‘There!’ Cuomu pointed up the mountain. She pretended to have just noticed Luobudunzhu and his men, and said in a surprised voice, ‘Brother Luobu, what are you doing here?’
Luobudunzhu and his men could no longer hide. They could only stand, glance balefully at them, and say, ‘We also came to hunt foxes!’
When Zhaduo, who was climbing the opposite slope, heard the noise, he came to a standstill, then suddenly turned and ran back down, crying, ‘Ghosts! Ghosts!’
‘Brother, what’s that crazy man doing here?’ Shida asked Luobudunzhu, his eyes on Gongzha.
‘Who knows? People with disturbed minds will do anything!’ Luobudunzhu said unhappily. He glared angrily at the three half-grown children. He knew there would be no catch today, so he took his men and went back down the mountain.
Gongzha and the others waited until Luobudunzhu was a long way off, then turned, slid down the mountain another way and raced to catch up with the bellowing old man.
‘Let’s go back, Uncle. What did you come here by yourself for?’ Cuomu took his bag and led him down carefully by the hand.
The old man seemed not to have understood what Cuomu said. He just gurgled and muttered to himself.
‘He’s always like this,’ Cuomu said. ‘One minute he makes sense and the next minute he’s confused.’
‘You should talk to your mother and take your uncle to the county town to see a Han doctor,’ Shida said. ‘My brother says they can treat a lot of strange diseases.’
Gongzha gripped the old man by the back of his belt to keep him from stumbling down the slope.
Cuomu used her foot to clear some stones out of the old man’s path so he could walk more steadily. ‘My mother? Forget it. Uncle was accused of being a cow-ghost snake-spirit and Mother couldn’t avoid being tarnished by association – why would she take him to get help?’
By the time the three children got Zhaduo back to the encampment, night had fallen. They parted ways in the field behind the tents. Cuomu’s mother had forbidden Cuomu from spending time with Gongzha, so to avoid getting a scolding, she took a different route home. Shida also went back to his tent.
Gongzha helped Zhaduo back to his solitary tent and tipped out half the yak pats he’d collected by his door. Then he went inside, poured a glass of water and handed it to him. The Zhaduo he saw then was not mad or wild. He sat there calmly on the couch. Behind the dirty, messy hair that hung down over his face, Zhaduo’s eyes were bright and clear.
‘Kaguo has grown up!’ the old man said suddenly.
Gongzha looked up in surprise. ‘You’ve seen Kaguo?’
The old man nodded. ‘She’s grown into a large bear!’
‘We wanted to go and see her today, but then we ran into you. What were you doing there, Bola?’
‘I—’ They heard footsteps outside and the old man kept what he was about to say to himself.
‘I must go. Ama is waiting for me.’ Gongzha lifted the tent flap and saw Luobudunzhu and his men sitting in the field nearby. They appeared to be playing with their dogs, but their eyes frequently flitted across to Zhaduo’s tent.
Gongzha picked up the bag of yak pats and walked off, whistling, towards his own tent. Luobudunzhu could not touch him for occasionally meeting Zhaduo, firstly because Gongzha was young, and secondly because for the last eight generations his family had been serfs.
‘Please help the Buddha, child.’ The old man’s pleading look often came into Gongzha’s mind. For a child to be able to help the Buddha was an enormous honour. He made some time to go and check on the things he’d buried in the mountain crevice. They were still there. Should he give them back to the old living Buddha? He pictured the draughty tent and the unkempt old man and reburied the Buddha and the pages of the book.
Gongzha went out early every day and returned home late. Sometimes he came across the old living Buddha deep in the grassland. When they were sure there was no one else around, they would find a comfortable grassy nest to sit in, out of the wind, and Zhaduo would tell him the strange stories of King Gesar.
Zhaduo didn’t just share his stories with Gongzha. He also taught Gongzha about traditional medicine, about the structure of the human body, and about which medicines should be used to treat which illnesses. When they were picking up yak pats on the grassland, the old man taught him to distinguish between different herbs and minerals, and he made Gongzha memorise how to combine them into medicine pellets. Whenever other people appeared, the old man would suddenly begin to babble. Gongzha realised that Zhaduo pretended to be incoherent as a way of protecting both of them.
Luobudunzhu sought out Gongzha many times and asked him what the old man talked about when they spent their days together. Gongzha would reply that Zhaduo was insane and that sometimes he said there were dragons in the sky and other times he said there were strange creatures in the lake which wanted to bite him.
*
Gongzha had just come back from herding the horses. He threw his whip onto the couch and was scooping up some cold water to drink, when several people surged into his tent, buzzing with news.
‘Gongzha, your notice to report came; they want you to go to the local army headquarters tomorrow,’ Shida said excitedly, holding up a piece of paper.
Gongzha leapt up and snatched it. He looked at it closely, then handed it to his mother. She couldn’t read it either, but the large red stamp printed at the top made her laugh so hard she couldn’t close her mouth. ‘You keep it, Gongzha,’ she said, giving it back to him.
Gongzha rolled it up and carefully tucked it into his chuba.
As the news spread round the encampment, the herders came by one after the other to congratulate Gongzha. Having a People’s Liberation Army soldier in your tent was something to be proud of. At the very least, at a time when everyone was preoccupied with social status, it showed that Gongzha and his family did not have any political problems. From another perspective, the army paid a wage, and for a poor herding family that was no small thing.
To Gongzha’s surprise, Dawa brought out the dried fruit they’d served to guests at last year’s Spring Festival and offered it to the herders who dropped by. Lunzhu had bought the fruit in the county town a couple of years ago and Dawa usually only produced it when important guests visited, quickly returning it to the cupboard once they’d gone.
Gongzha was thrilled at the prospect of becoming a PLA soldier – no longer would he need to covet other people’s army caps. But he was also worried at the thought of there being no one but his mother left to do all the chores. How would she keep going? Uncle Danzeng had said he’d help them, but he had his own family to take care of, and besides, his woman didn’t like him getting involved.
That evening, Gongzha went out to fix the sheep enclosure. They didn’t have many sheep, but once he’d left, his mother would be busier than ever and wouldn’t have time to mend it herself. He would do as much as he could for her before he went.
‘Gongzha, Gongzha…’
It was Cuomu.
Gongzha smiled and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘Hello!’
She waved at him and he dried his hand on his chuba and walked over.
‘I have something to say to you. Can we go for a walk over there?’ Cuomu dipped her head. She was blushing.
‘Can you wait a bit? I want to finish this – it won’t take long.’
‘Alright, I’ll help you.’ Cuomu shrugged off one chuba sleeve, tied it round her waist, and began helping Gongzha shift some rocks.
Before long, the two of them had repaired the rundown sheep pen. Gongzha went into his tent to get some water for Cuomu to wash her hands. Then they left the encampment together and walked down to the lake.
‘You leave the day after tomorrow?’
‘Yes. I report the day after tomorrow!’
‘So… you won’t be coming back?’
‘Why could I not come back? I’m going to be a soldier – I’ll be back in three years.’
‘I mean
, will you come back to the grassland?’
‘Of course. The grassland is my home. Where else would I go?’
‘They say that people who become soldiers and see the big wide world want to live in the city, not back on the grassland. Shida’s brother is like that. When he leaves the army this year, he’s going to stay in the county town.’
‘I won’t. I like our grassland and I like hunting. Do you remember, you made a hat from the first fox I killed? My father used to tell me I was a good hunter with strong instincts. My aim still isn’t that good, but once I’m in the army, I’ll improve for sure, and then I’ll kill you a red fox.’
‘Really? You’ll really come back?’ Cuomu grabbed Gongzha’s arm excitedly; her eyes were sparkling and her face was flushed.
‘Mmm!’ Gongzha nodded energetically.
The two sat on the shingle beach beside the lake as the water lapped lightly against the darkening shore.
‘Brother, why don’t I sing you a song?’
‘Good! I like hearing you sing.’
Cuomu looked out at the gently rippling surface of the lake and began to sing softly.
‘The stars in the sky
Are like Brother’s eyes
Watching Sister’s silhouette.
The butter lamps ablaze all night
Cannot see your eyes, Brother,
As they fall inside the tent
To light up Sister’s heart.’
When she finished singing, she stayed staring at the lake. Two glistening tears hung from her long lashes.
‘Cuomu…’ When Gongzha saw how sad Cuomu looked, his heart flexed. The two of them had been together since childhood, as close as siblings, but today something seemed different. Cuomu’s song and her tears, the lake, the moonlight – all of this created a strange feeling between them. He quietly put out his hand, brushing his fingertips against the shingle, and slid it towards Cuomu.
Cuomu seemed to sense something. She put her right hand down on the black pebbles and bashfully turned her face away.
When Gongzha took Cuomu’s hand, a hotness raced through him as if he’d been burnt, but he held on tight. He didn’t dare turn and look at her but kept his eyes fixed on the lake ahead. His heart was pounding.
Cuomu didn’t speak either, just trembled slightly.
Light clouds veiled the moon and lent the grassland an air of mystery. Insects called non-stop. Pleasant sounds, clear sounds, all kinds of sounds mixed together and with the lapping of the water against the shore created a beautiful symphony.
The lake glimmered in the moonlight and its tiny ripples had a gentle beauty. Far out on the water, a thin layer of mist was rising; under the moonbeams, it seemed like a young woman’s feelings – sometimes visible and sometimes not.
‘Brother, this is for you.’ On their way back to the encampment, Cuomu suddenly drew out something from her chuba and thrust it into his hands.
‘What is it?’ Gongzha took it and examined it: it was a red belt.
‘I knitted it!’
He cast her a doubtful look. ‘Where did you get the yarn?’
‘I unravelled the arm of my sweater.’
‘But your mother went to a lot of effort to get that for you from the county town. Won’t she tell you off?’
‘She doesn’t know. Don’t think about it so much. Do you like it or not?’
Gongzha nodded. He put the belt in his chuba and escorted Cuomu back to her tent.
When he reached the fork in the track on his way home, he hesitated, wondering whether to go via the solitary tent at the back and say goodbye to Zhaduo.
A weak light illuminated the inside of the tent. Gongzha sat down in front of the couch and said softly to Zhaduo, who was wrapped in his old sheepskin chuba, ‘I’m leaving to join the army soon.’
‘That’s a good thing.’
‘How’s your leg?’
‘It’s quite a bit better. Thank you for the herbs you brought.’
‘I only brought what you asked for. I gave some to an old man with a dog bite and they really helped him. He’s better now and he’s out collecting yak pats again.’
‘These treatments have come down to us from our ancestors. You must remember the ones I’ve taught you – they may come in useful. Tibetan medicine is a rich discipline: it can heal people’s minds as well as their bodies.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a shame you aren’t interested. I’m worried that when I die, our traditional medicine will vanish from the grassland.’
‘It won’t. You can teach someone else.’
‘Someone else? Who else would dare come anywhere near someone like me?’
Gongzha remained silent.
‘Five and a half thousand metres up Chanaluo Snow Mountain grow the best snow lotuses in our region. Only seven of them grow each year. You must pick them when the Rigel star rises, so that their healing effects are at their strongest. When Rigel appears, the shadow of the large black boulder will point due south; that long shadow will be the Buddha pointing the way for those who are lost,’ Zhaduo muttered.
Gongzha listened and pretended to understand.
‘Remember what I’ve said. That long shadow now, that’s the Buddha pointing the way for those who are lost.’
‘I will remember.’
‘You should go now. When you get to your army unit, be sure to work hard and learn Mandarin. And remember, all people in this world are equal: no one is taller than you and no one is shorter.’
‘Mhm.’ Gongzha nodded. As he rose, he dusted the grass off himself. ‘I must go. Please stay well. If you need anything, you can ask Cuomu. She’s not like her mother.’
He left the tent. The light went out and he heard no sound from inside.
The morning of his departure, Gongzha set off just after dawn. The area in front of his tent was crowded with people. Some had a khata in their hands, others had tucked their ceremonial scarf into their chuba, deliberately leaving a corner showing. Their faces were all smiles. Even though Gongzha was not their child, they were from the same encampment and everyone was glad for him.
Gongzha stepped out of the tent with a flushed face, wearing a green uniform that was too large for him and a large red flower on his chest. The crowd began to bubble with good wishes; white khatas flapped in the wind and were hung around his neck, the traditional way to mark a special occasion. Gongzha smiled broadly, tied the many khatas into a knot and embraced the herders one by one. After he’d mounted his horse, he turned to look back and saw Cuomu in the crowd, her eyes full of tears, looking as if she couldn’t bear to say goodbye. Gongzha nodded at her as if to say, ‘You can be at peace. I won’t forget what we said the other night.’ He swept his eyes over the crowd and saw Zhaduo appear briefly at the back. He smiled happily, whipped his horse, and tore off.
And so Gongzha left the grassland. On his household register that year, he said he was sixteen, but he hadn’t even turned thirteen.
6
The army unit was stationed in Gyangze, which couldn’t have been more different from Gongzha’s homeland: a series of large fields stretched into the distance, people sang, they yoked yaks together in pairs, they dressed fashionably to work in the fields, they ate tsampa and vegetables, and their robes were made of finely woven wool. When they addressed each other, they used courtesy terms, and when parents called to their children, they always added a ‘dear’ to their name. Coming from the grassland, Gongzha found all this very strange.
His biggest problem was the language. He could barely understand anything the locals said, let alone the Mandarin spoken in the unit. There was only one other Tibetan soldier in his platoon and he was from Chamdo. Their dialects were so different, it was like they were speaking different languages.
The company commander was from Shandong, a large man with a square head and a voice so loud that when he was angry it sounded like he’d opened fire. The day Gongzha arrived, the commander called the squad leader and Gongzha into his office and said, eyes bulging, ‘Gongzha is fro
m a nomad area. He’s young. He can’t speak Mandarin. Arrange for two older soldiers to look after him!’
The squad leader saluted, and dragged Gongzha, who hadn’t understood a thing, away.
Gongzha liked guns, and when he saw the rifle he’d been issued, he was as happy as if he’d found a piece of treasure. On his first day at the range, it took him only a few rounds before he was hitting the centre of the target every time, stunning the company commander, who was training the new recruits.
‘Fuck, Gongzha, how come your marksmanship’s so good?’
Gongzha understood that the commander was yelling excitedly at him, but he had no idea what he was saying. The only word he could pick out was ‘cigarette’ – although that was because the Mandarin word for ‘fuck’ and the Tibetan word for ‘cigarette’ sounded almost identical. He thought the commander wanted a cigarette, so he scampered off to the corner shop and bought a five-fen pack of Economy cigarettes. When he came back, he gave them to the commander and, beaming, said, ‘Here are the cigarettes!’
The commander didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he swore cheerfully as he took the cigarettes. ‘Fuck, Gongzha, if you don’t hurry up and learn Mandarin, I’m going to end up kicking your ass.’
Again, Gongzha had no idea what he was saying. He heard only the word ‘cigarette’ and assumed that the commander wanted a different brand, so he scampered off again, bought a pack of Da Qian Men cigarettes, and, chuckling, handed them over. ‘Cigarettes, Commander!’
The commander took the cigarettes and rolled his eyes in exasperation. It would be inappropriate to keep them, and he would normally have thrown them away, but he didn’t want to hurt this minority soldier’s self-respect. He ground his teeth impatiently, pulled a five-mao note from his pocket, stuffed it into Gongzha’s hand, turned round and walked away.
Looking at the five mao in his hand, it took Gongzha a long time to react. He’d only spent one mao and five fen on the cigarettes – why had the company commander given him so much money? Clearly he was meant to buy more cigarettes for him in the future.
Because his marksmanship was so good, Gongzha became the unit’s model new recruit. The regimental commander and the company commander both liked taking him on their hunts. By the time he’d been there a year, he could just about make himself understood in Mandarin. Of course he still occasionally made a fool of himself, but compared to the fools the new Han recruits made of themselves with the Tibetan locals, he did fairly well.
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