Julian Stockwin - THE SILK TREE

O Soul, go not to the South

Where the three-footed tortoise spits disease!’

‘Well…’

‘That is my own land, the south. I’d be curious to know what part…?’

‘More to the west, I’d say.’

‘You seek after truths yet you show no desire to imbibe of the wisdom of this place.’

‘I’ve not yet begun to search.’

‘But truth is everywhere, as philosophers of every breed do attest.’

‘Sir. I came here for my own reasons. I do not wish to spend my time in wordy dispute.’

The man bowed. ‘Do pardon me, wanderer. You may know me as Dao Pa and like you, I have an unquenchable desire for truth.’

‘I’m called, in China, Ni K’an Ta. I have travelled far and now return to my homeland.’

‘Ni lao na , forgive my importuning but I sense in you a different spirit, one unaccustomed to the ways of the Middle Kingdom, unsure of the patterns of life in our existence here. The inescapable conclusion is that in the compass of your own world, you are. You will have an understanding of earthly and heavenly matters that satisfies, but which will be either in agreement with us or at variance. The answer to this is of great significance to my understanding. It would gratify me beyond saying should we walk together for a space.’

Outside he found his staff, and hitching his cloak – little more than a blanket – he and Nicander descended the cliff face to the flat sandy ground next to the river.

There was something in his manner – the intensity yet dignity, the tigerish gaze with unsettling insight, that Nicander felt stripped him bare.

They paced slowly then Dao Pa said, ‘Tell me, Ni lao na. What is your origin?’

There could be no evasion with this man. ‘I am a Greek, from a place so far I cannot tell even in what direction it lies.’ He had no idea of the word for ‘Greek’ in Chinese, even if there was one, so used the actual word.

To his surprise Dao Pa nodded wisely. ‘In India they still speak of a Hellenica, a great warrior teacher they call Aliksa Nada who many centuries ago conquered territories right up to the gates of the kingdom then received a sign from heaven and turned his back on them.’

Nicander felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end – he could be speaking only of Alexander the Great!

‘You’ve been to India?’

‘Certainly. There is an infinity of wisdom to be learnt in that far country, worth all the pains of the travel. Know that the caravans that ply the deserts and mountains are brought on by merchants for their own purposes but have served for time out of mind as a river of knowledge and enlightenment for those who seek truth in distant lands, such as I. These caves, the teachings of the Buddha, all these have come from India.’

‘Are you – is it that you are a Buddhist teacher yourself?’

Dao Pa stopped. ‘I will not tell you what I am.’

He looked once at Nicander then drew a square in the sand. ‘If I do, you will have a form of words you believe perfectly describes both me and the structure of my thought.’

He stepped into the square. ‘And by this you have made a prison for me. I cannot escape. You have confined me here and will make measure of every word I utter, every truth I reveal by the bounds of this prison for evermore.’

‘Then you are a teacher.’

‘I have my disciples, whom I needs must from time to time abandon for the pleasures of solitude. But now you are my teacher. Tell me – what is the essence of the Greek mysteries?’

Nicander felt unreality creeping in. Here he was, about to convey what he knew of Pythagoras and the rest to an oriental mystic at the edge of the wildest desert in the world.

‘There are many philosophy masters in Greek thought, Dao Pa. Yet I believe you will find the greatest of these is Aristotle. At the heart of his teaching is one truth that to me lies at the centre of all things.’

‘Do continue, I pray you.’

‘Well, this is the prime thing we hold so precious. That nothing, no idea or belief can be accepted, without we have evidence for it. And if there is evidence in our hands, we are obliged to admit it as a truth.’

Dao Pa turned to the sea of rearing dunes. ‘Come.’

Nicander followed him up the face of a nearer one, the hot sand running like water to make every step an aching trial.

Eventually they reached the top but did not stop to take in the spectacular panorama, stumping and sliding down until they were at the bottom. On all sides the dunes soared up. A trap of silence so complete Nicander thought he could hear his heart beating.

Dao Pa turned to him. ‘What can you see?’

‘Why, nothing but sand – the dunes.’

‘Yes. You are born here and cannot leave. What evidence have you that within less than the length of a single camel train there are living, breathing humans who have their being in creating works of art of great beauty?’

‘Evidence?’

‘There is none. Nothing by your philosophy that reveals this alternate existence. Yet it exists!’

There could be no answer.

‘And by this we have that there must be hidden worlds of man and gods that we can never know – and it would be folly indeed to reject their existence.’

Nicander felt the certainties he had lived with recede, the mental ground under him shift.

‘Dao Pa – tell me now of your philosophy. What do you hold most precious?’

‘This is not an easy question to answer. The Buddhists, Confucians, others, all have reached the same verity: that it is the Tao that is the first cause, the essence of existence – and our striving to understand it, that is the true study of man.’

‘The Tao?’

‘The way of all things. It is a great matter and cannot be told so easily. But shall we talk of it…?’

Marius sat up, irritated. His head hurt and he resented Nicander’s dig at him about the silver. He wasn’t sure how much was left of their little hoard but it wouldn’t be much, the woman drank like a fish.

The hard fact was that they had no money of their own. They were dependent on a noble lady for their means.

For most of his life he’d been a free soul. The legion couldn’t care less about what the soldiers did out of the ranks and he had learnt many a trick of survival when they had gone unpaid, as so often they did. But this was no hard-arse army camp with only sorry-looking followers on offer, instead he had the run of a town with all the temptations a free spirit could crave – if he could find the necessary. And who knew what other oasis fleshpots there would be on the trail?

It came to him as he strolled outside to squint at the day.

The escort was quartered out of town, away from the gentle folk. He found them at the usual tasks: digging latrines, fletching arrows, mustering stores, checking harnesses.

‘Hey there, soldiers!’ he called. The Chinese he’d picked up was no match for Nicander’s gifted delivery but these were a bunch of rough-neck Central Asians with no need for niceties.

They looked up, curious.

‘Just came to check out what an army camp looks like these days,’ he chuckled. ‘I was a sandal-man m’self just a few years back.’

What was probably a tessararius equivalent came up, wiping a blade he’d been honing. ‘Where you been a soldier?’ he growled.

‘Ma Lai Ssu. Out on garrison at the western frontier.’

‘Aldar the Gokturk. Not Khotan way?’

‘No. I said real western garrison – up on the mountains.’

‘So you seen our camp. And?’

‘Just interested in your weapons. We didn’t go much on bows out there, more your blade. Bit more reliable, like, out in the rocks.’