The Forbidden Temple (44 page)
When Luca had finished what remained of his story, he reached into his satchel to pull out two battered books, setting them down on the wide armrests of his chair.
‘So the Chinese captain was dead when you saw him on the cliff-face?’ Jack asked.
Luca nodded. ‘He was on a ledge, about ten minutes down from the top, pressed up against the back wall. He must have died of exposure sometime during the night.’
Luca paused for a moment, slowly shaking his head. ‘I could see him, Jack. His eyes were frozen open. I could see right into those black eyes.’
‘Bastard deserved nothing less,’ Jack said vehemently. After another pause, he exhaled deeply and, leaning back in his chair, ran his fingers through his hair. ‘So how did you get back to Lhasa?’
Luca almost smiled as an image of René came to mind. He had been there when Luca finally got down off the mountain. Approaching the charred remains of Menkom village, Luca had spotted him in a makeshift chair that was tilted towards the cliff-face, fast asleep in the heat of the midday sun. A towel shaded his face as he slept, while his right leg lay trussed up in bandages, resting on a gnarled wooden tree stump.
He had woken as Luca drew closer across the field, pulling the
towel from his face and letting out a shout of laughter. Despite being in obvious pain, he had been tireless in organising yaks with the locals he had befriended, arranging to take them back along the trail to Tingkye, where they had then rejoined a proper road.
‘René waited for me that whole time,’ Luca said, shaking his head. ‘He got me out of Tibet, risking everything once again to smuggle me over the Friendship Bridge into Nepal. All that, and I barely even knew the guy.’
‘The kindness of strangers,’ Jack said. ‘It never ceases to amaze me what human beings are capable of.’
Then he shifted forward in his chair, eyes resting on the two books lying in front of his nephew. Luca followed his gaze, picking up the first and holding it out in front of him.
‘I found this in my rucksack when I got back to Lhasa,’ he said, unclipping the delicate gilded clasp. ‘Shara must have put it there without my knowing.’
As it fell open on Luca’s lap, Jack’s eyes passed over the white writing set on thick black parchment. The book looked old and well travelled, with angular Tibetan characters stamped across the densely packed pages. Jack’s hand reached out, hovering just above it.
‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘The
Kalak Tantra
,’ Luca said, watching the expression on Jack’s face change.
‘So Sally was wrong. It
does
exist,’ he murmured. Jack looked up into Luca’s eyes. Aside from everything else, the book corroborated so much of what his nephew had said.
‘Shara obviously trusts you,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It was a big risk for her to give a foreigner this book. Maybe she is trying to tell you something.’
Luca nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t speak. He then shut the book and got up from his chair, returning the
Kalak Tantra
to his satchel. He picked up the other book. It was much smaller: a slim, leather-bound journal, laced together with twine.
‘I need you to do something for me, Jack,’ he said, handing it over to him. ‘Give this to my father. It’s my diary and a complete account of what happened. Maybe then he’ll understand.’
Jack tried to push it away. ‘You give it to him yourself,’ he said, a frown appearing on his forehead. ‘I know what your father is like, but it would be so much better coming from you.’
Luca shook his head, swinging the satchel over his shoulder.
‘I can’t. I’ve got to go and see someone first.’
As he tried to leave, Jack sprang up from his seat.
‘OK, I’ll take the book to him,’ he said, his hand reaching out to grip Luca’s arm. ‘But you will be all right, won’t you, Luca?’
For the first time in their whole meeting, a smile crept across Luca’s face. He gently pulled his uncle’s hand from his arm.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think I will. You take care of yourself, Jack.’
With that, he walked out of the dusty study, leaving his uncle staring at the book in his hands.
For a while after that, Jack jumped whenever the phone rang, but it was never Luca. Against his better instincts, he left a few messages on Luca’s phone but never received any response. It struck him that, as ever, Luca would let him know when he needed him, but as the weeks passed with still no word, he decided that he should try and track him down.
He discovered that soon after leaving his uncle, Luca had sold his flat, drawing the entire sum of money in a cashier’s cheque. He had then gone to Bill’s house, spending several hours with Cathy and the kids, before handing over the cheque and leaving once again.
After that, he seemed to vanish.
Some days, Jack sits in his study looking at a satellite map of the Himalayas and thinks he knows where his nephew is. On others, he’s not so sure.
But then again, it was always like that with Luca.
The real eleventh Panchen Lama
After the death of the tenth Panchen Lama in 1989, the search for his reincarnation soon became mired in political controversy.
Despite the current Dalai Lama recognising a small boy of only six years old called Gedhun Choekyi Nyima as the rightful successor in 1995, the Chinese authorities immediately arrested the head of the search committee under charges of treason and had the boy and his family removed from Tibet.
A new search committee was then promptly installed who ‘chose’ Gyancain Norbu as the next Panchen Lama. He still holds this position to this day.
No one has seen or knows the whereabouts of the six-year-old boy, while the Chinese authorities claim to have taken him for ‘reasons of his own security’. Even now, no humanitarian groups have been allowed to verify whether he is alive or not.
Although the inauguration of the eleventh Panchen Lama was in 1995, I have decided to set the book in 2005 to make it more current with events as I personally saw them when visiting the country on expedition in 2004.
As the book evolved and changed, my thanks must go to so many different people. From the very beginning, sitting around the camp fires in Tibet with Mike Brown and dreaming up the idea of a lost monastery hidden somewhere behind the clouds closing in around us. And to the old woman in the village who took us in and fed us your only chicken. I am always amazed by the kindness of strangers.
To Norbu and the team who helped us hack our way through the rhodendrum forests and got us over those mountain trails, dusty and tired.
To my wife, Robyn, who invested such faith to give me time to write this book, then listened to each new chapter as it was written, always supportive despite the multitude of drafts and new directions.
Then to Kate Weinberg who, more than anyone else, has turned this book into what it is. I can’t thank you enough for the endless laps around Holland Park looking for inspiration and the tireless amounts of work and rewrites. You really were amazing. Rosie became the third part of the triangle, patiently offering advice where needed and always steering us back on course. Going to miss our cups of coffee at Café Philies.
To Tif and Luke, as always, with their sound advice and faith – confidence is everything when writing and it was amazing to know you were always there.
My parents for their gentle and constant support in everything I get myself into – especially with the year you guys have had. To Rick and Margie for the space to write and Cirine for reading every single draft. And finally, to Jamie. You made it in!
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Epub ISBN: 9781446440339
Version 1.0
This paperback edition published by Arrow Books 2010
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Copyright © Patrick Woodhead 2009, 2010
Patrick Woodhead has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published in Great Britain in 2009 as
The Cloud Maker
by Preface Publishing
Arrow Books
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781848090774
