The wind on their backs began to rise, slowly clearing the dust cloud. The high V-shaped pass was no more, replaced by a wide, jagged opening with a gaping crevasse below it. There would never be a dam across the valley.
Shan went to the director’s side, who stood alone, still staring at his ruined project.
“There was no way for you to have known,” Shan said. It had the sound of a suggestion. “You were brought in after the project was conceived and its plans laid.”
“No way I could have known,” Ren repeated in a dull voice. “I was…” he seemed to have trouble speaking, “I was brought in later.”
“Jiao was a criminal who committed a fraud on the state. His friends Lieutenant Huan and Major Xun have also disappeared. No doubt they were part of the conspiracy.”
“A conspiracy against the state,” Ren mumbled.
“Against the people and their blessed motherland,” Shan suggested. “I will say you cooperated fully with my investigation, that we couldn’t have exposed them without your help. The colonel will confirm that. Everyone will soon recognize that as bad as this news is, it is better to receive it now than after billions are spent on a project that was always going to fail. Which means they will applaud your courage in speaking up.”
As Shan’s words sank in Ren seemed to regain some strength, though his voice cracked as he spoke. “You would do that?”
“You need to start clearing out the equipment and the buildings, immediately,” Shan said. “But yes, I will do that. It will be a secret report, of course, sent through Tan and the Commissar. But your superiors in Beijing will see it.”
Ren sighed. “They’re building lots of bridges in Manchuria. I like bridges. I’ll find a bridge project.”
“Excellent. The people of Manchuria will be the better for it.”
Ren nodded and began to step away, then turned and stared at the little blue god on the podium. He retrieved the figure and put it in his pocket, then left to return the valley to the gods. High above, a new line of prayer flags was drifting downward to settle over the debris field. Gekho’s mountain had been wounded but still survived.
When Shan reached them, Tan and Zhu were studying the far slope with binoculars. A small crowd of Tibetans were excitedly pointing to a shadow halfway up the mountain, beyond the new rubble field. “That Gekho is one cunning rascal,” Tan said with a grin as he handed Shan his binoculars. Shan aimed them in the direction the Tibetans pointed then grinned. A new cavern had opened on the side of the sacred mountain.
EPILOGUE
“Ah yi! Save me from this foreign devil!” Lhamo crowed, throwing up her hands in frustration as she aimed her cry at Shan and Meng, who sat on a bench on the opposite side of the farmhouse courtyard. The old Tibetan woman turned back to Cato Pike and renewed her animated discussion, jabbing her finger into the American’s chest with each syllable.
Lhamo’s husband, Trinle, and Lokesh watched from the doorway of the smaller house where they now lived, each of the old men casting anxious glances at Shan. Pike threw up his own arms in exasperation and Lokesh groaned, but then the American leaned close to the old Tibetan woman and spoke in a lower voice, as if confiding a secret. Lhamo reacted with surprise, then after Pike unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket she listened to him closely, then nodded. She shook Pike’s hand vigorously, pinched the American’s cheek with her other hand, then gave him a cigar, which she lit from the end of the cigar stub she clenched in her own mouth. As the American walked away, she stuffed the paper into her gau.
Pike grinned, puffing on the cigar, as he reported to Shan. “A tough old vulture,” he proclaimed, “but I like her. An astute observer of the human condition. She said the constable has the most stubborn spirit of any person she has ever known.”
“We knew that,” Meng said. “And?”
“She will accept Shan’s boots and binoculars. And a hundred dollars.”
“A hundred dollars?” Shan gasped in alarm. “I don’t have a hundred dollars.”
“My gift to you. She’s never had American currency, it seems. Not sure she knows what a dollar’s value is, but it was worth the gleam in her eyes when she saw the bill. I’m afraid,” Pike sheepishly admitted, “that she may have the impression that Benjamin Franklin is the American Dalai Lama.” He shrugged. “I had to close the deal.” He glanced over at the old woman, who stared at them expectantly. “Oh, and the merchandise is to be delivered immediately.”
Shan called over Yara’s son, who was playing with a much-subdued Kami, and whispered in his ear. The boy grabbed Kami’s hand and they ran toward the big house. The two were back moments later, laughing, and clutching Shan’s boots and binoculars. Meng took the worn boots and the battered binoculars and, with a ceremonial air, set them in a basket that had been adorned with red yarn. As the makeshift matchmaker, Pike escorted them with the gifts to Lhamo, who watched with a wary air until she confirmed the contents of the basket. With a whoop of joy, she pulled out the boots.
“I don’t know if they are Trinle’s size,” Shan cautioned.
“Trinle? Who said anything about my husband?” the old woman asked, then kicked off one of her own shoes and pulled the boot on. She stomped her foot down with a satisfied gleam. “Milk price is paid!” she shouted for all in the courtyard to hear. She had not noticed that her granddaughter and Ko had been listening from a second-story window, and Shan watched as they joyfully embraced.
Lhakpa the snow monk had watched from the stable, where he sat on a keg with his goat at his side, sharing a hearty laugh with his brother the hail chaser. Shan had wondered more than once if it had really been the old hail chaser, not the doctor, who had saved his son.
He had feared for Ko’s life as they had waited for the helicopter with Dr. Anwei. But then Yankay had seen Shiva’s astrology chart and pointed with excitement at the bottom row of figures, which none of them had been able to decipher. “You have to live now, boy,” the hail chaser had exhorted. Ko had weakly shrugged his shoulders. “You have to, son, because this says you will be getting married!”
Thus they had embarked on a double wedding ceremony, subject to Shan paying the customary milk price to Yara’s grandmother, to compensate her household for the loss of a strong young woman. Shan had chosen not to point out that since they were all going to be living in the same compound Lhamo was not in fact going to suffer the loss of Yara.
Meng had agreed to marry Shan the day he had returned from monitoring the dismantling of the Five Claws compound. He had actually been doing research on whether Choden had authority to conduct a simple civil ceremony when Marpa and Shiva had descended on his office, insisting that the event deserved a grander and more traditional celebration. Shan had seen the shy anticipation in Meng’s eyes and agreed, provided that some old Chinese traditions might be added to the Tibetan affair. The next day he had driven Meng to Lhasa, where they bought traditional clothing and boxes of small sweet cakes.
He had waited to break the news to Meng that Tibetan weddings were essentially three days of drinking and feasting. Meng and Ko had both understood the importance of acting quickly, though no one would speak of the reasons. Ko’s medical parole lasted only so long as it took him to regain enough strength for hard labor, and Meng’s own health on any given day was unpredictable. Tserung the mechanic had reluctantly accepted that he would not have time to brew the special wedding beer of Tibetan tradition and Shiva had dropped all her other work so that she could produce elaborate astrological charts for the marriages, which had, to Shan’s great relief, identified a propitious date that provided for a short weeklong engagement for both couples.
The guests began arriving by early afternoon. Marpa, assisted by several townspeople, had arrived to set up large braziers scattered around the courtyard, several for cooking and one by the freshly painted gate for burning fragrant juniper. As they began cooking traditional dishes Tserung arrived with a truckload of tables and chairs. Lines of brightly colored prayer flags were
strung across the courtyard and more juniper boughs were stacked by the gate. Tara the goat scampered about happily, though more than once she had to be guided away from the tub of beer that Trinle began dispensing.
Shan had stood in the window of his new second-story bedroom, watching the activity in the courtyard with an unfamiliar contentment. Not since his childhood had he felt the joy of family, and he had long ago given up any hope of ever again finding that happiness. Lhamo, Trinle, and Lokesh had already begun to enthusiastically play the role of grandparents to the other residents of their new home. He was well aware that Ko would soon be back in prison and Meng would succumb to her disease, but this joy would live forever in all of them, in this life and the next.
From the adjoining room where the women were preparing for the ceremony he made out Meng’s throaty laugh, then Yara’s giggles, and thought once more of the transformation the three of them had been undergoing. When Shan had finally returned with the rapidly recovering Ko, Meng and the others had already rehabilitated much of the old house, scrubbing and painting and even bringing back two large rugs donated by the carpet factory. Only later had Shan realized that the paint-stained tunic Meng wore was in fact her old Public Security uniform, stripped of insignia. With Lokesh’s help, she had made a little altar in their bedchamber and joined in the construction of a larger one by the main entry below. With the aid of local herders and two yaks, they had even brought down from the hills a weather-beaten, centuries-old figure of a Buddhist saint they had found toppled and half-buried on the slope above the house and erected it outside the gate, to protect the household. Kami’s campaigns of terror had largely subsided, and she had developed an odd rapport with Tara, who stayed at the farmhouse with the girl while Lhakpa helped Tserung and Lokesh with their daily work in the secret archive.
Out in the courtyard, Shan found Lokesh chatting with Shiva by the row of auspicious signs the astrologer had painted on the courtyard wall. As Shan approached, Lokesh cocked his head toward the gate. Squeals of laughter could be heard down the dirt track, and Shan hurried to the entry to see Tink in a beautiful, if overtight, silk dress, holding a cane as she walked beside Cao, who carried Natalie Pike on his back. Cato Pike rushed past Shan.
“What are you thinking?” the American called to his daughter. “You can’t possibly—”
“Can’t possibly miss this grand event,” his daughter interrupted. Her words were still slightly slurred but her speech had much improved since Shan had last seen her in the hospital.
Pike darted forward to steady Natalie as she slid off Cao. “The doctor said—”
The American woman held up her hand to cut off her father, then accepted the cane from Tink and adjusted the red silk patch over her eye. “The doctor said I am ready for travel to America. If I can go to Baltimore, then surely I can go to Yangkar,” she declared and limped forward.
At last the assembly quieted and Kami appeared in the doorway of the main house, wearing a simple red dress and holding a bouquet of fresh heather. The coral and turquoise beads that had been woven into her hair rattled as she scampered to Shan’s side. She reached up and took her father’s hand as the brides, with excited murmurs from the onlookers, stepped into the courtyard.
Both of the women had beads in their hair. Yara’s long black tresses had been gathered into the traditional one hundred and eight tiny braids, most anchored with beads of turquoise and amber, although several were of silver, borrowed from friends all over the township. Over her richly embroidered blouse hung the silver gau of her grandfather, set off by a necklace of large amber and agate beads. From her belt hung an ornate silver hook, a symbol of the milk pail hook that nomadic women traditionally wore at their waists. On her head above the braids was a khampa-style fox fur cap.
Meng, in the red dress they had bought in Lhasa, had beads woven into a dozen small braids. Around her neck she wore a silver-and-turquoise prayer amulet, loaned by Shiva. All signs of the pain she increasingly experienced were banished by her radiant smile.
As the wedding party gathered in the center of the courtyard, Tserung, who had disappeared an hour earlier, arrived with a herder, carrying a cask of fresh water between them which he set on the cobbles. Shan glanced at Shiva, marveling at the magic that had caused her to include the traditional wedding cask in the horoscope for Ko. Under Lhamo’s careful instruction, the two couples joined hands and walked around the cask three times. Lokesh, wearing a shirt embroidered with auspicious signs, had proclaimed that all was ready for the formal blessing when the ominous thump-thump-thump of a helicopter suddenly rose from the south. Every smile faded as it settled onto the flat hilltop above the farmhouse. Colonel Tan climbed out, then gave a hand to Amah Jiejie. Both of them were wearing long coats, which fluttered in the rotor wash as Dr. Anwei jumped out.
The joy in the courtyard had disappeared by the time Tan entered the gate. The colonel solemnly eyed the assembly. With rising dread Shan realized that if he had brought the doctor, then it must mean they intended to clear Ko for return to his prison. He glanced at his son, whose crestfallen expression showed that he understood. Yara clutched Ko’s arm tightly, as if to prevent him from being dragged away.
“You, you, and you,” Tan snapped, pointing to Yara’s son and two teenagers from the herding families Lhamo had invited. “Go help the pilot bring down the liquor and cakes.” A mischievous glint rose in the colonel’s eyes. “This is a wedding, isn’t it?” he asked, then helped Amah Jiejie out of her coat. She was wearing a surprisingly elegant dress, with a Tibetan comb of silver and turquoise in her hair. Tan took off his own coat, revealing a dress uniform resplendent with medals. He hesitated as he saw the uncertain expressions of the Tibetans, then Amah Jiejie tugged his arm and whispered in his ear. He considered her words, studying the Tibetans again, then unbuttoned his tunic and tossed it on the front rail of the stable, leaving him in a simple blue dress shirt.
Choden broke the tension by bringing the colonel a mug of beer, and the smiles began returning, which grew wider as the pilot led in the procession carrying cartons of vodka, arack, sweet rice cakes, sacks of uncooked rice, fresh fruit, and a surprising array of Chinese foodstuffs.
“Eight dishes for the married couples,” Tan declared, referring to the traditional Chinese wedding feast. Several of the courses appeared to be in cans, but Shan appreciated the effort. “Eight,” Meng explained to the curious Tibetans, “is the lucky number for weddings, because the number eight also sounds like the Chinese word for good fortune.” Marpa ventured forward and Amah Jiejie began explaining how the food should be prepared.
Shan watched silently as Dr. Anwei approached Ko, bending with an ear to his son’s chest to listen to his breathing. Ko stood still as a statue, his countenance hardening as if he were already bracing himself to reenter the razor wire compound of the 404th. Anwei lifted Ko’s arms and probed the flesh over his wound, nodding and murmuring words of approval. Yara hovered close by, reminding the doctor that Ko was still very weak and greatly in need of rest. The doctor smiled and vaguely nodded, as if not understanding the worry his presence had caused, then stepped away as the helicopter pilot held up a glass of beer for him.
Tibetan weddings, Shan had learned years earlier, were much more about celebrating than ceremony. Eventually, after the tub of beer was refilled, Lhamo began directing the guests into a line along the edge of the cobbled yard so they could pass by a small table before moving to the benches in the center. On the table was an aged, foot-high bronze figurine of the Mother Protectress and a small bronze brazier in which incense burned. A stack of white silk prayer scarves lay on the table beside a wooden bowl filled with yak milk. Lhamo insisted Tan stand at the front of the line but the colonel stood awkwardly immobile, not understanding. Lhamo laughed, then draped a prayer scarf around his neck and demonstrated how everyone was to dip their fingers in the milk and flick drops in the air, a gift to the gods.
At last the couples stood before Lokesh. The gentle old Tibetan h
ad been excited when Shan had asked him to give the marriage vows, but he had grown increasingly nervous about his role, saying he did not know what to say or, to Shan’s surprise, what to wear. Lhamo had at first insisted he wear a monk’s maroon robe, but the old man had adamantly refused, stating he had never been properly ordained. At last Shiva and Yara had fashioned an old gown into something resembling the vestment of a senior Tibetan official and had somehow even managed to find one of the squared caps worn by such officials. It was faded and tattered, but the old man had seemed to grow taller as Shiva had set it on his head.
When the assembly finally quieted, Lokesh extended his arms and each couple closed their hands around one of his. “Let us bear witness to the wholeness of our existence,” he declared. “Let us bear witness to the triumph of love and compassion over the uncertainty of all life.” A tear of joy rolled down the old man’s cheek, and for a moment he seemed unable to speak. Then he cleared his throat and nodded. “It is done,” he announced with a nod to each couple. “You are one.”
Lhamo stepped forward with fresh bowls of milk, which each bride drank, to the cheers of the Tibetans. Gifts were then announced, beginning with the elegant astrological chart that Shiva presented to each couple. At the top of each was a pair of leaping fish, the symbol of conjugal happiness. As the bottom was a carefully inscribed verse from a traditional wedding song. The man is like the sun, the girl is like the full moon, it said. When the sun and the moon meet, there is happiness in the village.
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