The Boeing 747 had been in the air for about an hour. Father Sohn was a man of fifty-five. He wasn't a large man, but he was athletic. A certain cosmopolitan sensibility was evident in his dress, his diet and his mannerisms. Mr. Sohn never smiled unless he was flossing his teeth. His high forehead was deeply creased, but his mind, which absorbed the experience and grief of thousands of people, was much deeper. His short-cut gray hair also conveyed the depth of what he had seen and endured, but the grief he felt was hidden by the reproachful look of his dark, gleaming eyes. One could also see a crimson scar, which extended from his chin to a point just below his right ear. He was never without the memory of his last encounter with the Beast. Father Sohn was something of a pilgrim. He had seen a lot of countries and met a lot of people. However, regardless of the situation he always preached the Law of God. He helped people not only with good advice but also by taking part in their lives.
