Neon Lotus (23 page)

Marianne
felt the truck slow to a halt, heard muffled voices, and a minute later
daylight trickled through the
jumble of crates and covered machinery where she
hid. The inspectors couldn’t get into the truck; it was packed tight. Nonetheless,
she did not breathe freely until they were moving again and she heard the hatch
being unlocked.

“I’m going
to stop at Gozha Lake and buy supplies,” said Gyan Phala. “We’ll get to the
Tsaidam sooner if we eat on the road.”

“You’ll have
to sleep sometime, though,” Jetsun said. “I’ve always wanted to drive one of
these.”

“No,” said
Gyan Phala firmly. “No one drives this truck but me, and I never sleep on the
road. Don’t worry, we’ll make good time. If the weather holds, we’ll be in Nur
Turn by dawn the day after tomorrow.”

Jetsun
folded his arms and gazed out the window, upset at having his offer rebuffed.

Night fell.
Through the violet shadows of evening she saw lights ahead of them, speckling
the landscape. Stars came out above the towns. She put her hand on Jetsun’s and
squeezed gently; he returned the pressure.

Gyan Phala
made a slight sound. “Are you two married?”

“No,”
Marianne said.

“Not yet,”
said Jetsun brightly.

Marianne
stared at him, remembering last night’s fire. She felt a warmth beginning in
her belly, a flame licking upward. Even so, she shivered when she met his eyes.

She hardly
knew him, after all. They had been close companions, but for such a short
length of time that it seemed inconceivable he should be claiming such a large
part in her future. But his smile was innocent, his eyes loving, and she could
not resent his comment. This was neither the time nor the place to voice her
fears.

“I see,”
said Gyan Phala. “That must make you the Great Father.”

Jetsun Dorje
laughed aloud. He rolled down his window, stuck his head out into the frigid
evening air, and howled at the blue landscape.

“I wish you
luck with this wildman,” Gyan Phala said quietly to Marianne. “Would you tell
him to come in and close the window? He might draw attention we can do without.
Also, it’s freezing out there.”

* * *

Sometime in
the middle of the night, Marianne came awake to find Jetsun’s arm draped over
her shoulder. He was snoring faintly in her ear. She glanced up through the
windshield and saw the stars hanging still and bright above them. It was a
cloudless night, without rain or snow, and no steam rose from the road. She looked
over at Gyan Phala who sat slightly forward with her eyes tipped toward the
sky.

“Gyan,” she
whispered, not wanting to wake Jetsun. “If you want to sleep for a few hours,
you should go ahead. It won’t matter to us in the long run. We have no pressing
appointment in Golmud.”

Gyan Phala
did not seem to hear her. Marianne sat up and repeated her name, wondering if
she had fallen asleep at the wheel.

But no, she
held the wheel firmly, steering as necessary to meet the occasional curves and
variations in the strip of black highway.

“Gyan
Phala?”

Still the
woman made no response. She stared at the horizon, seeming to watch one of the
thousands of stars far ahead of her. For as long as Marianne watched her, she
failed even to blink.

She had said
she rarely slept on the road. She was in some kind of trance.

Marianne
glanced at Gyan Phala’s wrists but saw no lung-gom straps. Remembering her
night with the niche-runners, she felt certain that this was something similar,
though the woman used no drugs. She must have learned some other technique for
inducing the trance state. It was an ancient practice in Tibet, most useful in
the days when the major means of travel was pedestrian. Trance-walkers could
commonly be seen striding across the vast barrens of the Changthang, their eyes
fixed on the heavens, hardly seeming to see the ground before them as they
moved without faltering, without missing step or stumbling on a stone,
traveling day and night almost without cease.

Here was
something new in Tibet: a trance-driver.

Marianne
left off calling Gyan Phala’s name. Why break her trance? If they reached the
Tsaidam basin sooner, it would be all the better for them.

She gave
thanks for the intense, attentive woman in whom they had put their trust. Then
she rolled toward
Jetsun,
laid her head on his chest, and was once more fast asleep.

* * *

The next day
was spent traveling at what seemed like a crawl while the mountains rose and
fell to the north and the plains of the Changthang spread away in ever greater
monotony to the south. Gyan Phala was quick to point out the ghosts of huge
farming combines and shattered green-domes which had once covered the region.
Little remained of the agricultural experiments except gray weeded wastelands
and the skeletons of irrigation equipment. Civil war in mainland China had
absorbed the last generation’s energy and temporarily destroyed China’s
economy. During the conflict between liberal and conservative elements, the
most gifted Chinese administrators in Tibet had been obliged to return to the
lowlands, there to die in the battles that raged until the new popular regime
took power. Gradually, as was the way with most revolutions, the popular regime
lost its popularity, becoming entrenched in new forms of conservatism. Tibet
had been all but forgotten in the crisis, and now was remembered mainly for
its mineral resources. Gyan Phala noted that the new generation considered
China proper—meaning the mainland—its only true concern. No one spoke any more
of improving the lot of Tibet, which had been tagged onto the mainland during
the twentieth century at great expense and with small return for the
investment. The Chinese seemed content to let Governor Rato run the country at
a level of bare subsistence, as long as he saw to it that Tibet provided all it
could in the way of ore and fuel.

“They should
free us,” Gyan Phala complained. “We have a heritage and a destiny, but our
culture is smothered at the moment. It survives underground, in stunted form.
With every year that passes, it becomes harder for them to eradicate our
traditions. We grow tougher. And yet they won’t give us back our land. Is it
true that there are lawyers fighting for Tibet’s independence in the world
courts?”

Marianne
nodded. “It has been a long battle, yes, but I’m afraid that whatever ground
has been gained is mainly illusory—or rather, intellectual. Historically, Tibet
has always been an independent nation; its relations with ancient Chinese
dynasties never brought it under their dominion. Legally, it should still be
free. It was occupied by
the Chinese in violation of numerous treaties. But still, it has
been a Chinese possession for so long that it would take a miracle to restore
independence now.”

“Miracles
are our chief weapons,” Jetsun said. “The lotus is nothing, if not miraculous.”

Marianne
smiled, reminded of the flower, and took it from her pocket.

The rosy bud
glowed, even crackled, with light. Gyan Phala gasped, staring at it, and said,
“Who is that in there?”

“What do you
mean?” Marianne asked.

“That
boy—the hologram.”

Marianne
brought the bud close to her eyes, thinking that she saw a small pale shape like
a teardrop deep in the heart of the lotus. It did resemble a face, but she
could not quite make it out.

Then Jetsun
said, “I see him. It’s that boy.”

“Tsering?”

As she said
the name, his face came into focus.

It was
Tsering, the brother of Dolma Gyalpo. His eyes were bright and alive. His smile
widened when she saw him. The lotus hummed and then its song began to modulate,
forming syllables, speaking words in a familiar voice.

“Hello,
Sonam Gampo! I asked if I could come along with you. I’m so glad that you
brought me.”

“Do you know
where you are?” she asked.

He looked
puzzled, but it passed in a moment. “Yes. My sister—I saw her for a few
seconds, in the waterfall—she explained that the lotus was bringing me into
itself. I don’t know where my body is. I’m nothing but light now; light and
this wonderful music. I think I must have died. Is that so?”

She was
unsure how to answer him. Remembering the young man’s body down in the pool,
remembering the spray of blood in the mist, she felt herself on the edge of
tears.

“It’s all
right,” he said brightly. “I’m not sad. This is like Dawachen, isn’t it? I’ve
been born into the land of bliss, born right out of a lotus bud. Perhaps
someday I will have a body again. In the meantime, I’m still here. And I get to
come with you.”

“We’re glad
to have you along,” she managed to say. “I’m so glad to see you again,
Tsering.”

An infusion
of sadness came into his eyes. “Only . . . where is my sister?” he asked.

“Your sister
went out on the last song of the lotus, I think. When you—when you died, the
lotus mourned for you. Her song was very powerful.”

“Oh. Then I
suppose it’s no use looking for her. She won’t be back.”

“Are you
lonely?” Jetsun asked.

“No,” said
Tsering. “Not when I’m with all of you.”

“You’ll need
to put that away,” said Gyan Phala, who had overheard all this without comment.
In fact, she had asked them very few questions about their mission and seemed
to accept this latest development as if it were inevitable. “There’s another
station coming up. You know when to keep quiet, don’t you?” she asked Tsering
in a humorous tone.

“Oh yes,” he
said. “In here, it’s usually silent. That’s the most beautiful song of all.”

12.
The Laughter in Tsaidam

At dawn they
drove into Nur Turu, the westernmost settlement in the Tsaidam basin. Gyan
Phala squeezed Marianne's shoulder sharply to wake her, then pointed out the
lights ahead. A flashing red beacon warned that they would be required to stop.

“Up, you
two,” was all she said.

Marianne and
Jetsun hurried through the hatch and found their places amid the cargo. Moments
later the truck came to a stop. She put her ear to the metal bulkhead and
listened for the voice of the sentry.

At first she
thought she was hearing things. Someone was speaking to Gyan, a male voice, yet
the conversation was far different from any she had heard at previous
checkpoints. The tone of the man’s voice was unexpected. She heard him ask
after the weather along the road and then, in a softer counterpoint, request
her permits. He asked if she were married, where her family lived, and managed
to mention the names of his wife and seven children before wondering aloud if
she might consent to detail her itinerary. It was the strangest mixture of
friendly banter and official commands that Marianne had ever heard. The man
laughed frequently, becoming a bit hysterical at times; but the more humorous
he became, the more clipped and restrained were Gyan Phala’s replies.

Marianne
heard pounding at the back of the truck and realized that the doors were about
to be opened. Only the faintest light leaked into the trailer, for the sun had
scarcely crested the opposite horizon. She was amazed to hear two new sources
of laughter: the inspectors were joking between themselves, apparently finding
something hilarious in every aspect of their job. It sounded as if they had
been out all night carousing, rather than patrolling the highway through the
length of a cold night’s vigil.

As before,
the sentries did not press into the contents of the truck. They could hardly
have shifted any of the objects without mechanical assistance. The doors
clanged shut and it was with great relief that Marianne finally heard the man
at the cab bid Gyan Phala an amused farewell.

She couldn’t
decide what it was about the laughter of the guard that had disturbed her; she
only knew that she would rather have been discovered and arrested by appropriately
grim and dour-faced soldiers than by any number of laughing men. She sensed a
dark undercurrent running beneath their bright, giddy hilarity. Was it cruelty?
Fear?

When they
regained the cab of the hovertruck, the sun glared straight at them like a
swollen orange eye. The road began to twist through coniferous hillsides
patched with snow. Marianne thought she saw a glint of golden lakes far out
ahead of them, but her mind kept returning to the laughter of the guards.

“What did
they find so damn funny?” she asked.

“I wish I
knew,” Gyan said. “It was evil laughter, that’s all I know. I was afraid they
had detected you somehow; I kept expecting them to arrest me. I felt like the
butt of some enormous joke. And those men were Tibetan, that’s the strange
thing. Always before it’s been Chinese guards at the station. I’d have felt
safer with those old Chinese. I don’t like it when my own brothers laugh at me
that way.”

The beauty
of the Tsaidam gradually dispelled their sinister mood. After the barren
desolation of the northern reaches of the Changthang, the basin seemed lush and
populous even under a light covering of snow. The hillsides they traversed were
frequently hewn into steps for rice cultivation; in this season they looked
like slippery stairs. Marianne and Jetsun did not fear being seen in the truck,
for Gyan assured them that she often picked up hitchhikers along these roads.

Wherever
they looked, the people of the Tsaidam were smiling. They smiled as they
tramped along the roads, shivering in their ragged clothes; they smiled as they
bent over the smouldering engines of ancient cars and straightened to wave at
the truck hissing past. Marianne felt as if any one of the folks would have
befriended them without question, would have brought them into their homes and
offered them what food they had. It was the first sign she had seen of
contentedness among the Tibetans. These people seemed completely satisfied with
their existence. More, they seemed overjoyed.

It was
several hours before she drew an unwelcome connection between the unvarying
good humor of the residents and the hilarity of the guards at the border
station. Surely somewhere along the road they should have seen a child in
tears, a farmer cursing his broken-down machinery, an old woman with a stern
expression. But she had witnessed no sadness, no neutral stares, no wariness:
no variation. The people here were happy and that was that.

Around noon
they crossed a swift glacial river and entered the town of Golmud. Crude
tin-roof shanties cluttered the far side of the river, reminding her for a
moment of the Mines of Joy. This similarity was shattered when she saw the faces
of those who dwelt along the impoverished fringe of town. They looked radiant,
blissful, at peace in the garbage-choked and puddled streets. If anything, they
seemed even happier than those who lived deeper in the town where the streets
were broad and well paved and the houses made of sturdy materials. There were
modern buildings in Golmud, some of them rising as many as five stories high.
These Gyan identified as apartments of the engineers and wealthier laborers
who worked below the town in Golmud Laboratories.

It was here,
for the first time since entering the Tsaidam basin, that Marianne saw a man
with a worried expression. He came running out of the main entrance to one of
the apartment buildings, a black case under his arm. She wondered at his spotless
olive uniform. He dived into a car that waited near the curb then sped ahead of
them down the nearly empty street. Before the car vanished,
Marianne descried an emblem
on its trunk: a white teardrop with a red Chinese ideogram in the center

“He's from Golmud
Labs," Gyan Phala said. “I guess they aren’t laughing down there."

“Where are
we stopping?" Jetsun asked.

“I’ll let
you off at the east edge of town—you certainly don’t want to go to the Labs.
When my shipment’s been unloaded, I’ll come back for you. I know a good inn
where you can rest and get some food. I won’t be back before nightfall most
likely, so try not to get into trouble."

“And after
your shipment’s unloaded, where will you go?" asked Marianne.

Gyan
shrugged. “That all depends. If they have a load for me, I’ll take it wherever
it needs to go. But I’ll rest here for a few days first. How about you?"

“I’m not
sure. I’d like to find out if there are any three-eyes in Golmud—and maybe an
airfield."

Gyan Phala
brought the hovertruck to a halt in a once-paved square beyond the towers of
downtown Golmud. The three of them climbed out and stood stretching in the
sunlight, gulping the crisp, cold air. The buildings seemed to rush away like
steam at the edges of Marianne’s eyes. She had been staring at the moving road
for so long that she could not get used to stationary objects.

Gyan brought
them to the bright red door of a two-story inn with flowerpots set along green
window ledges. Inside, a single lightbulb burned in the center of a long room,
gleaming on half a dozen scarred plastic tables. A few customers looked up at
them with remote smiles and dazed expressions.

As they took
seats near the door, the inn’s proprietor appeared with stacked cups and a huge
kettle of tea.

“Gyan
Phala!" he said with a happiness that seemed genuine enough, although he
laughed far longer and more loudly than was warranted when Gyan introduced her
companions.

“Well,
excellent! Isn’t that wonderful!” His face and the top of his bald head went
red from merriment. He cast his smile around the room until the people at the
other tables began to laugh as well. This had the effect, Marianne noticed, of
drawing attention away from them. Once the laughter had reached its peak, it
died down rather swiftly
and they no longer attracted the stares of the other patrons.

“I’ll be
right back with fresh hot mapa for all of you!” he said. “Why don’t you come
with me, Gyan Phala? I have a new stove. Come and see!”

Gyan and the
innkeeper disappeared through a door at the back of the room. Marianne sipped
her tea and took a cautious glance around her. She happened to meet the eye of
a young man at the next table; he nodded and gave her a huge grin. She smiled
briefly then let her gaze continue on. Apparently he was unsatisfied with this
response for he rose and came to their table.

“Hello,” he
said brightly, nodding to Jetsun and Marianne in turn. “Are you new to Golmud? I
can see that you are.”

“We’re
traveling to Shaanxi,” Marianne said. “Looking for work.”

“Oh, you’re
not staying in the Tsaidam?” Despite his persistent smile, he seemed
disappointed. “That’s too bad. This is such a pleasant place. Really, who could
ask for better?”

“Is there
work here?” Jetsun inquired politely.

“Oh no, not
lately, very little—not unless you work for the Labs. But still, it’s really
very wonderful. This is the land of bliss—our paradise on earth. I love the
Labs, don’t you? They really have improved our lot greatly.”

“I can see
that,” Marianne said. “Everyone we’ve met seems quite happy.”

“Oh, we are
happy indeed. Happy to be alive, happy to live in the Tsaidam, to be part of
the great experiment. We are the happiest people on the face of the earth,
that’s certain. And it’s all because we’re lucky enough to live so near the
Labs. You know, if you settled down in Golmud you could be part of the great
experiment, too. You’d get a daily ration like the rest of us.” He licked his
lips with a tongue that Marianne thought looked oddly dark and swollen.
“Yum-yum!”

She
experienced a shiver, thinking of the black-tongued demons of myth. This young
man smiled nicely yet his manner was frightening. He seemed somehow out of
control.

“I don’t
think we’ll be staying,” she said, “though it’s very nice of you to invite us.”

“That makes
me very sad,” he said, although he looked happier than ever. “You know, I’ll
bet I could get you to change your minds about staying here. I’ll bet that I
could do it in less time than it takes you to finish that cup of tea.”

Jetsun
quickly drained his cup. She knew that he mistrusted this man as much as she
did.

“You see,”
said the young man, leaning closer, “I still have most of my daily ration left.
I only take a few drops at a time, to make it last. I would be more than
willing to let each of you have a sip. Just a small sip, that’s all you’d need.
I’m sure you’ll be persuaded how wonderful it is to live here. You won’t want
to go anywhere else once you’ve tasted it.”

Marianne
asked, “What is it, exactly?”

He reached
into an inner pocket of his coat. “How can I explain? You must taste for yourself.
Please!”

He set a
small opalescent bulb on the table before her. It was shaped like a teardrop
with a cap on the tapered tip, and it was about half full of some liquid thick
as honey. The young man uncapped the vessel and held it toward her. She caught
a scent sweet as sugared roses and her mouth began to water. Her hand shot up
to accept the soft bulb.

“Drink,” he
said. “Only a little.”

“Sonam,” Jetsun
said, catching her arm.

The bulb was
tipped to her lips when she heard the voice of the innkeeper: “My goodness,
what are you doing?”

The
innkeeper came rushing through the back door, laughing wildly, followed by Gyan
Phala. Marianne vaguely realized that she was putting a great deal of her
strength into the attempt to drink, while Jetsun was straining to wrestle her
hand away from her face.

“You don’t
want to do that,” the innkeeper said, laughing and snatching the bulb from her
fingers and replacing the cap. She sniffed after the sweet scent but it had
already faded. Jetsun released her arm and she sat in a stupor for a moment,
wondering what had happened.

The
innkeeper turned to the young man and handed the bulb back to him.

“Now you
don’t want to go wasting your ration,” he scolded satirically. “You know what a
sad sight you’ll be this evening if you go giving away your nectar like that.”

The young
man chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I just wanted them to be happy.”