Don Winslow - The Trail to Buddha_s Mirror

He rolled over gently on his stomach so that he was facing uphill, and began to claw his way back up to the path. Li stretched her walking stick out. He grabbed it and she pulled him up. Back on the relative safety of the path, he rolled around on the ground in agony.

“Is anything broken?” she asked.

“I think a rib or two.”

“That is too bad.”

She was a bit too cool for his taste. He would have liked her to be a little more upset. A few tears would have been okay.

“Does it hurt much?”

“No. I’m just cleaning the steps with the back of my shirt.”

“Yes. It would be better if you would be still.”

“It would also be better if you’d shut the fuck up.”

“Better also to be calm.”

Calm. Right. My stomach feels like it’s been napalmed. We’re halfway up a mountain, it’s getting dark, I can’t breathe or walk, and some very heavy types who are chasing us just got a major boost. So let me indulge in a little panic for a minute.

Not to mention self-pity.

“Do not worry,” she said. “I can carry you.”

“Lan, don’t be offended, but you don’t resemble-in any way, shape, or form-a mule.”

“I can carry you.”

“I have at least forty pounds on you.”

“We must take off shirt and take care of ribs.”

“You touch that shirt, you go off the edge.”

“Tough man.”

“That’s ‘tough guy.’ Aahhhh!!!”

She opened his shirt. His rib cage was turning purple. His head whirled and he almost fainted, but a silly sense of male pride kept him conscious.

“I will do some pressing,” she said.

“I’ll shoot you.”

She apparently didn’t believe him, because she dug a finger into the muscles above the ribs. The pain didn’t stop, but the piercing stabs settled into a dull, sick ache.

“How did you do that?”

“Be still.”

She did more pressing. Then she manipulated the broken rib. This time Neal fainted.

He awoke to the sound of her yi-ar chant. She was climbing a hill, carrying him piggyback, her knees bent to adjust to the extra load. The sky was slate gray.

His ribs throbbed to the rhythm of her gait.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“You can’t carry me up this mountain!”

“What am I doing now?”

Carrying me up this mountain.

“It is an old tradition. Buddhist grooms used to carry their brides up the mountain.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, why haven’t we seen all these devout pilgrims climbing to Buddha’s Mirror?”

“Cultural Revolution.”

Cultural Revolution, Cultural Revolution. It seemed like the answer to every question. Why did the chicken cross the road? Cultural Revolution.

“It was very dangerous to be religious,” she continued, “so people could not travel to Emei to make climb. Even some monasteries on the bottom of the mountain were destroyed by the Red Guard. Very sad.”

“I’ll slow you down.”

She stopped. “You are slowing me down by making me talk. Interrupting my chanting. With the chanting, you are light. Without it, you are heavy. We have far to go and darkness comes soon. So be quiet. Please.”

He sank back down on her back. Before long the sky around them turned golden, then orange, then red, setting the mountain off in an almost surreal glow. The miles passed with the litany of yi, ar, throb, throb.

Just as the sky turned black, Li carried Neal through the gates of a monastery. Neal recognized the statue of Kuan Yin, Goddess of Mercy, before Li collapsed in exhaustion.

Neal lay on his kang later that night. The monks had wrapped his rib cage in a cloth boiled in an herbal mixture. They had forced some noxious, hot liquid down his throat that eased the pain. Then they had stretched a coarse net over the top of the bed and left him to get some rest.

What’s the net for? Neal wondered. We have to be at least nine thousand feet up here, well above the mosquitoes. Besides, the net was too coarse to keep out anything but a mutant giant mosquito. What was it for? He had his answer a few seconds later, when he heard the scurrying of paws across the floor. He looked down to see at least eight pairs of red eyes studying him.

Rats.

They were all over the place, scratching at his discarded shoes, sniffing at the edge of the kang, scavenging for food. Neal huddled up in his clothing, trying to cover up every bit of his person he possibly could. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the thought of a rat nibbling at his foot kept him awake. Just then a rat ran straight across the top of the net over Neal’s chest. Neal heaved himself up and screamed. His chest responded with a stab of fire that put Neal back in a prone position. It was probably just his imagination, but he thought he saw the rat grin at him. The rat chattered busily. Neal figured that the rodent was telling his buddies they had a helpless victim here.

Bandit monkeys, marauding rats… It’s a good thing there aren’t any wolves or tigers left on this damn mountain-or are there? He entertained himself with visions of tigers and wolves creeping stealthily up the stairway. Well, at least they’d scare off the rats. He finally dozed off to that pleasant fantasy.

He screamed as he felt the tiny claws scrape his chest.

“It is just me,” Li Lan said as she climbed into bed.

“Don’t let the rats in.”

She snuggled against him carefully.

After a few moments she said, “The climb tomorrow is difficult and treacherous. You cannot go on, I think.”

“I have to see Pendleton.”

She thought for a moment.

“I can bring him down here in two days.”

“We don’t have two days, Lan. I’ll be caught by tomorrow morning.”

As soon as Li settled in, the rats became active again. Neal listened to the scraping sounds of their claws on the wooden floor.

“Don’t the rats bother you?”

“This is why we use the nets.”

“Why not traps?”

“Killing is wrong.”

Killing is wrong. Neal tried to tally the number of people who had been killed to bring Pendleton to the top of this mountain. Jesus, had it only been two? The Doorman and Leather Boy One? Only two? What am I thinking about? Two are enough. More than enough. And we ain’t home yet.

“We must leave as soon as it is light,” Li said.

Good, Neal thought. She’s accepted that I’m going with her.

“Sure,” he said.

“Sleep now.”

“Okay.”

She stroked his chest. “I would like to do more than sleep, but you are wounded.”

“Well, maybe if you were real gentle with me…”

“Oh, I can be very gentle.”

She was, Neal thought later, remarkably gentle.

“Li Lan,” he said, “when I go down the mountain… on the other side… will you go with me?

She took a long time to answer.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice edged with excitement, “we will look into Buddha’s Mirror, see our true selves. Then we will know everything.”

He wanted to talk about it more, but she made a show of being sleepy. Her breathing deepened and steadied, and soon she was sleeping.

Neal listened to the clawing of the rats before finally willing himself to sleep. Dawn would come all too soon.

Xao Xiyang stepped out from the modest pavilion at the top of the promontory and waited for the sun to rise. The air was so clear, so lovely, so peaceful that he almost did not wish to light the cigarette in his hand. The long climb and the pure mountain air had cleared his lungs, and the serene panorama almost inspired him to begin a more healthy regimen. The Yi guide had put him to shame, but of course he was much younger, and a native. Xao accepted the rationalization and lit the cigarette.