Authors: Mingmei Yip

Tags: #Romance

Song of the Silk Road (10 page)

BOOK: Song of the Silk Road

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I exclaimed, “Oh, my, that’s horrible!”

Lop Nor went on. “I can understand why the mother feels so bitter. She said, ‘He acts like we are so rich that we can afford meat all the time and he can waste it!’ ”

After some silence, I asked, “Why was the boy spitting and crying?”

Lop Nor shook his head. “I tried to persuade him that chicken is tasty, and so is lamb. But you saw his response to that. He screamed till his face was twisted.”

“But why?”

“He accused his mother of poisoning him with meat. He screamed, ‘No! No! I don’t want to be poisoned! Please don’t poison me!’ ”

“A child can be born vegetarian?”

“Yes, that’s his karma. But the mother doesn’t understand that nothing can be done except to let him be. If he eats meat, his life will be shortened.”

Looking at Lop Nor’s detached, almost emotionless face and listening to his erudite words, I wondered how a learned man like him ended up in this remote village where business was minimal and his practice and insight were hardly appreciated. Was he just unlucky—or could it be he was hiding from something?

Lop Nor poured us hot tea from his thermos. “Miss Lin, please have some chrysanthemum and honey tea. Don’t worry. The boy is fine, only the mother is not. By the way, he reminds me that I should try to get some herbs particularly for vegetarians. Should we set a date to travel to the Mountains of Heaven?”

“Lop Nor, please just call me Lily.”

But he ignored my request. “Miss Lin, you have a calendar with you?”

Herbs on the Mountains of Heaven

T
he weather on the day of departure turned out to be surprisingly artistic with a Van Gogh sky, patches of Magritte clouds, and a light breeze breaking the sultry air. Once I agreed to travel with him, Lop Nor, like a Zen master, had been quick and decisive in making plans and arrangements.

From his village, we took a bus to the train station, and from there the train to Urumqi. At the train station, Lop Nor negotiated with the driver of a rather dilapidated car to take us into the Mountains of Heaven at the foot of the Bogda peak, one of the highest. After a long stretch along the monotonous, flat, dry, hot, and dusty semidesert, we turned onto a narrow road that zigzagged up along a rushing river.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a modest wooden building with a sign declaring itself to be the Heavenly Lake Guest House. We got out and I paid, for me a trifling sum, then we registered, had a light supper, and went to our separate rooms.

The next morning, we set out across an open field until we reached a gorge with a small stream roaring at the bottom.

Lop Nor said, “We’ll first go to the forest to find herbs, then to the Heavenly Lake. We’re now about 2,000 meters above sea level. Later it will be mostly an uphill climb. Are you ready?”

I nodded even though I had no clear idea of what awaited me. I hoped that the climb, however steep, would lead to the precious herb demanded by my aunt Mindy Madison.

Humming a tune to alleviate my nervousness, I lost track of time until my sore, booted feet landed on the level forest ground. Instantly I was embraced by a surge of fresh, cool air. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply the pleasant smell of lush vegetation while listening to the chirping of birds and the soothing flow of water. When I reopened my eyes, I had fallen sensuously in love with the deep forest, with its tall pines and dragon spruces.

“Miss Lin.” Lop Nor’s voice rose loud and clear in the forest air. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start first from the lower slopes to gather mushrooms, almonds, wild apples, ginseng, and motherwort for my store. Then we’ll climb higher where we might find the plant you need.”

I smiled to my mountain companion. “Of course not. I love almonds and wild apples.” Especially from this beautiful paradise. The setting was very romantic, but I was not going to tell him that, lest he misunderstand. Then suddenly I felt a wave of regret. While I’d agreed so easily to go to this remote mountain forest with a strange Uyghur man, I’d turned down Alex’s earlier repeated requests to travel with me. I hoped that now he was at least having a good time with his parents, wherever they were.

After about an hour of treading through the dense forest, Lop Nor said we had arrived where he might find what he needed.

I put down my backpack and stretched my arms. Lop Nor cast me a contented look. “I’ll gather some herbs for my store, then we’ll go look for snow lotuses. In the meantime, you can stay with me, or walk around and explore a little by yourself. But don’t stray too far, and watch out for wild boars. If you come upon one, don’t panic. Just hold still and it will leave you alone. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll be around,” he said, already parting leaves and scraping mud for possible treasures.

It was then that I understood his mud-caked nails and large, rough, leathery hands. This was a man whose sufferings were witnessed by the scorching sun and fierce wind, as he dug for the herbs that were his passion and his livelihood. Tears moistened my eyes, but I held them back.

I told Lop Nor while avoiding looking at his hands or his eyes, “I’ll stroll around, then come back to join you.”

After that, I immediately walked away, fearing he might sense my feelings. Besides, I also wanted to be by myself in this modern
Penglai Shan,
the legendary immortal’s mountain. I needed to clear my confused mind and untangle my emotions. With luck, I might even find a spot to meditate in the full lotus position so as to fully absorb the powerful mountain energy.

The forest was soothing, yet also a little intimidating. After such a long stay in the desert, seeing only the ubiquitous sand and its endless expanse of brown, I was glad to finally have the chance to indulge my senses amidst the trees, vines, flowers, and moss-covered rocks with their intoxicating fragrance. Here I didn’t need to drink to get drunk!

After fifteen minutes’ wandering, I suddenly saw something big, dark, and fat dart in front of me. I blurted out, “What’s that?” then realized it was a only a rabbit. Just as I calmed myself, the sky emitted a strange
Quuuik, Quuuik!
sound. I looked up and saw a hawk circling like a plane in an air show.

I continued to walk and soon noticed some tiny, star-shaped, white flowers squeezing through cracks of a huge boulder to peek out, as if shyly beckoning me with their loveliness and loneliness. Curious, I picked a bunch of them and held them close to my nose. An unusual fragrance, a mixture of ginger and sandalwood, found its way into my nostrils. After enjoying the aromas for a few seconds, I tucked some into my hair. Then I closed my eyes and imagined myself the most beautiful Greek goddess seducing the most handsome god on Mount Olympus. Or maybe an attractive Chinese fairy to charm a fine-looking scholar.

Elated to find there was not a soul around, I resumed walking, unable to resist touching almost everything: outlandish flowers, the leathery bark of an ancient tree, moist leaves with the texture of a newborn’s skin, stones with animal faces, mud tender like a lover’s heart. . . . Everything felt so delicate under my curious hands. What did Lop Nor feel with his rough, masculine ones?

After another half hour wandering in the forest, I spotted a boulder with highlights of red, yellow, and green—an unusual color combination with high
yang
energy. Curious, I ran my finger over it and, to my surprise, its texture felt extremely sensuous. Now suddenly I could see Alex’s taut body filled with youthful vigor and sensed its desire to be touched—by me.

Tears swelled in my eyes, and this time I let them fall. Now I wished my young lover were here so we could make love on this lofty mountain overlooking a low-lying lake and shaded by the dense foliage of a thousand-year-old tree. Beneath my young lover’s hot, writhing torso, I could peek up at the universe through the cracks between the leaves, thinking of eternal love. But I quickly shook Alex’s image from my mind. I really didn’t think there’d be any future for us. I doubted I was more than a fleeting infatuation for him. Besides, I had no idea where he was now. Probably he was having such a good time traveling across China that he’d already forgotten me.

No longer elated by the forest around me, I began to drag my tired feet back to find Lop Nor. Twenty minutes later, a melodious tune sung by a sonorous male voice floated toward me. Echoing in the deep, empty woods, the voice possessed a penetrating sadness. I strained my ears to listen; it was the popular Xinjiang folk song, “In the Distant Land.”

In the distant land far far away lives a beautiful girl.

Anyone who passes by her house will peer inside,

Her pink, smiling face is the warm sun, her lively eyes the flirtatious moon.

I am willing to give up all I have just to follow her

So everyday I can look at her lovely face and her gold-rimmed dress.

Let me be a sheep strolling beside her, so she can hit me tenderly with her thin whip.

I was transfixed not only by the powerful voice but by the tenderness and passion embedded within. The singer must have experienced a deep, poignant love. I continued to move forward and listen while imagining a love so strong that the man, a herdsman, was willing to be a sheep so he could be whipped by the woman he loved. Then suddenly I saw Lop Nor’s back behind some leaves, and I was shocked to discover that he was the singer.

Entranced, I held back so as not to disturb him.

When he finally finished, I clapped enthusiastically. “Wonderful, Lop Nor. How come you never let me hear you sing before?”

My friend turned around, looking taken aback and, to my surprise, a little shy. As I was considering how to inquire about the poignant love story, Lop Nor suddenly displayed shock as if he were seeing a ghost in broad daylight. Like lightning, he dashed over to me and, with his hat, swept the flowers from my hair in one careful flick.

Before I had the chance to protest, he shouted, “These are poisonous! Luckily you piled your hair high so they didn’t touch your scalp!”

I was too stunned to say anything.

My friend went on. “Sorry, Miss Lin, I really shouldn’t have let you go off by yourself.”

“It’s not your fault, and I’m fine now.” Suddenly the impact of his words hit me. I touched my hair and cheeks. “Am I OK?”

“Yes, otherwise your face would have already swollen up like a pig’s.”

I laughed. “Why not a boxer’s?”

“Miss Lin, please don’t joke. This is no small matter. Fortunately you’re all right.”

“OK, then are we done here?”

He nodded. “Now we’ll start the most difficult part of this journey—climbing higher to where the snow lotus grows. It is three thousand meters above sea level. Are you up to that?”

Since there was no easier way to get the snow lotus, I responded loudly, “Sure!”

“All right, then put on your jacket and your hat. It’ll be cold in the high altitude.”

The climb was not as bad as I’d expected. Since the weather was very pleasant, I actually enjoyed the strenuous but uplifting exercise—especially when the earth was bidding me farewell and the sky welcoming me. I wanted to climb all the way to heaven and leave my earthly troubles behind!

Lop Nor was a good companion—attentive, gentle, precise, taciturn. On our long ascent, we met one young, skinny Uyghur man and they chatted in their strange language. It must have been me they were talking about, since the young man turned a few times with curious glances. I had no idea if the encounter was between friends or whether any human contact in this isolated place would be considered friendly. But I was a little out of breath, so I did not ask Lop Nor who the man was or what they had talked about.

Striding up the mountain, my Uyghur friend looked refreshed. His eyes were bright, his face ruddy, and his usual pained expression replaced by a relaxed, almost happy one. I could see that the mountain was his natural habitat where he moved like a fish in water or a monkey in a tree. As for me, although my backpack was light in comparison to Lop Nor’s, I still sweated heavily, feeling sharp aches up and down my back and legs. My breathing came quick and shallow as I moved fast to stay with my friend.

Finally, he announced our arrival. I was feeling chilled and had tightened the jacket around my chest and pulled down my hat. Before my eyes extended an infinite expanse of crushed stones above which stretched a lonely blue sky.

I turned to Lop Nor. “It doesn’t look like anything will grow here.”

He cast me an annoyed look. “Miss Lin, I know very well the plants and their locations on this part of the mountain.” Then his tone and expression softened. “You breathing OK?”

“I’m a little winded, but otherwise fine.”

He went on. “Snow lotuses are extremely rare and hard to find, for they only grow between cracks of ice and rocks at very high altitude.” He gave me a glance, his expression serious. “You stay here and I’ll go get them. Believe me, it’s too dangerous for you to come with me. You’ll be much safer here.”

I could tell from his tone that this was an order, not advice.

After my herbalist friend threw down a “Be careful, I’ll be back soon” and disappeared from sight, I took out my camera and began to walk around, looking for anything interesting to shoot.

Many hours later and Lop Nor had not reappeared. Had something happened? My imagination saw him losing his grip on the cliff and plunging to his death. Or falling so that he was wedged and crushed between rocks.

But I had no idea how or where to find him. There was not a soul around to ask for help, and I didn’t think I could even find the route back to civilization. Just when I felt my heart almost jump out of my chest, a loud, harsh
Quuuuiiiiik!
penetrated my eardrums. I looked up and saw a huge hawk slashing the sky with its wings like two sharp blades. Just as I was wondering what to do, the bird plunged toward me.

“Ahhhh!” I ducked to avoid a possible hit and run. It was indeed a hit and fly, albeit the prey was not me, but my camera!

The damned bird made another triumphant
Quuuuiiiiik!
then disappeared into the distance, the camera between his talons. I picked up some stones and hurled them at the air the hawk had flown through, but they landed pathetically with defeated thuds.

I dropped to my knees, covered my face, and started to cry. Was Lop Nor dead? Would I also soon join his family in death?

I didn’t know how long I’d been crying when I felt a touch on my shoulder. I looked up and saw the herbalist’s flushed and worried face.

Involuntarily I flung myself at his big torso, laughing and crying. “Oh, Lop Nor . . . I’m so glad you’re back—and alive!”

BOOK: Song of the Silk Road

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