Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

  Gongzha got to his feet again and began to walk around the boulder once more. The vertigo returned.

  Just then, the furious roar of a bear resounded; it came from some distance away. Gongzha would never forget that roar. It was Kaguo, and she only roared like that when she was angry. Cuomu had gone to Shambhala hearing that sound. Because of that sound, Gongzha had turned into a walking corpse, all happiness extinguished.

  To find Kaguo and kill her, that was Gongzha’s goal.

  Even before the sound of Kaguo’s roars had faded into the deepest recesses of the mountain, Gongzha was already racing across the slopes towards it.

  He pursued her for three hours through snow that was knee-deep. Finally, after crossing a nameless snow mountain, he reached a spot crisscrossed with tracks. A quick glance told him there’d been one large bear, one small bear, and six wolves.

  Wolves? Gongzha twitched one corner of his mouth and assessed the scene coldly. If he had guessed correctly, the wolves and bears were just around the bend, not three hundred metres away.

  Kaguo, you took my woman’s life, and I will take yours! That was the vow Gongzha had made, spoken out loud for his woman to hear, with the vast grassland and the endless blue sky as his witnesses.

  He slowed his steps and zigzagged upwards. The packed snow crunched underfoot. He wanted to find a good vantage point; looking down from above would give him more control. The bears and wolves were ahead of him and were perhaps engaged in a fierce battle. Let them fight – better that they depleted their energy reserves and wounded each other.

  Kaguo! Gongzha’s heart repeated the name, and with the name came that heart-rending pain.

  When several black shadows came into view, Gongzha was filled with a crazed joy. He crouched down, found a mound of snow to hide behind and quietly looked on.

  Six wolves and two bears.

  Wolves were usually active down below on the grassland – why would they have come up the snow mountain? He saw with interest that Kaguo was protecting one bear cub by her side and that she was encircled by six grey-brown grassland wolves baring their teeth and glaring. Her body had bloody gashes, and two of the wolves were also injured.

  As the confrontation continued, the six wolves slowly separated into two groups, three in front and three behind, preparing to attack from both sides. There was a wisp of a smile at the corner of Gongzha’s mouth. Wolves were the grassland’s cleverest animals, and their ability to work together against their enemies was unmatched. Kaguo was done for. When Gongzha realised this, he raised his gun. He didn’t want Kaguo to die in a wolf’s jaws, he wanted her to die by his own gun. That was the only way he could pacify Cuomu’s soul.

  The three wolves in front were only feinting. The three at the back were intent on getting the cub. None seemed worried about the consequences. It was clearly the first time the cub had been in this kind of situation; it huddled close to Kaguo for protection, squealing with fear.

  Two wolves got between the cub and Kaguo and waited, teeth bared.

  As she faced the other three hungry attackers, Kaguo had to try and stop herself from getting hurt while protecting her cub at the same time; she clearly did not have the strength. She howled bitterly, sweeping her paws to left and right, her steps getting heavier. Even though her claws still had strength in them, they only sent the piled snow flying.

  In a second, the cub would be gripped between the wolves’ paws.

  The gun fired.

  But what fell was not Kaguo but the wolf that had set its paws on the bear cub’s head.

  Why? Gongzha was to regret having made that choice for a very long time. Why had his muzzle moved? He had clearly been aiming at Kaguo, but the bullet had hit the wolf. He bore no grudge against the wolves; whether he hit one today or hit another one tomorrow made no difference. But Kaguo… Kaguo was the object of his revenge; he had sworn to take her life. Letting her go meant that the coming chase would last a long time.

  At the sound of the gunshot, Kaguo and the wolves froze, then quickly disappeared into the snow valley.

  A snow-filled wind rose and howled.

  Gongzha gripped his gun and sat down, a solitary figure in the barren wilderness. As he gazed absently at the overlapping tracks in front of him, his long hair whipped around his head. He was like an ancient statue, with the history of the grassland people carved on his face.

  Eventually, he got up, put his gun over his shoulder, and walked cautiously out of the snowfield, singing the old herder’s verse in a rasping voice as he went:

  ‘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.’

  He found the bush he was looking for; the cave walls were covered in wild grass. He sniffed, but there was no scent on the air; clearly the cave had been abandoned long ago. Without the bears’ scent, Gongzha had nothing to go on. Why had they moved? Then he laughed. They were bears, wild animals, could they really have souls like humans? Did they need a reason to move? Here today, gone tomorrow: they moved as the urge took them and their need for food demanded.

  He picked up a few dried branches, tossed them at the cave mouth and then kicked the snow to cover them. The bears had gone; let the cave rest forever in history. He slung his gun over his shoulder, began singing loudly again, and disappeared into the vast snowfield.

  He returned to the encampment the next day. Early the following day, before the sun had broken through the clouds, he took his gun, threw a leg of yak meat that had been wind-dried and then rubbed soft with butter onto the back of his horse, and left.

  The hardy young man set out on the road to revenge, carrying his boundless longing for his lover and his burning hatred for Kaguo. The autumn wind pierced his bones and blew his hair high, but he still wore his sheepskin chuba over only one shoulder; his other shoulder was bare, and his muscles bulged under his skin. He rode off slowly towards the distant snow mountain. The more alone he was, the more he could feel Cuomu beside him, singing softly, or following him with a blush, or looking at him, or talking to him. In this way, Cuomu travelled with him.

  Behind him, Danzeng stood hunched over by his tent, a mournful expression in his eyes as he watched Gongzha go.

  Part Two

  14

  Feng was the last one off the plane. As the cool air caressed her face, she felt a powerful sense of wellbeing. She took a deep breath, threw open her arms and shouted, ‘Tibet, here I come!’ causing everyone in front of her to turn round and stare.

  She darted down the plane steps with a huge grin on her face, a deep red cashmere scarf patterned with black flowers floating behind her, and her brown curls dancing in the wind. An electric bus was waiting to ferry them to the terminal. Feng glanced at it but did not get on; she decided to walk over.

  Lhasa Gonggar Airport was nothing like as big as she’d imagined and the grey terminal building was right there in front of her. Everything looked so vivid: the sky was bluer than she’d ever seen it and the clouds whiter. Her whole body tingled with excitement.

  ‘The sun’s strong, but the air is cool. It’s stunning – like paradise.’ That was the first thing she said to her boyfriend Yang Fan, who lived in America, once she’d found a public phone. ‘I haven’t felt any signs of altitude sickness; I don’t feel dizzy and my head doesn’t hurt.’ Then she asked, almost automatically, as if out of habit, ‘So, are you missing me?’

  From the phone came the equally predictable reply, ‘I miss you. Have a good time, and stay safe!’

  Then Feng made another phone call, this time to her good friend Zhuo Yihang. ‘I’ve already found your paradise,’ she told him, ‘and just as you said, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for introducing me to it.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Zhuo Yihang replied, ‘don’t let a Tibetan man carry you off,
otherwise Yang Fan will come back and eat me.’

  Feng, Zhuo Yihang and Yang Fan had grown up together, gone to the same college, and were the best of friends. Feng and Yang Fan were a couple and Zhuo Yihang was their third wheel. Yang Fan often said that while other people dated in pairs, they dated as a threesome. After graduating, Zhuo Yihang didn’t find a job with a company but started his own business, rode the economic wave and became an extremely wealthy eligible bachelor. Yang Fan went to America to study international business and got a master’s and then a PhD. Feng joined an international company and became one of the most envied and highly regarded professional women in Shanghai.

  The travel agency that was looking after her tour group had sent a handsome young Tibetan man to meet them. After he counted everyone, he took several khata out of his chuba and flung them skywards as if he was acting in a play; they fluttered up and down in his hand. Then he hung one around each person’s neck, greeting them loudly with ‘Tashi delek.’

  The atmosphere suddenly became very animated. Enraptured, Feng caressed her smooth, thin khata and her heart softened. She was only here because she’d helped her company win a multi-million-yuan contract and had been allowed to take a whole month of holiday. Zhuo Yihang had kept on at her, encouraging her to go, and so, finally, twenty-five-year-old Feng had set out, a little nervously, on her journey.

  The people in her tour group were all from Shanghai, all about the same age and all very polite. They peppered their conversation with English, not to show off but simply because that’s how they always spoke.

  It was the early nineties and Tibet’s tourist industry had not yet taken off. China was preparing to introduce reforms and open up and reinvigorate its economy. There was much discussion and uncertainty about the very notion of ‘reform’. As they stood on the edge of this vast new sea wondering if they should take a dip, only a small number of locals and foreigners embraced China’s new markets. Feng and some others were lucky and brave enough to get on the earliest wave: they had high-paying jobs, houses and cars, and lived lives that made their peers envious.

  Each day had been carefully timetabled by the travel agency. They visited the Potala Palace, Jokhang Temple, Sera Monastery and Tashilhunpo Monastery. They travelled to Namtso Lake and to Linzhi to see virgin forests. Were there any problems? There were not. Theirs was a well-travelled route.

  Their ten days slipped by. Most of the tour group left, returning to their normal lives after another week’s relaxation. Feng still had ten days of holiday left. Alone in Lhasa, she wasn’t sure what to do. Where next? Should she join another tour group and spend her time following another tour leader’s little flag, mindlessly filling the hours taking the pictures you were supposed to take on trips like this? Feng was reluctant to do that. She gave Zhuo Yihang a call.

  ‘Go to northern Tibet. I have an uncle who works in Shenzha. Go and find him – he speaks Mandarin – and make him take you to Cuoe Grassland to see the nomad herders. I lived there when I was young; it’s stunning and I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.’

  ‘And where is Shenzha? Zhuo Yihang, don’t forget I’m all by myself!’ Feng was sitting propped against a wall facing the window, holding the phone to her chest.

  ‘There are a lot of travellers in Lhasa. Go to Barkhor Street, have a look round, and leave a message in one of the teahouses; anyone interested in travelling with you will find you,’ Zhuo Yihang said. He paused to issue instructions about one of his projects; he was clearly very busy.

  ‘Alright, I’ll give it a go,’ Feng said and hung up. She turned to look out of the window at the radiant sun and began to daydream. She thought about phoning Yang Fan but decided not to in the end. The two of them were friends more than anything else. They’d been bored back in college, and when they saw that all their classmates were coupling up, Yang Fan had said, ‘Let’s date,’ and she’d nodded in agreement. They’d been lovers ever since. Then they graduated, and Yang Fan left for America. Now they had to rely on the phone line and their own resolve to keep the relationship going.

  *

  Beside Potala Palace Square there was a small shop between two small lakes. Next to it were a garden and a teahouse. The pavements looked as if they would never be clean: there was rubbish everywhere and the air reeked of stale urine. Some dirty children swarmed up behind Feng, stuck out their grimy hands and yelled, ‘Auntie, give us a mao! Auntie, give us a mao!’ Feng pulled out all her change and handed it to them, but more and more children came over and grabbed at her clothes. She was so frightened that she froze; then she pushed through the children and ran off as if she was escaping something. She began to regret coming to Lhasa.

  There were far fewer people on Yutuo Road and she gradually calmed down as she made her way along it. The sun was still warm, so she put up her small, delicate umbrella, hiding as much of herself under it as she could and stealing glances to left and right. Although the sun was fierce, she discovered that only a few women carried umbrellas on the street; at most they wore a hat that shaded only part of their cheeks, beaming as they hurried by.

  What kind of city was this? Even though she was on a busy street and next to the sacred Potala Palace, she could smell all kinds of unpleasant odours. And yet it was a happy place: everywhere she looked she could see peaceful elders ambling along and spinning little prayer wheels in their hands, taking puppies or lambs for a walk, or giving an amicable smile to friends or strangers.

  Feng’s curiosity was piqued. On Barkhor Street, she studied the faces approaching her and smiled back at anyone who smiled at her. She got into the habit of smiling; even if someone didn’t smile at her, as long as they noticed her, she smiled at them. It was very enjoyable: she had never felt so relaxed and cheerful.

  If she’d been in Shanghai and had smiled like that at passers-by, she’d probably have been considered mentally ill and made people avoid her. As Feng was thinking this, she turned a corner and found herself in front of Jokhang Temple. She heard the sounds of people prostrating themselves and stood transfixed in front of its red door, watching them make their obeisance, repeatedly getting down flat on the ground and then standing up again. Their fervour stirred up all sorts of emotions in her. To Feng, who was used to worshipping material things, the Buddha was not necessary; she realised her dreams through hard work, not through reciting scriptures or prostrating herself.

  As she stood there absentmindedly, all sorts of sympathetic thoughts went through her mind.

  ‘Have you just arrived in Lhasa?’ a voice next to her said suddenly.

  Feng turned her head and stared. Beside her stood a battered bicycle being pushed by a man with a beaming face and shoulder-length hair who was carrying a bow and arrows and wearing armour. Had she gone back to the past? How come she was looking at a warrior from ancient times?

  ‘I’m Agang. I’ve been in Lhasa a long time. Are you new here?’ Agang asked, still smiling. He seemed unfazed by her surprised expression.

  ‘Agang?’

  ‘Right. What’s your name, pretty lady?’

  Feng finally collected herself. ‘Feng. I’ve been here quite a few days,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Where are you going next?’

  ‘My friend suggested I go to Cuoe Grassland in northern Tibet, so I’m going to look for some people to come with me.’

  ‘What a coincidence! We’re planning to go to Shenzha – let’s share a car.’

  ‘Really? How many are you?’

  ‘Seven. With you, we’ll just fill two Beijing Jeeps. How about it? We can split the cost.’

  ‘No problem. When do we leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning!’ Agang said. ‘Do you have a sleeping bag?’

  ‘A sleeping bag? No.’

  ‘I’ll take you to buy one. You can’t go to northern Tibet without a sleeping bag; it’s very cold there!’ Agang turned his front wheel and, just like an old friend, took Feng to Beijing Middle Road, where he went into several outdoor-gear shops, haggled wit
h the owners, and bought her a sleeping bag, a windcheater and a pair of hiking shoes.

  Agang’s warmth was disconcerting. Feng was used to keeping people at a distance and had always thought that overly friendly people had some kind of hidden agenda. Otherwise, why would they be so unguardedly generous to a stranger?

  After buying the supplies, Agang took Feng back to her hotel, waved and said he would pick her up the following morning at seven. Then he hopped onto his battered bicycle and rode off noisily: the bell was broken, but his whole body was clanging. Feng watched the two luxurious golden pheasant feathers he’d stuck in the back of his armour disappear into the setting sun, and it was quite some time before she got her thoughts together again.

  Laughing and shaking her head, she took her various bags into the hotel. She wanted to repack her luggage. She was travelling with an oversized medical bag that contained all sorts of vitamins and calcium tablets as well as standard medicines for colds. She piled up her sunblock, moisturisers, and moisturising masks. Making herself beautiful so that people would look at her was the kind of work that women like Feng had to undertake every day.

  That night Zhuo Yihang called and gave her his Uncle Gongzha’s phone number. He hadn’t managed to get through to him, so he told her to go directly to his workplace in Shenzha and look for him there. ‘It is the most pristine environment. You can’t imagine how blue the sky is or how clear the lake, and I guarantee the people won’t disappoint you either. Go! Don’t worry. Just don’t forget to come back.’

  ‘You can’t seriously think I’ll want to spend the rest of my life there! I’m not interested in going back to basics and living a primitive life.’ Feng laughed, picked up an apple and bit into it.

  ‘Well, it’s hard to say. Every time I go, I don’t want to leave.’

  ‘But in the end you always do go back to Shanghai, don’t you? Forget about northern Tibet, you couldn’t even make me stay in Lhasa. It’s so unsophisticated – dogs roaming the streets, dust flying up whenever a car goes by. It’s unbelievable!’ Feng laughed and hung up. Humming ‘Story of a Small Town’, she began stuffing her bag full of chocolate.