Bone Mountain is-3

by Eliot Pattison

  "You were in Amdo to stop the true records of the township from reaching the Bureau," Shan continued, "to stop Deputy Director Chao from receiving such records and passing them on to Lhasa. But then you recognized the Tibetan who was there, delivering those records. You had seen him in Lhasa with the abbot of Sangchi, the night the abbot disappeared. You realized it probably meant that the abbot was not in the south. But you never told anyone in Lhasa. You let the search continue in the south because you had your own plan to capture the abbot. Find the abbot and let him proclaim the success of your campaign. Not the Serenity Campaign. Your campaign. Not Lhasa's campaign. Not Beijing's campaign. A new campaign to take over enforcement at gompas from Public Security, with a new security force formed within Religious Affairs. A force like the one you founded with Director Tuan, without authority form Lhasa." Ultimately the top officials would care little about the murders. But Khodrak had committed a crime far worse than murder. He had conspired against an official party campaign. He had been disloyal.

  "Lies!" Khodrak hissed again. "You will see," he said to the platform, "I have saved for you the greatest prize of all." He turned, searching the crowd, calling for Padme. "The proof of all their treason!" The young monk pushed back into the crowd and reappeared with the black leather satchel, which Khodrak hastily opened, producing a large bundle wrapped in cloth, which he triumphantly handed to the woman at the front of the platform.

  As the woman in grey took the bundle two more of the dignitaries joined her, watching over her shoulder as she unwrapped it. When the cloth fell away Khodrak gasped and seemed about to strike at Padme with his staff. But Padme, too, stared at the contents with disbelieving eyes. It was Drakte's battered account book, which Shan had last seen at the cave the night before. The woman leafed through the pages then glared at Khodrak.

  The woman seemed to shake with anger. Then she removed her straw hat. "Soldiers from Public Security," she barked out. "Reveal yourselves in the next sixty seconds and you will avoid punishment. This is an order from your general!"

  The howlers needed no prompting, no discussion. Some cursed, some groaned, but all quickly shed their white shirts and trotted away, toward the camp. Two men in the official grey tunics of Public Security marched to Khodrak and Padme. Khodrak stared at the woman, leaning on his staff, gripping it with both hands, the color drained from his face. Another knob approached Shan, hand extended. Shan gave him the photograph of the cottage, still in his hand, the folded facsimile with the phantom names that Shan knew would tie back to Tuan, and finally the slip of paper Chao had given to Drakte the night before he had died. The knob studied Shan uncertainly, then looked back at the woman on the platform, who extended her hand for the papers to be brought to her.

  Suddenly Padme pointed to the slope where Larkin and the Tibetans had been working. "The pagans!" he shouted with a strange mix of anger and hope in his voice, and darted through the soldiers, still pointing at the slope.

  Somo had reached the place where Larkin had been digging, Shan saw, for a boulder there was now covered in bright crimson paint. The deity had revealed itself again.

  Lin shook his head wearily and spoke to an officer at his side, who sprinted toward the army encampment. Most of the officials in the stand continued to watch earnestly, as if everything they were witnessing had been all part of the planned entertainment.

  With a creak of metal the battle tank emerged from the shadows by the oil camp, its officer standing half out of the hatch on the top of the turret. It halted a hundred yards from the camp, its barrel quickly shifting to the range, and fired three shots in rapid succession.

  The side of the mountain at the south end of the valley instantly exploded, as it had when the tank had attacked the first deity rock, raising a haze of dust and debris over the slope. But the third shell struck with a much larger explosion than the first two. Larkin's crew had been busy not only digging, but planting the explosives there. The tank officer stared in confusion and raised a pair of binoculars toward the ball of fire and cloud of debris that followed, then shrugged at Lin. Several of those on the platform clapped, apparently pleased with the way the army had punctuated the ceremony with fireworks.

  Lin stared, first at the slope, where the dust was rapidly clearing, then at Shan.

  Suddenly Lin's mouth fell open and he, with most of the crowd, gasped as they saw the massive creature that had appeared at the edge of the dig. Jampa stood there, smelling the exposed earth. The yak slowly stepped to the chest where Ma stored his artifacts and sniffed at it, touching it with his nose. While everyone watched the animal in silence, it stepped slowly forward, directly between Shan and Khodrak, past Lin, then stopped and stared at the distant slope. It cocked its massive head, then raised its nose high in the air and gave a long, extraordinarily loud bellow. Everyone seemed to be staring at the animal, some in amusement, others with somber, awed expressions, as though they sensed the yak was trying to communicate with them, or with something in the mountains. As if in reply a muted thunder came from the distant slope. Not really like thunder, Shan realized, but like a rumbling from inside the earth.

  "Earthquake!" one of the venture workers cried out.

  Still no one moved. All eyes followed those of the mighty yak now, to the slope, where the rumbling seemed to increase in intensity, the sound of pressure building. An odd muted rushing sound like a small eruption could be heard, followed by a blur of movement on the slope.

  The brittle silence continued, broken at last by Jenkins, who leapt from his seat on the platform as he stared with sudden alarm at the slope.

  "Jeeee- sus!" the American manager cried in a desperate voice, then vaulted from the platform and began running toward the nearest truck, barking out orders for the bulldozers to follow. He paused at the truck door to look at the scene. "Mother fucking army!" he shouted, firing each syllable like a shot from a cannon then, looking at his perplexed workers, pointed to the slope. "Go! Go! Go!" he yelled, and leapt into the truck.

  Binoculars appeared in Lin's hands. He stared in confusion, but for only a moment, and when he lowered them there was something like awe in his eyes. He looked at Shan, his eyes momentarily filled with sadness, then he hardened again and spoke rapidly to the officer beside him, who lifted a small radio unit and began barking orders. Soldiers began running toward the derrick. Lin leaned toward the officer again, and after a moment of hesitation, disappointment clouding his face, the officer spoke into the transmitter. The soldiers escorting Larkin and the Tibetans, only a hundred yards away now, jogged away from the column. Their former prisoners seemed not to notice, for they were running to Larkin's side, cheering and pointing toward the slope, some of them waving khatas in their hands.

  Lin looked at the glasses in his hand, then stepped to Shan's side and slowly extended them.

  But Shan did not use the lenses to examine the site of the explosion. Instead he desperately searched the slope for any sign of Somo. If she had lingered at the rock she could not have survived. There was no sign of her.

  "I don't understand," Professor Ma said over his shoulder.

  "The deity has spoken," Lhandro offered. He stood a few feet away, supporting his father, who gazed at the slope with a huge grin, tears streaming down his face. Beside them Jokar knelt at the wounded dobdob's side, speaking in low tones, his hand resting on the crown of the Dzopa's head. Strangely, the dobdob pointed to the yak.

  "Water," Shan said, his own voice filled with wonder. "There was an underground river, and now it has been released." The words seemed so simple, the reality so impossible. Melissa Larkin had never been trying to locate her hidden river for the mere sake of geology. She and the purbas had been trying to find it in the hope they could use it against the venture, to alter the course of the oil project.

  Trucks roared up the valley, some packed with workers, others pausing to pick up workers by the platform, still others speeding by with piles of shovels, picks, and buckets in their bays. The people on the platform b
egan drifting away, confused, asking when the ceremony would continue. Except for the knobs who had shed their white shirts; they stood in a tight group, listening with shocked expressions at the woman on the platform, who pointed fingers and seemed to be hissing at Khodrak. When she finished Khodrak was enclosed in a small knot of his former guards who, appearing eager to prove their remorse for straying, wrenched away his staff and pulled him toward one of the white Bureau trucks.

  "The contour of the valley," Shan said with a sigh, watching as first Jampa, then Gyalo, stepped to Jokar, "means the water will go to the derrick, the lowest point." The dobdob clutched at Jokar's arm a moment, then released it with a sound like a sob, and with the monk's help the lama slowly climbed onto the yak's broad back. Lin stepped slowly to the edge of the dig and conspicuously turned his back to Lepka and the others who sat by it. Shan looked at Gyalo again and recalled the monk's strange words on the slope that morning, that Shan had solved the puzzle. All Shan had done was to tell Lhandro that he had heard a strange rushing noise in the ground near the first deity rock. Gyalo led Jampa and Jokar away, up the ridge, unnoticed amidst the chaos at the bottom of the valley.

  Shan looked back at the dig. Tenzin had disappeared into the trees.

  "But surely just a little water can make no difference," Ma said.

  Shan stared up at the snowcovered peak in the distance. "No, just a delay. But perhaps over time it may not be a little. That depends on the mountain," he said, and realized his words sounded like he was speaking of a deity.

  Jenkins certainly did not dismiss the threat. He could see the American in the binoculars, standing on the back of a truck near the village ruins now, shouting out orders as the bulldozers crawled toward the end of the valley. The venture manager was going to build a dam, to divert the water from his derrick. But a small river was already pouring down the slope near his truck, spreading across the barley fields in a dozen small rivulets.

  When Shan turned back Nyma was tending to Professor Ma's torn hand as his assistant poured water over it. Lepka kept staring at the water covering the fields of barley. "Sometimes it's hard to know what deities want," he heard the old man say.

  Suddenly a hand covered with streaks of red was raised in his face and he looked into Somo's gleaming eyes. "I saw Winslow," she said. "He said our Drakte can move on now. He said you did it."

  Winslow. "Where is he?" Shan asked.

  "On the slope, jogging back up." Somo pointed to the saddle of land. Gyalo and Jokar were halfway up it now, and as he watched the unmistakable form of the American joined them. Winslow was leaving, fleeing at last.

  "I wanted to thank him," Shan said. "For putting that ledger in Padme's satchel." He had last seen the account book in Larkin's cave, but he remembered how the American had come with his backpack, and how Winslow had darted into the crowd when Padme had left his satchel on the ground. He watched Winslow moving up the slope, then saw more figures scattering over the saddle of land. The Tibetans who had been with Larkin.

  "Where will they go?" he asked Somo.

  "To that meeting place," she said. "Where the people wait for Jokar."

  Shan stared with new despair at the retreating figures. She meant the chair of Siddhi, the rebellious monk, where, after what had happened in the valley, the Tibetans would be more inclined than ever to resist the government. "Jokar would never abide violence," he said with a sinking heart and turned. But Somo had vanished.

  He took a step toward the saddle of land and another, filled with dread again. Nothing had really changed. The authorities would not only capture Jokar, they would take many Tibetans with him. He took a deep breath, and began jogging. Then the drumming began.

  Lhandro was at Shan's side as he began running toward the slope opposite the saddle, toward the sound, toward what Shan hoped was the deity stone. But the rongpa slowed as they reached a small ledge that overlooked the valley floor, a hundred feet up the slope. The water had reached the derrick, forming a small muddy pond around it. The workers had stopped and were staring at the water. One man jumped off and ran toward the source of the water, splashing in the rivulets that coursed through the fields, then stopped, sank to the earth, arms upraised, kneeling in the mud, his hands clenched in fists.

  Lhandro hesitated, looking with anguish at his precious valley, which was in chaos. Shan put a hand on his shoulder. "The water will stop," he assured the rongpa, "it is letting Jokar and the others have one more chance, that's all," he said, as though a deity had planned it all along. Confused by his own words, he turned and continued running as Lhandro headed toward the ruins of his village. The sound of the double beat, the heart drumming, seemed close now, almost directly above the center of the valley, not far from where Shan had begun chasing the runaway khata on his first day there. But he ran at an angle, parallel to the valley floor, as if he were another of the workers dashing toward the floodwaters. After a few hundred yards he edged close to the wooded tier on the slope, then darted into the shadows of the trees and began quartering back and up the slope.

  He climbed above the source of the sound and worked his way down. It was muted now, because the drummer had again chosen a position in front of large flat rocks facing the valley, so muted Shan began hearing voices. They were high pitched, and seemed to be laughing. Suddenly he slipped on loose scree, and tumbled headlong, stumbling, righting himself as he hurtled between low shrubs. He found himself on his knees before two playful children, a boy and a girl of nearly the same age, the girl with crude bandages on her hands. They seemed familiar somehow, and at first he thought he had seen them at Yapchi Village. But then they both gasped at him, clearly recognizing Shan, and looked toward a figure ten feet away, squatting in the rocks, staring down at the valley. The boy darted to the man, who turned and stared at Shan with wide, surprised eyes, then his gaze shifted to a flat rock near where the children had been playing. On the rock sat the eye of Yapchi.

  The man stood. It was Gang, the Chinese caretaker of Rapjung. He looked ragged, and exhausted, his hand also still bandaged from his burns. He offered no challenge, and said nothing as Shan stepped past him to look at the rocks below.

  A man sat with the big drum, pounding it with two sticks with leather pads at the end, watching the valley with a wild gleam in his eyes. Shan slid down the side of the rock and had sat by the drum before the man noticed him. The pounding faltered, then stopped.

  "It's Shan," Dremu said, as if someone else was there. The Golok's mouth hung open and he looked at the rocks above him.

  "You found them," Shan observed. "The drum and the eye."

  Dremu nodded soberly. "This is what we needed, when I was in the mountains with my father all those years ago."

  "I think you lied when you said you were taken by the venture work gang," Shan said. "Those two Goloks tried to steal from us."

  Dremu seemed to shrink. He hunched his shoulders forward and wrapped both arms around the drum as if he were going to fall. "That was before," he muttered.

  "Before what?"

  The Golok just hugged the drum, looking at Shan's feet. "They're not my friends," he said after a long silence. "They are wild, like leopards. At first I thought if we worked together we could make enough money for the next winter. It was okay when we just stole from the oil company. But when they met me here and said they were going to steal from the Yapchi farmers I tried to stop them. They beat me and took everything I had, even my horse."

  Shan reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather pouch, the lapis bracelet, and the knife with the spoon, and placed them one by one on the rock in front of Dremu. The Golok stared at them, then with a reverent expression picked up the pouch. "I had nothing left but the rags on my back. That was before…"

  Before what? Shan almost asked again, but somehow he knew the answer. Dremu meant before the deity began speaking to him through the drum.

  There was movement around the edge of the high rocks, and Gang approached them, supported by his son. In Gang's band
aged hand, extended toward Shan, was the chenyi stone.

  "This man," Dremu said, "was almost dead. First I found his family looking for him, crying, thinking they had lost him forever, thinking he had gone to kill you. Then we found him, beating the drum, looking crazy, not able to talk. By then the drum was drumming him." Dremu looked at Shan uncertainly. "I couldn't… I didn't…"

  "You did well," Shan offered. "You kept the deity."

  Gang pushed his son away and stumbled toward Shan. He held out the stone in both hands, appealing to Shan with his exhausted, glazed eyes, and was wracked by a sob. He began crying, convulsing with tears, able to control himself only enough to step forward and drop the chenyi stone into Shan's hands.

  Shan gazed at the stone, then surveyed the chaos in the valley below. He felt empty, drained, uncertain where to go, what more he could do. After a long time he raised Gang's hand in his own and returned the stone to him. Then Shan picked up the two drumsticks, exchanged a solemn look with Dremu, and began pounding the deity drum.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dremu stared in disbelief, twisting his head from side to side as if to better see Shan. A smile gradually broke across his weary face and he showed Shan how to make the quick one-two beat, the heart sound. They watched, the drum pounding, the children laughing, as more derrick workers jumped off, splashing, into the huge puddle of water that was growing around their machine. Shan watched his hands pounding the drumskin without conscious effort, and found himself drifting to a place he did not recognize, watching his hands as though they belonged to someone else. He had heard of monks in old Tibet using such sounds, not just in ritual but in meditation exercises. The throbbing of the drum became the throbbing of his own heart and the echo that came back to him seemed to come not from across the valley but from somewhere else, a faraway place where something huge was stirring to the sound, rolling over as though to awaken, the way a mountain sometimes rolls over.