“He said so himself.”
Damchö did indeed admit that he was the one who had stolen Alak Drong’s horse. He said that he’d straighten the whole thing out with the police first thing in the morning and tell them to release Ralo, on top of which he apologized repeatedly and said it was a great injustice if Ralo was in prison on account of this. But Ralo wasn’t to be consoled. “Ah—ho—this is for Alak Drong’s horse …” he cried again, doing his best to get his hands on Damchö. I had no choice but to risk a lice attack and sleep between the two of them.
The next morning Ralo sat up in bed, and when he’d finished his chanting he scratched the wall with his fingernail. Since he had no prayer beads, he put a mark like this on the wall every morning when he was done with his recitations. After he was released that afternoon I counted all the marks on the wall—there were sixty in total. This meant that Ralo had referred to himself as a “criminal” at least one hundred and eighty times.
Twenty-One
The “karma” that Ralo was always talking about continued to toy with him, treating him just like a stray dog. The terrible incident of Little Ralo’s decapitation had driven Dekyi to madness. For months she tore about crying and laughing, completely uncontrollable. Finally, she jumped in a river and drowned herself.
Spring came early. The tips of countless fresh buds were poking through on the walls of the livestock enclosures and on the southern slopes of the grasslands, and the dung embankments put up by the nomad women in late autumn began to disintegrate under the warmth of the sun.
Ralo didn’t get out of bed until late in the morning. He sat in the doorway of his tent sunning himself and chanting his manis. His chanting was different now. He no longer did it in a loud voice, and each syllable was punctuated by long pauses. Between his greasy, dirt-encrusted fingers he plied the flat sandalwood prayer beads he’d bought in Lhasa. The edges of each bead were now worn away, and they had become almost perfectly spherical. His braid had once again become a tangled lice nest, like it had been when he was in jail, and his fur jacket had torn, revealing the wool filling inside. The sight of his jacket was a painful reminder of his dear loving wife, and every time he looked at it he wept bitterly and struck himself in the chest.
Around noon his neighbors sent their kids to call Ralo for lunch. Ralo wasn’t hungry in the least, and he had no desire whatsoever to see the domestic bliss of husbands with their wives and fathers with their sons. Still, he didn’t have the heart to spurn the kindness of his neighbors, so he went to whichever family called him first. After his wife and son died, Ralo had given away most of his livestock to the lama and the monastery and had them perform the last rites for the departed. Now he had only five female yaks and dzo left, which, as he put it, were “offerings for when my mom dies.” He didn’t even have to worry about taking care of them, either, as he’d loaned or rented them out, along with his contracted land, to another family. In turn, this family gave Ralo and the old dog he called “Mom” yogurt and milk in the summer months and butter and cheese in the autumn. Ralo had originally been assigned this land through a drawing of lots, and it was the best piece of land in the area. For a long time after that he’d told people that he must have good karma. Now, apart from wallowing in his sorrow and chanting his manis, he had no obligations at all.
The weather gradually grew warmer and the nomads became busier as the days went by. It came time for them to begin storing up their butter and cheese, and there were fewer and fewer people to call Ralo over for tea. Nevertheless, one neighbor, Chaktar, tirelessly persisted in calling Ralo over to eat with his family, and he even sent his mother over to give him water and dung for fuel. Ralo was so embarrassed by this generosity that sometimes he would make his own tea and food before someone from Chaktar’s family arrived. “I’ve just had something, I swear to Alak Drong, I swear on the Jowo in Lhasa,” Ralo assured them when someone came to fetch him. Chaktar, unable to compel him, ended up giving his mother a thermos of tea and some cheese, butter, and tsampa, and sending her over to eat with Ralo. Chaktar’s mother was called Guru Kyi. Though she was about sixty years old, her hale and hearty appearance and the cheap jewelry she always wore gave anyone who didn’t know her the impression that she was no more than fifty. One day, Guru Kyi wove her hair into slender braids and oiled it with marrow until it was sleek and black. Carrying a thermos full of milk tea and some steamed bread that she’d brought from Labrang, she arrived with a face wreathed in smiles. “Hehe, hey Ralo, last night … hehe, a guy from that camp over there, he didn’t let me sleep the whole night,” she said, lowering her head somewhat bashfully.
This sudden announcement shot through Ralo’s body like a bolt of lightning, and in his embarrassment he didn’t know how to react. “Ah kha, young guys these days, no shame …” he said.
“You’re right about that. When we were young you didn’t get people going to an older woman’s place like that. Really, these young people today …” she said, casting a furtive glance at Ralo.
Ralo recalled a similar “flirtatious glance” that he’d received from the water-fetching girl many years ago and his body felt like it had been hit by another bolt of lightning, but after a moment his present circumstances came back to him. His beloved wife seemed to appear before his eyes, and he sank back into grief.
Seeing his reaction, Guru Kyi became solemn. “Ralo, it’s natural to grieve, but you’ve done so much for the two of them since they passed. There’s no need to torment yourself like this,” she said, sliding over to him. “Hey, Ralo, I never knew you were so much like a woman! You’re a good, devout man, it’ll be easy for you to find another wife. Don’t you know that saying, ‘a real man is worth nine women’? ” She slid closer, but Ralo remained absolutely motionless, and she gave up. “Hey, you sit around all day in a daze. Do you know what people say about you?”
Ralo, being a man very much concerned about what others thought of him, turned in a flash to face Guru Kyi. “What are people saying about me?”
“Hurry up and drink some tea, it’s getting cold.” Guru Kyi dropped a lump of butter into Ralo’s cup, poured the tea on top, and handed it to him. “Some people are saying that you’re not a real man, and some are saying … pah, not even the Buddha can shut the mouths of men. People say whatever comes into their heads, what can you do …” she said, casting Ralo another “flirtatious glance” and lowering her head like a coquettish young woman.
Ralo was still desperate to know what others were saying about him. He sidled closer to Guru Kyi. “What else are they saying about me?”
“They … well, they … pah, I’m too embarrassed to say it.”
Ralo, agitated, grabbed hold of her hand, on the verge of begging her.
“They say … the two of us … pah.”
Ralo completely understood now. He released her hand. “These guys love to gossip. They’re nasty people,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re right about that that. They were the ones that falsely accused you and got you thrown in jail. Eh, it’s no easy thing to get by in this world without any family.”
“But where am I going to get a family from?”
“Well, the ones you had can leave you, and ones you didn’t can join you.”
Ralo understood the meaning of her words entirely. Although Ralo and Guru Kyi weren’t related, there was an age gap between them of at least ten years, so according to the customs of the region it was considered shameful for them to exchange a single word about the business between a man and a woman. From that point on, however, they were no longer bound by this taboo. This was a small victory for Guru Kyi that day.
Twenty-Two
From that day on, when she came to see Ralo, Guru Kyi got dressed up even nicer than before. Though she was a bit old, Ralo thought, she was in good shape and she was single, and he became ensnared by desire. Ralo was usually the kind of man who was fine with any woman, and he wasn’t particularly interested in that sort of thing anymore either, but
whenever he thought about people saying “He’s not a real man,” he simply couldn’t bear it. One day, after he’d eaten dinner and gotten into bed, Guru Kyi came in just as he was about to go to sleep. “Ah tsi, it’s so early, you’re going to bed already?”
“I am. Why don’t you get in with me?” As these words slipped out of his mouth, Ralo’s heart started pounding madly. To his surprise, Guru Kyi clasped her hands to her face, lowered her head like a young woman, then ran out the door. In the face of this reaction Ralo felt embarrassed and a bit ashamed of his rash words, but then he decided that it was a good thing that he’d at least shown her he was a “real man.”
That night, the faces of his wife and son appeared less often than usual on the screen of Ralo’s mind. They were replaced by an image of Guru Kyi’s sleek black hair and the way she clasped her hands to her face and lowered her head. Midnight came around and he still couldn’t get to sleep. He rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his pillow with his elbows.
A shaft of moonlight shone through the skylight of the tent, gradually descending on Ralo’s “mom.” The dog was covered with a calfskin blanket, on top of which was another blanket of sheepskin. The dog was now so old that it only moved when it was time to eat or drink, and it looked like it was knocking on death’s door. Some days it wouldn’t eat a thing, and some days it ate anything it was given, shortly after which it would pee and poop so much Ralo could hardly keep up with cleaning it. As he looked at the dog, Ralo recalled his mother. Now that he thought about it, she had been in her forties when she married his stepfather—about the same age he was now. Ralo still remembered clearly what she’d said after he walked out on them: “If I can’t find a better man than that pig, then I’m no woman.”
“ ‘A real man is worth nine women.’ Tamdrin Tso [the woman whose family Ralo first married into]—that’s one; yellow teeth—that’s two; and my dear departed—that’s three.” Ralo pressed his index and middle fingers to his thumb, then paused for a moment. “And Guru Kyi makes four,” he said, adding his ring finger.
The shaft of moonlight shining on the dog gradually shifted away. Just as he’d done when he was a monk at the monastery, Ralo got up late and couldn’t get to sleep at night, and he was haunted by loneliness. He well knew that Guru Kyi wasn’t far away and that she slept alone in her own room, but he no longer dared to act as rashly as he had when he was young, so he was left alone with his web of doubts and his flights of fancy.
With no clear goal in mind, Ralo got out of bed, put on his boots, draped his jacket over his shoulders, and walked out the door. Once he was outside his gaze fell involuntarily in the direction of Chaktar’s place. After he took a piss he stood lost in thought for a long time, unsure what he should do. What if she says no? It’ll be embarrassing. And what if she tells others about it? That’ll be even more embarrassing. No, no, he thought. He turned back to his door, but he didn’t go in. He turned around again and stood facing Chaktar’s place for some time. Eventually, a cold shiver and the chattering of his teeth shook him from his reverie, and he went back inside.
Twenty-Three
A few days later, Guru Kyi discovered that a change had taken place in Ralo’s manner. She applied a healthy helping of marrow to her hair, pocketed a cheap pack of cigarettes she’d procured in advance, grabbed a dish of sweet potato rice with butter and sugar, and went to see Ralo, her head lowered, just like a young woman setting off for her first tryst.
“This … your family keeps giving me …”
“You keep saying this ‘your family, my family’ stuff. Let me tell you, tomorrow you should take back your land and your livestock and let Chaktar take care of it. Hm! Who else around here looks out for you, Ralo?”
“Mm … I don’t want to trouble your family, and those people are always giving me butter and cheese.”
“Ah tsi, still with this ‘your family, my family’! What a hard person you are to get close to.” Guru Kyi stuffed the pack of cigarettes into Ralo’s hands. “First they stole your wife, then they had you thrown in jail on trumped-up charges. Have you forgotten?”
“Hehe, but it wasn’t Akhu Loten’s family that did that.”
“Hm! Who can say? I’ll tell you straight up, back then hardly anyone around here said that you were innocent, and now they’re pretending to care, looking after your cattle for you, but everyone knows they’ve got designs on your land. Mm … and our family’s land is so small … never mind, forget it, forget it. If you’re not bothered, there’s no use in me going on about it. I … I really see you as one of my family, Ralo. You do what you think is best.” Lowering her head just like the water-fetching girl did all those years ago, Guru Kyi flashed Ralo a “flirtatious glance” and left.
That night the image of the water-fetching girl by the bank of the Tsechu appeared once more before Ralo’s eyes and refused to go away. Only after his mind, an unbridled stallion, had satisfied itself with a tireless gallop through the fields of fantasy did he finally fall asleep.
A woman carrying a water pail arrived at the bank of the Tsechu. Lowering her head, she glanced at Ralo. Sometimes she appeared to be the water-fetching girl from years before, and sometimes she appeared to be another woman. Either way, she was beautiful, and she kept on casting “flirtatious glances” at Ralo. He crossed the river to get to her, or maybe she crossed toward him, and she fell into Ralo’s arms. Unfortunately, both banks of the river were lined with monks, supervising them like prison guards. In desperation, Ralo grabbed her hand and they ran to his house as fast as they could. When they got there Ralo discovered that this woman was none other than Guru Kyi. The strange thing was that her whole body had become soft and supple, like that of a young woman in the prime of her life. Ralo was convulsed with desire and he threw her down on the bed.
An unpleasant, wet sort of feeling roused Ralo from his sleep. He found his crotch soaked in a sticky fluid, and he felt depressed. Eh—I really need to get a woman, he said to himself.
Twenty-Four
Ralo took his “mom” and the calfskin blanket to the doorway to let the dog bask in the sun, then went back inside, washed his face in a basin of warm water, and combed his braid. Ralo wasn’t much for hygiene at the best of times, and he hadn’t combed his braid once in the whole year since his wife and son had passed. It had become full of tangles, and brushing it was no easy task—only after enduring a good deal of pain did he finally manage to comb it all out. About a fistful of hair, full of lice eggs, was lodged in the teeth of the comb, and several of the hairs were white. Ralo’s cheerful mood slowly dissipated. I’m really getting old. Don’t they say “a real man is worth nine women”? How did I get so old so quickly? he said to himself. As he pleated his braid he looked in the direction of Chaktar’s place. Land. Woman. Give my land, get a woman. They say that pencil-necked Chaktar’s a sly fox, but he’s a got a big family, and not much land. If I give my land to him, then at the very least he’ll have to take care of our food and clothes, for the sake of his mother if nothing else. Anyway, I need a woman by my side, that’s for sure. After this process of thought, Ralo decided to give his land to Chaktar’s family.
Ralo knew very well that the basis of a nomad’s livelihood was land, not cattle. He didn’t have much cattle anymore, but he had enough land for three people to use. He knew too that if he rented this land to someone else he’d have no need to worry about the necessities of life. But the misery of solitude didn’t give him much room to consider all of this. In Ralo’s mind, Guru Kyi and the way she lowered her head and cast him “flirtatious glances” had become indistinguishable from the water-fetching girl by the banks of the Tsechu all those years ago. He jumped up all of a sudden and made his way to Chaktar’s, where he made an announcement: “From today, all of my land belongs to your family.”
The large group of men who were playing chess at Chaktar’s place had no idea what Ralo was talking about, and they looked at one another blankly until Chaktar rose to speak. “Ah tsi a
h tsi, Uncle Ralo you’re so kind, so generous! Friends, did you hear that? Uncle Ralo said he’s giving all of his land to me. Thank you, Uncle Ralo, and I’ll look after your cattle as well, don’t worry!”
Chaktar’s friends were so amazed they forgot about their chess. “Ah tsi ah tsi, this Ralo is truly a bodhisattva,” said some. “A man like this is truly rare these days,” said others. In the midst of this chorus of praise came a diverging opinion, offered by a slightly more astute man: “Ralo, my friend, if you give your land away, how will you get by? You should think about this.” He was then followed by many others. “That’s right. Land is gold, land is precious. You should think about this.”
Ralo looked at Guru Kyi uncertainly, and she lowered her head and cast him a “flirtatious glance.” Ralo sucked in his snot, his mind completely made up. “There’s nothing to think about. I have no regrets. Ralo is a man of his word.”
Twenty-Five
As soon as it was light Ralo got up, washed his face, and eagerly awaited the arrival of Guru Kyi with his breakfast (in truth, Ralo no longer had the means to make himself a decent breakfast). He began to feel that a very long time had passed, but still there was no sign of Guru Kyi, so as usual he grabbed his “mom” and went outside. When it was almost noon one of the children from Chaktar’s family finally arrived with a plate of sheep sausage and gave it to Ralo. It wasn’t clear if this was supposed to be breakfast or lunch, but Ralo decided that it must be breakfast. After noon passed, Ralo went back to eagerly awaiting the arrival of Guru Kyi with his lunch.
In the afternoon a fierce wind began to blow, driving Ralo and his “mom” back inside, and the sun vanished behind the western hills as he continued his eager awaiting. A neighbor came to invite Ralo over for dinner, but he declined, as he was sure that Guru Kyi would soon be bringing his dinner, and also that she’d be spending the night. That night Ralo went hungry and cigaretteless. Most of all he was tormented by loneliness. Several times he was on the verge of going to find Guru Kyi, but in the end he restrained himself.
The Handsome Monk and Other Stories Page 8