The monk’s expression clouded over and he began shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. ‘I know how precious you are to our order, but that will not be possible. The guide can take only one person at a time. Only one. And, as you know, only the chosen may go.’
The woman looked down at the ground for a moment. When she raised her head again, her green eyes were bright with determination.
‘He has been chosen, and must be taken first. It is vital that your guide should leave with him immediately. In the meantime, I will wait in the village until the guide returns to escort me. You must trust me, venerable father, he is more important than I.’
She had barely finished speaking when there was a scuffling sound from behind the herders and a small boy of about nine years old raced up to the woman and slipped his hand trustingly in hers. He had ragged dark hair and bright brown eyes, although the whites were bloodshot from dust and fatigue. He was wearing an oversized sheepskin coat, tied at the middle by a piece of knotted rope. Looking first at the woman, he then turned his gaze on the monk and asked in a voice that was clear and calm: ‘Is this the place?’
The woman smiled down at him, one hand resting on his shoulder.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘But we’re not far now.’
Chapter 13
THE BRASS PLAQUE said PROF. SALLY TANG, ASIAN STUDIES. Jack caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny metal, and running a hand briefly through his hair, gently rapped on the door.
‘Come in!’
As he entered Sally Tang came out from behind her paper-covered desk, shifting her reading glasses on to the top of her head. She was even more petite than he remembered, with a smart beige jacket hanging off her tiny frame and long brown boots that were little bigger than a child’s.
‘Jack.’ Sally shook his hand warmly. She tucked a lock of her jet black bob behind one ear and studied him, her fine-boned face angled to one side like a bird’s. ‘You look well. Much better than in Kathmandu. Sit down, please.’
Jack smiled, settling himself into a burgundy leather armchair in front of her desk.
‘I hope you don’t mind my usurping your meeting with Robert,’ she continued. ‘I heard him mention that someone was coming into the department to talk to him about beyuls, and when I found out it was you, I couldn’t resist cutting in.’ She perched herself on the front of her desk. ‘But I must say, Jack, spiritual myth is a bit out of your usual line, isn’t it? As I recall, you were never interested in anything much unless it was as solid as a rock.’
‘Even dinosaurs like me can evolve, Sally – and if I didn’t have such a lousy memory these days, I would have come straight to you rather than cold-calling Professor Harris. But, of course, you’re right. It’s actually my nephew who’s become interested in the subject.’ Jack glanced at his watch and frowned. ‘He’s late as usual, but I hope that nice secretary . . . what’s her name?’
‘Emily.’
‘I hope Emily will send him our way. Meanwhile I should probably give you the background. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of coffee . . .’
Five minutes later they were both sitting in armchairs by the bay window, nursing mugs of coffee. It was now three years since they had met, by chance, on a flight out to Nepal. Sally had been waiting for her visa into Tibet, on her way to a relative’s wedding, and Jack had been on one of his geology field trips, acclimatising before going further up into the mountains. Having established their common link of the university, they had met up for dinner at her hotel, arguing good-naturedly about their different perspectives on Asia and comparing notes on academic life over cups of chrysanthemum tea.
Now they chatted easily for a while, catching up on the last few years. Sally’s astute brown eyes hardened momentarily when Jack mentioned the pyramid mountain. But as he went on to describe the other discoveries they had made about the secret system of beyuls, she began to smile again.
‘Well, you have got yourselves in over your heads, haven’t you? And no wonder. A geologist and an adventurer, trying to tackle the esoteric myths of Buddhism. Now the first thing I should tell you is—’ She broke off as the phone buzzed on her desk and, with a frown, went to pick it up. ‘Yes, yes. Send him through.’
A few moments later Luca walked in, wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt with ‘Easily Distracted’ written across it. He smiled in a practised way, pushing his fringe of blond hair back from his face.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said, glancing at Jack before directing the full wattage of his smile at the tiny Tibetan woman. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t inherit the punctuality gene in the family.’
Sally shook his hand in greeting, then glanced down at his T-shirt. ‘I suppose I should try and get to the point as soon as possible. Pull up a chair, Luca. I was just about to explain to Jack why you shouldn’t believe in fairytales.’
Luca hung a soft leather satchel over the back of his chair and settled down, his expression instantly focused.
‘Go on.’
Sally spread her hands. ‘Well, Jack has been telling me about your adventures in Tibet and your interest in beyuls. It’s a fascinating area of Buddhist folklore, no doubt about that, but I’m afraid that’s all it is: folklore.’
Luca frowned and leaned forward, resting his chin on one fist. ‘But the books all say the same thing, and they’re pretty specific: that beyuls are sanctuaries of total enlightenment, the most holy places in all Tibet. And they say there are twenty-one of them, situated in the most remote areas of the country.’
Sally sighed. ‘Believe me, you’re not the first person to be seduced by the idea of beyuls. But just listen to what you are saying – sanctuaries of total enlightenment. Doesn’t that sound like a myth to you?’
As Luca went to object, she raised one eyebrow and fixed him with a pitying gaze that was usually reserved for her first-year students. There was a pause before she continued speaking, her voice softening a little.
‘Think of it this way: the beyul myth could be equated to the search for the Holy Grail. As any psychologist worth their salt will tell you, people love a seemingly impossible quest. It brings up all sorts of atavistic feelings: that somehow they are special and will defeat the odds.’
‘So you’re saying these places don’t really exist?’ said Jack, sounding disappointed. ‘They’re just figments of someone’s imagination.’
Sally smiled, shifting her tiny frame more upright in the armchair so that her feet dangled a few inches above the ground.
‘It all depends on your point of view. I’m not saying there isn’t any truth to them. I’m just saying such truths aren’t literal, and certainly not to the extent that you can prove them by sight or touch.’
Jack nodded. ‘You’re talking about metaphors, right? Well, they’re certainly common enough in religious belief.’
‘Metaphors?’ Luca exhaled impatiently. ‘Guys, you’ve completely lost me. Metaphors for what? I don’t even understand what beyuls are exactly. Sanctuaries keep on being mentioned – but sanctuaries from what?’
‘Oh, the usual sort of thing . . . darkness, evil, all that sort of stuff,’ Sally answered, turning her face towards the window. ‘Beyuls are a central theme in the many apocalyptic myths of Tibet. It’s similar to Biblical prophecy: when the end comes, and the world is consumed by chaos, the Lamas will lead the common people to these beyuls and, once there, they will find the wisdom and enlightenment necessary to weather the storm.’
Jack cleared his throat. ‘So there’s no truth to the idea that they contain priceless treasures?’
Sally Tang laughed, switching her gaze from one expectant face to the other. ‘Well, only in as much as every good fairytale features a hidden treasure. The myths certainly do refer to immense treasures, of infinite value. But, boys – have you any idea how many hapless fortune hunters have wasted their whole lives looking for such hidden treasures and vast riches? It’s like those endless quests for Shangri-La. They went off, searching va
st mountain ranges or hacking their way into mighty river gorges . . .’
‘And what did they find?’ This time it was Luca who spoke.
‘They found what you would expect to find in such places – rivers and mountains. They went on wild goose chases, mistaking ancient Tibetan legends for literal truth.’
Luca leaned forward in his chair. ‘So there never were any treasures?’
‘That is exactly what I am saying,’ Tang answered impatiently. ‘There was nothing but myth. The fortune hunters found no empirical evidence at all.’
As she spoke, Luca reached behind him and, picking up his satchel, slipped open the buckles. Inside was the rolled photocopy of Jack’s thangka, which he’d unpinned from his wall to show her: the pyramid mountain lay at the centre of the picture, surrounded by its circular range of mountains.
‘No evidence at all?’ he repeated, staring at her quizzically. ‘So how do you explain the fact that I saw these mountains, exactly as they’re drawn here? Well, minus the squatting monk.’
The professor sighed at Luca’s stubborn line of questioning.
‘I grant you that some of the stories go into detail about the twenty-first or “mountain” beyul. It is supposed to be the most enlightened out of all the beyuls, a kind of heaven on earth, if you will. It’s often described or illustrated just as it has been here – a pyramid-shaped mountain with a strange ring of mountains that protect it. But, of course, the genesis of most legend and myth lies in reality. No doubt the concept of the holiest of beyuls arose because there was this peculiarly symmetrical rock formation – and that may well have been what you saw.’ Her eyes rested for a moment on Luca’s bare, tanned arms, folded across his chest. ‘But if you’re thinking of haring off to Tibet in search of the holiest of beyuls, then I’d urge you, as a friend of your uncle’s and also a responsible adult, to reconsider.’
She flicked a sidelong glance at Jack before turning back to Luca, her bright eyes suddenly very serious. ‘Over the years many Westerners – often those who were dissatisfied with their own daily lives – have become obsessed with these beyuls. As a result, a lot of them died very lonely deaths in some of the farthest reaches of Tibet.’
Jack looked over at his nephew who was now staring out of the bay window, apparently lost in thought. ‘Luca? Are you with us?’
He nodded silently.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, really I am,’ said Sally, cocking her head to one side again. ‘Though from my own selfish point of view, I have to admit I’m delighted by the outcome of your curiosity. I have had the pleasure of meeting you, Luca, not to mention getting back in touch with Jack here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting at eleven o’clock. But what do you say about the three of us making a date . . .’
‘So what about the Kalak Tantra?’ he said softly.
‘The what?’ said Jack.
‘Sally knows what I’m talking about.’
Jack looked from one face to the other, noting the determined expression on Luca’s and the fact that the smile had frozen on Sally’s. ‘Now you’ve lost me. Can someone fill me in?’
‘The Kalak Tantra,’ Luca said, his eyes challenging Sally, ‘was discovered in the last years of the nineteenth century. It appears to be a sort of road map, showing the location of every single one of the beyuls. Apparently the Tantra gave a set of rules, a precise code, that had to be adhered to if you wanted to get into them. It listed the entrances, the routes in, even what time of year the journey should be made.’ Luca clapped his hands together enthusiastically. ‘It gave you everything you needed actually to get into one of these places!’
Sally gave a curt nod, her eyes following Luca’s every movement.
‘Some Westerners have even said they have seen parts of the Tantra,’ he added, opening his hands out flat as if he were holding a copy of the book in his hands.
For a moment Sally remained motionless, then she looked over at Jack and grinned. ‘No one can accuse your nephew of lacking determination,’ she said, her expression slowly melting into its habitual stare. ‘But if you’d read a bit more of the Mahayana Sutras and not just the first couple of chapters, you’d have discovered that no one has even seen a complete copy of the Tantra. Minute fragments of it do exist – a few vague words here, a cryptic sentence there. But more often than not, the claims are wildly exaggerated. Parts of the “Tantra” are even sold to a few gullible tourists as they walk round the Bakhor in Lhasa. It’s not that different from Christians buying splinters of the “True” Cross.’
She tucked a strand of hair neatly behind her ear, looking over at Jack again.
‘Listen, I wish we could carry on talking.’ She glanced at her watch, which looked huge on her tiny wrist. ‘But I have a meeting that can’t wait . . .’
‘Of course.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Sally, you’ve been wonderful. I’ll drop you an email and we can work out a plan to meet again.’
‘Thanks, Professor.’ Luca stood up, flashing her another smile as he swung his satchel over his shoulder. ‘That was fascinating.’
The two men walked down the corridor in silence, Jack shooting glances of concern at his nephew as they descended a flight of stone stairs and came out into the building’s open quadrangle.
‘I know it’s a blow,’ said Jack finally as they steered around the neatly mown circle of grass. ‘But Sally’s a smart woman, and if she tells you it’s a fool’s errand . . . .’
‘I don’t trust her,’ said Luca abruptly.
Jack looked incredulous. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! She may not have told you what you wanted to hear, but Sally Tang is a—’
‘I thought we were going to see a Professor Harris, anyway?’
‘Yes, well, I forgot this was Sally’s department. When she heard that it was me making enquiries, she arranged for us to see her instead.’
Luca shook his head. ‘She’s holding something back, I’m sure of it.’
Jack sighed and shrugged. ‘OK, well, I’m sorry for you. You won’t find a better mind or anyone willing to give you more time. Now, how do you feel about finding a café? I’m gasping for a coffee . . .’
As the men ducked under a stone arch, went past the porters’ lodge and into the street beyond, Professor Tang retreated from the bay window where she had been watching them. She bit her bottom lip, trying to decide.
It had been years since she had had any official duties in this arena, and part of her wanted to do Jack a favour and overlook the matter – categorise it as low risk. But there was something about the younger man that had worried her. For all his lazy charm he was very focused, and he had obviously chanced on pieces of information that would fan his interest. She doubted that she had deterred him for a second. If anything, judging from that handsome, brash face that was obviously used to getting its own way – she’d probably only succeeded in arousing his curiosity all the more.
Having reached a decision, Sally opened the lowest drawer in her desk and pulled out a battered, leather-bound address book. She flicked through the pages until her finger was resting under the number she sought. A few moments later she waited as the crackly connection was routed, via Beijing, direct to the Lhasa office of the PSB.
Chapter 14
CATHY WATCHED AS Bill loosened his tie with two fingers and kicked off his shoes. He put his feet up on the coffee table with a sigh.
‘Really, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s just been another bitch of a day at the office.’ Stretching his arms above his head, he yawned. ‘Everything’s fine.’
His wife perched on the arm of the sofa opposite, fingering the buttons on a cushion. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a ponytail from a quietly pretty face and she was wearing one of Bill’s huge knitted jumpers, her hands lost in the long sleeves.
‘You keep saying “fine” but you haven’t been yourself since you’ve got back. I can tell something’s wrong. Why won’t you just tell me?’
‘Because there’s nothing worse th
an coming back from a long day at the office and being asked if you’re all right, over and over again,’ Bill snapped. He closed his eyes and sank a little deeper in the sofa, wiggling his toes in his socks. ‘It’s exhausting.’
Cathy took a deep breath. ‘Then why don’t you seem to notice when Ella and Hal are talking to you? Or me, for that matter.’ She hesitated, biting her lip, and continued, ‘I know it can be a bit of an anti-climax after these trips, but you’ve always seemed so pleased to see us before. This time . . . well, it’s like we’re barely here.’
‘That’s not true,’ protested Bill. ‘Of course I’m happy to be back with you and the kids.’
There was a brief silence. The TV flickered mutely, announcing the beginning of the seven o’clock news. Bill reached for the volume on the remote, then gave a yelp as Cathy jumped up and snatched it from him. The picture shrank to a dot as she flicked the power switch.
‘Enough, Bill. Something happened up that mountain, and seeing as I’m the person you’ve chosen to spend your life with, I think I have a right to know about it.’
Bill sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked up, wincing to see her expression.
‘Look, I haven’t wanted to talk about this because I know what you think about Luca sometimes, and, well, he’s . . . my friend.’ Bill paused for a moment and slowly shook his head. ‘But since he hasn’t even called me or made any attempt to set things right . . .’
‘What did he do?’ Cathy interrupted, her voice steely.
Bill sighed and looked down at his large hands for a moment before speaking. ‘You know when I got altitude sickness? I think Luca was planning on leaving me up there.’
Cathy’s eyes widened. ‘What? He what?’
Bill flapped his hands as if trying to put out a fire. ‘Look, it didn’t happen so don’t make a big thing out of it. But he said something about going for the summit and leaving me on the ledge. You know, it’s hard to be sure what the hell did happen up there. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.’ Then he turned his head, looking back towards the blank television screen. ‘The strange thing is that part of me wishes he had gone for the summit. Then I wouldn’t have to feel so damn’ guilty, like the whole thing is unfinished business because I got ill.’
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