Neon Lotus (15 page)

“The same
sort of simpleton who worships holovision sets?” the inspector said, with a wry
look at the shrine.

Pema turned
toward him slowly, fixing him with a grim look.

“So, you’re
through with your prayers. Will they be answered, do you think?”

“I asked
only for an end to the suffering of all sentient beings,” she said.

He smiled
down on her. “How selfless of you to omit Tibetans from your
prayers—religiousness and intelligence being mutually exclusive.”

She showed
him her tongue.

“Shut your
mouth,” he snapped.

Dhondub
moved an inch, but the rifle of the second man was trained on his heart before
he could cover half that distance.

“It is said
that the tongues of demons are black with evil,” Pema said. “I only mean to
demonstrate that I harbor no ill intentions, not even toward you. The Last
Dalai Lama taught that our enemies teach us patience.”

“Bah!” The
inspector swatted at the air. “Demons! Lamas! The stench of superstition is
suffocating. Get out,” he told his aide.

When the
party was outside again, Marianne heard the inspector giving orders in Chinese.
She peeked through the flap and saw them proceeding to inspect other tents.
Dhondub followed with his lists and licenses, but now he spoke only when the
inspector asked him a direct question.

“They’ll
find nothing,” Pema said, putting her hands on Marianne’s shoulders. “We’ve
survived more inspections than I can count.”

“Thank you,”
Marianne said, turning to face her. “I almost gave us all away.”

Pema smiled.
“They made it easy to access the computer—I traced their signal on Dhondub’s
card, and by the time they were checking mine I had already entered the
information for the rest of you.”

“They
suspect us, don’t they?” Jetsun asked.

“They’re
suspicious of most Tibetans,” Pema said. “Even Governor Rato, a Tibetan
himself, is wary of his own people—as well he might be, considering how he
abuses us for the sake of the master’s favor. You will see, though, that the
Chinese treat the nomads with greater respect than they give most folks. That
is because we have mastered the thing they most respect—technology. In poorer
areas, they find it easier to consider the people ignorant savages, although
even there it is a delusion. All Tibetans live in the twenty-second century
now. There is not one of us who does not know how our misfortune came to pass.
Our isolation made us proud; our willingness to turn our backs on the modern
world made us vulnerable. We will never make those mistakes again. We are a modern
people.”

“There are
Tibetans scattered all over the planet,”
Marianne said.

Pema nodded.
“The Chinese hope that one day we will disappear, but that will never happen.
They hope that they will have this land all to themselves, but that will not
happen either. The funny thing is, they hate this country! It’s too harsh, too
high. They hate it, but they won’t give it up. They’ve gotten it into their
heads that it belongs to them. They’re wrong, though. This land does not belong
to anyone.

“It is we,
the Tibetans, who belong to the land.”

***

In the dark,
Marianne lay listening to the breathing of the sleeper nearest to her. Jetsun
Dorje was a black shape silhouetted against the constant, reassuring glow of
the shrine. He smiled in his sleep and she found herself smiling along with
him, as if he’d told her another of his jokes. His humor was infectious.

“Mm,” Tara
whispered. “With his bow today, he looked like another Gesar of Ling—a national
hero!”

“He might be
one someday,” Marianne thought. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“And he
likes you, you know.”

“I know.”

“You could
do worse, I think.”

“I hardly
know him, Tara. Besides, what do you know of love? Human love?”

“There you
go again! I’m not a nun, Marianne.”

“I know
that. You’re a yidam. You understand principles, abstractions, religious
truths—”

“And you
think there is no principle behind physical love? Close your eyes, girl. I know
it’s hard to look away from him, but close them for a moment.”

She lowered
her eyelids slowly. She had the feeling of entering a cavern, descending into
total darkness. It was easy to imagine that Rainbow Tara held her by the hand,
but it was so dark that not even the yidam could be seen. “Where are we going?”

“Into the
flesh. I won’t have you underestimating me. I’m no good to you if you don’t
believe in me.”

Now the
darkness twisted into shapes of light. As they went floating out through space,
she looked up and saw a huge glowing body, translucent, naked, female. The face
was blurred by distance. As they approached, the body expanded, becoming ever
more enormous. The skin began to look immaterial, gaseous, more a veil than a
wall. The pores gaped like vast doors to admit them. Ahead she could see the
inner regions of the body, and to her surprise she discovered that it was
mainly made of empty space, barely sketched upon by lines of matter.

They flew
inward, deeper. The substance of flesh parted like silvery curtains to admit
them.

“We come to
the chambers of the heart,” Tara said.

She expected
turbulence, but the place was oddly still. There was a radiance in the air, a
warm and honey-scented force that seemed compounded of sound and light.

Tara moved
out into the air, forming flowing mudras with her fingers. Every gesture caused
a spray of light to fan forth; luminous trails soon filled the air. Marianne
felt as if she were looking at a ritual schematic, lines of power
which—properly drawn—would invoke some primal force, a spiritual current akin
to electricity.

Tara turned
on Marianne and made swift brushing gestures across her eyes. Sparks danced
briefly and when they passed she found that she and Tara were no longer alone
in the chamber of the heart.

Ahead of
them floated a couple, blue in color, sitting at the center of a spinning
eight-spoked wheel of blue light. The man was cross-legged, and in his lap was
a blue woman. Their arms were around each other; her legs were behind his back.
Except for their rotation at the hub of the wheel, they did not move; yet they
were alive, glowing with power. She felt a rush of erotic energy, as if she
were the one in the blue man’s lap. The couple’s ecstasy was a tangible force
that blew from them in the form of a wind rushing in every direction at once, a
wind so fine that it passed through everything it met.

The man, she
saw, had four arms. His two upper arms were clasped behind the woman’s back,
and in his palms he held a black jewel. His two lower arms held a vajra wand
and a lotus. The woman, in turn, held what looked like a fan-bladed flaying
knife and a bowl made from the crown of a human skull. Her three eyes gave her
a fierce expression that was scarcely diminished when she smiled at her consort
and revealed teeth sharp as little knives.

Marianne
thought that the lovers were aware of her, but her presence caused them no embarrassment.
Their bliss washed over her like a blessing.

“Chenrezi
and the Mother,” Tara said. “There’s your abstract principle, Marianne. The
fusion of emptiness and appearance is bliss. Only ignorance and blind desire
keep you from perceiving the universe as it is. You could be like them, you
know, absorbed in bliss.”

The spokes
of the great blue wheel swept past her one by one, with a thrumming sound. She
shook her head.

“I don’t
think so, Tara. I have other things to do.”

Tara smiled.
“Do you think they are something other than yourself? You’re wrong, Marianne.
The universe itself is created by a continuous orgasm—it’s just that you can’t
always feel it. A veil separates you from reality. Do you know where we are
right now? Do you know where Chenrezi and the Mother dwell?”

She
remembered the body of the giant, into which they had flown.

“We’re in
your heart,” Tara said. “Nowhere else. But your own heart is the greatest
mystery you will ever encounter.”

Marianne
looked again at the blue lovers. For a moment she felt passion like an ache
inside her. Physical desire merged with her spirit’s dream of enlightenment,
sending a deep pulse through the chamber. Her own desires joined with the
emanations of the divine couple and there was a tremendous reverberation. The
darkness began to dissolve, revealing something far deeper within it—an
emptiness that terrified her. She feared she might fall into that abyss
forever.

Screaming
for Tara, she tried to pull back from the brink. She found no handhold, no
security.

The blue
lovers fused into a single figure, a shining blue syllable—
HAM
—which filled the emptiness
with its sound. As she fell, she found herself blown upward through the hollow
dark.

Light kissed
her eyes. She opened them, relieved to discover that she was in the tent again,
wrapped in blankets, gazing at Jetsun Dorje.

His eyes
were open now.

“Are you all
right? You cried out.”

“I was
having a dream,” she said.

He got up on
his elbows and started to crawl toward her, dragging his blankets along with
him.

“What are
you doing?” she asked.

“I would
never forgive myself if the Great Mother came to harm.”

“These are
only dreams,” she said with a laugh, but in a whisper so as not to disturb Dr.
Norbu.

“Even so. I
will sleep close to you. If you are frightened, I will know instantly. I will
rescue you from sleep.”

“I can take
care of myself, Jetsun,” she said, drawing her blankets up to her chin.

“I know
that. But if you need help, I am here.”

He rolled
over and wrapped up again, crossing his arms over his chest like a soldier
descending to patrol the border of dreams.

“Thank you,
I guess,” she said.

When she
closed her eyes, Tara was waiting there to wink at her.

“He shows
heroic restraint,” said the rainbow girl.

“I don’t
know about that,” thought Marianne. “He might simply fear waking Reting.”

She thought
of the blue lovers coupling in her heart. A curious warmth flowed through her,
at once erotic and spiritual. She felt herself becoming a shining syllable that
filled the universe with its musical light. That was the last thing she
remembered.

PART THREE: LOTUS SONG

7. In the Mines of Joy

For several
weeks they traveled as nomads, moving for a few hours each day, then stopping
to erect tents. The pace was maddening to Marianne, but Dhondub pointed out
that this was no time to rush westward. Wherever the precious ornaments lay
hidden, they had been in place for ages. The chieftain was certain that their
group was being kept under constant observation, for they were interrogated
anew at each town they passed. Gradually, he assured her, the recent events
involving the midnight jet would fade from the minds of the overlords. Once
that had happened, the nomads would move more quickly. Meanwhile, they made
slow but steady progress.

If the
crawling pace was bad for Marianne’s nerves, it did wonders for her spirit.
Simply to be in Tibet was miraculous. She learned to ride a horse. While the
jeeps rushed ahead with the tents and some of the heavier equipment, she
trotted along, watching the horizons change slowly. Mountains rose and fell to
either side of them, and though the land was often green, the peaks were always
capped in snow. The plains were broad and empty, but the sky was usually
crowded with tumbling clouds. She learned to watch the weather and to detect
the coming of storms, but she was always surprised by the hail which fell out
of bright skies. Worst of all were the dust storms, blinding winds that slowed
their advance still further—although Dhondub said that such storms occasionally
worked to their advantage, by obscuring the eyes of Chinese surveillance
systems.

Jetsun Dorje
rode beside her, practicing the longbow—which meant that he was often pulling
away to chase arrows, then riding back breathless to joke about his own bad
shots. The other nomads teased him for a while, but gradually they began to
offer advice and he began to improve noticeably. The Tibetans used the bow and
arrow purely for sport, firing on inanimate objects or erecting targets of
their own. Although the party often startled wild animals into flight or sent
pheasants swirling up from the grasses, no one ever aimed an arrow at these
creatures. They had other means of gaining food, and refrained from hunting the
few beasts that had begun to repopulate the plains. They wore synthetic skins
and furs. While the nomads kept the appearance of a completely traditional
culture, they were a modern people now. In fact, their technical expertise and
penchant for electronic piracy put them far ahead of many others. They had
transformed an ancient way of life into something strange and new.

Farther to
the west, evidence of human habitation became more obvious. Sometimes on the
horizon they saw smokestacks billowing gray fumes into the crystal-blue
atmosphere. Dhondub pointed out regions where whole hills had been carved away
in the endless search for mineral ore. They spent two days crossing an
abandoned oil field where nothing remained now but skeletal, corroded rigs
that creaked in the steady wind. They made a wide detour around an area that
the map showed marked with nuclear symbols. According to Dhondub this was a
nuclear waste dump, guarded by mercenaries whose duties were little hampered by
regional law. He was of the opinion that the guards set over the waste were far
more dangerous than the stuff itself.

Early one
afternoon, Marianne rode along in the chieftain’s jeep as he went scouting
ahead of the party. They reached the end of a valley between two low mountain
ranges which they had been following for over a week. The skirts of the
mountains began to recede at a speed that seemed unnatural now that she had
adjusted to the pace of the horses. Beyond the valley, she could see the pale
shapes of higher peaks. The land was growing more rugged.

Dhondub
steered through the sparse vegetation, stirring up dust and gravel, heading
toward the wrinkled shade of the foothills. As they drew near the mountains,
Marianne thought she saw another trail of dust running to intercept their own.

By the time
they entered a deep cleft in the rocky slopes, she could see tire tracks on the
earth ahead of them. They drove around a jagged bend and came upon another jeep
parked in deep shadow. The dust had not yet settled around its tires. A Tibetan
man in dark glasses, knit cap, and a tattered orange parka sat on the hood,
lighting a long pipe.

“Gyayum
Chenmo!” he said, unfolding his lanky legs and sliding down from the hood.

“This is
Sonam Gampo,” Dhondub said.

The man
bowed to her. “My name is ‘Persistent Prospector for Opportunities Benefiting
the Great Common Good.’ The district governor chose my name. My friends call me
simply ‘Common Good.’”

Marianne laughed.
“Not even ‘Great Common Good’?”

He made a
humble gesture. “I’m not as great as all that.”

“How is life
in the Mines of Joy?” Dhondub asked.

“No more
rotten than usual, but I am desperate to leave all the same. If only I weren’t
so important to the governor. . . .”

“Then you
wouldn’t have half the mobility you enjoy now,” Dhondub said.

“I could be
a nomad like you!”

Dhondub
shrugged. “You had the misfortune of being born in a mining town rather than a
tent. Be glad that you’re free to drive out on your own. Your fellow citizens
must be envious.”

“They’re too
worn-out to waste themselves on envy,” Common Good said. He sighed and sank
back against the fender of the jeep. “Well, I have something for you.”

“So you
signaled. Did you bring it along?”

Common Good
shook his head. “Oh no, that’s the problem. It was sheer luck that got her in;
I wouldn’t risk her life or mine trying to smuggle her out. Not yet, anyway.”

“Who is
she?”

“She is like
one possessed—almost a madwoman at times. There’s something in her soul that I
don’t understand. But she says she has seen the flower.”

“Flower?”
Marianne said. “Do you mean the lotus of the west?”

Common
Good’s eyes lit up. “A lotus, yes! She won’t tell me more, only that a
miraculous lotus had bloomed in the snow of the mountains. Whenever I ask her a
question, she goes crazy and answers in riddles.”

Rainbow Tara
listened through Marianne, intent on every word. Now she whispered, “The lotus
has given her a yidam, a protector. We must meet this woman, Marianne. I’m sure
she will speak to me.”

“Where is
she?” Marianne blurted.

Common Good
smiled nervously. “In my home. Safe enough, unless someone decides to inspect
the place. I’ve been careful to arouse no official suspicion; I kiss the
governor’s boots at every opportunity, now that I must. I hope
that
hasn’t made him suspicious.”

“Can we go
there?”

Dhondub gave
her a sharp look. “A nomad would never enter the Mines of Joy.”

“One of you
will have to,” Common Good said. “I’m telling you, I don’t dare bring her out.
It would be easier if you arranged to enter the city, to trade or buy
supplies.”

“I won’t
deal with a mining town,” Dhondub said. “That would put all my people at risk.
Other nomads—”

“I know
those stories,” Common Good said. “But I have no better advice. If you want to
see her, you must come into the city.”

Dhondub sank
down against the hood of Common Good’s jeep and gazed at the hills with a sour
expression. Common Good lent him his pipe for a moment, but smoking did not
improve the chieftain’s mood.

“No,” he
said, “it’s too great a risk. We could all end up conscripted laborers. I don’t
even dare pass near the town. Your governor would love the chance to nab a
handful of strong new workers. If we resisted there would be bloodshed, and
then we would certainly be finished.”

“I’m the
only one who has to go,” said Marianne. “Surely it can't be hard to get one
person in and out again.”

Dhondub
scowled. “I can’t let you go in there, of all people.”

“I’m the
only one who can talk to her. My yidam—”

“Impossible!”
Dhondub shouted, banging his hand on the hood.

Marianne
took a step backward, startled by his ferocity It took her a moment to realize
that he was not angry with her, but with the obstacle that had suddenly been
placed before them.

An obstacle,
yes . . . but also an opportunity.

“You must
bring her out to us,” Dhondub told Common Good.

“It’s
impossible,” the other man said flatly. “I don’t dare come this way again for
at least a week.”

“Then wait
until we travel past the Mines, and you can venture the other way to meet us.
Bring her then—”

Marianne
felt a great impatience that was only partially Tara’s. “And what if she’s
discovered in that time? Dhondub, I know you’re concerned for my safety, but I
feel we must speak to this woman as soon as possible.”

He glowered
at her, then turned away. “The Mines of Joy,” he said, with hatred thick in his
voice.

“Now, now,”
said Common Good. “That’s my home you’re talking about.”

“I can’t
allow it.”

“I insist,”
said Marianne.

He spun
toward her, raging. “Who are you to . . . ?” His words died
on his tongue. He grew pale, his eyes widened, and then he let his hands fall
limp to his sides. He dropped his head. “Forgive me, Gyayum Chenmo.”

She pressed
her lips together and swallowed her usual reprimand. All right, she thought, I
will be the Great Mother. Just this once, I will use my prerogative.

He looked up
at her again, silently but visibly pleading with her. “I cannot let any harm
befall you. I am sworn to protect you. If I simply let you walk into that
place—”

“She won’t
be alone, Dhondub. You forget that I too have sworn protection.”

Marianne
gave Common Good a nod of thanks.

“All I need
to know,” she said, “is where to meet you when I return.”

“Easier said
than done,” Dhondub said. He got up from Common Good’s jeep and walked back to
his own. She could tell that he had resigned himself to her decision, although
he was far from happy with it.

“It depends
on how long it takes you,” he said. “We can’t stop moving or we’ll end up under
arrest. We’ll be bending north to avoid the Mines. The navigation is tricky.”

“I’ll take
care of it,” Common Good said. “We’ll stay in contact. This shouldn’t take
long, Dhondub.”

“Perhaps
not, if nothing goes wrong,” said the nomad. “But I would never count on that.”

***

An hour
later, they drove into a dust storm. Common Good cried out that it was their
good fortune, for now no one would question the fact that he had thrown a tarp
over the objects in the bed of the jeep. Marianne crouched among tools and
toolboxes, receiving frequent blows as they bounced over the rough terrain. Her
driver stopped only when the storm became so fierce that he could no longer see
the compass on his dashboard. Then he ducked his head under the tarp and
huddled there awhile. They shared a canister of tepid black tea while the
wind-borne grit scoured the jeep inside and out. Common Good was friendly and
seemed glad for the company, but she could not help wishing that she were back
with her nomadic friends. By now Reting Norbu would have heard what she had
done. She imagined him throwing up his hands at the news, then shaking his head
in resignation.

And Jetsun—what
would he think?

She smiled. Jetsun
Dorje had been taking his role of protector too seriously in the last few
weeks. When he had thought of her as Dr. Norbu’s assistant, he had treated her
politely enough, but with no special deference. Now, although he called her
Marianne rather than Gyayum Chenmo, he no longer flirted with his previous ease . . . when
he flirted at all.

She could
not wait to see his face when she returned to the camp tomorrow. In striking
off on her own, she would have demonstrated that she was not an idle Great
Mother to be protected, revered, but never involved.

“It’s
letting up,” Common Good said, capping the canister. “You stay quiet under
there. We’ll be coming to town soon enough. You never know if patrols might be
out and around.”

A few
minutes later they pulled onto a road and the ride became much smoother. She
heard an ominous hissing somewhere in the distance; it grew swiftly louder. She
peered out from under the flap and saw a hovertruck speeding toward them, its
bed heaped high with rocks. She ducked back under the tarp before Common Good
noticed her.