Don Winslow - The Trail to Buddha_s Mirror

Another half hour of climbing took them under a wooden arch where four wooden poles supported three tiled, curved roofs, and then up along the edge of a knoll to an ornate monastery. A broad terrace looked out over a deep, forested chasm.

“We will rest here,” Li said.

“If you really want to,” Neal said between gasps.

“This is an historic place,” Li said, “where Emperor Kang-hsi visited and gave the abbot a jade seal.”

“When was this?” Neal asked, eager to keep up the conversation-and the breather.

“Qing Dynasty. In your time, the late sixteenth century.”

Around the time of Shakespeare, Neal thought.

“Emperor Kang-hsi gave this place the name ‘Dragon’s Abode.’”

“Did dragons live here?”

Li laughed. “No, but wolves and tigers did, down the hill, until the abbot built a watchtower with fire to scare them off. The fire at night looked like a dragon’s mouth. So the name is a funny joke.”

“Pretty droll emperor.”

“The resting time is finished.”

Which will teach me to mouth off about the emperor.

To Neal’s surprise and relief, the path went downhill in a switchback around another steep knoll. It crossed and recrossed the curving river on stone bridges, finally working its way down to a waterfall about twelve feet high.

They crossed the river just downstream of the waterfall, and Neal enjoyed the spray of the cool water as he passed by. He looked over the bridge into a pool, where smooth stones sparkled like jade. Then he followed Li around what looked to be an enormous monastery. Li went in a side gate and emerged a few minutes later with two wooden bowls of rice and some pickled vegetables. Neal shoveled the food down gratefully while sitting on the path, and then they started off again.

The path led to a ferociously steep, zigzag incline surrounded by a thick bamboo forest. Each switchback led to just another switchback, higher than the last, on the very edge of the mountain. The view was stunning, overlooking the valleys and plains to the east and the path they had just ascended, but after three or four switchbacks, Neal stopped looking. He just put his head down and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his eyes stung from perspiration and fatigue.

He almost missed the tree with the “wanted” poster on it.

‘“What’s this?” he asked Li.

A sketch of a monkey’s face had been nailed to a tree.

“Bandit monkey,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Bandit monkey?”

“Yes, it offers a reward for this monkey… named One Fang… because it has been robbing pilgrims. There are many bandit monkeys on Emei. Only the very worst get a poster.”

She started back up the hill.

Bandit monkeys, Neal thought. He pictured Central Park with gangs of simian muggers running around, dropping on people out of trees… taking their peanuts… then gave up the fantasy. Central Park was bad enough.

“What do the monkeys steal?” he called ahead.

“You will see!”

Say what?

“What do you mean?!”

“Monkeys any time now!”

Monkeys any time now. Neal stopped for a second to break a dead branch of bamboo and strip it down into a walking stick. Then he remembered that he had a gun and felt a little foolish. I wonder if the monkeys understand what a gun is? he wondered.

They didn’t.

It was three switchbacks later when about half a dozen monkeys came scrambling down through the bamboo and blocked the path in front of them. They were about the size of cocker spaniels and had a good sense of terrain, because they plopped themselves just where the path took a wicked outside curve over a deep canyon. Two of the monkeys stayed in the bamboo on the uphill side to block that escape. The monkeys looked for all the world like a hairy street gang extorting passersby on their turf. The head monkey wasn’t One Fang, because he had two very large, healthy incisors that he displayed in a a growl of anger and arrogance.

He got angrier when Li Lan whacked him in the legs with her walking stick. He leaped in the air, snarling and snapping, and rushed toward her legs. She stepped back and swung at him again, missing him by an inch as he somersaulted backward. Another monkey rushed at her from the side. Neal couldn’t swing at it with his stick without hitting Li, so he kicked at the monkey, which retreated up the path and hunched into a threatening crouch. The rest of the monkeys contributed screams and howls of intimidation and hilarity and waited for the next round.

Neal pulled the pistol from his waistband. He leveled it at the lead monkey, who sat staring at it curiously and issued a low growl. He might not have recognized a gun, but he knew a threat when he saw one. He started to back away, still growling. His gang followed him as he scrambled back up the hill into the bamboo.

Neal pulled the pistol up and blew into the barrel before sticking it back in his pants.

Li didn’t get it.

“You’ll be okay now, ma‘am,” Neal said, “as long as I’ve got this here Winchester.”

Then a small stone hit him in the side of the head. This was followed by a barrage of rocks, sticks, nuts, and fruit that followed Neal and Li as they retreated about fifty feet down the path.

Son of a bitch, Neal thought. The bastards understand firepower.

Sure enough, four monkeys were still launching missiles while their comrades hustled around the hillside collecting ammunition. Neal picked up a handful of small, sharp stones and flung them toward the monkey battery on the hillsides. He found the resulting cries of indignation extremely satisfactory, especially when his adversaries retreated up the hill.

Joe Graham is wrong, Neal thought. I can outsmart an ape.

He found this wasn’t exactly true, however, when it became apparent that all the monkeys had done was set their blockade up on the next switchback. Two of the largest were sitting in the middle of the path, grinning with immense glee while their supporting troops crouched in the bamboo, ammunition already at hand-or paw.

“Uh, how many switchbacks are there?” Neal asked, aware that this could go on all day.

“Many.”

“What do the monkeys want?” Maybe it would be easier to pay the toll and get on with it.

“Food.”

“Do we have any?”

“No.”

“Right. I’m going to shoot one.”

“No!”

“We could collect the reward.”

“For a live monkey only.”

“We don’t have time to fuck around here, Li.”

She looked at him curiously and with a trace of indignation until he realized that she hadn’t understood the idiom.

“I mean we have to get going.”

The monkeys, fully aware of the humans’ hesitation, sensed victory and inched closer. Great grimaces of dominance spread across their faces and they scratched vigorously.

“You may not shoot them,” Li said firmly.

Besides, Neal thought, I probably couldn’t hit one anyway. And they are kind of cute, in a repulsive sort of way. He drew the gun anyway and pointed it at the leader. The leader didn’t show any signs of intimidation this time, unless rubbing one’s genitals could be interpreted as a sign of terror. Then he shot back, so to speak, with a stream of urine.

“That does it,” Neal said. “Can you stand them off for a few minutes?

“I think so.”

Neal retreated down to the edge of the last curve and then headed up the hill through the bamboo. He scratched his way up to the next level of the path until he was looking down at the monkeys. He gathered up rocks, sticks, and fruits and then headed down toward the spot where the monkey gang was in its standoff with Li Lan. He snuck from tree to tree, being as quiet as a city-bred klutz can be in a bamboo jungle, until he stood about twenty feet above the gang.