Song of the Silk Road (28 page)
I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty that the sadness now on Alex’s face rendered him even more handsome. I bent to kiss him softly on his lips. “Alex, I’m sorry. But you can cook for me now, and if you don’t mind my poor culinary skills, I’ll cook for you, too.”
He looked even sadder.
27
The Pond Revisited
T
he next day when I woke up in the truck, Alex was still sound asleep. The light hairs on his bare chest stirred softly in the slight desert breeze. My hand reached to stroke his cheek, but he flipped to the other side like a fish eluding my grasp.
he next day when I woke up in the truck, Alex was still sound asleep. The light hairs on his bare chest stirred softly in the slight desert breeze. My hand reached to stroke his cheek, but he flipped to the other side like a fish eluding my grasp.
I’d been reminding myself that I shouldn’t let my young lover take up so much of my time, that I was in China to carry out my mission of collecting the three million dollars. Once the prospect arose of having all this money, I realized how desperately I needed to escape my penny-pinching life.
Maybe now I had an additional option—saying yes to Alex’s proposal. But I would be living on his money. And his parents’. Could I swallow Donna’s disdainful treatment and take his parents’ thrown-on-the-ground-so-pick-it-up money? Of course not. For now, what I needed was to complete my mission and, in the meantime, just enjoy Alex’s company.
Once Alex awoke we had a brief discussion of plans. Both of us agreed we’d had enough desert adventures, so we headed back toward Urumqi. On the way, we posted the box with the hair to its intended destination in Beijing.
Despite the difficulties we had experienced here, we were actually about to go out of the notorious Go-In-But-Never-Come-Out desert. Alex would be with me, at least for now, but it was unlikely we would ever come back, wherever our lives took us. I thought of all that had happened here and that I would be leaving behind—Keku and her little son Mito; Floating Cloud and Pure Wisdom; Soaring Crane and Ah Hung; but most of all, Lop Nor. Whenever I remembered his kindness toward me and his tragic life, and death, I was greatly saddened. Suddenly I felt I should make a final visit to Black Dragon Pond to say a last good-bye. I wanted Alex with me but was not sure how he would take to this idea. To my relief, he quickly agreed.
“I would like that. You speak well of him and he was good to you, so I feel I would like to know more about him.” He cast me a suspicious glance. “As long as you promise me that you only liked him, not loved him.”
I nodded, and Alex took me in his arms and kissed me. “Lily, you’re such a good person. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Alex.” Then I realized that I’d just uttered the ultimate words.
“You do?”
I nodded. “But . . .”
“Shhh . . .” He put his finger across his mouth. “I’ll give you time, I promise.”
“Thanks.”
Gently I detached from his hold, pulled from my backpack Lop Nor’s necklace, and handed it to Alex. “He left me this,” I said, feeling my eyes moisten.
Alex studied the pendant and remained silent for moments, then he turned to me. “Lop Nor is gone, but I am here for you and I always will be.”
The next day, Alex and I arrived at the Black Dragon Pond early in the morning. Neither of us had talked much, both lost in our own thoughts. I asked a tourist to take pictures of me and Alex together, then took Alex’s hand and led him along the jade green water.
Despite the beauty of the scene, with white clouds floating along a pure blue sky, my friend had lost his life here, his unhappy fate no fault of his own. It brought to my mind the famous expression from Laozi: “Heaven and Earth are indifferent, treating all things like straw dogs.” I asked Alex if he knew this saying.
He spoke eagerly. “Of course. In ancient China, people used straw to make objects resembling animals to be used as ritual offerings. They burned them to symbolize the fateful end of all things. Chinese don’t believe that heaven and earth are cruel, just that things follow their natural, inevitable course.”
“Wow, Alex, you really do know about Chinese culture.”
A smile bloomed on his face, finally. “I’m a graduate student in Chinese studies at Columbia, remember?”
“Maybe that’s why the Chinese often lament, when the custom is lost, we have to learn it back from the Barbarians.”
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Exactly. That’s why I, the barbarian, am here for you.”
In the tranquil, expansive area surrounding the lake, only a few tourists milled about, some talking, others pressing down shutter buttons with swift fingers. A young girl struck a few daring poses for her boyfriend to save for eternity. Three teenage boys joked around, pretending to push one of them into the lake. A fortyish, strong-featured man, perhaps Japanese, wearing a black T-shirt, khaki pants, and a baseball hat, was taking pictures with an intimidating, professional-looking camera on a tripod—perhaps a photo-journalist working for some famous travel magazine.
I always liked when people showed care and respect for their work, as Alex had when we prepared for our desert trip. I wondered if he’d learned this from his stuffy parents or picked it up somewhere as he grew up. Anyway, my ideal man was cautious with a romantic heart. Chris was also romantic—when he wanted sex.
I tuned back to watch Alex, who seemed to be deep in thought. Was he meditating on Lop Nor’s tragic life?
I put my arm around his waist. “Alex, what are you thinking?”
“Your friend and all his relatives are down there. Is it true?”
“Unless Lop Nor imagined his family’s death and faked his own suicide. But for what?”
Long silence.
“Alex, are you sad?”
He sighed. “Does anyone know about this?”
“I don’t think so. There’s no newspaper here, and Lop Nor didn’t seem to have any friends. But I really don’t know.”
Then we stopped to look at the jade green water.
“Alex, why don’t we say a prayer for Lop Nor and his family?”
“Of course.”
At first I meant to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but suddenly realized that Lop Nor was not Christian but a Uyghur, a Muslim. Since I didn’t know any Muslim sutras, or if any even exist, I could just recite the very ubiquitous Buddhist “Nammo Amita Fo”—Hail to Amida Buddha, which was supposed to be a panacea for all people and all situations.
“Alex, I’ll recite the Lord’s Prayer and the
Nianfo
thirty times for Lop Nor and his family. You can join me or just listen,” I said, taking out Lop Nor’s necklace and holding it between my palms in the prayer gesture.
Nianfo
thirty times for Lop Nor and his family. You can join me or just listen,” I said, taking out Lop Nor’s necklace and holding it between my palms in the prayer gesture.
Alex cast the jade, then me, a meaningful glance. “A beautiful piece. You must really like it.”
“Yes, very much. It’s Lop Nor’s wedding gift to his wife and he left it to me.”
He hesitated, then asked me quietly, “Tell me, were you in love with him, maybe a little bit? Are you still mourning him and that’s why you never say yes to my proposal? I need an honest answer, Lily.”
An overwhelming sadness rose in my heart while tears filled my eyes. But I wouldn’t let them fall. The idea that I might be in love with Lop Nor had entered my mind more than once, though I’d also tried to dismiss it. I was a girl who at sixteen had even found something to love about a crude fishmonger. Was I seeking a man who would give me the love that my own father had never cared to give?
“Alex, sometimes I’m confused about men.”
He pulled back.
“But I love you, not Lop Nor. I am sure about that.”
“All right.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Why don’t we start to pray now.”
Just then I flinched from a sharp pain at my back. “Ah!”
One of the teenagers had bumped into me and was now running away with his two companions, all laughing and punching each other. They had no idea of the terrible result of bumping into me—knocking Lop Nor’s necklace from my hands and into the lake.
In a flash Alex jumped in the water.
Fear seized me while I screamed at the top of my voice, “Alex, what are you doing!?”
“Retrieving your necklace!” he yelled back.
Tears coursed down my cheeks. “Alex, please come back! It’s not worth it!”
“No, not until I find it!”
“Alex, just come back, please!”
But he vanished from sight.
A small group of people had already gathered around to watch, including the three teenagers.
Moments later, when Alex didn’t surface, I pleaded to the group, “Can somebody help my friend? Please call an ambulance!”
But no one offered help, only comments.
One fiftyish man said to his son, “
Hai
, a foreign devil drowning in China.”
Hai
, a foreign devil drowning in China.”
Another young man exclaimed, “How come this barbarian doesn’t know how to swim while his comrades won so many medals at the Olympic Games?”
“Would someone please help?” I yelled again.
The group lowered their heads to look at their shoes.
I was never a good swimmer and hadn’t even been in a pool for years. But I couldn’t just watch Alex vanish in front of my eyes. I was pulling off my jacket when the photographer I’d noticed earlier dashed to my side.
He spoke in accented English. “You don’t know how to do this. Just stay right here.”
In no time, he pulled off his cap, threw down his glasses, plunged into the lake, and dived.
The three teenagers clapped.
I watched, seemingly forever, agonized as a fish sizzling on a hot wok, until finally the photographer surfaced—with Alex’s head bobbing next to his.
Gently holding Alex’s head above water with a determined expression, he swiftly swam toward the shore. The crowd cheered. Tears of joy coursed down my cheeks.
Among the hustle and bustle, the photographer finally hauled Alex onto the shore. I immediately went to kneel down beside them. I swept Alex’s matted hair—finally tamed—away from his eyes and touched his face. “Alex, are you all right? Please talk to me.”
But he said nothing. The photographer checked his throat and heartbeat. Then he pushed hard on Alex’s chest till water poured from his mouth. As I was despairing, finally Alex began to cough and tried to sit up.
After long moments, Alex spoke, his face grimaced with pain. “My head. . . .”
The photographer carefully examined his head, then pressed a towel on it to stop the bleeding. He turned to me. “I believe when your friend dived, his head hit a rock. We need to get him to the hospital to see if he has a concussion. He also needs a few stitches.”
“Oh, my God. . . .”
As if this was not bad enough, he added, “He may become hypothermic.”
“What’s that?”
“His body temperature may drop too low from being in the cold water.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a doctor.”
I lowered my voice in case Alex could hear. “Is his life in danger?”
He whispered back, “I don’t think so. But I’m afraid only an X-ray can tell for certain. Miss, you stay here to look after your friend and keep pressing the towel against the cut. I’ll go get help and be right back.”
Before I finished saying, “Thank you so much,” he’d already left.
I turned to Alex. “Alex, talk to me. How do you feel now?”
Eyes closed, he didn’t respond.
My heart flopped like a fish on land struggling for air. “Alex?”
While I saw blood slowly seeping through the white towel and staining my hand, I felt my heart slowly sink like Lop Nor and his family to the bottom of the pond.
I looked up to the sky and silently prayed to God. “Please protect Alex from anything bad and direct the ambulance here quickly.”
I kept praying and pressing my hand on Alex’s head until my ears were pierced by the sound of wailing sirens. A police car and an ambulance screeched to a stop a few feet from us. Two policemen and two uniformed men jumped down from the vehicles, followed by the photographer. A policeman started to ask me questions while the two ambulance men knelt beside Alex. They quickly wrapped a bandage around his head, then struggled to lift him onto the flimsy canvas stretcher.
Before I could utter a word of comfort, Alex slowly opened his eyes and mumbled, “Sorry, Lily.”
I was relieved beyond words. I replied softly, “About what?”
“The necklace. But my head and my leg . . .”
I put my finger on his lips. “Shhh . . . nothing is more important in my life than you. . . .”
“Is that true?”
It melted my heart that he looked so happy despite his injury and pain.
Before I could respond, Alex was being lifted into the ambulance. The photographer and I pushed in after him. With a jerk, the vehicle started forward, the driver beeping its horn furiously.
Finally we pulled to an abrupt halt in front of a gray building. The ambulance men lifted Alex onto a stretcher and hurried inside the hospital where two paramedics rushed him into what I took to be the emergency room. Blood-soaked rags littered the floor. Since we were not his relatives, the photographer and I were made to wait outside, so we sat together on a hard bench in the lobby.
He threw down an “I’ll be right back” look and hurried away.
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