Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

Shara was glowering at him, as she had before at the village, then she stepped back a pace and inhaled deeply. The tension seemed to drop from her shoulders as she stared directly at him, her green eyes pleading once again.

‘I know how determined you can be, Luca. But this is not something you should get involved with. Just let it go. All you have to do is wait until Bill gets better, then you two can leave and go back to England.’

‘I’m only asking you to tell me what the hell is going on. I think I have a right to know.’

Shara was about to speak again when Dorje materialised behind them. He was staring at her and as he stepped closer, she dropped her gaze to the floor.

‘It is time for evening prayers,’ he said, a terse edge to his voice. ‘Miss Shara, I am sure you will be wanting to get back to your quarters to prepare for the service.’

Shara nodded, her eyes catching Luca’s for a moment before she moved away around the side of the fountain.

‘Wait a second,’ he protested, attempting to follow her, but Dorje gently grasped him by the arm, preventing him. Luca looked down in surprise at the mild-looking monk who had managed to stop him in his tracks.

‘Mr Matthews, we have our own arrangements to attend to. Please do not concern yourself. You will see Miss Shara in only a few hours, after this evening’s meal.’

‘But I want to . . .’

Luca’s sentence trailed off as he watched Shara stride past the fountain and with a final glance to where they stood, retreat into the inners of the monastery and disappear from view.

‘Come, Mr Matthews,’ Dorje said cordially, ‘the eastern balcony is only one part of the monastery. There is still so much to see.’

For a moment Luca stood still, ignoring Dorje as he motioned for him to follow. Then he looked back towards the pyramid mountain. It was now completely shrouded in cloud.

There was something about this place that didn’t add up, and he was going to find out what is was. With or without Shara’s help.

Chapter 37

‘Is that right?’ Luca said, chasing a clump of starchy rice around his bowl.

He was seated at the small wooden table in the corner of his room with Dorje perched opposite. Arranged in a semi-circle before them was a series of white porcelain bowls that had arrived on a tray carried by Dorje. They contained a modest assortment of rice, pulses and vegetables which he’d been picking at half-heartedly for the last half-hour.

Since the trip to the eastern balcony Luca had been locked in his room, pacing restlessly from wall to wall, waiting until dinner and the chance to speak to Shara once again. But as Dorje had just politely explained she wouldn’t be joining them this evening after all, nor did he know when she would be next available. Instead he continued with an endless litany of pleasantries while Luca’s frustration steadily grew.

‘That is indeed right,’ Dorje replied. He then paused and inhaled deeply, possibly a prelude to yet another lengthy silence.

‘One’s duties must come before social visits and I am sure you understand that Miss Shara is most busy with her work. Now, have you eaten enough of the vegetable mo-mos? They are considered something of a delicacy here in Tibet and the ingredients are grown just below our monastery near the . . .’

‘I understand that she’s busy,’ Luca interrupted, laying down his chopsticks. ‘You’ve already told me that. But she said she would be here for dinner and promised to answer some of my questions then. There is so much about this place that doesn’t make sense to me.’

Dorje gave a smile brimming with reassurance.

‘I am sure Miss Shara will visit you when she is ready. All in good time.’

Luca exhaled in frustration, pushing away what was left of the food. His right hand instinctively reached down to his lower back, massaging the thin line of muscles he’d damaged on the last few steps of the stairway. The angle of the hard-backed chair was making them spasm painfully.

Where was Shara? Why wasn’t she here? His desire for some answers pressed on him like a physical need. He felt sure that if he could just talk to her for longer, she would tell him the truth. Dorje had been skirting around it all day, evading every question with half-truths and obscure, rambling explanations.

There was just so much Luca wanted to know. Why had Geltang been carved out of the mountain and hidden away in such an inaccessible part of the Himalayas? Such a feat of engineering must have taken lifetimes to accomplish. And what were all the monks doing here in the first place, cloistered away from the outside world for centuries on end?

The mountain beyul – that’s what the professor had said. It was the holiest of all the secret beyuls ; the fulcrum about which the heart of Buddhism turned. Could Geltang really be that place? Could it be the ultimate goal that fortune hunters had been searching for all those years? Shara had certainly seemed defensive enough when he had hazarded the question.

Luca stared across at Dorje as he contentedly sipped his tea. Whatever the truth was, Dorje wasn’t about to be the one to tell it. But Shara was different. There was a connection between them, something that had grown out there in the mountains. He had felt it even as she had tried to keep him at a distance this morning on the balcony. There was something about the look in her eyes when she had told him to do what Dorje said . . . as if she feared for him but was torn by some conflicting loyalty.

Luca stared across the table at Dorje, who was evidently enjoying the silence.

‘I want to go and see Bill this evening, Dorje. I want to check that he’s all right.’

The monk set down his cup carefully on the table in front of him.

‘As you already know, Mr Taylor has secondary infections that are most dangerous at this time. It is absolutely imperative these are not complicated by a visit from you.’

‘Come on, Dorje, all I want to do is look round the door and check on him. Where is he anyway? In a room near mine?’

‘No, it’s lower . . .’ Dorje began, then quickly stopped himself. He inhaled, giving a small smile. ‘Mr Matthews, you have been specifically asked not to interfere with the work of our physicians.’

‘But all I want to do is see my friend! Surely you understand that, Dorje. I’m worried about him.’

There was a pause before the monk stood up and paced towards the open window. He peered through it for a moment as if inspecting something in the distance, despite the fact that it was already dark outside. As Luca’s eyes bored into him he slowly turned back again, squaring off his chair with the table.

‘You must understand that I am only a simple guide here at Geltang. It is not for me to make decisions on such matters and I am only passing on what I have been told. I do not want you to feel worried, Mr Matthews, but please understand – seeing Mr Taylor is quite impossible at this time. Now, why don’t you try some of this tea from Samye Monastery? As I understand it, tea is something of a fascination with the British, is it not? Was it not one of your countrymen who said, “why have bread and water when they can so easily be tea and toast?”’

Dorje smiled amiably while Luca eyed him across the table. Then Luca’s expression suddenly softened. He stood up, scraping back the legs of his chair on the stone floor.

‘You know what, Dorje, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I should just let the doctors get on with their job.’

Dorje raised an eyebrow and looked into his eyes.

‘Well, yes,’ he said. ‘I am relieved to hear you say so. Your companion’s welfare is really the most important thing now.’

‘And we shouldn’t jeopardise that by visiting him,’ Luca continued.