The Cloud Maker (2010) (16 page)
Zhu had insisted on driving back through the Tibetan quarter. On receiving the order, Chen immediately radioed ahead and two armoured cars were sent to meet them near the entrance to the Jokhang. As they approached, the atmosphere had immediately changed inside the jeeps. The soldiers straightened in their seats, pulling the magazines off their AK-47 rifles to check the first round.
As they beeped their horns, edging through the narrow streets thick with people, Zhu watched hundreds of Tibetans going about their day. The market was brimming with activity: hawkers calling their prices, old men playing dice on the side of the road, and the endless procession of devotees circumnavigating the holy Temple. Each turned to stare as the Chinese vehicles pushed their way through, the soldier in the passenger seat leaning right out of the rolled-down window and shouting for them to make way.
Through the thin glass, Chen and Zhu absorbed the undisguised hatred in the onlookers’ stares. As their car passed, silence spread through the market. Some vendors stood still, their chins raised defiantly, while others craned their necks, hoping to get a better view of their oppressors.
‘In the riot last week they burned the local police station by the Potala,’ Chen whispered. ‘The crowds are still pretty worked up about our reprisals.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Zhu.
From the maps, he knew that they were trespassing on the last enclave of Tibetan culture in Lhasa. The rest had been bulldozed to make way for new buildings, but the kilometre square area around the Jokhang was the last of the old city. And, judging by the grim determination on their faces, the Tibetans obviously meant to keep it.
Zhu smiled before leaning back in his seat. He had wanted to see it for himself – that simmering rage. He wanted to know what would happen if news of the threat to the Panchen Lama ever got out into the open. Now he knew how thin the famous philosophy of peace was stretched in his opponent. This fight was going to be more interesting than he had thought.
Catching his smile, Chen shivered. He had seen enough of his new boss by now to guess what was giving him pleasure.
They had been working side by side for only forty-eight hours, yet Chen was already starting to understand more than he would have liked about him. He knew enough not to speak unless spoken to and would spent long hours in silence, simply waiting for the next order.
Now he stood in front of Zhu’s desk back at headquarters, watching those pale, blank features knitted in concentration over a file.
‘Sir, I have just received a report that two Westerners have not checked in with the local station at Nyemo.’
Zhu raised his left hand and Chen slid the paper across the desk.
‘They were on a tourist visa, sir, heading down the standard trekking route to Nepal. But I also discovered that they were here only a month ago, and on that occasion received special climbing permits. I thought I should bring this to your attention because they left their interpreter here in Lhasa.’
‘Left?’
‘Yes, sir. They apparently departed early in the morning in a Land Cruiser, leaving him waiting at the bus station.’
Zhu studied the expression on Chen’s thickset face, the mixture of deference and dogged determination. He knew that Chen had been working late into each night, carefully combing through every scrap of information that might be related to their mission. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair was still ruffled at the back of his head. He was obviously terrified of falling behind or putting a foot wrong. Zhu had come in early that morning and noted, with some satisfaction, that he had been sleeping in one of the empty cells downstairs.
‘So where are they?’ Zhu asked.
‘I am not sure, sir. We don’t have that information yet.’
Zhu stared at him before extinguishing his cigarette on the side of the glass ashtray, twisting the stub round until every trace of its glowing head was black.
‘Was I not clear enough about what happened last time? Your incompetence cost your superior officer dearly.’
Chen stared fixedly at the square of carpet in front of the desk, keeping his legs tense to stop them from shaking.
‘I will not make the same mistake now that I am in command,’ continued Zhu. ‘Don’t ever come to me with incomplete reports again.’
‘Yes, sir. I apologise, sir.’
‘Do you at least know which travel agent sanctioned their permits?’
‘Jagged Travel, sir. The owner is listed as one René Falkus.’
Zhu nodded.
‘Get my car. We’re paying him a visit.’
Chapter 22
With every step they closed in on the disease-ridden village.
It was late afternoon and a muted orange light cast long shadows below the ridges on the path. To the right, the cliffs rose up from the ground in a massive, unbroken wall. Beyond they could see the streaks of white as glaciers carved down from the summits of the mountains.
They had been going since before dawn and both Bill and Luca had sore feet from their La Sportiva ‘Evo’ mountaineering boots. The rigid soles and padded insulation were more suited to ice climbing than trekking and both were counting the hours until they could take them off for another night’s rest.
A hundred yards behind where they walked, Jigmi and Soa called out to the line of lumbering beasts slowly wending its way along the path. From their hunched shoulders and moody stares, it looked as if the herders were also tired, but they had been like that all day. Even after the promise of an extra fifty dollars each, it had taken Luca nearly an hour to persuade them to continue.
‘Look, over there,’ he said to Bill, pointing to the ridge ahead of them. Faint wisps of smoke were rising up into the harsh blue sky. ‘That must be the next village.’
Bill looked up and gave a strained smile. He was looking forward to a rest, but the thought of what they might find at the village had been worrying him for the last few hours. He could still picture the look the farmer had given them as they had left the last village and wondered how Luca had managed to persuade him to ignore such a desperate warning.
Luca came to a sudden stop, his boots crunching on the pathway. Just ahead, a bedraggled monk sat in the lotus position on a small pile of stones. In his right hand a prayer wheel spun in continuous motion, the movement seeming to pass through his entire body. He rocked back and forth, a low chant coming from his lips. His face looked like unpolished mahogany, cross-hatched with lines, and his watery eyes stared out to nothing in particular.
The last of the evening’s light filtered down over the far mountain ridge to where he sat, illuminating his filthy red robes. As Bill and Luca stared at the monk, the yaks ambled up behind them, coming to a disjointed halt with a soft clanging of bells.
Luca took a pace forward and, crouching down, gave the traditional Tibetan greeting.
‘
Tashi delek
,’ he said, then, pointing to the village ahead, ‘Menkom?’
Tashi delek
,’ he said, then, pointing to the village ahead, ‘Menkom?’
The old monk continued swaying backwards and forwards, seemingly unaware that he was even being spoken to.
‘Menkom?’ Luca repeated, a little louder, waving one hand in front of the monk’s eyes.
There was not a flicker of recognition. Luca shrugged and glanced back at Bill. ‘He looks a bit thin. Maybe he wants some food or something? Pass me one of the chocolate bars, will you?’
As Bill dug into his rucksack and offered a brightly wrapped chocolate bar, the monk seemed to wake up and focus on the two men, waving the chocolate away with a sweep of his hand and pointing to the far ridge.
‘What do you think he wants?’ said Luca.
Bill followed the direction of the pointing finger to where the orange sun had sunk halfway behind the mountain ridge. When he turned back to face Luca, a smile was playing on his lips.
‘You know, I think the old guy just wants us to get out of his sun.’
Both men backed off a few paces and as the orange light washed over him again, the old monk nodded contentedly before settling back into his solitary chanting.
Bill looked over at Luca, and laughed softly.
‘Ever get the feeling we’re a touch behind these guys?’
After pitching their tents on a flat patch of ground a little further on from the monk, they walked up to the village in search of water. The farmer’s warning loomed in Bill’s mind once again, and he felt a prickle of fear creep up his spine.
The village was nothing more than a collection of twenty or so shacks, built beside a small stream. Each building was raised on stilts above the hard earth, with uneven steps leading up to a single door. The doorframes provided the only touches of decoration, with symbols drawn across them in faded red and yellow paint.
Everything was so still that they assumed the place must be deserted. Bill looked over at Luca, his face relaxing into a smile.
‘Maybe the farmer thought it was haunted,’ he said with relief. ‘Some kind of ghost village or something.’
But Luca shook his head, his expression tense.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing at a shack further up the stream.
As soon as they spotted one figure they seemed to be everywhere, camouflaged by their dirty rags against the porches where they were sitting. Pitifully thin people sat listlessly on the steps: men with skeletal faces and children on their mothers’ laps, bodies barely more than a heap of bones. The only sound was the occasional bout of coughing. As Bill and Luca approached, hollow eyes followed their progress with a mixture of apathy and hunger.
‘Jesus Christ,’ muttered Luca, raising his hand to cover his mouth. ‘What the hell happened here?’
Bill shook his head, looking down the line of shacks to where another movement had caught his eye. A couple of mangy dogs were picking their way through the piles of rubbish by the banks of the stream, the lines of their ribs clearly visible.
‘I don’t know, but I don’t like being here one bit,’ he whispered. ‘This place looks more like a morgue than a village.’
As he spoke he looked over to the nearest of the shacks where a small girl was lying in the shadow of the roof. Strands of matted black hair covered her face, but aside from the shallow rising of her chest, she was completely still.
Bill moved over and crouched down beside her. As he came close, her eyes flickered slightly and then were still, seemingly oblivious to the shock of seeing a white man standing above her. Sweat beaded her skin, and the fevered beating of a pulse was visible between her angular collar bones.
‘It’s probably not a good idea to get too close,’ Luca said from behind him. ‘Let’s get on with finding the well and use the purification pump back in camp.’
Bill didn’t answer, his thoughts drifting as he imagined his own daughter in the same situation – wearing nothing more than a dirty dress, with bare feet and no one to feed her. He wondered if this girl’s parents had already died from the sickness and if so, why someone else had not taken her in so that she at least had someone with her during the final few days of her life. She seemed so unwanted and alone – a life just left to slowly flicker out.
Behind him, Luca was still speaking.
‘I reckon it must be something like typhoid or cholera. We’ve had both those jabs so I’m pretty sure we’re in no danger . . .’
Without hesitating, Bill scooped his hands under the little girl’s body and lifted her into his arms. Luca gave a shout of alarm, but Bill ignored him. She was as light as feather, no heavier than his daughter despite the fact that she was probably twice her age.
‘We’ll get the antibiotics from our medical kit,’ he whispered to her. ‘They’ll clear you up in a few days.’
Luca shook his head.
‘You can’t do that, mate. You have to put her down.’ He moved closer. ‘There’s a whole village suffering here and we’ve only packed a few courses of antibiotics. We might well need them ourselves.’
Bill’s forehead wrinkled in disbelief.
‘Tell me you’re not serious?’ he said. ‘Come on, we can help this little girl. We’re stronger than she is.’
Luca looked skywards, closing his eyes briefly.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to help her, but we can’t go round doling out medicine. That’s not what we are here for. We’ve got a tiny medical kit and only two or three courses of antibiotics. What happens if one of us needs them?’
‘I don’t give a shit if we need them,’ Bill countered, his voice rising. ‘I’m prepared to take that risk.’
‘Yeah? Well, I’m not. You can’t do this, mate. Think about it.’
There was a silence as both men stared each other out.
‘Look, we’ve been here before,’ said Luca, more gently. ‘There are always children or women whose lives could be saved by some drug that only costs a tenner. It’s horrible, I know, but it’s also the reality of being out here in Tibet. It’s not for us to start handing out drugs just because it makes us feel better.’
He paused, staring down at the little girl in Bill’s arms.
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