- and now a second. Had she rolled over during the night? Craning her 
head round in the sty where she lay, she could see two still forms 
beside her, though six lively piglets still sought her milk. One was, if
anything, too lively - she didn't like its sharp teeth, or the vicious 
way it butted the others. She hoped the blood around the little snout 
was not hers, but from the dead piglets.

The sense of unease deepened as an unknown rank stench permeated the
sty. Voices at the door mingled with the squealing, and light flooded
the ramshackle building.

"No, I want the beeg one, not the runt. Thees requires a celebration, 
and eet ees a very beeg favour you owe me, Pancho."

A grubby hand reached over the sow, and the largest piglet was torn
between retreat from the stench, and biting the hand. Then he was
swinging in mid-air, trotters flailing wildly, and squealing in
unaccustomed terror.

"Eh, mon capitano, you weel make a fine feast to celebrate Conchita's 
bambino. I see you have made a feast already" 
said the whiskered face before him, looking at the dead piglets.
Below the face, a knife. Not bright, but sharp, and safe from corrosion
thanks to the film of grease on its blade. The piglet knew a perplexing 
sense of failure for a moment, and then no more.

5. 
The dark pools of Conchita's eyes met the man's, with gratitude for the
feast, and only the mildest hint of reproach for events long past. 

The peacefully sleeping infant wrinkled his nose, curiously, and then
woke up. Faced with that smile, El Dupree felt powerless. He could only
smile back. Then their eyes met, and they both knew.

In the sty, the sow was enlightened.