Don Winslow: The Trail to Buddha_s Mirror

He started out again. The trail curved sharply and then opened out onto the edge of a cliff. To Neal’s right a sheet or rock rose as high as he could see. To his left-much to closely to his left-was a drop of at least a thousand feet.

Don’t look down, Neal warned himself. Isn’t that what they say in all the movies?

He peeked again. His stomach lurched and his head spun. That’s probably why they say not to look down, he thought. He felt as if he were hanging on to the edge of the world as he began his trudge up the mountain again. Yi, ar, yi, ar, yi…

Just focus on counting, he thought. Don’t think about the pain, don’t think about the fear, don’t think about Pendleton, or about her, and for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t think about the fact that they’re gaining on you. At this pace, they have to be gaining on you. Gaining fast. But don’t think about that. Think about yi, ar, yi, ar… yi… ar… yi… ar… for two solid hours straight up the hill.

Li was waiting for him on a broad landing.

She pointed up ahead of her. He could see a huge peak, shaped like a big nose, rising above the rest of the rocks.

“The summit,” she said.

“How far?”

“Four hours. Perhaps for you six.”

Perhaps for me death.

“Is it all this steep?”

“Most. One place is gentle, almost level. But, I am afraid, it is also very frightening,”

Swell.

“Why frightening?”

“The path is very narrow.”

“Over a very long fall?”

She nodded and frowned. Then she smiled and added, “But after that, it is a short climb to summit.”

Neal looked at the summit again. Fuck you, Silkworm’s Eyebrow! I’m coming and you can’t stop me! You took your best shot and I’m still on my feet, still climbing!

“Let’s get going,” he said.

Xiao Wu crossed the Bridge of Deliverance. The spray from the waterfall felt good. The day was very hot, even up here on the mountain, and his feet hurt. All he had to wear were his leather city shoes, and the blisters had already started to form the day before. Today they were raw, and he wished he could stop and dip his feet into the pool below the bridge.

But the American was setting an unrelenting pace. Even fat Peng was keeping up with it, so Wu thought that he had to do it as well. Besides, they were still angry with him for letting Frazier get away, and they only brought him along so he could point out exactly where the fugitive had started up the mountain.

Perhaps, Wu thought, I should have misled them. That would have been treason, of course, but why is the American carrying the rifle? Why is the American here at all? It doesn’t seem right.

They were going to kill Frazier, he knew that, and that didn’t seem right, either.

He forced the thought from his mind and picked up his pace.

Neal collapsed at the top of Three Look Stairway. He turned over on his back and gasped with pain and fatigue. He didn’t even try to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. His chest heaved and his ribs hurt like they were breaking all over again. He could barely hear Li walking back down the path toward him.

In fact, he could barely hear at all. An incredible roar of rushing water echoed in the canyon and reverberated inside his head. The path was enclosed in a heavy mist.

Maybe the nuns were right about Purgatory, Neal thought.

“Thundering Terrace!” Li yelled. “The dragon and the thunder live below!”

Neal nodded.

“You are in pain?”

Neal rolled his eyes and nodded.

“There are caves just up the path! We will rest!”

She helped Neal to his feet. He staggered behind her, out of the mist and onto a broader terrace, behind which a cave burrowed into the cliff. She helped him to sit down. Even seated, they could now see the path below them. They could see the roofs of several monasteries, the trail below, the torturous stairs. They could see three figures climbing the trail near where Neal had fallen the day before.

“They have followed you,” Li said. She sounded devastated.

“I’m afraid so.”

“You should have let me go at Leshan.”

“You’d be dead if I had.”

“It would still be better.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Two Chinese and one American.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the way they walk.”

She stood up. “The resting is finished.”

He struggled to his feet. “We can still make it, can’t we? Get to Pendleton in time to hide? To keep running?”

She stood for a moment, calculating. “Perhaps. Perhaps. There is left the Eighty-four Switchbacks, the Elephants’s Saddle, and the Buddha’s Ladder. Perhaps three hours.”

“We can make it.”

“We can at least warn Father.”

It doesn’t sound good, Neal thought. The Saddle sounded easy, but the Eighty-four Switchbacks? A ladder? Their pursuers were maybe three hours behind. Maybe. But they were gaining.

“You’d better go ahead,” he said.

“They will kill you.”

“Nah, they’ll just criticize me severely. I can take it.”

“They will kill you. Come.”

She started out, and he fell in behind her. Five minutes’ walk along the shelf took them to the first switchback. He looked up and saw what looked like an endless series of stone fire escapes zigzagging up the precipice. The first few switchbacks were fairly easy, but grew steeper as they worked higher up the mountain. About ten switchbacks in, the grade became almost as tough as Three Look Staircase, and Neal found his knees brushing his chest as he ascended the steps.

The sight of their hunters gave him a good shot of adrenaline, which lasted for a good forty switchbacks. After it had worn off, Neal had to search for a motivator. Fear didn’t do it, neither did anger. Duty gave him five switchbacks, loyalty another seven, love another twelve. Contempt only got him one, pride less than one-half, a reprise of loyalty got him over the next difficult two, guilt took him for three, and then he dropped.

“Fourteen more and then level!” Li Lan shouted down from the switchback above.

Neal lay in a fetal position on the steps. Fourteen? I don’t have fourteen more steps. I have nothing left.

“Go ahead!”

From the corner of his eye he saw her stand for a moment, and then begin a slow trudge away. She’s beat too, he thought. Christ, I’ve lost everything.

And when you’ve lost everything, you have nothing left to lose. Clever boy. He pushed himself up with his hands and stood on unsteady feet. I’ve lost everything, so what the hell? When you’ve lost everything, there’s nothing left to do but keep going.

Come on, one foot in front of the other. Just one, and then just one more. Just one and then one more. Just one. Yi. Yi. Yi. Yi. Fuck the mountain. Fuck Mr. Peng. Fuck Simms. Fuck Friends of the Fucking Family. Step. Step. Fuck my whole stupid, useless life. Step. Step. Yi. Yi. Yi. Yi. Look behind you. The bastards are gaining. Really stepping out. Well, boys, wait until you hit old Three Look Staircase. Wait till you come up the greatly beloved Eighty-four Switchbacks. We’ll see how chipper you are when you step over my dead body.

This huge guy comes into a bar, see, and asks, “Which one of you bastards is O‘Reilly?” Step. Step. And this skinny guy sitting at the bar raises his hand and says, “I’m O‘Reilly.” Step. And the big guy grabs him by the neck, turns him around, punches him three times in the face, step, slams him to the floor, step, kicks him in the groin, picks him up, step, step, hits him in the stomach, throws him down again, step, step, step, kicks him in the balls, stomps on his face, step, step, step… step, step… and storms out of the bar. Step. Step. Step. Then the skinny guys sits up, step, starts to laugh, step, step, step, and says, step, “Boy, did I put one over on him!” Step, step, step.