Calls Across the Pacific (23 page)

Three days later, she had awakened in the hospital. Her bandaged head had looked like a white basketball. Her eyes, nose, and mouth had been reduced to four small openings of different sizes and shapes that merely suggested a face. She had only then learned that twelve young men and women had lost their lives. She had been one of three pulled out of the raging fire to have survived. The second- and third-degree burns had confined her to bed for several weeks.

“Besides suffering from the lingering pain, I was anxious about how I look,” Muying said, fingering her ear-length dark hair. “Although there're ugly scars over my limbs, I still held out hope that my face wouldn't be destroyed too much. When the bandage was removed, I slowly opened my eyes in front of a mirror. What a shock! My desperation reached a peak at that moment. I felt as if I had been slapped. Stars twinkled in front of my eyes. Scared, I dared not look at my own face again. After that, I didn't want to have any mirrors in my house. I was angry for surviving. Living became a burden to me. Whenever I envisioned my face, I couldn't breathe. The Political Commissar who had ordered us to fight the fire was promoted. The dozen workers who died as a result were recognized as revolutionary martyrs. I refused to give a speech as a surviving heroine because I realized that state property had been more valuable than those twelve lives or my health. The property could be rebuilt, but my fellow workers would never come back to life.

“Afterwards, I was rewarded for my sacrifice — I was allowed to return to the city. I was alive, but I felt like a corpse. At eighteen, I felt like I was eighty. I was assigned a job as a warehouse keeper for the graveyard shift. I was glad nobody would see me. But I deeply missed the sheep and cows that I'd helped raise. I started to read books about animals, which has become the greatest pleasure in my life.” Muying paused. A glow sparkled on her face, as if sunbeams had brightened a cloudy sky.

“You asked me how I decided to go to college. That was because of Jing, who persuaded me to apply after the entrance exams were reinstated. I didn't want to because of my horrible face, until this May. Jing's letter about her studies and her student life enlightened my dreary heart and suddenly I felt like I should try to live again. Now I pray I can cope with people's strange looks and reactions when they see me.”

“You're brave. People will know you by your heart and intelligence,” replied Liya with an admiring tone.

Nina smiled encouragingly. “I think you'll enjoy your new life. As a matter of fact, you can probably also get some surgery to help with some of the scarring on your face.”

“If I won't look at myself, who will?” said Muying with a rueful tone.

Touched by her words, Nina wrapped an arm around Muying's shoulder. “Hopefully, you'll feel like a new person at college.” Nina imagined that once Muying was walking on campus, confidence would shine in her eyes and heart.

Before they left, Muying pulled open the always closed curtain. Sunshine poured in through the window. The darkish room was brightened immediately. All of them squinted their eyes, but delight radiated from each face.

23.
GENGHIS KHAN'S TWO HORSES

T
UESDAY AFTERNOON,
Nina and Liya visited Jing's former high-school classmate Weimin, who had been sent to the Peach Blossom
Village in Yuquan District, a suburb of Hohhot, for his re-education. The Tomb of Zhaojun, built during the Western Han Dynasty nearly two thousand years earlier, was located in the area, nine kilometres from the city. According to Weimin, a gulag called Peach Blossom Camp was also located there. One of his co-workers had been jailed in the labour camp after being caught trying to cross the border into the Soviet Union. The same compound confined many branded rightists as well.

Nina and Liya decided to visit the gulag. If they were lucky, they might be able to speak to some people still imprisoned there. After drawing a map of the area on a scrap of paper, Weimin jotted down the name and address of a rancher who lived near the gulag. “He's Mongolian, very kind. He helped me a lot in my years there. Go visit him. He'll show you around.”

The next morning, when Nina and Liya reached the bus terminal, Weimin was already waiting for them. He had brought a small packet of sticking plasters with him and asked Nina to pass the packet along to his rancher friend.

Forty-five minutes later, the bus arrived at the stop for Peach Blossom. Nina and Liya got off and followed a path in the grassland, bathed in sunlight, that led them to the Tomb of Zhaojun. A gentle mist rose from the earth and twinkled over the open field. At the end of the path, a large mound came into view. “That's the Tomb of Zhaojun,” Liya said, pointing to it with excitement.

“Are you sure?” Nina asked, wiping the perspiration from her face with a tissue.

“I'm positive. Do you notice that it is green and not yellow?” Liya noted, then said, “That's why people call it the ‘Green Mound.' It's said that even in late fall, the plants over the mound continue growing green while the grass and the leaves in the trees everywhere else turn brown and wither.

“I never heard that before. The vegetation on the mound must be evergreens.”

“According to the legend, it is because Zhaojun's spirit is forever young.” Liya remembered that she had read that in a history book.

“Tell me more about Zhaojun,” Nina said.

“She was one of numerous concubines of Emperor Yuan of the Han Dynasty, roughly two thousand years ago. The people of the Han Dynasty and the Huns, a nomadic people in the north, were constantly at war. The chief of the Huns, Khan Huhanxie, travelled to the capital, Beijing, in order to make peace with Emperor Yuan. To strengthen the relationship with the minority group, Emperor Yuan proposed a marriage between the chief and a woman from his imperial family. Zhaojun Wang, considered as one of the four most beautiful women in ancient China, volunteered to marry the Hun to ensure the unity of China. After their marriage, the two nations enjoyed a peaceful and friendly relationship and there were no more wars between the Hans and the Huns.

It took them almost an hour to reach the large cemetery mound, which they explored with interest as they admired the scenery around them. Nina took some snapshots of the tomb. Then, they sat down under a pine tree to rest, and Nina pulled out some apples from her satchel as Liya opened a package of dried apricots. They shared their snacks and drank water from the canteens they had brought with them.

Through the grass, they spotted a herd of sheep ambling toward them. Behind the animals was a young boy wearing a white sleeveless robe and whistling a Mongolian folk song. The melody was both joyful and mournful, and added a gentle note to the fields of grass and wildflowers.

“Hello, young fellow! Could you tell me what you are singing?” asked Liya in a loud voice.

“It's called, ‘Genghis Khan's Two Horses,'” said the shepherd. He turned his head to look at them and asked, “Are you by chance named Wang?”

“No, why?” replied Liya.

The lad whistled long and low to halt his sheep, and then walked over to them. “Wang's people come here to pray for blessings. I thought you might be one of them.

“Sit here,” Liya said. “Do you need water?” She shook her canteen.

“No, thanks. I have my own.” The youngster patted a felt bag hanging on his waistband. He then inserted his whip into the band.

“How about an apple, then?” Nina asked, passing one to the boy.

He accepted the apple and took a big bite. “Tastes good. Thanks. So, why are you here?”

Liya said, “We just wanted to see the Green Mound.” She paused, then asked, “Can you sing ‘Gada Meilin'?”

“Absolutely.” The teenager hummed the tune and Liya joined him in the song. “The young wild goose from the south longs to fly to the Yangtze. I'm telling the story about Gada Meilin. He led an uprising against the tyrannical warlord.”

Nina had heard the Chinese version of the Mongolian folk song as a child and remembered some of the lyrics, so she joined them. The boy sung loudly. He held the unfinished apple, his hand waving in the air. Liya could not follow him since she only knew a small portion of the lyrics that had been translated into Chinese. The mellifluous voice of the young singer floated over the weeds and delicately wound around the Green Mound. Nina imagined the spirit of the Mongolian rebel resting in peace, while the song told of his exploits. Ten minutes later, the boy paused. “It would take me a couple of hours to sing this entire song,” he said, returning to his apple.

Nina and Liya clapped enthusiastically. “That was wonderful! Where did you learn it?” asked Nina.

“From my parents, my grandparents, and my neighbours. Everybody can sing it. We also sing many other songs. We're Genghis Khan's offspring. We do all the things that he enjoyed.”

“Do you go to worship Genghis Khan?” asked Liya.

“We worship him every day. But my family sometimes brings our homemade kumis to visit his tomb. We pray for blessings, just like the people from the Wang clan. They come here to pray at the Tomb of Zhaojun.”

“Your family name isn't Khan, is it?” asked Liya.

“No, but we Mongols are all from the same family. Genghis Khan is our oldest ancestor. He's our God.” The lad stood up, and pulled his whip out from his waistband. His whip swirling in the air, he waded through the grass over to his waiting sheep. “Ooh!” he yelled, turning to smile at them. Then the shepherd and his sheep gradually disappeared amidst the long grasses.

“Let's go to Dalai,” said Nina. Liya stood up and looked in the direction the boy had taken. “His voice was amazing and his songs moved me.”

“I too was moved. Ah, I forgot to ask him about which direction to go in,” said Nina.

“Don't worry. Let's go back to the path. I'm sure we'll find our way.”

At the roadside, Nina and Liya found a sign for the village of Wulanbatu. They knew that the village of Dalai was in the same direction. They had been told that they would find the Peach Blossom Camp near Dalai.

The sun was high in the sky and warmed their backs as they trekked south. Liya interpreted the long and short verses by famous poets in Chinese history, such as Du Fu, Bai Juyi, and Su Shi. “Laments of Zhaojun,” which she had learned from a course on the Chinese Ancient Classics, was one of her favourites. Zhaojun had had to adjust to the totally different language and culture of the Huns. The sense of isolation and homesickness in Zhaojun's words from centuries earlier seemed to intensify the heat of the day. Gazing at the endless grassland and edgeless sky, Nina seemed to feel what Zhaojun had experienced thousands of years before. Admiration arose in her heart.

They trudged along for about an hour and finally spotted a sign for Wulanbatu. Following Weimin's map, they turned west and continued walking. They reached an area of large fields, some of which were filled by corn stalks, while other fields had heaps of wheat stalks. They did not spot any yurts, so they wandered around. When they noticed a few poles with barbed wire along a path, they knew they were in the right spot. Nina took several photographs of the poles as they reminded her of her former military farm. She knew these camps were far worse than the military farm where she had lived and worked. The workers in these camps were constantly watched by armed guards. They had no freedom.

The path ended abruptly at the edge of an open grassy field that accommodated a large herd of sheep. They could see two people slouched against a tree. “Hiyo!” a young voice rose from under the tree. “Did you people follow me?”

Nina recognized the boy they had met earlier. “We're just looking around.” She and Liya strode through the grass over to them.

“You must know a shortcut,” said Liya.

“I know everything here. My cousin does too,” the lad said, and patted the other herder's arm. “Look. That's a ‘ghost gate', a place where many have suffered and died.” He pointed at a wall made of mud beyond a large grove of shrubbery and trees.

Nina noticed the barbed wire on top of the wall and some wild jujube trees by a small gate. “Is that Peach Blossom Camp?”

“Yes. How do you know its name? Some people have been in there for ages. They're my grandpa's age. Our old people tell us that these inmates opposed the Emperor.”

Nina understood the boy. She knew that in the Mongols' minds, Mao was the Emperor.

“Do you mean Chairman Mao?” Liya asked with surprise.

“What's the difference? We don't like any emperor. We have our Genghis Khan. Don't you agree, my cousin?” the boy asked. He pulled the arm of his cousin who seemed to be in his early twenties, and completely disinterested in the conversation.

His cousin answered, “You're absolutely right, but we don't want to talk about the Emperor. We don't need any trouble. Gada Meilin upset the emperor fifty years ago and was killed for it.”

The cousin nodded curtly to the boy. “Let's enjoy our break.” We still have a long way to go.”

Nina and Liya waded through the tall grass that led to the wall until they could see the gate clearly. Nina then took aim with her camera and took some photographs of the gate as she tried to imagine what it looked like behind the walls.

Just as she placed her camera back in its case, a shout broke out. “Freeze!” A large man carrying a rifle scuttled over to them.

Nina froze. Liya gripped Nina's arm and hissed, “What should we do?”

“Don't move,” Nina whispered, inhaling her fear. “Let's just wait.”
What is he going to do? Arrest us?

As the armed young guard approached them, he shouted again. “Give me your camera!” He then thrust his hand in Nina's bag and grabbed it. Opening the camera, he pulled the film out and then handed the camera back to Nina. “Taking photos is forbidden.” He looked over at the two shepherds under the tree, cupped his hands around his mouth, and raised his voice, “What are you two doing there?”

“We-are-herding-our-sheep,” two voices answered in a long, drawn-out tone.

“Don't loiter here! Get lost!” the armed man hollered.

“Okay,” the young voices drifted away to the melody of “Genghis Khan's Two Horses.”

“Show me your
I.D
.,” the guard ordered Nina and Liya.

Liya glanced at Nina and took out a letter-sized page, which stated who she was. The guard hung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder in order to hold the paper flat in the wind with his two hands. He looked at it. The stamp was of Pearl River University. “The letter says you're travelling to view our motherland's mountains and rivers,” the man said, his finger passing over the sentences. “But this place is not open for visiting.” After he returned the letter to Liya, he stretched his hand out to Nina. “Yours?”

Nina fished into her satchel but pulled out nothing. “Sorry, I can't find mine.” She was grateful that she had thought to leave her American passport behind. It would have only caused more suspicion.

“What's in your bag? Let's take a look,” the guard said. He pulled Nina's bag open and rummaged inside.

“Inside there are only some provisions for our trip,” Nina said meekly.

“Follow me through the gate to meet the warden.” The guard returned Nina's bag and patted his rifle.

Liya hooked her arm into Nina's. “I'll go too.”

“You don't have to,” the guard said.

“We go together,” Nina added firmly.

“That's right,” Liya said immediately afterward. Their arms linked, they walked through the gate, the guard with the rifle right behind them.

The melody of “Genghis Khan's Two Horses” vanished, but the lyrics still resounded in Nina's head.
His two horses cross the hillside/ Their manes flow high/ No matter come rain or shine/ Genghis Khan's horses never die.
The lines calmed her heart. She thought she was ready for whatever might happen.

As they passed through the gate, the guard moved a few steps ahead of them and then stopped. “Wait here,” he said, then disappeared through a door on the far right side of the building.

A few minutes later, the door opened. The guard came out and strode to his post at the gate. A middle-aged woman appeared and her eyes quickly sized up Liya and then Nina. “Come inside. I'm in charge here. Tell me what you are doing here.”