Chapter 32
Into
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”
-Confucius
The last two days in
“You must not take cycles into
Sensing their consternation, he continued to explain.
“You will be taking a bus from
"Ok, I got it,” said Tom.
“I must impress upon you, Mr. Thomas; we cannot assure your safety, if you decide to not follow the rules. Once you leave
“Yes, thank you for your advices, we appreciate your help. See you in the morning!”
“Just so, Mr. Thomas. I trust you understand me?”
“I do, and thank you.”
Andre had remained silent, as always, during the visit to the travel agent; but Tom could tell that he was abroil with questions. They had barely gotten to the street before Andre began.
“We cannot cycle in T-bet? What is this nonsense? Now he tells us, after we give him all of our good money!!”
“Calm down, Andre. There were two conversations going on in there. Its ok, we just have to be careful.”
“What is it you mean, two conversations, Thomas?”
“I understand how you feel, it’s a new wrinkle in our plans, but nothing we can’t overcome. The man was simply telling us the Chinese rules and laws, and gave us his warnings. He has to, otherwise he couldn’t do business with the Chinese. Also, he is trying to tell us that we have to be clev-ar to do what we want. He advises us to do whatever we are told by the Chinese......that is safe advice, no?”
“Oui, it is.”
“And, he tells us that if we choose to go cycling anyway, that we are on our own.”
“But of course! We know that....Phhhhp!”
“No, really on our own, Andre. Lets go get some coffee, and discuss this all out, ok?”
“Sure, Thomas.”
“I want you to know what we are buying into, and then decide what you want to do. ok?”
“That is reasonable.”
As they sat and drank coffee in their favorite pastry shop, the two men discussed the pros and cons of cycling illegally through
“So, what you say to me, is that if we take our cycles apart and hide them in packages, then we can take them?”
“Yes, but we risk losing them at some point on the trip if we are caught. Are you ok with that?”
“No, no one touches my cycle!”
“Not even me? I thought you trusted me? Come on, just let me touch it....” Tom pleaded, in faked distress.
“Thomas.....you, you.....silly A-mer-e-can! What is there to do with you?” Andre moaned, laughing now.
“How about you come cycling with me through T-bet? That sounds like fun, oui? We could throw pictures of the Dalai Lama around villages, talk evil propaganda to the sinister Tibetans; and languish in a rat infested holding cell for years.......just waiting for our families to find us! Does that sound like fun?”
“Thomas......”
“What I’m saying, my man, is that as long as we are careful, and clev-ar as crafty Frenchmen, then we’ll be fine. But, there’s a chance that we could get busted and deported.......probably losing our cycles in the process. There’s also a chance that it could be really dangerous, particularly for me as an American; in which case, I vote that we change our plans; even if it means selling our bikes in Lhassa. You were ready to sell yours in Pokhara, and if they’re so hard to get into
“I only think to sell my cycle to that man in Pokhara until I found other monies. Then I not need to, so I didn’t.”
“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that I’m the sugar daddy here!” Tom teased.
“No, my mother, she send money for T-bet trip!”
“I know, I know......itsa joke, silly Belgian, wannabe Frenchman!” Tom said as he watched Andre’s face closely, to count the time it took for the rage to kick in, and for him to lunge.
Tom barely got out of the pastry shop without being caught.
“Someday, Thomas, I really strangle you!!” Andre said, as he grabbed Thomas just outside the doors.
“Andre,” Tom replied in a sultry voice, “I told you no PDA’s.! People are watching us, can’t you wait until we get home to be so frisky?”
Andres’ face went from feigned rage, to shock; as he realized that he was holding Thomas close to him on a public street. He dropped Tom like a hot potato, and then flushed ten shades of red. Thomas knew that he had teased him too far though, and so he tried to apologize.
“Andre? I’m sorry I tease you so much. Really I am. It’s just so damn fun, because you react to dramatically, and I really do care about you. Its just sometimes, I think you care more about your cycle than you do me!”
“Many women tell me the same thing, Thomas. So be not sorry.....” he replied, and grinned at Tom.
Tom’s face registered surprise at this admission, and so Andre quickly continued.
“Seriously, Thomas. I take my cycle too seriously sometimes. And, it’s easy for you to tease me, because I do care for you. This is not easy for me to say, about another man. Women, Phhhpppp! They come, they go. But men? It’s different for me, and can be confusing my feelings.”
“Well, I know that, and that's why I tease you about it,” Tom quipped.
“But, I don’t think you feel any different about me than you have other men in your life, its just that we are talking openly about it now, and that’s hard for men to do.....its just new to you. Try taking your own good advice to me......don’t be so serious about it, and let go of worries. I’m your very close friend, and will stay that way. To me, that's very reassuring; and comforting; especially since we are heading into a big adventure together. Frankly, I was worried before about going with you. Now, I don’t worry so much. So as long as you keep being honest with yourself and me, ok?”
“Oui.”
“Now, I have an idea about the bikes. We can disassemble them, and put them into heavy burlap bags. I have seen them around
“Sure, no problem.”
“Lets get on with our adventure, then, ok?”
“Oui!” Andre answered confidently.
“Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“I met two Frenchmen on the street today. They are cyclists, and have just returned from a long trip through
“That's great! What time are we supposed to meet them?”
“I’m supposed to meet them at 6:30; but, I suppose it will be ok for you to come too. Only this time, you must remain silent. They are, after all, Frenchmen; and you do not speak their language. We will see. They need malaria medicines, and I have much I do not need.”
"Ok, whatever works,” added Tom, somewhat confused.
“Tonight’s our last night, how about we do our last errands and then meet up at dinner? I‘ll probably be later than you, and that’ll give you time to talk in French with them,” suggested Tom.
“Oui, that is fine with me.”
Thomas showed up at dinner to find Andre seated at a table with five other people; the Frenchmen included. Everyone was friendly to Tom, but continued speaking in French after introductions were made. Seeing Tom’s distress at being excluded from the general conversation after an hour or so, one of the Frenchmen sat down next to him and talked to him in English.
“I thought no one knew English here. It’s good to finally talk to someone,” Tom said to François.
“They speak English. But of course, it is easier to speak French to them,” Andre said obliquely.
“Your friend, Andre, is most attentive to the conversation,” François observed.
“Oh, you mean totally ignoring me? Yeah, I got that part. He gets that way; he is Belgian, he idolizes you French,” Tom sniped.
“So, you understand....” François, laughed.
“Not really, but he’s young; and, there is that whole love/hate thing going between the Belgians and the French. I do know that if I really want to piss him off, I just have to call him a wannabe Frenchman! I think the French, in general, consider the Belgian people a bit dim, no?”
“Snotty ones do. Snotty ones consider everyone wannabe French; so pretentious they are.”
“It’s the same way in the States. People are people, eh? Opps! Now, I sound like a Canadian! It’s bad enough to be American, but to think I might also be Canadian, and bastardizing the French language? Phhhpppp! Is there nothing sacred these days?” Tom joked.
“You are a clever one, Thomas. Wise, kind, and clever. I like that about you.”
“Thank you, François. Thanks, I do appreciate the compliment. I get so few, you know.”
“Yes, Andre is young that way. Perhaps after T-bet he will mature?”
“I think so. Anyway, onto you. Where are you guys going now, that you need malaria medicine?”
“Onto
“Damn, you guys know how to torture yourselves! A year through Asia, all that time in
“We are trying to circle the globe with our cycles! It is crazy, but an adventure. Sometimes, though, I think it’s too much...”
“Well, that's impressive! I hope there are a few boats in that journey, though!”
“Yes, we have to do that. I am beginning to tire of the effort though. Philippe, though, e is driven.”
“Well, don’t take this wrong, François, but you guys need to take better care of your diets.....you both look undernourished.”
“Yes, I know. It’s funding. Money is always tight.”
“Well, I’ll buy you a big dinner tonight, and leave you a little cash for reserves, ok? Andre can give you our malaria medicines, we won’t be needing it in high altitudes, no bugs there; and, its expensive stuff to buy. If you guys get sick, that’ll be the end of you. Will you promise me to get a little stronger before you head into
“Thank you Thomas, your assistance is most appreciated,” François said, as he smiled warmly at Thomas in sincere appreciation.
Thomas could see Philippe's severe stare at him out of the corner of his eye, and he wondered at their relationship.
“Jealous?” Tom wondered aloud.
“Always,” was François surprise response.
Tom didn’t even realize that he had spoken aloud, and was doubly surprised at the response he got from an unasked question. It was clear to Tom that François was a kind and caring guy; while Philippe was harsh and brutal in his view of the world. Tom guessed that Philippe kept François safe, but had been pushing them both a little too hard throughout the trip. In Toms’ estimation, if François didn’t get some needed relief soon, he could become very sick. They looked like walking skeletons, they were so emaciated. It was obvious that Philippe was obsessively driven to complete the cycling trip. This was a new experience to Tom, to see someone so possessed with a drive to conquer something as obtuse as a multi-year cycling trip. While Tom’s reaction to the men was justified concern; it was clear, however, that Philippe was a walking God to Andre. Tom looked on in amazement, as Andre’s attention hung on every word that Philippe spoke.
“I’d better get back to the conversation, Thomas. Thank you again for your confidences.”
“Thank you, and take good care, ok?”
“I will,” François replied, but Tom wasn’t so sure that would happen.
Tom went to the restroom, and caught the waiter on the way back out - paying the bill for the entire table of hungry and worn-out travelers. It was something that he enjoyed doing from time to time. He had found that many of the young tourists traveled on too little money, and they were therefore often bereft of a good diet. With the exchange rate, the cost was minimal to Tom; but, the impact on the travelers was amazing.......both in nutrition, and in spirits. Returning to the table, he made a point of standing behind Andre’s chair to gain their attention.
“We’ve a long trip tomorrow, and I’ve a lot to do yet tonight. Thanks for all your good advices Philippe and François, it will help us in our trip through
Tom received thanks, and smiles for his gesture, said his goodbyes, and gladly left the restaurant for the guesthouse. Andre looked shocked, and merely nodded his assent. Later, Andre came to their room in a poor mood.
“What's wrong, Andre?” asked Tom.
“Why did you pay for dinner like that? You did not need to do that! Just like an A-mer-e-can, throwing money all around!”
“I didn’t throw money all around, I just helped feed some hungry guys. I want to leave them our extra stores of food as well, we have tons of leftovers from martial law.”
“That is because you buy too much. I told you then, not to buy so much!”
“And when all the stores and markets were closed for over a week, you were happy to eat well, and have plenty of bottled water, weren’t you? Where would we have been if it had lasted longer? I needed to have the assurance that we had enough supplies in our room to keep us for a week. That's just good planning, Andre. Now, we don’t need it.....and they do. God, did you see how skinny they were? They haven’t eaten well in months!”
“That is not our problem. They wouldn’t even pay me money for the medicines!”
“Oh my God, that's what this is really about. You asked them to pay you for the malaria medicines?”
“But of course! I pay, they should buy it from me!”
“You fool. They have hardly any money, you humiliated them. Besides the fact that they are headed into
“They said they will go to the French embassy, and ask for medicines.”
“That’ll take days, and the place hasn’t even reopened yet. Even still, if they beg there, that doesn’t mean they will get anything. I don’t know if they would have that on hand in
“Again, Thomas, that is not our problem. They are French, let them figure it out!”
“Its not our problem, Andre, but its our opportunity to do something good......at no cost to us. Don’t you see?”
“Yes, I do, now that you say so - but I paid much money for that medicines....” Andre finished, sheepishly.
Tom got up from the bed, and went over to sit next to Andre, who seemed to be feeling bad about his blindness to their needs. When he spoke, Thomas used a less accusatory tone.
“Andre, you made a mistake. It’s ok. Let’s go fix it though, ok? I’ll pack up the food, and you get my medicines over there and combine them with yours. Between both of our medicines, that’ll give them a month supply. By then, they should be able to get more from the French embassy in
“I don’t have much cash left, and my mother was upset about sending more.”
“I know, but you have more than enough for the
“Oui, I know.”
“Hey, I even owe you some for the deposit on the jeep trip into
“This is more than you owe me,” Andre said blankly.
“It can’t be much more, and it’s ok by me. You save it for me, and buy me dinner someday, ok?” Tom said, smiling.
“Good accounts make good friends, Thomas.”
“Yes, you’re right, so I’d rather not think I owed you anything, ok? If you have extra cash, you can spend it on us any way you want without so much worry. Its only money, Andre. Try to focus on people first, ok? I know it’s hard when you worry. We all worry, but it’s a balance thing, ok?”
"Ok.”
They packed up a couple of large boxes with food, and carried it and the malaria medicines to the Frenchmen’s guesthouse. François met them at the door with a warm smile, and Philippe was gracious and thankful for everything. Once he understood Tom’s intentions, he was very friendly and effusive.
“Andre misunderstood about the medicines,” Tom invented, as he spoke to them.
“I didn’t want money for them. Sorry about the mix up. And, here’s a bunch of food things that we bought while we were stuck in
François looked Tom straight in the eye, while Philippe and Andre unpacked the boxes; and let him know that he saw through his ruse, but was happy and appreciative nonetheless. Philippe was too proud to even try, and was just happy with their good fortune.
“François look, here are those cereals you like so much! Thank you Andre, and Thomas.”
“No problem, just glad it can all go to good use. We can’t stay, however, our bus leaves early tomorrow morning.”
Philippe spoke then to Tom and Andre.
“Thank you, for your generosity. It will help us very much. I just remember a trick we did in T-bet, something that should help you too. I already mark the military check points on Andre’s map. Cycle up close to them by end of the day, and stop short of them to camp. Then, rise early in the morning, before sunlight; and cycle past the military post. They don’t wake so early in the rural areas, and so they be sleeping when you cycle past them. It worked for us!” he said, laughing a clever laugh.
“So that's how you avoided being arrested, or even questioned! That’s very, very clever Philippe. We aren't going the same way you did, but we can find out from other people in
“Oui, he does worry, and takes things too seriously.”
“In
“Good advices again,” said Tom, lightly. “Good luck on the remainder of your trip, I think you’ll make it. Just don’t be shy about asking for help, people will gladly help you - especially once you get out of
“Oui, I made great economies throughout
“I don’t think they will be sleeping with all the senioritas you did, Andre! But, they will do well enough. Goodbye, guys. Good fortune,” Tom said, as they closed the door behind them.
Andre’s proud smile faded as they walked along to their guesthouse, and he got a puzzled look on his face.
“There is something I can not figure, there, Thomas.”
“What?”
“They laughed at your joke about my women, but quietly. Usually, men think me special for my conquests. Women, they are helpless with me. What can I say?” he questioned drolly.
“Andre I hate to break it to you, but those boys play for the other team.”
“What do you mean? I do not understand.”
“Obviously! They’re a couple, silly.”
“What, you say? Homosexuelle? No! Impossible!”
“Why, because you admire Philippe's courage? Alexander the Great was courageous, no?”
“Thomas, you are impossible! They are French!”
“If everything is ‘Impossible!’ to you, how-ever does anything exist? How can you get anything done if everything is ‘Impossible!’ as you say, eh?” Tom laughed.
“Phhhpppp! I say no more to you tonight!”
“Damn, if I knew it was that easy......” Tom laughed.
“Cummon, Andre, lighten up. Things are all good, ok? Let’s go to our room, and get ready for tomorrow.”
Andre shook his head in resigned acceptance, and they went back to their room and completed packing.
“I’m leaving anything printed here, even my journals, and my exposed film. It’ll be safe in the lock up room. You can trust the woman here.”
“Good, that will be less to carry. When we cycle, we must carry nothing we don’t need. Every kilogram matters, Thomas. Take nothing we don’t absolutely need.”
"Ok. I seriously am trusting your judgment on everything related to the cycling, Andre.”
“As you should, I have much experience and you have none. Do as you are told, A-mer-e-can, and all will go well.”
“I hope you are teasing me.”
“Teasing, me? I do not know what you mean,” he laughed.
Morning came early, and Tom and Andre were given strange looks as they loaded their odd shaped packages onto the waiting bus. They piled all of their packages on the long seat at the rear of the bus, and filled it completely. It was an odd arrangement, but it worked.
The bus ride was uneventful, although curious in that another passenger was the very person that Andre had been hiking the
“That is the guy who I hiked with on the trek, Thomas.”
“Aren't you going to say hello to him? He looked like he wanted to talk to you when we got on the bus; I think it’s rude not to say hello to him,” Tom advised, from their back seat position.
The relationship of the two seemed strained, but that didn’t surprise Tom in the least. Sometimes only the patience of his years kept him from walking away from Andre completely. For every wonderful thing there was about him, there was his boundless arrogance that left people cold. Tom often attributed this to his younger age, but then he realized that he was really wasn’t that much younger than him, he just acted a lot younger. In some ways this was a blessing, balancing off Tom’s over serious attitude; but other times, it became just too much to handle. Returning to his seat alongside Tom, Andre spoke to him.
“I see him last week, and tell him about my trip to T-bet, and here he is! He follows me wherever I go. What should I do?”
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass, dickwad!”
“What is it you say?”
“Andre, I love you dearly, honestly I do; but damn if you don’t push your luck. Don’t play the poor stalked person when it is you who lead people on! He likes you, it’s obvious in his eyes.”
“He is not homosexuelle, Thomas! Really, you think too many man is!”
“I didn’t say that, I said he likes you. He looks up to your sorry ass for some reason, probably because he doesn’t really know you, eh?”
“Sometimes, Thomas, you are too clever for your own good!” Andre admitted, busted.
“All I’m saying, is that you don’t have to encourage hero worship in people, then whine about getting it! Really, it gets to be too much for any person to handle. Even the Frenchmen asked me how I could handle it.”
“What? They did not!”
“Andre, smart people like you - despite some of your behaviors. Imagine how they would also respect you, and like you more, if you stopped with the silly games with people? It’s a character issue, one you need to evaluate. Everyday, in our actions and words, we define who we are to others by our behavior......whether we realize it, or not; and whether other people realize it, or not. Sometimes realization lags experience, eh? Just let people see the Andre I know, and stop wasting your energy on the silliness, ok? At least with me. Otherwise, I promise to take a chunk out of your ass every time you do. Don’t expect me to sit here, and commiserate with you in this fantasy world you create for yourself. I’ll just tag your ass until you stop it, or leave you when I get fed up with it. I don’t do that crap with you, and therefore I don’t want it back from you, got it? It’s insulting to my intelligence, if nothing else. But, mostly, it’s disturbing to my trust in you. If you continue to treat others in this way, when we both know better, then it’s a choice you are making that I refuse to live with. So, I’ll have no choice but to leave you. You’re such a great person, just let that show, ok?”
“I will try, Thomas. Do you really think others notice this too?”
“That’s it, I’m moving to the other part of the bus. I can’t sit next to you when you pretend to take good and sincere advices, and then only try to get more deceptive. Hello? We aren’t dumb out here! No, maybe I am, for putting up with you!”
“No, Thomas, don’t leave. I understand, and listen to you. I just wonder......”
“Well here is the last advices I have for you: stop trying so hard to be ever more clev-ar, and just work on being a better person. We all need to work on self improvement, and reinforcing good behaviors – it’s too easy to slip, if we stop checking on ourselves. If you do this for yourself, then everything will work out for you. That is your strength, Andre, you’re a very good person. Don’t pollute who you are with games and deceptions.”
“Thomas, sometimes you are so naïve, people must......”
“No, Andre, I know a lot more than you realize, I just choose to follow another path. For some of us it’s a choice - even though it may seem as though we’re just being simple. Hopefully, you’ll meet some real Tibetans on this trip, and learn that from them. You know, life really can be that simple! Once you realize that, you’ll find happiness.”
“I need a nap, Thomas.”
“Halleluiah! Now I won’t kill you, and I can rest.”
“Thomas....”
“Seriously, Andre, please just relax and be yourself, ok? Lose the games, for good. You’re a great person. That's why I travel with you, and why I’ll be trusting my life with you cycling. Just understand why I’m with you, ok? It has nothing to do with empty hero worship, your looks, your huge dick, or your bullshit. Other people probably fall victim to those things.....I don’t. God help the poor women you meet! Just remember, I’m with you because of that good person I see, and feel, inside you. I care about him, trust him, and respect him. If he goes away, what is there for me? For anyone with any self confidence?”
"Ok, Thomas, I understand. You are, of course right. I can never win with you. You are too nice, and too clever - it is unbeatable.”
“Its not about being unbeatable, its about being the best people we can be.......that is unbeatable, but why try? Join in and try the water, it’s really quite good, eh?”
“We will see. It is much work, Thomas, I don’t know if I am as strong willed as you about this.”
“You’ll be, once you live it a while. Then you’ll understand, there really isn’t any other way for you.......well, and not to be sincerely happy. Happiness, love, and laughter are all built on a foundation of trust and sincerity. Without those, life is just an empty exercise in material acquisitions and head games. I don’t think you really want that. Often people go down those paths because they can see no other ones; or, like you say, they think its too hard a path to follow and they made concessions. Concessions only mean that we have to retrace our steps, and go back, before we can truly go forward in our spiritual development. Now that’s discouraging, and many people only realize this in their retirement years - then, think it’s too late to try. Well it’s never too late, but the job just gets bigger and harder, not easier. So, if you’re looking for the easy road, it’s often the hardest looking road initially....it requires investment in yourself, before you ever see a return. Its another one of those counterintuitive things in life. Sux, eh?”
“Oui. You take all of the fun out of things, Thomas.”
“Oh, contraire, mon ami! I just try to clear the fog so you can find your true path. But, you’re right, I’ve been often accused of that, and resented because, like you say, I always seem unbeatable.”
“Then, why do you do it Thomas? Why do you waste your time with me? Again, I ask you the same question I asked you on our second day together! Why do I see such love in your eyes for me? Why do you persist in being with me, when it is often so hard on you?”
“Because that’s my path, Andre. One I’ve tried to deny many times, because it isn’t easy. But, on the other hand, it’s really rewarding and I do love you. I get the enjoyment of loving many people, feeling some of it back in return; and, knowing in my heart that my efforts do help people......them, and those they effect. Often, that’s all I get in return - besides tons of aggravation that I sometimes whine about, like right now. But, that isn’t any different than any good teacher, or nurturing parent, oui?”
“Just so, Thomas. Just so. Thanks. Although I often argue with you, I do appreciate you.”
“Oh, go on now; you’re going to make me blush.......stop it!”
“Now who is hiding his true feelings, with cynical humor?” quipped Andre, blithely.
“You’re getting too clever Andre, go to sleep......you promised!” Tom responded, hiding a tear in his eye.
******
The bus rumbled to an abrupt halt once they grew close the border of
“Do you feel like we’re nearing the Australian outback, or maybe a remote area of
“Tom, we are going into T-bet. It isn’t really any different than those places. Actually, its less accessible - due to the mountains and altitude. You must adjust to the country. It won’t adjust to you. Every country has its good things, and its hard things. The world is very different in every country, but very consistent in this way. You will love some things, and hate some things. It is always the same, wherever you go.”
“Good point, Andre.”
Within a couple of hours, they stopped at the border between
“Don’t open your doors when we are stopped,” instructed the jeep driver; “the water is deep around us, and will rush into the truck, getting us all wet.”
Curious, Tom opened his window, and looked below. The driver had been right, the water was at least two feet deep and rising.
“Look, over there, that vehicle is full of water. And that one has been drowned out!” commented Andre.
A friendly German woman, and her quiet husband, rode with Tom and Andre. She was beginning to look nervous, and her husband merely took pictures; fascinated by the mass of people, vehicles, and the rising dirt-filled river of water that threatened to swamp them all. Tom had seem flash floods before, so he began to get concerned as well. The two lines of vehicles going into
“The trucks must have sealed undersides, otherwise our engine would have been drown out by now too,” observed Andre.
The driver nodded in agreement, but still looked like he was worrying about the possibility. Everyone knew that that would mean a long delay, maybe days, if the engine compartment filled with muddy water. It would be an incredible inconvenience for everyone. Tom watched the edgy driver; he was literally sweating bullets at the possibility. The humidity in the truck was already overwhelming; but the added worry, was obviously wearing on the driver. Just as Tom had accepted the very real possibility that they were to be waylaid at the border, the tour guide came out of the building, and stopped at each of the four trucks in his caravan, telling the drivers to go around the stalled and delayed vehicles, and to park in a lot on higher ground. As the trucks began to move, armed soldiers walked out to stop them; but their tour guide had stayed outside, and waved papers in their faces, yelling something unintelligible to them. After the trucks were safely parked on higher ground, everyone was told to go into the largest of the buildings for dinner. The rain had abated slightly, but the waters hadn’t subsided; so everyone had a challenging time making it to the building safely. Once inside, everyone was relieved to find themselves in a clean and wide open cafeteria styled dining room. The music was odd, and things seemed strangely out of place to Tom; but the building was comfortable. They were told to eat and relax, that their guide was working on their papers, and immigration issues. After three hours, everyone became restless, and concerned. The Stanford student had been called out of the room by the tour guide; and he was interrogated by Chinese officials. When he returned, he came directly to Tom and Andre, although he took pains to sit at a table next to theirs, not at theirs.
“What's the problem?” asked Tom.
“They asked me lots of questions, but really random ones. I can’t figure out exactly what they wanted. I do know that it’s about you and I, that’s holding everything up. They’re not happy about Americans right now, and I’m just on the group Visa, I don’t have an individual Visa like you and Andre have. They don’t want to let us into the country, but the tour guide is writing a letter that says that he will watch us always, until we reach Lhassa. Your Visa confuses them. They asked me how you got an individual Visa, so they assume you know someone. I told them the truth, I don’t know anything about you. Evidently some U.S. Senator came to
“No. I don’t want to. This place feels weird to me. I can’t figure out why, it just seems weird.”
“We are being watched, Thomas,” interjected Helga.
“There are too many waitresses for the size of the dining room, and that man over there does nothing but watch us,” she observed.
“I guess then, we had better look relaxed and have some more tea, eh Andre?”
“Oui, I would love some more tea,” Andre grinned with shared understanding.
It was time to play act, and to remain outwardly relaxed and maintain their cool. Tom was proud of Andre, he understood that their best defense was a good offense. Offensively nice, that is. Tom picked up the tea pot, walked past the white faced Matt like he didn’t even know him, and went directly to the man who was observing them.
“Tea? Can I have some more tea, please?” he asked innocently, as he waved the tea pot in the man’s face.
The man took the tea pot from Tom, and thrust it into the hands of a waitress standing next to him. He wasn’t angry at Tom, he just looked at him as if he was looking at a stupid cow. Tom continued to play dumb student, and stood there for a long ten minutes, while the woman refilled the tea pot in a back room. He walked deliberately back to his table, and poured tea for Helga, Andre, and himself. Everyone else had gone to walk around the lobby of the building.......acting like caged animals. Tom knew that he dared not look guilty of anything other than blatant stupidity; so he sat with Andre and Helga and stared off into space. They waited another two hours; then the tour guide came into the room, and hurried them all off
- back into their waiting vehicles. The drivers wasted no time in driving away from the border buildings. The road narrowed immediately past the buildings, and hugged the mountainside as it rose steeply and quickly. The road had no shoulder nor any guard rails, and the river gorge yawned below them, as they drove higher and higher. Tom had been upset about having to wait so long, and being left to worry whether they were to be let into the country or not; but after seeing the road, he was happy that they weren’t trying to drive it in the rain. The rain had stopped, and he couldn’t help but look down into the river gorge in macabre fascination at the many vehicles that had fallen down the mountainside in times past, and lie there rusting in twisted repose. As they reached the halfway point in the mountainside, the road cut in sharply, and twisted back to a large patch of concrete. There a line formed, and the vehicles were emptied, one by one, of all contents and people. The passengers then walked individually across a large metal bridge to the other mountainside - carrying all of their possessions.
“You must get out here, take your bags, and walk across the bridge into
“You can hire a porter to assist you in carrying your packages across.”
Tom began to panic. He’d thought that the rain and the other delays had protected their cycles from being detected. His face must have betrayed his worries, and Andre spoke to him in quiet, yet in reassuringly firm tones.
“Smile Thomas, and show no fear. It works every time. Smile and wave at the guards. If they take our cycles, they take our cycles. But they probably won’t bother us if we look confident, and like we have authority to do whatever we want. Do not look guilty. Keep your coolness. Hire a porter, or two.”
It eased Tom’s mind, and nerves, to hear Andre speak so confidently, so he followed his advice while his insides churned wildly.
Andre and Tom purposely took their time unloading, and allowed the other passengers to lead the way. The tour guide stood alongside the military soldiers and waved papers in their face every time one of their group came past them. Gritting his teeth, and keeping his nerves in check, Tom led him and Andre through the many officials standing around the bridge. As instructed, he smile stupidly to them all and even waved like he was coming home to
“The tour guide said to stay here, and eat something while they got the trucks through inspection,” instructed Andre. “Its going to take a while, they were pulling the seats out the last time I looked.”
“Yeah, I saw that too, and poor Matt was still there - being thoroughly inspected as we went through. He started long before us, and is still there. They’re going through everything in his bags, film cases included.”
“They took his film. He is fighting to keep his camera” Andre said, casually.
“Damn, I never thought of that. I don’t mind losing my film if I haven’t used it, but I don’t want to lose all my pictures on my way out!”
“Then I suggest you hide them somewhere when you leave.”
“Damn, all of this is so weird. So random. So......”
“Chinese,” Andre completed.
“You now in their country, Thomas. You had better remember that. Your rules no longer apply here, so assume nothing - then you won’t be disappointed.”
“You’re amazing, how do you do it Andre?”
“My secret? You want to know my secret?” he teased. “I just don’t care. If I get in, fine. If not, I get back on my cycle and ride back to
“Not sure I can do that, but I’ll try to let whatever happens happen though.”
“It will anyway, my friend. It will anyway. Let’s get some food. I am hungry again!”
“You’re always hungry!” Tom joked.
“That is because I am an athlete who needs to keep up his strength! A regular sex machine who sees many beautiful women.”
“Blah, blah, blah.....” responded Tom, now laughing with relief.
The trucks passed through inspection, and across the border quicker than expected. Before long, they were climbing up the steep and narrow road on the Chinese mountainside......a mirror image of that they had just driven on the Nepali side of the border. The lush jungles, and misty fogs, lent a strange air of foreboding to the place; although, Tom was relieved that the rains had stopped. His heart still raced, however, still not totally recovered from the border crossing, and fully accepting his fate - now that he’d crossed over into what felt like enemy territory.
“That’s it, Helga. I feel like we’re heading into an occupied state.”
“You are, silly A-mer-e-can!” interjected Andre, with a laugh.
“No, I mean, it feels like......”
“Tension, Thomas. The tension of pervasive distrust. It is like a mild war zone. I understand what you say,” confirmed Helga.
The driver looked into his rear view mirror, and studied Tom’s face intently. Tom pretended not to notice, but he did. Tom was relieved that the Chinese ‘guide’ was in the lead truck, and not in theirs. He and Andre had decided to avoid that vehicle, expecting too much scrutiny. But he was surprised at their driver’s sudden interest in their conversation. He was a gruff, and non communicative man; one they gave up trying to converse with long ago......a man with unclear origins. Then, Tom saw the fear in the man’s bearing, and his rigid body language. He had wanted nothing to do with their packages at the border crossing. He feared the Chinese officials as much as Tom and Andre did, probably more. That concerned Tom, in that he expected that the seasoned drivers would have become accustomed, over time, to whatever border drill was required. Tom could only conclude that the Chinese immigration experience was always a tense experience. He decided to verify his theory, and to distract the man from worrying about them. They were still close to the border, and Tom didn’t want any surprises. Their plans needed to remain their plans, and not subject to open conversation with anyone.
“I suppose they see plots in everything. We bring our cycles to tour around
Andre got a puzzled look on his face, and Tom nodded with his head towards the driver. Andre understood that Tom wanted to deflect the conversation, so he relaxed. Helga, however, saw some of what went on between the two; and while she didn’t understand, she allowed it to pass as none of her business. Growing up in a divided
“Yes, Thomas, as I always say, you worry about nothing. We do nothing, we are simple tourists; so, we have nothing to fear from the Chinoise. Relax, Thomas. Enjoy your visit to T-bet.”
“You’re right, of course. I just remember losing my favorite flashlight at the Nepali border to an official there who liked it. It must be like everyday Christmas to some border people, eh? Free presents all the time?”
“Oh I must disagree, the Chinoise would never take anything, Thomas. It would seem a bribe. They are a most honorable people,” Andre replied, with heavy sarcasm.
Tom watched the drivers face, surreptitiously, and saw him visibly relax. Glad for the change, Tom decided to change the subject before Andre went too far, as he was wont to do at times.
“I’m hungry! How about you guys? Driver?” Tom asked, as he physically leaned forward to engage him in the conversation. “Do you know when we are going to stop for dinner? They thought we would eat back there, but you all got through customs quicker than expected, and you must be hungry and tired as well?”
“We stay the night in Zhangmu, only four more kilometers from here. Zhangmu Hotel, very nice. Good food. This give you time to exchange money. We leave early tomorrow morning, though. Need to get back on schedule!”
“Great, good to know. Thanks,” replied Tom to the terse, but informative, response.
Helga and Andre just shrugged, and remained quiet. Zhangmu clung to the mountainside like the Nepali shacks had on the other mountain, but they were of much better construction......many concrete.....although tasteless, in a 1950’s modular way. The hotel was relatively clean, although cramped and expensive. Dinner was excellent, and Tom once again marveled at how such a treacherous culture could divine such succulent and subtle dishes. Tom never feared of eating Chinese food. Regardless of the location or condition of the restaurant, the food was always edible.....if sometimes unrecognizable. Tom didn’t feel the same about food in
“Damn, this food is good!” Tom exclaimed, while eating.
“Nothing like the grab bag of surprises you risk in
He had invited them over to their table for a drink, after they had eaten. They generally kept to themselves during breaks and meals; but Tom wanted them to feel appreciated, and not looked down upon. He didn’t mind playing the clueless student role, but he didn’t want to be mistaken for an arrogant and condescending tourist. He didn’t mind hiding his intelligence, but he did mind playing an asshole. It was a game that was too easy to play, and a habit that could be too hard to break. His father had taught him well on that subject. ‘You can be ignorant, even stupid, but never condescending. It isn’t nice, hurts people, and isn’t good business either,’ he’d always said. Why assholes never got this one, Tom couldn’t understand. He’d seen too many nasty patrons in restaurants fed unthinkable things, as payback for their obnoxious behavior, to risk pissing off their only guides through this weird world. The driver and guide appreciated the beers and said their thanks - but declined more, and left Tom and his friends to their own devices. Helga and her silent wife went to their room to sleep, as did Matt; exhausted from the day of stresses. Andre and Tom, however, wanted to explore their new and bizarre world; and went out to walk around the early evening streets.
“You want pretty girls? Come here.... Cheap, very cheap,” one hawker said, as he walked alongside the guys while they passed his building.
“Money, you want money? I give you money cheap!” said another woman, as she waved a fist full of Yuan at the passing men.
“I give you cheaper. You get more money from me!” said another woman, as Andre stopped to talk to them.
Tom sighed a sigh of resignation, as Andre stopped amidst the pretty money changers.
“You’re going to regret this,’ said Tom laughing.
“What, so many beautiful women, how is it I regret anything?” he said loud enough for them to hear.
Within a couple of minutes they were surrounded by attractive, and well dressed women in hats. They looked like a Chinese version of Wall Street traders, in slick attire. All wore boots with thick black heels, to give them more height, and finely tailored pant suits, with attractive turtleneck blouses underneath....and hats. Every one had her own stylish hat. They were similar in size and colors, but each was uniquely distinctive to the bright wearer. For the women were very bright, very competitive, and very clever. Their eyes twinkled with clever sharpness, as they waved thousands of dollars in their hands, and clung tightly to their calculators and simple purses. Tom knew that Andre didn’t understand what he was stepping into, but it was fun nonetheless.
“Hmmmm, such a big man. How strong you are,” one purred at Andre.
Andre, clueless, was transfixed by her direct stare, and her hand upon his crotch.
“Ohhhh, very big man, you are!” she said with surprise, as her hand left his crotch suddenly.
Tom rolled his eyes in laughter. “Now she’s done it!” he thought.
Andre beamed at the familiar compliment, and thought that he was now in charge of them all. The women spoke quickly in Chinese, and they giggled in unison. The English conversation went directly back to money.
“I give you this much for your U.S. dollar!” one said, as she held her calculator in front of Andre’s face.
Disappointed from the change in subject, Andre frowned with a comical frown.
“I have big surprise for you, not money” he said, undeterred.
“We know your surprise!” one said boldly, and they all laughed at him. “We only want your money. Go other street for your surprise!” she said happily.
“I give you this much Yuan, for U.S. dollar!” she said, as she held the calculator next to Andre’s face, dismissing any other talk of sex, and smiling innocently.
Andre made a big show of surprise at the exchange rate she showed him, one of his clown faced exaggerations, as he finally got the real message and began to flush in embarrassment. True to form, he got a little snippy when he didn’t get his way through his charms, and he snatched her calculator and entered some numbers of his own.
“I give you this much U.S. dollar for Yuan!” he said, as if he was very clever.
The woman, unaffected by his abrupt action, looked at the calculator and dismissed him with a mildly disgusted wave of her hand. She chattered something to the other women quickly, and they all turned to leave......convinced that Andre had no serious interest in changing money. Tom, seeing the quick shift, made a quick decision. He knew that Andre would be sulky all night if it ended this way, and he also knew that they needed to change some money. They had been told that the moneychangers on the street controlled this market; but he hadn’t expected them to look like this. In a way, he was relieved. Although they looked like they would drive a hard bargain, they also were pleasant, humorous, and lacked the sliminess that he’d experienced in every exchange office he had ever dealt with. It could be fun, and helpful, to get money exchanged, so he spoke up for the first time.
“I have 500
Immediately, they all turned around and huddled around Thomas, smiling their best smiles. Andre’s look of dejected sullenness turned to surprise.
“Thomas, we get better rate at the bank in the morning. It is no use, with these women,” he said with the casual aplomb of a true Frenchman.
Tom knew that Andre had quickly shifted from his role of jilted playboy, to pragmatic bad cop.
“You’re something else, Andre. It’s ok. It’ll be nice to get this over with tonight. Then, we can leave earlier tomorrow. Come help me, they all have different rates.”
Andre turned, and joined Tom amongst the waving calculators. Before long, they had arrived at a fare exchange rate; given that the rate was perpetually fixed at 8.28 Yuan to the dollar by the Chinese government. As soon as the money exchanged hands, the women were instantly gone. Deal done, onward and upward, onto more of their refreshingly self-confident endeavors. At Tom’s estimation, the women made between 20 and 50 percent profit on every transaction. Therefore, he didn’t mind a 10% ‘fee’ for exchanging money.
“You know, Andre? That was the most fun I’ve ever had changing money!”
“We could have done better, Thomas.”
“Not by much, and then it would have been unpleasant. The women were a kick!”
“Yes, but.....”
“Andre, they are businesswomen. You offended them with all the sex talk. They have husbands and kids. They are very respectable, even if they do business on the street. The one was right, if you want some slap and tickle, go onto the other street.”
“What? Do you think I lower myself to prostitutes?”
“That's about your only choice in
“Hmmmm, that was true; but lately, after
“Oh, and now you want to take the pony out for a little ride?”
“Not pony! Stallion, Thomas! A stallion. You mustn't forget this!” he joked back.
“Well I pity the girl you impale on that thing! You know, there is such a thing as ‘too big!’”
“No one complain yet, Thomas! Although, I must be cautious.....” he said with exaggerated concern.
“Damn, you’re too funny sometimes! You can always keep me laughing. Lets go get a beer, and get to bed. Tomorrow will come early. Ok?”
“Sure, there is nothing out here. This place is very different, Thomas.”
“Yeah, I feel it too. Its more than a different world, its one with very cruel humor. We can joke around, but the bottom line is that its all cold and calculating - fear and deception. Much different than a playful Frenchman’s deception, oui? Frenchmen play with love, often crying when they finally fall victim to it themselves. For love is but a game for de Frenchmon, oui?” Tom joked.
“Oui, dis can be true,” Andre quipped back.
“ But here, love is a great weakness.....one to be exploited, if found. You saw, they can snap affection on and off like a light switch. Talk about players! Americans have no clue what they’re up against with these folks.”
“Funny Thomas, you sound happy about them for once. That is strange.”
“Yeah I’m happy, alright. Happy that I can see through it clearer, without getting upset. I was happy as a kid after I got my ant farm going too! I hated ants before, because they always bit me when I stumbled upon ant hills. But when I had them in my bedroom, sandwiched between two pieces of glass where I could watch them work, tunnel, and live, I was fascinated with their industriousness and their whole society.”
“These aren’t ants, Thomas.”
“They aren’t? Could’ve fooled me! Let’s go get that beer now.”
The morning did come early, and the tour guide was brutal in his roustabout to get the group on the road. Breakfast went by in a flash, and they were on the road before eight a.m.. The ride was uncomfortable, bumpy, long, and relatively boring. The rains were quickly left behind them, as the trucks rose higher and higher up onto the Tibetan Plateau. The first military checkpoint was just outside Zhangmu, and the second was just past Nyalam, ”the Gate of Hell.” They waited anxiously, restricted to their land cruisers yet again, as the guards spent over an hour reviewing the group’s permits, Visa’s and passports. This was a new experience for all of the tourists. Border crossings, into or out of any country, could be nerve wracking; but military blockades were a big unknown. Everyone was told to wait in the trucks, while the heavily armed soldiers peered through everything.
“Well, I can see why you don’t want to try to cross the borders alone around here,” commented Tom with uneasy humor.
“Lets see if I can get a picture of this. No one with believe it at home, otherwise,” Tom said, as he snapped off a shot from the backseat - through the dusty and cracked windshield.
“No pictures!” The driver shouted at him: “They will confiscate your camera. Hide your cameras now. No pictures are allowed at checkpoints!”
Chastised, Tom immediately dropped his camera to the floor, without moving his body. A solider outside, peered within to investigate the loud conversation. Tom waived hello, and gave him a goofy smile.
“Thomas, you look silly! Stop it, and remain silent,” instructed Andre.
“Now you know what I see everyday!” he joked with Andre.
“You know I kill you tonight, in your sleep!”
“I told you, never come to me in the night, anymore - it ruins me for the next day!” Tom said, imitating a fragile woman.
Helga laughed, and even her silent husband grinned in the front seat. Tom let it go, changed the subject, and asked the driver a question.
“Well, now we know why the Tibetans call Nyalam the gateway to hell. Or, that's the translation of the name. Whatever! You know, it really is frustrating to have two or three names for every place, and to know that all the maps are different. We bought two really expensive maps in
“There are few drivable roads in
“Thanks, I kind of figured that. None of the vendors would tell us that, exactly, in
“Good map, mean good trip! It is not good to get lost in unknown places, Thomas. Especially when you no know the language. People themselves don’t travel much, so they give bad direction. Or, they give bad direction as joke. It is not fun to get lost in wilderness, it can be dangerous too. Alone, in back country, you are victim. I don’t want to be victim.”
“Good point! Hey, I think they are letting us through, now.”
The metal gate rose slowly, and the small caravan of trucks proceeded onto the
“For being a ’
The driver just grunted in agreement, but was warily cognizant of Tom‘s real awareness; even if Tom wasn’t. The others just stared out of the dirty windows at the now barren, and wide open spaces. The road was a two lane affair without shoulders, that made an seemingly endless trail into the flat horizon. At the far peripheral edges, there appeared small irregular shapes that delineated the surrounding mountain ranges on either side of the enormous plateau.
“This reminds me of the Western desert in the
“All of those places? Aren’t they totally different?” asked Helga.
“Well, it’s flat and undefined as the plains, cornfields, and miles of wheat; yet, it is a desert like
“Oui, the mountains are the highest in the world, Thomas; but, we have already gone up over 1,400 meters today; over 4,500 of your archaic feet! Still, we are at one of the lowest points in the Tibetan plateau. Nyalam, on my map here, is 3,750 meters above sea level. Most of the plateau is between 4,200 and 5000 meters higher than sea level. It is like we travel on this huge flat mountain top; and much of it is over 15,000 of your feets high! That is higher than your biggest mountains at home, Thomas. We will travel a lot in valleys, yet still they are higher than your mountains. Everest is twice as high as your highest mountains, since it starts on de top of dem. That is why plants are so small here. They must survive low oxygen, high winds, and bitter cold. This is the hottest time of year here, and yet we wear winter coats. Imagine the winters?”
Helga shuddered at Andre’s description of the cold, while her husband tried to take pictures through his slightly opened front seat window.
“Heinrich? Please close the window. There are no good pictures until we stop, anyway.”
“Yes, but I try a few......with very fast shutter. Maybe some will work. I close the window soon.”
Helga raised her eyes, heavenward, in obvious disgust at his apparent stupidity. She often did this, and so, Tom wondered at their relationship. Heinrich seemed to be one of the nicest guys he had ever met. Although he was very quiet, he was helpful, affectionate, and unassuming. Helga, however, held little respect for the man who indulged her wild desire to explore the netherworld of
“I think, Helga, that Heinrich is having fun, eh old man? You enjoy bouncing all over the back seat of a jeep with two crazy guys, and he likes taking pictures! Go figure!” Tom laughed it all off.
“Yes, you are very right, Thomas. Sometimes I forget myself with Heinrich. I just got very cold then, when Andre described the winters here.”
“Yeah, he does that to me all the time. He sends cold shivers up and down my spine, the way he talks sometimes!” Tom said, looking directing into Andre’s eyes, with the clear message of ‘leave the poor woman alone.’
Andre got Tom’s message, and caught himself. He often unconsciously got into a dreamy, lovey, mode because he was addicted to the responses it elicited from women, and men. It was a topic that he and Tom had discussed at length, and he was trying, however feebly, not to mislead others - just so he could bask in their affections. But, he was an addict......and that meant lots of ongoing work.
“Don’t worry, Thomas,” he said aloud, “I not slip to step one of my twelve steps, just yet!” he said with a hint of resentment at being busted.
Helga heard the words, but of course didn’t understand the private joke. She just shook her head, like she did when she didn’t want to know anything more.
“I know, Andre, you’re good! Hey, by the way, I climbed
“Thomas sometimes you make me wonder. So smart, and so uniformed at the same time.
“But I’ve snow skied at
“Even if you snow ski on the very top of Mountains by Tahoe, it is only 10,000 feet! A-mer-e-cans; what are you going to do? We know more about you, than you do yourselves!” he said, with a laugh.
“Hey, you got that one from me!” Tom joked back.
“Even your ‘mountain’ states are no higher than 14,500 feets!”
“That’s ‘feet’ to you, Frenchman!” Tom merrily joked along with him. “Anyway, coming from
“Feets, foots, hectares and inches! So archaic measures for such an industrial giant. However do you live with your contradictions, and ignorance of yourselves?”
“Boys, boys..... That’s enough arguing, this truck isn’t big enough to be stuck between you two!” interjected Helga.
Andre and Thomas broke out laughing, together.
“But, we just play. Do you not understand us two, by now?” Andre laughed.
“Love and hate, I’ve got it!”
“No, no. You don’t ‘got it’ yet!” continued Thomas. “We love to play, and hate to be too serious. Especially when we are too serious!”
“What?” she asked, confused, and obviously now longing for her much simpler husband’s attention; looking pleadingly towards him in the front seat.
Heinrich, for his part, only shrugged his shoulders, and gave her an ‘I told you so’ look, and grinned broadly.
“Thomas, for once, is very right. If we get too serious, it’s our duty to make the other laugh. It is the only way!”
Totally confused by this point, Helga waved to the driver to get his attention.
“Can we stop? I need to use the toilet!”
The driver shook his head, and pulled off of the road - onto the totally flat and compacted surface of the plateau. Helga got out, and everyone turned their head. When she returned, she had Heinrich move to the back seat.
“You did good, Andre. I’m proud of you! Step five, for sure!” Tom said with a grin.
“I need to sleep now, my work here is done,” he said with a laugh.
Andre tousled Tom’s hair affectionately, and they laughed. Within 20 minutes, all three men were sound asleep in the back seat, leaning to the right, slumped against each other. It wasn’t a restful sleep, however. The road became rougher, and harder to navigate, as they made their way along the desolate spaces. The only thing that was visible were the weather worn remains of destroyed buildings. Ruins lay everywhere; and were often the only large irregularity in the surface of the terrain. As the surface grew rougher, they drove through shallow rivers and streams; splashing water as they bounced off of submerged rocks. Often, the trucks hit large rocks, and they jarred the entire vehicle, even as the trucks crawled their way over and around them. They only slept a short period, and the rest of the day was a torturous ride through a seemingly perpetual cloud of dust - raised by the vehicles ahead of them. They stopped at a roadside town called Tingri, briefly, to try and get a view of the Everest mountain range. They were disappointed that cloud cover obscured the views. All they could see were the base of mountains rising, seemingly straight up. It was impressive - but no grand views, like the guide books had promised. Not long thereafter, they stopped in the waning light of day at Shegar for the night.
“They call this place ‘New Tingri,’ but I wonder why?” questioned Tom, while they sat at dinner.
“Who cares? Its a bed, and a place to stay! Miserable bed as it is,” commented Matt disgustedly.
“Long ride, today, eh?” Tom commiserated sincerely.
“Yeah, but some of this chang barley beer will help dull the pain. What a day!”
“We’re all beat, eh Andre?”
Tom’s question was met with a groan.
“No fun now, Anglais. Lets just eat and sleep. I feel I could die for sleep tonight.”
“I agree with you,” Tom replied succinctly.
“Maybe tomorrow we will have a chance to visit the ruins of the fort here? Or maybe visit the monastery?” Tom asked the tour guide, as he watched him inhale his dinner.
“Not on schedule, we see monastery in Xigaze. No permit to stop here,” was all that Tom got in reply.
The man swallowed the remainder of his food, and rose up from the table.
“Restaurant now closed, go to sleep! Tomorrow we leave at sunrise,” he said, bluntly as he left.
His parting comment raised groans from everyone at the table.
“Damn it, can’t deviate from the schedule - even if it kills us!” whined Tom.
“We lost a lot of time at the border. I don’t think we were supposed to stay in Zhangmu. They seem stressed to keep to a schedule, although no one will explain what it is,” commented Matt.
“Is it just me, or do you guys feel a bit out of control here? I know its a tour and everything, but shouldn’t they at least tell us what the damn tour is?”
“I’m not sure they really know, Thomas,” intoned Helga.
“They have to adapt to the environment, and travel conditions; and, do what they’re told to do by the officials they talk to at the military checkpoints and hotels.”
“From what I know,” said Matt, “there are approved places to stay, and we can only stay there. The hotels are tracking mechanisms for them. If the trucks break down, or we have delays, they have to make explanations; then, these guys can lose their driving permits, get big fines, or get arrested for ‘seditious behavior.’ They trust no one, so no one trusts anyone.”
“Matt’s right, they put our names and passport numbers in their computers at the hotels. The hotel people keep our travel papers until we leave; and they report everything to someone. Its like there are eyes everywhere. Which is really stupid to me, considering we are surrounded by hundreds of miles of emptiness. I guess we are lucky, though, there could be more of them than us. At least this way we are fine if we play along with whatever they tell us to do,” concluded Tom.
“We have no choice, do we?” asked Matt, rhetorically.
“Its not so bad, guys. What is there to do anyway?” interjected Helga.
“Good point. Let’s go to bed. I for one, am exhausted beyond any more words,” commented Tom.
“This is a great day!” joked Andre, as they left their table. “Thomas with no more words; fantastique!”
They all stumbled out of the restaurant, and into the dusty parking lot that led to their dormitory styled rooms. Half the group occupied one room, the other half the other; and the tour guide and drivers, went somewhere else unknown to the travelers. It was dark, although the deep blackish blue sky was alive with twinkling lights.
“Never in my life have I seen so many beautiful stars, and so alive! They really twinkle,” commented Tom, as they all stumbled into the starlit darkness of their rooms. No one, but Tom, was interested in starry nights. They were bone weary and tired, and fell into their respective beds. The room was darker, once the door to the starlit night was closed; but it still glistened with random starlight from the solitary window. Tom was drifting between half sleep and a yawning hole of deep sleep when he was jerked awake by a loud cry of a baby in the adjoining dormitory room. The roof beams extended across the interior walls, leaving large gaps between adjoining rooms. The outside walls were thick concrete walls, but the interior of the long, one story, building was essentially one long rectangular space with thin partition walls. The baby’s cry was suddenly muffled out, and thankfully gone. But, Tom worried about that abrupt silence. He had raised four children, and he knew that babies didn’t just go suddenly silent. If they did, it was only to intake enough air to really let out a much louder scream. He wasn’t wrong, the scream was blood curdling. The sobs continued, until the baby seemed somehow appeased. But, even still, Tom knew that the muffled whimpering was growing in intensity and frequency. That, to Tom, meant the next round was going to be even worse, and longer. Someone had a hungry baby in the other room, and they had tricked it into silence somehow; but that wasn’t going to last. The telltale crying signaled a growing awareness of the trick. Tom knew that once the baby understood the deception, there was going to be hell to pay - as it launched into full blown hysterics. Then, it would take real food, and time, to calm the baby down to sleep. He had lived the scenario too many times, to not understand the consequences. There always came a time when a growing baby had to be fed something more during the night. Given the fact that they were growing at an alarming rate, it only made sense that a stomach couldn’t always hold enough to keep a baby content throughout the night. All of Tom’s boys had hit this point, just as they switched to solid food. Tom, through experience, knew that rice cereal was a godsend to new parents. The only problem was that new parents were usually too new to understand it. So, he lay awake, listening to the drama unfold next door; knowing that with Andre’s exhaustion and intolerance, that there’d be two babies crying soon enough if the parent didn’t figure things out quickly. But that wasn’t to be. The baby’s cries only got more intense, desperate, and pleading; in its relentlessly droning way. Tom could almost feel Andre’s tension build, as he lay in the cot next to him. He could hear Andre’s breathing increase, and knew his friend enough to recognize the meaning of his now rigid body.
“It’s too easy, to separate the feelings and crying of a helpless baby from the torturous agony of their screams,” Tom said quietly to Andre.
“I guess that’s how they stay alive. No food equals dead. So, screaming is a self-defense mechanism to assure they are fed, or thrown off a mountaintop. If....”
“Its going off a mountaintop soon!” Andre lashed out in anger.
“Its harder when it isn’t your baby,” temporized Thomas.
“But when its your own, you feel terrible - like you did something wrong, and the poor thing is suffering. I remember taking one to the hospital in the middle of the night once, thinking something was really wrong. The baby’s just hungry....”
“I don’t care! It is horrible!”
Tom then realized that the baby wasn’t a baby to Andre, it was now a thing. A horrible thing, and for whatever reasons, he wasn’t being rational.
“Negative and painful circumstances, or experiences, can result in men losing their sensitivity; and thereby their empathy, to other people’s suffering, pain, or hurt. Once that’s done, they are capable of atrocities without contrition.”
Tom remembered that Psychology 101 lecture: but for the life of him couldn’t remember the professor who said it.
“Objectification” was another word Tom remembered.
“Once a person is objectified into something other than “human,” meaning not worth the ‘right’ and legitimacy of their emotions, it’s easy to treat them like a piece of unwanted furniture. Butcher it to another use, abuse it until you are ready to discard it; or, destroy it at will,” the professor’s voice boomed on, in Tom’s memory.
The lecture ran cold, and hard, to Tom now. He had heard it then, but didn’t truly understand it. It was all theoretical and abstract, an example of an isolated aberration. Now, he understood it. Trying to sleep, unsuccessfully, Tom’s mind ran with new images. As the lesson finally sunk in, with every cry of the baby, the connections were made.
“Goddamn it!! I am going to kill that kid if it doesn’t shut up!!!” exclaimed Andre.
Shocked by his outburst, Tom looked over to the other platforms to see if anyone was asleep. Everyone was blurrily awake, and raw tired. The jeep ride that day had been particularly stressful, and by the time they had made it to the appropriate village stop, it was dark and late. Still, as late as it had become, other trucks and vehicles continued to pull into the dusty parking area by the dormitory rooms. If the muffled noise of the trucks, and their tired passengers, were not enough; there was the blaring of headlights through the poorly shuttered windows, and the screams of the baby next door.
Each room held eight wooden platform beds with filthy futon-like pads, and a simple woollen blanket. The place stunk of old sweat, and hints of ancient urine. While there wasn’t any bathroom, Tom knew well enough that some people respected nothing. He guessed that someone had the unenviable choice of peeing in the huge dusty parking area in clear view of anyone, or attempting to find a way around to the back of the long building for privacy. Given those choices, someone opted for peeing in a corner. That really didn’t bother Tom, nor did the place. He liked it better than bouncing around in the old and inflexible truck. Just lying still was a blessing. The tour people called them jeeps. They looked remotely like modified Ford Broncos. Tom called them torture chambers. The road of the ‘
It had started as a whimper, with fitful bursts of verbalized frustration. Tom recognized the tone and nature of it from years of personal experience. The baby was waking up in the night, hungry; and he was being ignored. Then came the placation attempts, and the all too clear indications that they were failing. Tom smiled to himself, and pictured a confused and growingly desperate young father, like he had once been. It had taken time for Tom to learn that if his son woke up, it was one of three things. A Dirty, and therefore uncomfortable, diaper. A fever, or upset colicky stomach. Or, more usually, a hungry stomach. His first boy had been growing so fast in his infancy, that he needed lots of small meals each day, and some at night; to appease a gnawing hunger, born of incessant growth. Tom therefore knew that the tone of this baby’s cry had changed from possibly uncomfortable diapers to: ‘I’m hungry - REALLY hungry- Feed me!’ They weren't cries of pain, nor coughs of sickness; they were steadily growing pleas for sustenance. From this, Tom made a few deductive guesses. The baby wasn’t with his mother, or wet nurse, because her breast would have been there to solve the problem. From this, Tom further concluded that his dad or, someone else, had the baby. The mother was obviously not there. The nature, and steadily increasing urgency, of the cries meant that the adult didn’t understand that it was just hunger - something easily solved - if there was food around. So, reassured by these conclusions, Thomas didn’t worry for the baby’s long term health; but, instead, shifted his attention towards abating a very uncomfortable situation for everyone. He knew, with the confidence of experience, that the father was probably going to get panicky, and get upset himself - unable to keep the baby quiet, and thereby keeping the people in his dorm room happy. As he got more and more upset, like all first time fathers not knowing what was wrong and what to do, his worry and frustration would, in turn, be felt by the sensitive little baby. Then, the baby, in turn, would begin to feel unsafe and really start screaming. Baby’s had an uncanny sense for survival; and, they often reacted to the emotions emanating from the person holding them. Panic begat panic. Distress increased the other’s distress; and then, the baby would be inconsolable for possibly hours, until someone “safe” held them - or they passed out from exhaustion. Usually that person was Mom - or Dad - whoever had the calmer disposition at the time. But, Tom knew that the one that started the drama usually couldn’t stop it; unless they themselves calmed down first, and then transferred that calmness to the baby. Tom also knew, that could take hours - usually after the lights were on, and they had played around with toys to relax the baby. Usually, the adult just gives up, and accepts ‘no sleep tonight, might as well play, and at least stop the screaming.’ Tom had learnt, that baby’s use screaming as their self protection mechanism; to ward off unloving, and therefore uncaring, caretakers. It was the Childs’ protection against insincere people. A direct connection of emotions; that clearly communicated either ‘friend,’ or ‘foe.’ Many people found that they could hide emotions from adults, but not children......ill intent was always clear, if one trusted their innate senses. And, children did.
Tom knew that many parents had a hard time accepting their first baby, struggling for the power and control they thought they should have, when in fact it was just a matter of accepting the fact that their lives had unalterably been shifted from self-care to the care of someone else first. This was a hard thing for self-possessed people to accept. Some that couldn’t accept this change left their babies in other people’s care. Others cared for their children out of duty, or because of other’s expectations; and that resulted in a building resentment; one that led to begrudging, and therefore poor, parents. Raising a baby had been a huge growth experience for Tom. He’d never really understood patience before raising kids; and, he quickly learned that his purpose in life had shifted....... forever...... from self advancement, to nurturing and teaching. Through nurturance he felt that he somehow assured that the next generation would not only survive, but thrive; and, he’d advance his little gene pool a bit further on the evolutionary ladder. No matter how miniscule the ‘evolution’ seemed, it had become his first priority. So, with this knowledge and understanding, he dedicated most of his efforts towards elevating his children's’ perspective of the world, and their understanding of people - thereby building a depth of awareness in themselves, and others, of what was required for a the healthy environment for a happy and fulfilling life. Exactly when this realization happened, Tom couldn’t say; it just seemed natural, and ‘right,’ to him. So he harbored no resentment for sacrifices made, nor opportunities foregone, for assuring his children’s welfare. It wasn’t a sacrifice to invest himself in their future lives - it was a pleasure, and very fulfilling- albeit very hard work. His reward was the immense happiness he derived from seeing them grow, mature, and develop. But now, for some reason, his life mission of the children seemed stalled. His time away on his trip, away from his children - from everyone, and everything - was the first time he had ever let go of that all-inclusive duty. They were older, less interested in listening, and able to survive without him - with decent values. Until he heard the unattended, pleading, cries of the sad little baby, he hadn’t realized how much hurt and loneliness he’d begun to feel in his diminished role.
His trip hadn’t been to escape his children, but rather to re-orient his life; and, to try and solve his big mystery. A mystery that they’d soon face as well. So he felt that he had to find an answer, or at least a direction towards one. The mystery? How can someone keep improving themselves everyday, by being more loving and giving, while withstanding the extreme violence, anger, and negativity of the culture around them? It was a mystery challenge that the Tibetan Buddhists had somehow solved. Faced with the most hurtful and destructive forces, they continued not only to remain sincere, caring, loving, and giving; but, seemed to grow stronger in the face of adversity. It was a question not only for Tom’s retention of hope, but a question that had to be answered for his children’s ultimate welfare. So, they could retain all of the values Tom felt they needed to be truly happy.
As Tom’s mind wandered through his reflections on nurturance, the bay’s cries began to build in volume and frequency. Based on his thoughts, he felt that he knew where this was going. He told himself to stay out of it, until it became apparent that to not intervene, and help, would be an inaction that would result in more pain for the baby and the dad - and all of the people that needed to sleep. The building was poorly built, so the sound carried everywhere. He thought that there also had to be people in their dormitory, as well as the dormitory adjacent to theirs. So, to Tom’s estimation, at least 15 people were being affected; and, a poor night’s sleep meant a whole lot more to folks under the extreme stress of this environment, than it did for vacationers in
Helga was awake, lying on her side, facing Tom. She obviously was attracted to Andre - even with her husband there; because, she had maneuvered herself into sleeping next to him - in the bed between him and Tom. Earlier, when they were going to bed, Tom had seen her shocked realization that Andre slept in the nude. Totally uninhibited, it was an ordinary thing for Andre to disrobe, and to take his time getting into bed. Tom laughed to himself, when he saw Helga’s eyes grow wider than he ever thought that they could get, as she watched Andre’s huge penis become semi-erect.
“Honey you got more than you bargained for, didn’t you?” was Tom’s silent comment to himself at the time.
Helga’s overt flirting was again being encouraged by Andre. Tom knew Andre loved this kind of attention, from anyone; and he was extremely good at ‘working it’ to his advantage. Andre knew that he had her now. If she was like any of the other women, she would stumble all over him for the rest of the trip. She would be like a hungry puppy, and that's what Andre liked. Tom reminded himself, to remind Andre tomorrow, about the inadvisability of such behavior. Andre got what he wanted by getting people all worked up; but, at what cost? Helga’s husband, older and already self-depreciating by her casual disregard and poor treatment of him, was being tortured; all because of Andre’s ego, and Helga’s eagerness to play around ‘safely.’ But, now, Tom saw that this spell had broken with Andre’s outburst about the baby. Helga had seen a side of Andre that repulsed her. So, while her loins craved his large mating tool, her heart and mind found his behavior reprehensible.
“It’s always this way with players,” Tom thought.
“We believe what we want to believe about them; based upon their attractive appearances, our hidden desires, and their propensity for encouraging this very misinterpretation. Then, we are shocked by the reality that eventually surfaces. Once this happens, the game is up! They realize it, and move on to their next emotional host. But, many of us like to deceive ourselves....sometimes for years....about someone’s true nature,” Tom observed, silently.
“Such is the power of our desire to feel loved, completely, by some fantasy person that we construct in our minds over time. Someone who couldn’t possibly exist, as they are a huge compilation of all the ‘good’ things we desire. So, players....or wannabe players like Andre...just tap into this desire, and play along as long as they can, until they expose something so ugly that we have a hard time even believing it could be them. Then, we play the shocked person, when we are the ones that allowed them to trick our minds. We allow it to be done to ourselves, and then say ‘our perfect fantasy person couldn’t do that, could they?’ Tom’s thoughts roiled on.
Tom could now see some of himself in Helga, knowing that he often placed people on pedestals; seeing what he wanted to see......what they may have wanted him to see, despite reality.
“Yeah, those people tend to bend reality a little; but we sometimes want them to trick us. We just can’t allow deceptions to distort reality, as much as we would like them too. Otherwise, we can’t survive emotionally. In
Tom’s observations were mostly relative to Americans, so it was another learning experience to see a German woman react. Like most Germans, Helga was a harsh realist, and not prone to believing anything good; so, her illusion was quickly banished - and Tom could see it clearly on her face.
“I swear, I wish I had a knife! This Goddamn noise would end quickly then!!” Andre continued.
Tom was shocked himself at Andre’s ranting; but he knew Andre better, and partially attributed Andre’s state to the arduous day, and the significant decrease in oxygen levels. They were in much higher altitudes, and that had strange effects on people. Tom considered that Andre was a bit out of his head with exhaustion, stress, conflicting emotions, and his preponderance for being impatient and quick to anger. Therefore, Tom knew he meant nothing by the comments. But, not knowing Andre, Helga wasn’t so sure. Tom knew Andre wouldn’t do anything physical; but he also knew that it would soon become intolerable for everyone if they had two babies in hysterics.
Purposely locking eyes with Helga, and answering her unspoken question, Tom broke the tension.
“Sounds like violence tonight, eh?” he said with a minimizing smile.
“Don’t worry, he won’t do anything....it’s a Belgian thing. Voicing frustration loudly seems to be a coping mechanism for them. Having one parent French, and the other Belgian, he has had to do a lot to get attention. A lot like our other baby! He may have a big dick, and act like a man, but he still has his temper tantrums too!”
Helga put her hands over her mouth, and stifled a laugh. Her eyes absolutely glittered with the relief of tension, and the joking about the unspeakable physical thing between them that had grown out of comfortable bounds. Tom tried to calm her further, and to get confirmation that his actions weren't self aggrandizement.
“It sounds like we have a hungry baby, and a dad who is getting more and more nervous, huh?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have much experience with children. But, it’s very upsetting, and not right!”
This observation got Tom considering Helga’s perspective on the baby. It just didn’t fit in with a German’s view of what was ‘right.’ From Tom’s experience, the German view was that mom should be with the baby - at all times. So, this incident shouldn’t even have happened, ‘if things were right.’ Rather than fix the situation, the response was to compare it to ’if things were right.’ Sometimes Tom envied the German’s predisposition for a highly organized life. It seemed so efficient, so orderly, and so reassuringly ‘right.’ A culture built on engineering efficiencies had its attractions; but, the management of emotions seemed too high a price for Tom to pay.
“Nope, give me the messy, but exciting ride, of real emotion over a very predictable, and therefore static, life,” he thought.
Flashing through all these thoughts, quickly, Tom responded in a way that he thought she would accept.
“It isn’t right. I can’t figure how things work here yet. But, I think I know how to calm daddy and baby down. I’ve had four kids myself; so, I might go next door and see if I can help.”
“Hmmm, I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it; but I’d sure appreciate the quiet,” she said brightly.
"Ok, then, I’ll do it. I was waiting to see if it was going to self-correct; but its only escalating, and none of us will get any sleep tonight if the baby gets really hysterical. Anyway, I like babies!” he said with a wink and a grin.
“Do you have any cereal-like thing in your back pack?” he asked her, “I think the baby is just hungry, and the dad doesn’t know it yet.”
“Hmmmm. No, I don’t. I just have candy, and things that require teeth to chew.”
“Maybe I can get some food sent from the kitchen of the restaurant.”
“No, its closed. It was when we went to bed, because Heinrick wanted to eat something. Anyway, its just a dirt floor room with a clay oven - nothing there. They probably get food from the market when people place orders. It isn’t a restaurant, even if the Chinese want to pretend it is.”
“Oh well. I’ll just go next door and see if there is anything I can do. They probably have food, and dad just doesn’t know what to do. But, I tell you, if this keeps going dad is going to get embarrassed, then upset. Then the baby will get even more upset when it senses dad’s anxiety, and it will go into orbit. You haven’t heard anything yet!”
“Thanks for trying,” she said with a tone that said ‘you are nuts, but anything now is better than this torture.’
Everyone’s nerves were becoming frayed. Tom could see that they all just reacted differently. Like in everything else, Heinrick just stuck his head under his pillow, and tried to block everything out. He employed the same ‘see no evil, hear no evil’ approach that he unsuccessfully used to ignore his wife’s indiscretions.
“Hey Andre?” Tom said loudly.
“Yeah?”
”I’m going next door to see what I can do, ok? Try to keep from thoughts of murder, ok? I think the baby is just hungry, and he is with a dad that just doesn’t know what to do.”
“Good luck!” he said, with a definite ‘What-Ever’ intonation.
Tom got up, and left the room. The moon was nearly full outside, and so the large dusty area was fully lit. The desolation of the surroundings, and all of the country behind the building, gave Tom cause to pause, and a suddenly bleak feeling. The inky sky was dazzling with stars throughout, however, and that lifted his spirits. With a bit of nervousness, and resignation, Tom knocked on the door of the adjoining dormitory room. The door was answered quickly, by a unraveled and distraught Chinese man. In a glance, Tom took it all in. There were nearly ten men in the room, in their under shorts; and while all seemed tolerant, they were at their extreme limit of endurance. On the platform to Tom’s left was a wiggling, naked, baby boy; and, a totally frazzled young dad.
Knowing their English was poor, if even present, Tom spoke with friendly assurances nonetheless, and used expressive hand and arm movements to communicate his intent. With outstretched arms, he started talking.
“Can I help? I have Children at home?”
The man at the door understood enough to smile in relief, and to motion Tom into the room. Tom was immediately welcomed by everyone in the room. Evidently, anyone who could help was obviously welcome. It was a comfortable group of men. Over time, Tom had come to understand, and respect, the closeness of Chinese men. They had little concern about appearing gay by being openly demonstrative to each other. It was nothing like the Indian or Nepali men, for it lacked true trust. But, it was reassuring and welcoming nonetheless.
The dad looked up at Tom with a silent pleading. ‘Hope you can help, or they are going to kick us out into the street in a few minutes,’ is what Tom read.
Tom smiled as warmly as he could, and reached out for the naked little mess. The baby immediately stared deeply into Tom’s unflinching gaze; and his body went from tense to relaxed. Tom knew now, it was safe to hold him, without further panicking him. Humming softly in low tones, and swaying a bit, Tom held the little baby tightly against his chest with his head on his right shoulder. The crying stopped. Looks of shock, and relief were on every face. Tom held the baby close until his little body stopped shaking with the aftereffects of his wracking sobs.
Looking down to the bed, Tom was treated to see a happy and seemingly loving young dad. Looks of relief, mixed with confusion, played across his rounded face. Tom knew he had to get the baby back to him as soon as he could; so that he could take care of him himself, and then look like he was in charge. So, Tom showed him what to do, to calm the baby. With the calming of dad and baby accomplished, Tom sat the roly-poly little child on the bed next to his dad. Both were smiling now, yet the baby kept playing with a cup next to him, trying to communicate his need for food; whether the dad understood the request or not, he continued to repeat his prior mistake. He tried to feed the baby water from the cup. The baby just giggled, and splashed in the water. His giggling, however, had a exhausted edge to it. Tom could see that everyone was now calm; but that would change quickly, if dad kept trying to do the frustrating thing of teasing the baby’s stomach with water alone.
Tom continued to play with the baby, tickling his stomach; and kept telling the dad how wonderful his baby was. Dad understood the compliment, if not the words; and he smiled in appreciation and pride. It was obvious that he loved his son. As they played with the baby, the father really got into it - smiling with the relief of knowing that his roommates were at ease.
“God made baby’s cute so you wouldn’t kill them,” was the old saying that came to Tom‘s mind; as his father was trying hard to be sure that the others saw how adorable the baby was, for that very reason.
Tom knew that this was more than just good public relations. Unwanted baby girls were often left in the wild to die. Boys were appreciated, but if this was a long trip with everyone together, and the baby became a problem, the dad would be told to leave it somewhere to die. His other choice would be to be left behind himself to die with the baby; slowly from hunger. For even in villages, there wasn’t any charity. A true Tibetan would share what little they had; but, they were all but gone. The inbred Han Chinese had no regard for other’s lives. There simply wasn’t any guilt in denying a desperate person anything. And, their survival was dependant upon their resources; so, they hoarded for their own survival. Since there was little chance of work, and people weren't easily accepted, chances were that they would be left to die. Additionally, if a desperate person were to be caught stealing, the consequences would be swift and final. Justice, or retribution, was its own form of entertainment out here, Tom reminded himself. So, dad was painfully aware that their mutual existence was at risk; yet, Tom could see that he loved his son. The little naked boy was now wide awake, and sitting up on the bed. As the dad played more with the baby he smiled. Then he reached over, and pulled his son’s ears - one with each hand. Tom thought he wasn’t seeing right at first, but then the dad did it again, and continued laughing. The baby, slightly surprised by the pain, stopped, checked himself, and laughed. The ear pulling game was one they obviously played a lot, however brutal, because even though dad pulled hard on the baby’s ears, he didn’t cry with the pain Tom knew he must feel. The dad didn’t abuse the child when he was crying, having him cradled in his arms lovingly, when Tom first saw him. But, he was doing something much worse.....sadistically conditioning the baby to equate pain with pleasure. Tom thought that he was going to get sick. He had weathered the entire day, better than the rest of his travel group, but this pushed him over the edge. Then it got worse. Smiling, like everything was normal, which in some perverse way it was to him, dad started slapping the baby’s cheeks. First softly, then harder and harder each time. Like the ear pulling games he waited to do it until the child was happy, laughing, and open and vulnerable. Then it was gradually increased in intensity, as the dad smiled and verbalized some soothing words at the same time. If he had hit the kid across the room in anger, Tom could have dealt with it better. That would have been a random act of rage. But, this was much worse because it was a ‘twisted love equals pain’ message, an introduction to sadism - to an impressionable infant, as he was formulating his personality and emotional makeup. Tom could see then, just how deep the cultural training was that resulted in adults that could inflict pain, even upon their children, as a form of entertainment. Now, all the confusing interactions with other Han Chinese made sense. Like the ruthless player mentality, these people could smile a seemingly sincere smile, while doing the most hurtful things to others.
Tom felt physically ill at the nights’ revelations, and knew that he had to leave as soon as he could before he let it show. He could barely hide the look from his face, but he did so, with great effort. He motioned to the dad to feed the child something solid, like cereal. He did most of the communicating through sign language. Bunching his right-hand fingers together, he brought the tips of his fingers to his mouth to show eating. Then he pointed to the baby, and rubbed his stomach in a circular motion. Pointing at the cup of water, he then shook his head negatively; and frowned, as he again pointed to the baby, then imitated crying. The man ‘got it.’ The man who let Tom in ‘got it.’ They all ‘got it,’ and laughed as a group at their silliness in not knowing that the baby was only hungry. Tom lifted the baby up, gave him a big loving hug, and set him back down on the bed next to his father. He almost began to cry, but contained himself, and waved goodbye as he let himself out of the room. The men all waved goodbye to him in appreciation; yet the father seemed to be glad to see him go, now that the child was subdued. As the door shut behind him, Tom stumbled out into the wide open parking area and sat down to cry. After a few minutes, he leaned back and stretched out on his back; to stare at the beautiful star filled sky. Without anything physical to obscure the horizons, he could see the entire dome of sky and stars above him, for as far as his eyes could see - in every direction. Without any artificial lights of any kind, thousands and thousands of stars were visible, in all levels of light intensity, and in varying degrees of pulsation - providing a sparkling ‘aliveness’ to them all. Without the whisper of a wind, nor any human or machine noise, the silence was utter and complete. Thomas was enthralled, and thankfully distracted from his prior thoughts.
“Such a beautiful world, and no need for such cruelty,” he said aloud, quietly, as he let the stars pull his consciousness heavenward; up, and beyond, the world of men.
By the time Thomas returned to his room, everyone was thankfully asleep. He wanted no conversations to disturb the little peace that he had regained upon his consideration of the startling night sky. In the morning, not too many hours after he had finally gotten to sleep, their tour guide rousted them out of bed and into the trucks. It was barely sunrise, yet the lot was empty of all other vehicles, and the other dormitory rooms were all vacant.......doors swinging open, waiting for cleaning. The child, the father, and everyone of the other travelers were gone......from all of the rooms. It was so strange, that Tom wondered if it had all been a bad dream.
“How could they all have left, without me at least hearing the trucks? Maybe Andre is ok, and I’m out of my head?” he worried, as he washed up in the washbowl left in their room.
Just as he finished, Andre came into the room.
“I brought you breakfast, sleepy headed A-mer-e-can!” he said, happily and with renewed energy.
“You sleep like the dead, Thomas. I could not wake you. Now, we must go. We travel to Lhaste today, and hopefully we get to Shigatse. The guide wants to arrive soon enough that we see the home of Panchen Lama at Tashilhunpo Monastery. Very interesting, they say. Buildings survived much of the cultural revolution. We shall see. Maybe you get more than just ruins today; so maybe you not so sad about the Tibetans. See, its not all ruins.”
“Thanks for the food, Andre,” Tom replied with a regretful smile.
“The Panchen Lama is a whole other story. I don’t think I have the patience to argue that one with you; but, I have a book in my pack that explains it better than I could anyway. The place is more intact because the Chinese want to control
“I thought you give me book? Anyway, more conspiracy theory, Thomas? Too much, always sinister plans. The world is wonderful, no? Smile, Thomas.”
“The world is wonderful, oui; but it’s also has some real shitty parts, and that's how many people live, Andre. Always striving to be craftier than the next. You pretend not to understand, to play like you don’t care or know; but you just don’t play in the bigger leagues, my man. And, that's why I like you. That, and the fact that you are on step four of your twelve step plan!” Tom said, playfully baiting Andre with a poke of his index finger at his chest.
“Step four! Yesterday, you say step five! Now you take away? Phhhpppp!” he said with feigned disgust.
Tom just laughed, and walked out of the room towards the waiting truck. As he walked past Andre, though, he gave him the score.
“You lost step five last night when you wagged your johnson at poor Helga. Really, Andre, have you no shame? The poor girl was beside herself, and her husband......you upset him too.”
“You look? Why you look?”
“Who couldn’t see your flag pole waving? Everyone saw your display! Please, Andre don’t try to deflect the issue. Leave the poor woman alone. I know you aren’t trying to lead her on, or hurt her, like other guys do; but you have to find a way to generate your own good feelings for yourself, rather than always trying to engender hero, or in this case pecker, worship. Now I understand how you spent so much time in
“Thomas, sincerely, I don’t even know I do it. I try, ok?”
“Andre, its no different than body builders do..... showing off their bodies.”
“Phhhpppp, I not do that!! You never see me cycle without my shirt. That is rude, that is public. But in my bedchamber..”
“Its not yours alone, Andre. And it’s the same thing. I’m not trashing you over it all, I’m just saying why present yourself that way, to anyone? Show everyone the Andre I know, not this silly stuff. You will have less admirers, but they will be sincere. I know, its not easy being beautiful; but please, deal with it, ok? At least enough that you don’t flirt with a man’s wife in front of him. If I were Heinrick, I’d tag your ass. But, he has better manners than I do. He really is a nice guy, don’t hurt him, ok?”
"Ok, Thomas, I hear you. I listen. But, this Panchen Lama, you must stop with the conspiracy things, ok?”
“Read the book, we will visit the place, and we can talk with Matt about it over dinner, ok? I’ll try not to see bad things; and to give the Chinese more chances, but.....”
“But, we must go now. We are riding with Matt and the guide today; Helga and Heinrick are in the other truck today. I do not know why?”
“Andre, Andre......you say you listen, eh?” Tom said, sarcastically.
“Oui! I do. I think they are upset with me because I yell about killing baby!”
“Oh, that little thing...” Tom said, drolly.
“Thanks for quieting the baby from crying, what did you do?”
“He just wanted to be fed.”
“That is all?”
“Well, you get cranky when you don’t eat, don’t you?” Tom joked.
“Hey, lets go, the guy is waving at us.”
The ride to Lhatse was worse that the day before, as the trucks rose in altitude and approached
“Here is mountain pass, 5,160 meters high,” Andre said, with wild joy.
“This will be a hard pass to cycle, but very good. We must prepare you Thomas!”
“Right now I am prepared for a bed. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“No one did, Thomas.”
“Does that mean I can’t be more tired, and crabby?”
“Sure, you be anything you like.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, hey, we stop here.”
They slowed to a near stop at the top of the mountain pass, and continued on. After they had decreased in altitude on the other side, they stopped for a break. Helga was the first out of her truck, and stormed around a while as the Japanese couple tried to pose for pictures. Thomas stayed in the truck, and drifted into a troubled sleep. He awoke sometime later to the voices of Helga and Heinrick.
“We ride with you again, this time Heinrick in back seat with you boys,” he said, bluntly.
“There seems to be trouble with the other truck, so the guide is going to ride along with the driver. They say we will only go to Lhaste, to be safe; and to look at the vehicles thoroughly. We don’t want to be stranded out alone, do we? All these days driving, and we see only three other vehicles on this ‘
“Makes sense to me, and frankly, I’m relieved. I’m really tired from last night,” commented Tom.
“Oh, thanks for quieting the baby. Was it what you thought? Why did it take you so long to come back?” she fired off her questions.
“It didn’t take that long, and yes it was what we thought. But, the sky was just so beautiful I had to stay outside and watch the stars. I fell asleep watching them!”
“That's fun, I will be sure to watch them tonight.”
The ride continued to be uneventful, and Tom was thankful that it was going to be a relatively short travel day. The only buildings they saw were ruins......everywhere. The ruins were, however, cleverly masked by the surroundings; and they all made a game of deciphering real ruins from natural formations. It passed the time, helped them cope with the obvious devastation in a semi-positive manner, and it was challenging - in that many structures had been built right into the sides of mountains, and therefore remained part of the natural environment. It became apparent, however, that the old buildings had been pulled down sufficiently to blend into the landscape, and in many cases bulldozers had been employed. Tom was continually amazed at the number of whole villages and monasteries that had been leveled. More had been leveled than had been built during the period after the 50‘s, and the new buildings were gross to him. It was clear that even the old looking buildings were actually newish ones, made to look old. It was a depressing landscape, and it put Tom and Helga into blue moods. He kept trying to describe prayer flags and Mani stones to Helga, things that he had seen all over rural northern
“When will they ever stop long enough for us to get a decent picture?” Helga asked, frustrated.
“Hmmm, I think they’ll stop when they want us to see something. They seem to only stop at pre-designated places, and the guides and drivers are quite tense if anything happens that isn’t according to some indecipherable plan,” commented Tom.
“Oh, there you go again, Tom. Why can’t you just enjoy yourself and see things from what they are, and accept them?” chided Andre.
Andre’s blank, ‘deer in the headlights’ look described it all to Tom. Not only did he not care about finding the truth, he was more than happy to accept whatever the Chinese administration presented as ‘history,’ and the sorry state of the Tibetan natives. Shocked, Tom wondered aloud.
“Andre Pierre, do you always blindly accept whatever is handed to you?”
“Phhhpppp! But, of course not! A-mer-i-cons! So naïve! It is what it is! Accept it for what it is, and don’t try to change what you can’t change. These people are happy. Take things as they are!”
After that statement, Helga looked wide eyed at Andre Pierre. She was openly incredulous, and her face said it all. She had grown up in
“Just a bit dim, is the French view of the Belgians. The Belgians are often perceived as wannabe French without a clue; but, with the attitude,” Tom said to her in quiet undertones.
“Attitude without altitude! Platitude without comprehension,” Tom exclaimed, proud of his clever wit.
He and Helga grinned at each other, but Tom couldn’t let Andre Pierre’s latest incident go by unchallenged. Tom felt he’d promised both Andre and himself, that he would be there 100% for him while on their journey, regardless if it required tedious, yet ultimately productive, discussions.
“Hello! Do you mean to say that if you knew that people were being systematically brainwashed to believe something patently untrue....and hurtful to many other people...... that you’d just accept it as fact?” Tom said incredulously.
“But of course not! Again, you exaggerate Thomas. Always exaggerate.”
“What am I exaggerating?”
These Chinese, Thomas. The Tibetans. It is a long ago fight, all over now! Everyone is as happy as they can be. Yet, you always try to find ways to support your idea of a sinister Chinese plot. Phhhhhhppppp! A-mer-e-cons! Always putting noses in where not needed - nor wanted. So silly, you A-mer-e-caons.”
“Or, maybe we have a deeper sense of social conscience, eh?” Tom taunted.
“What? I give to beggars - the real ones. My mother does gift baskets at Christmas, to the needy! Don’t lecture me!”
“But you stand by and allow beggars to be made - peoples to be enslaved - and do nothing? Which is real, and which is reinforcing denial of reality?”
“But again, what can we do? Accept it, Thomas! Let it go.....”
“Oh yeah, and just have a happy holiday. Take pictures of fraudulent ‘native dances and Tibetan cultural events,’ and smiling faces - to take them home, in order to reinforce the false image to everyone else? ‘See, I was there. The Tibetans are being treated well. All is fine. The Chinese are just helping the Tibetans relieve themselves of religious tyranny.’ Is that what we should do and say?” Tom asked, rhetorically.
“You think too much, Thomas! Again, silly A-mer-e-con, this is holiday - enjoy yourself, and don’t trouble me about these things.”
“But we agreed to point out blindsides to each other, Andre, and this is a big one you can’t, or won’t, see in yourself. Maybe Belgians have this ‘whatever happens’ attitude because they have been truly powerless for so long. Has your country been invaded, and occupied so much, that people simply ‘go with the tide,’ rather than to stand up to anything?”
“What do you know?
“Oh, I understand, all right. The Germans, French, and even the British, might contest that point of view. But, that isn’t the point!”
“The point is??” Andre Pierre said with a French-like flippancy that conveyed the opinion that he was dealing with a childish neophyte.
“The point is that I grew up in a place that does have the power to change things, and thereby determine our futures. Therefore, we’ve responsibility to look out for the interests of those who can’t withstand cruel oppression. It would be a sin of omission, and a crime against humanity, to have the knowledge and power to do something to save suffering peoples - but then do nothing, and sit on the sidelines, watching them go down the toilet.”
“Please, please, Please! A-mer-e-cons - who are you, to think you have the answers to questions that are thousands of years old? Such self-righteousness, so naïve, and meddlesome you are!”
“Maybe, maybe not.” said Tom.
“Remember in
“You worry too much - there wasn’t any danger.”
“You prefer to walk through life blindly? In a world full of metaphorical land mines, and think you will never step on a mine out of ignorance and arrogance!”
“Thomas, Thomas....”
“Let me finish this thought, and then I’ll leave it alone.”
"Ok, please finish soon; I am getting bored, and I am sure Helga is?” Andre said with one of his devilish smiles.
“Are you bored, Helga?” asked Tom.
“Hardly, I’m finding this fascinating. Do you boys go on like this all the time?”
“Yeah, we butt heads a bit, but still love each other,” Tom said with a wink to Andre Pierre.
Tom looked at Andre, and saw that he was getting pissed off. He wanted to flirt with Helga, and Tom wasn‘t making him look too good by disagreeing with him.
“Good!” thought Tom.
“Its the only time he seems focused enough to listen - when he feels at risk of looking silly,” Tom concluded to himself.
“Anyway,” started Tom, “as I was saying,” he began, again, with a good natured smile.
“I wasn’t too scared, because I knew that I was safe so long as I stayed at the hotel. The American military no doubt already had a list of all of us Americans in
“Again, you exaggerate Thomas, they would not come looking for you - nor cared about us. Silly A-mer-e-con!”
“Nope, I don’t exaggerate on this. If there was trouble, there would have been helicopter transports on the roofs of
“Yes, I’ve seen this before. Americans ‘leave no man behind.’ It is their policy.”
“And,” continued Tom, “Bernard told you the same thing. He wasn't’ joking when he said that they would ‘come in with guns blazing, for retrieval of an American,‘ and, he is a diplomat’s son, eh?”
"Ok, ok, ok! The point?”
“The point is respect for life - respect for the individual, respect for preserving principles at whatever the cost. If we did have to evacuate
Stunned into silence, Andre Pierre sat quietly.
Not wanting to hurt him any more, Tom softened his message immediately.
“Andre Pierre. There are people who love and care for you, but in that situation they would be powerless, huh? Well, we really aren’t as powerless as we may think we are. In this case I was talking about a military coup - something our military guys itch to fix. But, when we talk of Tibet, the damage and pain is much more subtle, and harder to quantify; but no less lethal. Helga, what about
A bit cowed, but intent on the topic, Helga replied.
“Yes, its true Andre. One must always be questioning what information is being fed to us. We weren’t cautious enough, and let ourselves be led to participation in such atrocities. Thus is our shame. Not doing anything to stop the horrible things, out of fear that they would turn on us.”
Andre was quiet, and thoughtful. Tom knew it was the time to press on, make the point, relieve him of guilt, and encourage him to action.
“Andre Pierre, remember those really old villages in
“Yes, Oui, I do.”
“Well, Helga didn’t see them, and I was trying to describe them to her so I could explain the whole forces of nature thing. You know the harmony of people with the forces of nature, and being represented in the colors, the flags, and the three temples in every village? The entry ‘arch’ temple, the one in the exact center of the village with the Mani stones and prayer wheels; and, the temple ‘arch’ over the exiting road from each village?”
“Yes, I know these.”
“Well, we have been riding on the “
“Well, maybe you are right Thomas. But, we will see for ourselves when we cycle through villages on our return trip from Lhassa to
“I agree with you. That's why I’m looking forward to it; and I’m anxious to get out of these damn trucks, and meet real people. I’m sick of being led along by the nose, watched over like an errant child, and mocked each night by the hotel people, and guides, as stupid tourists. Just remember though, our cycling trip is illegal - no permits - not allowed. Why would they restrict cycling if it weren’t for being worried what we would see, and what we would say to others about what we saw? In that last village, that old Tibetan beggar woman on the street looked me straight in the eyes when I gave her money. She ignored the money, and asked me one thing: ‘is the Dalai Lama still alive?’ You should’ve seen her smile when I told her yes, and that the rumors of his death were wrong. The native Tibetan people are being kept subservient, poor, ignorant, and told any sort of lies; while the Han Chinese take over their remaining homes and businesses. Then, they play dress up for tourists to get easy hand outs. I’m sorry to be so harsh and forceful about all of this, but it scares me even more to realize that other tourists are too overwhelmed by the physical aspects of the journey itself to really understand what they’re seeing. If we do understand, however, we need to keep our mouths shut, and our cameras clicking, so that we can at least tell the reality when we get home. Regardless of how you feel, you can have a tremendous impact on this situation, by just documenting stuff and telling the real truth. You have much more power - and responsibility to use it - then you may realize. How many people in this world have cycled as far as you have?”
“Hmmmm, very few. I’ve cycled nearly 25,000 kilometers over the past three years.”
“That’s great, and it gives you a perspective very few people could achieve - being at ground level among so many peoples. I think you’ll have a lot to say, once you look at things with open eyes, and your caring heart. And people will want to listen, to see what they can do to help the Tibetans.
“Yes, maybe. But still, you exaggerate Thomas.”
“Maybe so, maybe so. But, that’s why you’re here - to keep me objective, and not overly emotional. I appreciate your feedback, and think that your skepticism is helpful. But try to not blow off important things, just because its easier than dealing with them; and you just want to flirt with the women. Women love it if you are sensitive, you know...”
“You boys are too much. Too much! One minute you kill each other, the next.....” Helga laughed in amazement.
“Itsa love, hate thing, eh Andre Pierre?” Tom said jokingly.
“Oui, it is,” was his quiet reply.
And so the conversation came to a logical, and comfortable stop. Their attention turned inward as the jeep bounced and clanged along the rocky and narrow road called the ‘
“We are here Thomas, wake up you sleepy A-mer-e-can” Andre’s voice came through Tom’s fogged mind, as he was shaken awake gently.
“Hmmmm, I.....can’t we just stop? Where, hmmm......”
“Wake up Thomas, we are arrived at the hotel. It is time to eat, then you can rest in a nice bed. I find you a warm woman to hold while you sleep! Now wake up, we must go inside,” Andre’s voice soothed.
“It is useless, I cannot wake him. He is exhausted from no sleep. He takes care of all others, but not himself. That damned baby!” Andre’s voice belied his frustration, and concern, for Thomas.
“I’ll get him up, Andre. Take his bags to your room, and we’ll meet you in the dining room.”
“Thank you Helga, this is most kind of you to help,” Andre said, as he complied with her request and began to leave.
“He has just worn himself out, Andre. He’ll be better after food and rest. It hit us all on other days. The stress, the worries, the altitude, the brutal ride, and then he didn’t sleep much last night..... maybe only an hour or so. You need to watch for him, Andre, like he does for you. Otherwise he’ll push himself too hard, and you’ll find yourself alone when he has to leave you. A partnership takes two people, Andre. While Heinrich and I have our issues, we do support each other. This is a tough environment, and it’ll be tougher still when you two travel alone on your cycles. You must look to his needs, as he does yours, if you expect to work together effectively as a team. Its has always been this way. I’ll say no more. Just be aware of others Andre. Everyone isn’t here for your entertainment, or just to serve your needs. You must contribute to the team effort. They say in American group sports that there is no ‘I’ in team. Sometimes, Andre, you are all ‘
“I am not gaie!”
“This isn’t about being gaie, its about being a caring human being and doing your part. We Germans, we know about teamwork and joint efforts. You want to have benefit of all teamwork, but give nothing; and, it shows. You are lucky Thomas puts up with your behavior.....most people wouldn’t. You must change this, or risk failure. It’s not gaie to care for another human being, especially if he cares so much for your needs. It’s being a good friend, its being dependable and reliable. It’s being responsible. Its caring for another person like you would for yourself. If you don‘t learn this, none of your relationships will work.....with men or women, close friend, or lover.”
“Phhhpppp! I go now. I do as you say.”
Tom had awoken, but kept his eyes closed, as Helga finished her talk with Andre. He was both relieved and happy for her intervention, and helpful advice, with Andre. It was nice for Tom to hear that he was appreciated; and it was good to have someone else lecture Andre on what Tom came to identify as ‘his personal challenge.’ As Helga came inside the jeep, Tom began to show visible signs of waking.
“So you are awake, now? Did you hear?”
“Yes, some. How much money do I owe you?” Tom quipped, with an easy laugh.
“How you put up with that arrogance, Thomas. I do not know.”
“He has a good heart, Helga. It’s just a big change for him to be vulnerable. His ego is very fragile right now, so I think he overcompensates for it by being blustery. He goes into what I call ‘wannabe Frenchman’ mode; all attitude without the aptitude. But, when you are alone with him, it all goes away. He can be quite wonderful, but....”
“But, he can be very hurtful as well! Thomas, it’s your lecture time! You mustn't stay with him if he keeps hurting you. This is not good for you. We women do this all the time with men. ‘If you only knew him, like I do....’ ‘He is a different person, alone....’ ‘He does this only when he drinks......’ These are all things we say to each other, to rationalize staying with someone very selfish. It’s not good for you, Thomas. You deserve better treatment.”
“You are right, Helga. And, you aren’t the first one to tell me. I want to remain close friends; but, if that can’t happen, I try to look at it as a business deal. He is going to teach me how to cycle on a long tour; and I am going to help him see some things that will bring him happiness. I am trying to draw out the human being in him.”
“You, Thomas, are the worst. You hope that this man will change, and then you’ll have the perfect partner. Maybe, most probably, he will ultimately change. And, yes, it will probably be due to your good efforts. But, he’ll hurt you terribly in the process, and he’ll only change after he loses you. It’ll be his hard lessen in life. You’ll be his hard lesson.”
“Yeah, I have a habit of doing that.”
“You mustn't Thomas. Help those whom you can, but try not to let them take a chunk out of you in the process.”
“I tell myself that I know that is a possible consequence, but giving requires losing something.”
“What, when, you have no more to give? What, when, no one gives back to you? Who is there for you, Thomas? Beware selfish people, Thomas. They will take all, and give nothing. You must guard yourself better.”
“Maybe; and maybe I just need to know when to let go. I don’t want to live a guarded life. I just need to be more selective of whom I let in, eh? But, you have to know, it’s not like the selfish ones all wear a warning sign: ‘Hi, I’m a selfish SOB, run for your life!’” he joked.
“I like to focus on the good in people, and ignore the bad.....hoping that it’ll go away. I like to give people a chance, and am usually rewarded with seeing them blossom. Most people struggle with little things that keep them from being happy, and all because someone won’t take the time to teach them something they were never taught to see. Even though they often hurt me, they do much better after me and seem to respect me. So, I feel good about that.”
“Thomas.......” Helga said, with the serious look of parental disapproval only a German mother could truly express.
"Ok, I give up. No one can beat that German mom look! I give up! You win, you’re right!” Tom laughed.
Helga broke out laughing at Tom’s interpretation of ‘the look.’
“You are too funny, Thomas. You know too much for your own good!”
“I’ve been told that too! Let’s go eat, ok? I do hear what you say. I appreciate it, and I’ll listen to you. Seriously! Thanks for defending me, I appreciate that as well.”
Helga gave Tom a big hug, and they went on to join the rest of the tour group at dinner. Tom was still groggy from his poor nap in the truck, and ate in relative silence. Andre pointedly ignored Tom’s presence, and was thankfully occupied with Matt, in a seemingly intimate conversation. Helga had joined her husband. Tom purposely drank a Lhassa Beer with dinner, and ate as much food as his stomach could hold. It was an early day, he was exhausted, and he wanted to load up on calories and let his body heal itself in a long sleep. The large beer was his form of a mild sedative. In his present state, he knew that the food and beer would put him out, and keep him from waking too early. He longed for his bed, and the release that sleep afforded him. He realized that his reality meter was pegged out, and that he needed the safety of sleep. He desired no more sensory input. In this highly sensitized state, his perceptions were heightened beyond normal levels; and as such, he seemed to observe, comprehend, and feel, everything with dramatic clarity. He knew that once he approached such a state, that he needed to be with trusted people who wouldn’t take advantage of him. He couldn’t be around people who would hurt him blinding, through their intentional insensitivity to his needs; or through their avarice. Lacking people like that, he protected himself in enforced solitude or sleep.
“Thomas, you look dreamy,” Andre said across the table to him.
“Thanks, you look cute too, but we really shouldn’t go on this way in front of everyone, should we?” Tom quipped with a laugh.
“Thomas, you trick me! I think you sleepy, and you surprise me with your very sharp tongue......” Andre said drolly, with a hint of condescension, and with distinct detachedness - as if Thomas were just another stranger on the tour.
“Andre, Really! You’re going to embarrass Matt if you keep going on this way about me!” Tom fired back, without pause. Then, he went on to tease Andre further - through a feigned, mocking reprimand, speaking to Matt as if in confidence.
“Matt, I’m sorry, but Andre does have a habit of going on like this. Its all over between us, he’s all yours. Or, the waitress’s. Or that group of women at that table next to us! Whoever’s! Really, he’s too much man for me, and I’ve told him, so over and over, but he doesn’t listen. So, don’t worry, its all over between us......you can have him.”
Matt, Helga, and Heinrich laughed at Tom’s joke; and Andre remained silent, staring directly at Thomas, in a clearly assessing way. In a couple of quick sentences, he had dispelled Andre’s greatest fear; and, got everyone to laugh at the same time. While Andre sought to send a message to everyone that he and Tom weren’t gay, by ignoring and disrespecting Tom in public; Tom turned the idea into a simple joke, both cutting him to the chase, and to the bone, for his disrespect. Tom was in no mood for Andre’s juvenile and hurtful behavior.....all due to his insecurities. Tom’s swift, decisive, and dismissive rejoinder ended the discussion; and was yet another indication to himself that he was headed for one of his highly sensitized states.
“I need to get out of here, before I do some damage by really lashing out at any one of these bogus situations,” he advised himself, as his mind quickly assessed the entire environment.
Tom knew that his bullshit meter was pegged out too. The combination of being highly aware of everything in his environment, and subsequently being faced with an excessive bullshit factor, often resulted in Tom lashing out in undeniable brutality. It was his way of cutting through unacceptable levels of deception, intolerable lies, and petty conspiracy. Thus, racing through his mind, now, were images of all the instances of deceit. There was the tableau of the drivers and tour guides; talking in muted and conspiratorial tones; the waitress who looked at everyone, but waited on no one. Then, the hotel clerk at the adjacent desk; who eavesdropped on all conversations, while she entered passport information, and notes, on travelers into her computer. Then, Tom observed the small surveillance camera in the corner of the room; and the group of young Chinese tourists at the other table, who spoke in code to each other as they critiqued everyone’s loyalty to the People’s Republic. Tom’s mind saw it all in stark clarity, as a series of snapshots, and quick analysis’s; yet his conscious mind didn’t want to distract himself with petty intrigues, that held no real risk. Within a couple of minutes, he dismissed everything in the area as silly dramas, and therefore, ultimately non-threatening. But, he didn’t want to get entangled in any one of them either - wasting his time, energy, and focus. So, he concluded that to avoid that, he merely had to go to his room and sleep.
He knew himself well enough to know that being correct about a situation, and exposing it, often went hand in hand with him. That had often led to stirring up situations that only distracted him from better things. So, he’d come to the determination that he’d engage only in those things that really mattered to him, or that were potentially very destructive to others. To accomplish this, he had learned to remove himself from distracting situations. Otherwise, like Andre’s little gaffe, he would rip the offender a new asshole, and that wasn’t always pretty, nor productive for him. Removing himself was one of the ways he was learning to adjust to his deeper levels of awareness.
“Hey, guys this is all a lot of fun and everything, but I’m really tired. I drank this beer, and its already hitting me. Guess I’ll turn in early, and get a good night’s sleep. You guys enjoy yourselves, ok?”
Leaving no time for further discussion, Tom rose and left the room. As he left, though, he had to say something to ease his growing disapproval and to vent the resultant pressure that had grown within him.
“Hey, Andre. Watch those Lhassa beers, they’re strong, eh? Wouldn’t want anyone taking advantage of you tonight, huh? God knows what’s in the beer. Makes you wonder when someone does something as disrespectful as names their beer after a religious city, huh? Talk about insult to injury,” Tom commented as Andre looked at one of the large Lhasa Beer bottles.
“Hey, wait a minute, maybe we’re missing out on a great business opportunity here?” Tom continued with his sarcastic commentary.
“Maybe we could distribute drugs called “Mecca X,’ or ‘Judeahean G?’ Or, better yet, how about ‘Vatican Crack?’ No, that's not a good name, that should be the name of the whorehouse in
“Thomas.....”
“I know, shut up and go to bed!” Tom interrupted, to forestall Andre’s predictable diatribe, not wanting anything to detract from his.
"Ok, I’m outta here,” Tom said, as he openly bowed to the waitress who wasn’t a waitress, and thought she was invisible. He then waved goodbye to the woman behind the desk, and the camera near the ceiling, for emphasis.
“I’m so going to get into trouble. I‘ve got to keep my mouth shut!” he reminded himself, as he walked quickly to his room. Yet, he felt mildly relieved to know that he had voiced his disapproval of the system in which they were now submerged.
“Hopefully in a way that will disturb them, and show how silly they’re all behaving - without getting me in trouble,” he thought.
As soon as he got into his room, he fell into his bed, and struggled to remove his clothes. After he’d gotten undressed, he set his head upon his pillow. As his consciousness swiftly left him, he was thankfully rewarded with real relief. He felt like he was falling into a deep, dark, well of sleep; floating gently downward, into a comfortable and enveloping abyss of dark tranquility. Just as he was about to reach the bottom of the dark well, a bright, and highly clarified, new consciousness flooded his vulnerable, and now totally open, awareness. It was as though he fainted at the moment that he merged with the warm glow of a strange new consciousness; he was totally bathed in a bright light that didn’t blind, and didn’t burn. When he awoke, he was in complete and utter darkness; and a fulsome stench assaulted his nostrils - as pain suddenly wracked his inert form.
**************
“The pain....the pain, lord Buddha....the pain..... I must eat, I must drink, or surely I will die soon. Death would release me though....let me die,” he pleaded.
“No! I will not despair!” he said, resolutely, one minute; yet wavered in his resolve in the next. “But, my throat is so dry.... it feels like peeling layers of parchment paper - dry as the desert, and as unquenchable,” his voice husked faintly.
“How many days, weeks, or months have I been locked into this darkness? In a place where hours seem like seconds; yet, minutes seem like days. There is no sense to time here, nor to space - just murky blackness that envelopes my soul. No sense as to anything....especially, why??? Why? Why? Why?” he lamented, silently to himself.
“Why do they want to torment me? Why do they desire to punish me? Why are they my enemies? I have done nothing, bothered no one, and want nothing.....so, why do they want to hurt me and my brothers? You taught, lord Buddha, that our enemy is good, because he will teach us patience. But why? This is too much for anyone to handle.... why? Will it not end?” he moaned to himself.
The silent and desperate pleadings of the imprisoned Buddhist monk remained unanswered. Mute silence was the answer to his humble, and sincere, pleadings for understanding. The blackness of his underground holding cell was complete, as was the silence - born of thick, gray earthen, walls. He was alone....utterly alone. They had thrown him into the small, dark, dirt room weeks ago......slamming the trap door shut behind him. From time to time bits of food and water were thrown in without a word. The sudden light would blind him temporarily, and the meager sustenance would be thrown in quickly; but, the trapdoor would be slammed shut again, before his eyes recovered. The blinding light left spots in his night vision for hours to come, and they worried him further as to what was happening to him physically. Nothing made sense after days, weeks, months. The smell of his own feces and urine destroyed his olfactory senses; and, the unnatural and perpetual darkness effectively blinded him. He could hear nothing, and feel only dirt. With his senses distorted, he withdrew, within. At first it wasn’t too intolerable due to his years of training in the monastery. Hours and days of chanting, mantras, and self induced trances had prepared him well for this challenge; but, even still, there was a limit. And, after a while, his incredulity took over his sense of reason. His only defense against insanity was reflection; reviewing memories of his life as if he was in a dream state, away from his tortured body. Maybe his body did this itself, as a coping mechanism; it didn’t matter. What mattered was his endurance, survival, and redemption. He cared little for this body; death would truly be a release from this current life. What he cared for was possibly losing all of the work he had performed on himself all of this life by crumbling under the pressure of his Chinese captors. He must show them, and himself, that he had a strong will and sense of serenity. That he was strong enough to bear whatever tortures they visited upon him, while preserving his dignity and peacefulness. He must not give into anger, hate, and vengefulness. This is what they wanted......to break him, and to use him as an example to his fellow monks....especially those who looked up to, and admired him, as an example to follow. This much was true.....he was an example, whether he liked it or not; an example that his Chinese captors wanted to distort. He vowed that he would die first, before breaking; but devils and demons as they were, they wouldn't allow him to die - they kept him just alive enough to perpetuate the contest of conviction.
“How can humans ever be so demented as to hurt, twist, and destroy each other in this way?” he wondered. And, again the question of “why” always loomed above it all. His only conclusion was that he and his people had been educated, trained, and molded since birth to a life of empathy, love, compassion, and giving; while his Chinese captors had been raised in an environment of distrust, sadism, and hate.
“There can’t be two more opposing views of existence. For truly, they perceive life as a period of existence,” he now understood. “Not life as an aspect of combined forces.”
“They act, as a populace, not unlike a swarming of insects. Life holds no special value for them. It is a society of eat, or be eaten - even by ones’ own family.”
The metaphor of spiritual cannibalism ran truer than he wanted to believe, and the concept of it had evaded him until now; but it was his unavoidable conclusion. The depth of hurt, emotional pain, and cultural angst that Padma now perceived, startled his now addled mind.
“I must be insane, now. This cannot be true!” he said out loud, to himself.
But the more he examined it in his mind, the more real it became.....and with this understanding of ‘why,’ peacefulness returned, again, to him. It wasn’t what he wanted to believe, but the logical conclusion was inescapable.
His thoughts flickered back to the beginning; his happy, contented, yet extremely circumspect life of a bright young monk. He had been at the top of his class, he learned well, he learned quickly; and he had learned to accept the scolding of his elders, although he wasn’t that young anymore himself. Learning true humility had been his challenge. Being clever was good, but it offered its own set of challenges. But, unquestionably, he had followed his masters, his teachers, the disciples of lord Buddha’s wise teachings. This had taught him to temper his intellectual brilliance, with human experience; and, ultimately, to be that much more sensitive to the fragile interdependence and balance of all life. Reflecting back on his long life in the monastery, until he himself had attained a revered state, helped him regain his composure and allowed him to utilize his present horrific experience to achieve an even deeper level of awareness. It was something totally unexpected to his well ordered and highly disciplined mind. He now understood that he had reached the highest level of awareness that he could achieve within the walls of the isolated monastic community. Being ripped from that environment, and forced into the torture of this present experience, took him to a place of compassion and understanding that would have eluded him if he had lived only in the monastery. Before, he couldn’t have even conceived of the environments that produced spiritually tortured humans. Yes, deprivations like hunger, sickness, and physical injuries were understandable to him. He had seen, first hand, how those things challenged many people’s lives.....and the physical disfigurements that were the inevitable results. These things challenged people to find a spiritual path that brought peace to their challenging lives; and offered them solace in living them. But, this thing of the Chinese was much different. It was a spiritual disfigurement and distortion; a handicap that prohibited them from even seeing his life for what it was. They were as blind as he had been; only blinded to life, as they were dedicated to life’s antithesis.
“Their predisposition towards conquest, domination, and physical aggressiveness leads them to these horrible courses of action,” he concluded.
A deep, and systemic, sadness filled his heart and mind for these spiritually tortured peoples. For he now realized that their emotional and psychic pain far exceeded his present physical pains; and unlike his, would possibly never abate. The conundrum, however, was that his very efforts to help them from their mental prisons would inflict further pain upon them, because the depth of their error was so deep; inbred for generations. He worried that they would only feel a great sense of hopelessness, and despair, if they were forced to face this defect before they were ready to cope with the shock of it. Padma could now see how his very existence was an affront to their attempt at ideological hegemony.
“They must break me, and in fact all of us, or destroy us in the process....in order to eliminate any possibility of cultural self examination. A examination that would only yield the inescapable conclusion that their society is anti-life.”
He shuddered at the ramifications of this realization on billions of people. It could mean generations of chaos, social reform, shifting power systems; an incredible amount of human pain and suffering. An almost overwhelming concept; yet, probably a necessary step in the saving of so many humans in the future.
“For if they are successful in destroying us, then how many more generations ....or millennia.... would have to occur, before the process to heal could start anew? Could the human race even survive that long under such spiritual tyranny? What would happen to the collective spirit of mankind under such horribly wrong assumptions, and the resulting pervasive sense of hopelessness? Could our humanity survive, even if physical survival was possible?” he wondered aloud.
Padma didn’t hold much hope for this prospect. The realizations of all of these complicated societal and human issues galvanized Padma’s will to survive.
“I must survive.....we all must, if we can. How insular we have become. How arrogant we had been in our isolation. We cannot ignore the outside world any longer; and we hold a valuable key to humanity’s transcendence. Yes, lord Buddha, you were right....our enemies teach us many things, if we listen. And, if we forget to listen.....as we had...they will send us a stronger message. This is horrible what we endure......and should not have happened, nor should continue; but, it is within our power to stop it -eventually.”
Armed with this new, very powerful, realization, Padma began to plan how he would encourage change once he was freed.
“Yes, I will be freed......eventually.....I can feel it now. I feel hope once again.”
As he began on this new path of awareness, he realized that this present deprivation was no sacrifice, it was an honor. It was an honor to be another important step towards true enlightenment.....a state of complete understanding, acceptance, and compassion for those around him. He now regained his hope in inspiring others to achieve a similar state; and knew whether he lived or died, it was important to retain his principles....not for himself, but for other’s inspiration.
“I will not break. I may die, but I will die well.....and never break. For my students, and my enemies will watch my example and hopefully learn accordingly. I will endure, I will remain strong, and I will not lash back in anger, hate, or vengeful retribution. I shall continue to show love, empathy, and compassion for them....with humility, not with self righteousness. For the answer isn’t in escalation of anger, hate, and pain.....it is in the cessation of these harmful things, and the healing that must begin....even if the end of propagting these things hasn’t yet begun.”
So, Padma lived on. Hours, days, months, and years of practical disciplines, and of the methods used to reinforce them, had given him the tools he needed to survive the isolation and pain. His years of rhythmic chants in darkened, and smoky temples prepared him for his present challenge. He remembered rocking back and forth, in synchronization with many other monks, perched atop heavy cushions made of Yak wool pads. Firm, yet resilient, they were warm comfort above the cold dark floors. One felt lifted above the world a bit, as the trance deepened, and calmness suffused body and soul. It was an ethereal feeling of being totally in touch with ones’ self, the other monks, and nearer to a Buddha-like state. He drifted there now, through memory, and through a self induced trance that removed his spirit from his tortured body. By entering these mantra chanting states, he withstood the indeterminate internment....and survived. His addled mind began to review, and to finally integrate the horrific experiences he had lived before imprisonment, into his mind - in a healthy way. Held in abeyance for so long, due to his minds’ inability to accept the shock of them; he unconsciously used his solitary incarceration time to sort it all out, absorbing and finally accepting the unacceptable.
“Ummmm ohm mani padme hum......om mani padme hummm....ummmhm mani padme hum....” his voice broke, as he tried to recite his mantra, while the festering sores on his back screamed for attention....sending messages of lancing pain to his mind.
“They seem to burn more lately, maybe the scabs had been ripped off again....” he thought, distractedly.
He didn’t know, he didn’t care. He almost welcomed the physical pain to distract his mind from the pain that really burned his soul; but, his renewed will to resolve all his conflicts, exerted its influence. He was forced by his internal will to relive events, and thereby work through them.......he would not allow pain to be his distraction.
Begging to no one, he spoke out loud to the dark hole in which he was imprisoned, “Lord, Buddha, I never would cause pain. And, I try to endure that pain around me...the best that I can....”
But, the stark, brutal images kept challenging his resolve to review them unflinchingly; and thereby resolve their impact on his spirit.
It had all started when the Chinese troops suddenly attacked the peaceful village and monastery in which he lived. At first, people were slain wantonly, quickly, and ruthlessly, to demonstrate who was now in charge. Running from gun fire, and the horrors that they had witnessed, the gentle villagers were cut down with a vengeance. Blood was everywhere, and carnage was the badge that the village wore that fateful day. As the afternoon approached, the sun seemed to hang in the sky, stunned and unmoving as if hung there by some hidden hook. It, and time, seemed to stand still and mute to the atrocities they had witnessed. Witnessed yes, but helpful, not. The sun only seemed to illuminate the dreadful color of blood, and the sadistic joy reflected on the conquers faces. “How can this be?” thought Padma, “who could derive enjoyment from such pain?” More than puzzled, he was struck dumb by the thought. But, it was true, and as the afternoon drew on, it became clearer and clearer. Unmistakably clear.
It hadn’t been enough that nearly 40% of the village lay dead where they fell. No, these devils in ill fitting, and almost comedic uniforms, sought to destroy the proud will of the mountain people by laying waste to the sacred shrines, and to break their quiet strength. The images still reverberated through his skull. Unbidden, unwanted, and as vivid as on the day that they occurred, they were indelibly impressed upon his open mind.
The peace and tranquility of the village was as ubiquitous as the mountains that surrounded it. It lay at the base of the majestic, rolling, giants in a fertile green valley than was fed by an ancient glacier river. The river bed, millions of years old, had shrunk to a span of twenty meters, where before it had been nearly a mile wide. At the midpoint of the riverbed, within a couple of miles of the lower mountain pass, rose the small, yet statuesque monastery. River rock, gray mud, wood beams, and rushes were its main building components; but, it was strong and enduring as any Roman structure.....even though it predated Roman times. The fields of green, yellow, and blue spread out around the monastery all the way to the village. The river ran by the left side of the village, and many manmade tributaries riddled the fields; providing irrigation to the crops. Daily hoeing of the weeds and plants growing in the irrigation ditches kept the water flowing, and the crops fed. Many such streams meandered through grazing land as well, and added another dimension to the harmonious balance between human, nature, cultivation, and animal. All lived in a state of harmony. Things went well, or they didn’t go well. But, they all went along in concert with each other. A symphony of life that seemed unassailable by virtue of its very existence. It wasn’t high tech, nor was it feudal, totalitarian, democratic, communist, socialist, or a monarchy. It wasn’t a greedy or subservient society....it was calm. A nearly complete harmony of man with nature. And, it had been shattered like a fragile piece of crystal. Trampled by a malevolent culture that knew no inner peace; and, therefore, had to eliminate that which mocked its unnerving and brittle existence by being its successful antithesis. Of course, people disagreed and had conflicts, but they were easily resolved by acceptance of each other’s point of view, or just simply moving along. There was plenty of space, and people lived where they chose to live. The freedom inherent in this simple fact flew in the face of the dominance and control of a communist state. Instead of resentment, hate, and envy over one another’s good fortune, the Tibetans offered each other congratulations and good wishes. Harmony by definition, excludes destructive conflict. So, the clash of these two disparate, nearly polar, cultures was frightening. Frightening to the Tibetans because they could hardly conceive of this unbidden aggression. And, frightening to the Chinese in that the Tibetans offered little or no resistance to the slaughter. So, as the villagers became more accepting of the loss of life, the Chinese were deprived of their joy - the sadistic joy of deriving pleasure out of the pain of others. Cursing them as weak, and stupid, their anger grew; and they became more brutal, and determined to break the spell of serenity by turning Tibetan against Tibetan. So began the sowing of the seeds of distrust, deception, and depravity.
Herein lay the true horror that Padma had been forced to witness. No longer satisfied with slaughter and conquer, the aggressors sought to corrupt the very serenity that the Tibetans had spent generations working hard to attain. Upon reflection, Padma now understood the societal driven need to do this; because, the mere existence of the Tibetan world called into question the precepts of the Chinese.
“Religion is poison,” said their leader Mao Zedong, vehemently, on many occasions. And, so it was to the organism that he was creating. He couldn’t peddle his drug of ‘freedom’ and ‘Equality’ if it already existed nearby without him. To have his desired control and riches, he needed a monopoly on the wonder drug that would supposedly bring happiness. So what, if the had to eliminate a few million pesky Tibetans? Did they have the answer? Unfortunately, they might. Therefore, he had to eliminate that last threat to hegemony; and so, the attempted corruption of the Tibetan world began in earnest.
After the show of strength, by mowing down 40% of the population, the ‘conversion’ plan was initiated. Thankful to be alive after that first assault, Padma first wished that he had died. The enemy was supposedly good to teach one patience; but, was this enemy just too much to learn anything? What lesson could he learn from this senseless violence?
The day of the attack had had started with a bad, portentous, surprise. He awoke to find his room literally swarming with ants. They had come from a crack in the floor, and a crack near the window; and, they streamed across the walls of his room. He was startled awake by the light feeling of something tickling his face. Brushing aside the tickle, he noticed it only moved....not abated. Opening his eyes, he saw that his hand was covered with ants, and he jumped up with a start. Once the shock was over, he smiled, and watched the ants move along the walls in little rivers with visible ‘currents’ of moving traffic.
“Industrious, these fellows are,” he’d thought to himself.
As Padma dressed and left his room, he mentioned the ant infestation to the caretaker.
“I will see to it” was his direct and simple reply. After washing up, Padma returned to his little room to retrieve his prayer beads before morning devotions. The kind little man was there....taking care of the ants. He methodically moved in a gentle rhythm, brushing along the ants onto another path. He started at the ceiling, and brushed to the corner with his soft, two foot hand broom - ants dropping as he brushed. Herding them into a corner, he then gently brushed each wall in turn. When he was done, all but a few ants were on the hardened clay floor; and he gently brushed them away - out of the door, onto the outside pathway. The ants, seemingly unaffected, simply formed a new procession away from the building. Padma smiled, thanked the caretaker, and left for devotions with his beads. He hurried as fast as he could, knowing that he was going to receive a disapproving stare from his master upon his late arrival. But, still, he must observe the correct rites and not hurry too much. He wound around the maze of dark corridors. The air was heavy with the smell of many hundreds of years of butter candle smoke, and the air itself seemed like a light fog to navigate. Despite himself, he looked up at the smoke obscured ceilings to admire the paintings and the images which re-iterated the calmness of his world. As he reached the hallway alongside the chapel, he realized that today they were all to chant their morning practices in the large temple. Now, really flustered, he searched along the nearly empty vertical shelves for his narrow, long, prayer manuscript book. Hand printed on long narrow pieces of handmade papers, the pages contained a seemingly endless supply of written prayers, chants, and blessings; translated directly from Sanskrit to Tibetan, they ’spoke’ with the purest voice of Buddha. As he exited the small chapel, he reached the open, central courtyard that led to the large shrine of Buddha and two of his manifestations. Just as he approached the large red doors, bound in brass and wrought iron, the earth shook and he fell to the ground from the force of an explosive shock wave. Before his startled eyes, the three story temple roof began to sag, and then collapse. Monks covered in blood were running out of every door of the building....all stumbling with a terrible look of shocked disbelief on their normally calm faces. Some were injured, many were covered with a spattering of debris, blood, and oil. For some, the oil from the hundreds of butter candles merely stained their robes; for others, obviously closer to the front, the oil had burned their faces and eyes. Hardly understanding what was going on, Padma stood in mute shock. Then it hit him, with the reverberation of the second explosion - the Chinese had finally invaded their remote home. For hours afterwards, it was pandemonium. People were running and screaming everywhere, and horrible, disembodied, screams came from outside the monastery walls. Padma fought down a urge of panic to flee and hide; and, made his way to the temple doors. Upon reaching the door, he found the old monk who had been his mentor the past 20 years standing just inside the doors.
“Most venerable Lama, how can I help? What am I to do? The old man was nursing a broken arm that was twisted in an abnormal direction, and bleeding profusely. He was feebly trying to reach the relative safety of the courtyard.
“Help me sit, bind my arm as best you can, and then go inside and help the others as you can.”
Obeying without pause, Padma removed his sash around his red and yellow robes, and tied off the blood supply to the obviously useless and mangled arm. That stopped the bleeding from the severed wrist, but didn’t resolve the way the arm hung in a grotesquely comic way. Knowing that he needed a healer to do further help, Padma decided to contain the damage, and tied the arm to his mentor’s torso so that he wouldn’t lose hope, nor suffer additional damage. His mentor, through his agonizing pain, smiled a loving and caring smile for his brightest student, thanked him for his help, and sent Padma on his way to go assist others. As the terrible screams, gunshots, and taunting voices of the Chinese invaders assaulted his senses, he continued on helping the injured where he could. Many were beyond help, and he tried his best to ease their pain as they drifted off to death. Within a few hours, the gunshots and screams abated; yet, an unsettling, clanging mechanical voice screeched out of speakers somewhere. The voice yelled out, over and over, about ‘victory from religious oppression,’ ‘liberation from imperialistic tyranny,’ and other such tripe. To Padma, this was more than a horrible nightmare.....it was quickly becoming a horrible scene that only got worse, with no stop in sight.
“Let me be as serene as the Buddha, let me retain calm and patience,” Padma recited, over and over.....becoming a mantra in itself.
He tried to fight back the anger and hatred that threatened to consume him.
“What animals could do this? What justification have they delude themselves with?”
He was distraught, but didn’t know that the worst was yet to come.
After hours of working with the injured, he was exhausted and drained. All but a shred of his clothing had been used to bind the wounds of the seriously injured monks. The neighboring herders, farmers, and lay people who had survived the initial onslaught were corralled in the monastery courtyard, along with the surviving monks. As evening approached, the yells and screams were either relieved by death, or became muted sobs of agony. Padma sat in near numbness, and started a chant to soothe the injured and dying; and, to encourage the survivors to not give up. It started small, then grew in waves as it rippled out to the 100 or so survivors. Despair was replaced by hope, and eyes flashed brighter as smiles began to appear with the reassuring resonance of the mantra. The message was simple: ‘we shall persevere, just hold strong and be patient.’
The sound of chanting rose and fell with the words: “Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum, Om Mani Padme Hum....” Although all were cold and hungry, they were warmed by the shared mantra. Suddenly there were angry screams by the Chinese guards. “These Tibetans are not broken, what is wrong with them?” was the unspoken question on their puzzled faces. Bright flashes of machine gun fire from a second story roof punctuated the inky blackness of the night, and people screamed in the courtyard as they were cut apart with a series of multiple gunshot wounds. Stunned into silence, the remaining survivors huddled with each other in silence for reassurance. It was to be a night of hell.
By mornings’ light, it was clear to Padma that another 20 or so people had died during the cold night. Some mercifully through gunfire, and others of serious and untreated wounds. There was a well in the courtyard that went down, and down, and down......out of sight, it was so deep. The well lay flat and open to the topside earth, without any fancy housing, but was as effective as any well could be. The stronger survivors pulled up water, and tended to the less fortunate as best they could. No healer had survived; so their efforts were well intentioned, but not too effective. None had any experience with these kind of wounds and injuries.....and, it was brutally frustrating for those who felt helpless to assist the injured.
“At least with water they will survive until a doctor can be found,” Padma reasoned.
So, he led the efforts to organize a hospital of sorts where the injured were laid out according to varying degrees of injury.
“When we get someone who can set bones and sew these people up, they will know where to start with the most severe cases,” he told the others as they willingly complied to his requests for order.
All of the senior monks were either dead, or severely injured. Padma was, according to seniority and respect, the natural leader. His master was doing well, considering his advanced age and his serious injury. But, Padma worried that he needed treatment soon.....he was going into shock. He was numb with the pain, but he achieved a clearer sense of perception and communication than Padma had ever seen in him. It was almost unnatural, but then again it probably portended his demise.
“Don’t deathly ill people usually rally, and seem particularly well, just before they died?” he mused.
Regardless of the cause, Padma was glad to have his guidance and clear judgment to help him in his new responsibilities. Padma had kept the old lama safe and warm through the night, with his remaining robes. In the morning, a herder saw his sacrifice, and gave Padma a coat and a pair of trousers that he salvaged from dead victims. Padma didn’t look much like his self.
“Who am I?” he asked himself prophetically.
The clothes had a little blood on them, and although Padma cried to think about where they’d come from, he was happy for the warmth of them. His mentor, noticing the transformation, smiled with a sad smile.
“See, Padma, your needs shall be met. Worry not about them. Instead, keep safe the Dharma, the pure teachings of the lord Buddha - and make sure that they are passed on to the next generation. Your journey through this life will be very hard; and for that, I feel much sadness. Your life will be fraught with much adversity and trial; but, you will persevere. You are my best student - ever. Remember that, but keep humble. Let not pride in self, nor pretense, keep you from your preordained role. You are here to persevere and preserve. Persevere the atrocities committed by the blinded ones; and, preserve and hold dear the teachings of the Buddha so that others may achieve wisdom and enlightenment. Through the disciplines you will teach them. Let not the chain be broken, lest the world sink into a period of pain and turmoil that will last many hundreds of generations, and maybe lead to our ultimate failure - the end of humankind. You, and those who survive, will be challenged daily to compromise, change, and adapt to the ways of the Chinese. Do not be deceived! Although today’s words are coated with sugar, you can be sure that tomorrows deeds will reek of poisoned spirits.”
“Oh, master, please calm down now. Although this incident is horrendous, it is only an incident. Lhassa shall surely not fall to the unenlightened.”
“Oh, if that were so,” the old man lamented.
“There is a prophecy that foreigners in Lhassa will preclude the beginning of the end of our golden time. The Dalai Lama himself will fall and run from this evil.”
“But is it not said that enlightenment shall spread to the ends of the earth, if we but remain true to our faith?”
“Yes, but that is not assured; and the time in between......”
The old man’s voice trailed off, and his words were said with a visible effort, and resigned sigh.
“Lose not hope, Padma, although you will be challenged like no other generation.”
“With all faithfulness, and humility, I vow to you master that I will persevere, and retain hope ....if not for myself, for others’ inspiration. I vow this now, as I made my vows to follow the path of the Buddha.”
A smile crept across the old man’s face, and he simply said: “you are strong within yourself, keep nurturing that strength and you will inspire many others through your actions.”
Then he abruptly fainted into a pain induced sleep. Padma held him for a while, but saw that he was needed to help others in dire need. He gently laid his master’s head on the lap of a sobbing woman whom had lost her family. She stopped crying, smiled, and began to caress the old monk’s head in a loving way.....channeling her grief to ease both of their sufferings. Easing his pain was something she could do, and she appreciated the honor to help the wise monk. Padma then set about to check the other surviving monks and villagers alike. Not many of the monks were without injury. His delay the prior morning with the ants had actually been a blessing. The bomb in the temple had been planned ahead of time, to trap as many monks as possible; and, the devious plan had worked. But due to the horrors which he was forced to witness, he more than once wished that he’d been one of those who had died quickly. The emotional pain was overwhelming at times. Highly sensitized to other’s feelings, and to a life of non-violence, he was ill prepared to cope with this horror. Dying would have been much easier than experiencing this trauma. Also, he had a strangely sure conviction that the rest of his life was destined to be a long and perilous journey, with much pain and suffering. His world was irrevocably changed forever, but he did gain some confidence in knowledge that it was somehow part of his destiny. He had survived for some reason. Now, it was for him to live on as best he could ......as his destiny unfolded. Therefore, he tried to accept the unacceptable, and began to help where he could.
About one o’clock in the afternoon the guards and soldiers filled the already full courtyard, and began prodding and kicking everyone to rise and to begin walking.
In terrible, broken Tibetan, one of the Chinese yelled to the captives: “Get up!! Move! Move dogs, move!”
The yelling was only a clearer version of the voices that Padma had heard over the raspy speakers. The relentless droning of the voices, and the continuous harshness of the sounds, was disturbing on every level of his awareness. More than the present unfounded hostility was communicated through the tone and inflection of their language and voices. Padma now realized that it was their training and culture to instill fear and distrust in each other; the very antithesis of Tibetan life. So, they were as alien to Padma as if they were true aliens from another planet.
“We are but sheep to them,” was his realization. “They try to function without emotion, drilling any sensitivity out of themselves with every word and action.”
This was a terrible revelation to Padma.
“Is nothing peaceful to these people?” he wondered. “How very sad.”
Yet, sad as it was, and regardless of Padma’s attempts towards understanding and compassion for their sad existence, the soldiers were adamant about moving all able-bodied Tibetans to the surrounding walls of the courtyard. The imperative of the woefully un-enlightened, and calculatingly cold persona of the Chinese soldiers forced every able person to their feet and to the walls. Confused, dazed, and in deeps states of shock, the captives complied and reluctantly left the injured people where they lay....expecting them to be treated in some manner. Padma left his now comatose master behind, and followed the orders of the soldiers in puzzled silence. After all of the uninjured people were moved to the walls, the commanding officer barked out some orders to the armed soldiers who encircled the courtyard. These were the very same soldiers who had prodded....at gun point....the ambulatory people to move. At a signal from the solider standing alongside the commanding officer, the gunfire began. To the stunned horror of those along the walls, the soldiers riddled the bodies of the injured with bullets. If any distraught person sought to save a loved one, and entered the circle, they were cut down in their tracks. The killings weren’t mercy killings, they were entertainment to the soldiers. And, a clear message to the living: “Do what we say....or die; or die anyway, if we don’t like your attitude.”
The message was a message of unabated fear. A concept as alien as anything else to the peaceful Tibetans. The injured people weren't killed quickly, they were killed most slowly, with non-lethal shots to the extremities until the shooter became bored with the subject of his attention, and delivered the killing shot to the head. Padma’s master, luckily, had never regained consciousness, and his body convulsed slightly with the first assault of bullets, and then remained still as life left him. Padma was so amazed and confused by the shootings that he stood, eerily frozen, in shocked silence. He knew that movement would serve no purpose, but that wasn’t what held him in stasis. Strangely enough, it was the pragmatic and incredulous thoughts of: ‘why would anyone ever derive joy from inflicting this kind of suffering on the dying, and the living?’
He was now numb, emotionally, from all of the shocks of the past two days and his mind was overloaded to the point where only detached, rational, thought remained. His mind tried to cope with the atrocities by focusing on the practical aspects of the killings. It was if he was living a nightmare, and his only safeguard against total insanity was the objective assessment of an observer.
“What a horrible dream,” his pragmatic side told him.
This concept of intentional horrors was so alien to him that he had trouble accepting it; but, there is was, in front of his face - undeniable. Held frozen, as if a statue, he watched the proceedings with a fixated stare, until he was mercifully knocked into unconsciousness by the butt of a rifle.
Padma awoke to the ministrations of a kind woman. Pain lanced through his body, and made him physically cringe. His head felt like it was two times too large, and his shoulder ached with a throb of pain that let him know that he had fallen on it hard and had been kicked there as well. Night had fallen on the courtyard. Thankfully, the darkness hid the worst of the blood stained ground, yet the moon threw a ghastly pall upon the gray earth, which was seemingly tattered with dark irregular stains. It evoked a creepy eeriness that hinted at worse atrocities. Atrocities that the subconscious mind exploited, in creating a nameless silent terror that wouldn’t abate. The bodies of the slain, however, were nowhere to be seen. He shook with suppressed terror and shock, as he asked the woman what had become of the bodies. She cried and sobbed, unable to even speak the answer, and pointed a shaky finger at the well in the courtyard. Somehow, this horrified Padma even more than he could have imagined. Tradition was to take the bodies of the dead to the mountain tops, where they could be allowed to be rejoined with nature through natural processes - giving further strength to life. This was his first indication that the Chinese intended much worse things than death.
”They want to corrupt our spirits, our beliefs,” he realized.
Cold rationality was a new necessity of survival, however; and Padma told himself to mourn later, for now he had to survive and to save whom he could until this nightmare abated.
“It can’t go on forever,” he reassured himself logically.
“Patience, this will be your ultimate test of patience,” he said, as he steeled himself for the spiritual siege that was about to ensue.
While he’d been unconscious, the surviving people had again been segregated. The remaining community of monks were located on the north side of the courtyard, while he and the villagers were kept on the south side. It was clear that the monks were being denied food and water, while his group had been supplied with water and weevil-ridden Tsampa flour. Regardless of its state, it was food, and he welcomed it; but it also saddened Padma to see that his fellow monks were suffering even more through deprivation. For they were now a cowed group of terrified humans. His heart went out to them, and he began to rise to join their ranks. As he tried to rise, he was forcefully shoved back down by a burly herder.
“I am truly sorry, but you must remain. There is much you do not know, and you are safer here. I apologize for forcing my will upon you, but you must survive first before you can truly live again.”
Struck by the simple man’s words, and his physical grip, Padma remained deathly still as instructed.
“Why shouldn’t I go?” was all he could manage.
“The Chinese mean to treat the monks more harshly than us, this much is clear! Already, they show their ill intent while you were gone.”
“While I was gone?” was Padma’s inner question to himself, “what a curious way to say it.....”
Before he could say anything, the man spoke more forcefully, and in an intensely quiet tone: “we must not be seen talking. They will shoot us, like the others who talked, as ‘conspirators.’ Trust me, remain silent.”
As he finished his sentence, he left Padma’s side, in a clear indication that he’d bridge no dissent from his instructions. With his head beginning to clear from the pain, now only a dull throb and easier to handle, Padma acknowledged the validity of the man’s observations and remained silent.....then, slipped into a troubled sleep.
By morning, Padma was more himself mentally, and he thanked the bizarre circumstances that resulted in his survival. In the daylight he could see that the other monks were black and blue from beatings. His heart broke to see his friends in such pain; but his rational side was ruling now, and the herder had been correct.
“I can do no good for my fellow monks, nor anyone else, if I am dead or beaten senseless.”
“My odd clothing has saved me from their fate for a reason; and I don’t need to throw this opportunity away, out of some misguided notion of common suffering.”
His master’s last, and eminently wise, words ran true....as always: “The younger monks ultimate survival requires your survival.”
The situation was totally out of his control. It was clear that he needed to ride the wave of the horrible storm in anonymity. The villagers and herders recognized this first, while he had been unconscious, and had protected him the best that they could by including him in their number. Someone had even contributed a warm fur hat that had simultaneously kept his shaven head hidden, and warm.
About mid-morning, the Chinese soldiers herded the villagers out of the monastery and to the village that lay two kilometers away. With the lessons supposedly imprinted on them not to resist the new order, and to fear any possible misstep, their incarceration was no longer necessary. In fact, their intermixing with the surviving villagers would only increase the rumors of intolerance of any dissent by their new Chinese rulers. It was a plan, and they were working it...coldly and methodically. That much was clear, if the details of the plan were not.
The villagers eagerly welcomed the group of survivors from the monastery area....some families were reunited, while others’ came to the realization that their loved ones hadn’t survived after all. It was a melee of emotionally stunted activity. The woman that had helped Padma, kept watch on him like a hawk; and was no longer shy about keeping him from making visible mistakes that would uncover his true identity. He was, for all intents and purposes, her apparent husband. This was the ruse, and in the current turmoil its absurdity wasn’t clearly evident to the untrained eye; but every villager knew, and kept their silence. All had learned one lesson....reveal nothing....shut down emotionally as best as you could, and follow along until the mess ended. For they couldn’t even conceive of the possibility that it wouldn’t end. This was how they retained hope. Recognizing Padma’s real identity, and because of their respect for all monks...especially a senior monk like Padma, they all endeavored to help him in subtle ways. Crowds would magically circle around him when soldiers appeared, hiding his presence from close inspection. For obviously, the real danger to Padma was detection. And, after being a monk most of his life, he carried himself quite differently than the other Tibetans. So he had to be sheltered, and he remained under the protection and care of his newfound ‘wife’.
After a few weeks of hiding, Padma began to venture out from his safe house, and travel among the villagers. His hair had grown out, and although odd looking, he passed for a villager. His presence among the villagers was reassuring to them, and brought silent confidence and some meager happiness to whomever he met. So therefore, Padma felt it was important to walk about and help reduce the pervasive sense of hopelessness that was building in the village. One day, when he had just about given up on any of his fellow monks’ survival, a strange thing happened. He heard people chattering and running to the road that led to the monastery. His heart rose when he saw the single file procession of red robed monks walking towards the village proper. They were still quite a distance from the village, but their robes made their identities unmistakable. More had survived than Padma could have hoped for; evidently, some must have been held within the buildings as well as the courtyard. As the villagers moved to the entrance arch of the village for a better view, Chinese soldiers moved amongst the building crowd, and forced the people to the sides of the streets - to make room for the coming procession of closely guarded monks. Just as the monks came within half a kilometer of the village, a collective sigh of dread filled the crowd. Padma returned his attention to the road, and tried to see what had caused the reaction. His joy at seeing his fellow monks survival was then compromised, as he saw the column of smoke that rose from the distant monastery compound. They had destroyed the monastery thorough fire, and sought to destroy their spirits through its loss. Padma's hopes for reconstruction of the monastic community were now dashed, and the realization hit him with the apparent force of a physical blow. The people standing next to him kept him from falling to the ground in despair. Sensing his feelings, they held him up with their arms and his ‘wife’ held him close to her, as his body shook in convulsive sobs. Embarrassed for his discomposure, but unable to hide it, Padma straightened up with an effort, and resolved to be strong. His fellow monks had sustained much more pain than he had, and he had to be strong for them now. He understood that there was much to be done. Since they were now homeless, he would have to coordinate suitable arrangements. These duties naturally fell on his shoulders since he was now, unofficially, the leader of the village. After the trauma had subsided after those first horrible days, the people looked to him for guidance and support. They had quietly, and secretly, arranged for small meetings of people for daily prayers. He was obviously their spiritual leader; but since the leadership of the village had been killed, he was the presumptive temporal leader as well. He felt a little uncomfortable with the roles, but he again took this as a sign that this was his destined path.. Why else was he spared? He wondered. Now, he was happy to have the duty to help his brother monks; and his mind began reviewing all the details of what accommodations that had to be made. It wasn’t a simple task, with the ever-present watchful eye of the enemy perpetually upon them. The Chinese had done everything they could to curry favor with some Tibetans to infiltrate the society. While their attempts ended in failure, rumors of this person or that person seeking Chinese favors circulated with increasing regularity, and had to be taken seriously. It was said that some were even in the pay of the Chinese, and they were no longer to be trusted. Many lives were now at stake, and secrecy was replacing openness. Padma detested the changes, but conceded to the majority out of necessity.
“They are corrupting us now, already, with these intrigues - breeding distrust and deception. We must remain true to our way of life, and not take on their twisted practices and values,” he had protested vehemently at the council meeting.
But, his argument was countered with one simple statement from a pragmatic villager: “To play along with their game is not acceptance of it, its about survival. We just must not be so quickly open to all, assuming they are honorable before they prove it. It is little enough of a sacrifice for solidarity and survival, yes?”
Padma could not argue with the logic, although he felt great sadness for the changes in his society.
“When and where will the compromises end? Are we all to become like bandits, or wandering nomads who trust no one?” he wondered.
His master had advised him not to compromise; but this had to be done to survive, he concluded.
“I must be watchful, however, about any further erosion of our way of life.....it is the essence of the true world, one cannot exist without the other.....they are all related, integrated, a whole.”
His mind came back to the present, with the arrival of the first of the monks into the center of the village. The long structure of prayer wheels marked the exact center of the village. Two-storied buildings surrounded the open space, providing a natural gathering space. No gatherings, however, had been allowed by the Chinese troops. Any groups of three or more were brutally separated - some by being shot. So, no one felt safe being with other people, until now.
“Why is today suddenly different?” Padma worried to himself, knowing that the Chinese did nothing without personal benefit.
The largest building on the center space had been commandeered by the Chinese, as their headquarters building. They erected a large speaker on its upper level that blared out propaganda continually, to the dismay of the villagers; and, for the purposeful disruption of the common peace and quiet. It was uncharacteristically silent now, and the Chinese commanders stood in the open windows to observe the square below.
Padma began to worry about the significance of all of these unusual circumstances. He had come to understand that not much happened with the Chinese that hadn’t been meticulously planned by the commanding officers. Nothing, no matter how innocuous, happened without a reason....whether that reason was apparent, or not, to the visible eye. The cold, ruthless, and methodically calculating ways of their oppressors were hard in themselves to understand and accept. But Padma had tried to put aside as much assessment or prejudgment as he could, in order to truly understand the mind of their enemy. It was a scary experience, and threatened to corrupt his very spirit - such was the severity of its intent. Due to this, he had overcome any naïve hopes of humane behavior by them long ago.
The open area had filled to near capacity, while Padma had been thinking; and it was ringed by many soldiers with guns to maintain control. His brother monks had physically survived, but they carried a bleak sense of hopelessness in their dragging steps - until recognition of Padma registered on their faces. They lit up like Christmas trees, as hope sprang back to life when they saw one of their spiritual leaders in disguise. None of them, however, spoke.....and they all attempted to quickly avert their gaze from Padma, so not to raise suspicions among the Chinese. But the transformation in their dispositions was dramatic, and rewarding to the villagers to see. The monastery had been destroyed, and many people tortured and killed, but they had failed to break the spirit of these silent, yet strong, Tibetan people. Padma looked up to the upper story of the main building to see the faces of the visiting general, and his captains, change dramatically as well. Their faces had been glowing from false pride in a seemingly easy victory, and the apparent sublimation of the Tibetans. Upon seeing the visible transformation of the broken monks however, their facial expressions shifted into masks of consternation and frustration.
General Tso was furious. Although he tried to hide it, he wasn’t very successful. Fearful of his impending wrath, his captains shrank visibly alongside him.
“These are not conquered enemies of strength. These are sheep, and yet you have failed to break their will, and begin the re-education and integration process. Their great unification to the motherland!” he nearly screamed at his commanders.
“What have you to say for yourselves? Must I do everything?”
“Sir, we follow the plan given to us, it just take longer dan expected. Today, we make big step....you sea,” the top commander spoke sheepishly, and bowed his head in supplication.
The general’s mind raced. He knew it would do no good to punish his commanders.
“This is the case everywhere in this damned Tibetan campaign!” he cursed under his breath.
He had hoped, however, that the approach taken in this village had worked better than the others.....and now....
“These damn people are like sheep to slaughter, and were unable, or unwilling, to defend even their children's lives. Weakly dying, rather than fight back! They didn’t evon put up a good fight, evon still they not beaten!” his internal diatribe continued.
“Evon so, such as is, vicktory is vicktory. I not allow this rabble to mock their rightful rulers!” he said to himself.
Out loud, he merely said: “We connot afford to make martyr for this religion! We must handle this most skillfully..... Damned Religion! Chairman Mao is right, religion is poison! These fools are poisoned so much that they mock us, their liberator from religious oppression! We have to teach them other way. The way of the strong of this earth, those who con recognize their true nature will survive - the others?” his question lingered unanswered for a prolonged moment.....a moment meant for emphasis.
”Who care?”
“Today, General, they learn important lesson - as to what way rightful! They will know the masters, and give proper respect!”
“Yes, we must interrogate them, instill fear in them. Sooo deep, so not can ignore!”
The Commanders response to the General’s statement was to yell to his man: “captain, bring out girls!”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain left the room, went downstairs, and barked out commands to his men who were waiting for his signal to execute their plan. Numerous Tibetan girls had been confiscated during the initial takeover, and had been kept in a building for the officer’s entertainment. Their families had thought them dead, and probably would have wished that on them, as opposed to what had been visited upon them by the soldiers. Long accustomed to prostitutes, the soldiers gratefully introduced the innocent girls to
a life of debauched sex. Now, they were brought outside into the open square - to the amazement of their families and friends who had thought them dead, and their bodies long gone. Audible gasps of grateful surprise were soon replaced by cries of despair, as the realizations sank into the crowd.
The speaker came to life, before anyone could move.
“We come here to relieve you of shackles of religious persecution and oppression. Yet, we merciful to those who show contrition and who willing to accept the truth.”
At this pronouncement, the armed soldiers came to the center, and made a line between the villagers and the monks. Ten girls were brought in and paired up with monks.
“We allow these religious fanatics to acknowledge the error of their ways, and become part of our great society - by marry into family here! But first, to prove that they have not tried to deceive us in lies, they will prove their revocation of their religious yoke in plain view....for all to see.”
At this signal, an armed soldier held a gun to the paired couples, and forced them to undress. One monk refused, and was promptly shot in the head, while his partner girl stood frozen in fear. Another girl refused to have sex with her monk, and was summarily shot as well. Shocked silence spread throughout the crowd, and all eyes, regardless of the obscenity being perpetrated, were riveted on the monks and girls. Desensitized by months of brutalized behavior and sexual misuse, the girls knew better than to resist, and they readily undressed. The monks were then forced to have sex with the girls, who had been instructed what to do beforehand to ‘assist‘ the monks. The girls, of course, had been continually threatened to comply with whatever orders they were given - under the threat of torture, and death, to them and their families. So, they saw their actions as necessary to save their lives, the monk’s lives, and their families. Those who didn’t comply, were shot in the head. So, the monks were forced to break their vows of celibacy and to consummate their ‘marriage’ to the stricken girls, or cause their death by inaction. It was a dilemma of such extreme sadistic proportions that it was unfathomable to the poor participants - whose only wish was to stop their suffering and the suffering of others. Having sex meant life for everyone, not having sex meant death - not just for themselves, but others. This point was emphasized with another obscene exhibition.
The speakers rang out as a mother and child were brought to the side of the dead girl who refused to have sex with her assigned monk. The commander had picked a girl he knew would refuse, and had planned ahead to have her younger brother and mother kept in ready for this moment.
“This girl refuse to join the great society, by renouncing religious tyranny, and marry this monk to save them both. So, she and her family, must learn new reality. Refusal will not be tolerated by our efficient society.....with equality for all. They have to learn, and be example to others! No one is better than others!”
At this, the soldier standing next to the boy handed him a gun, and forced his mother to kneel at his feet. Holding the gun with the boys hand in his, he forced the boy to shoot his mother in the head. Her lifeless body hit the ground with a thud, and the horror registered on the boys stricken and tear stained face. The crowd of people surged forward at seeing this atrocity; and were firmly held in check by the soldiers who simultaneously fired off shots into the air. The sound and violence of all of the rifles firing at once, immediately stalled the crowd in its tracks. Deadening shock was all that was left for the onlookers. Padma, like many others, wretched up their stomachs in uncontrollable disgust and revulsion. The whole scene had been thoroughly choreographed by the commanding officer, and he beamed with pride at its flawless execution.
The general smiled broadly, signaling his approval, and simply said to the commander: “you go far, commander....you go far.”
As the grisly drama unfolded below, the speakers came back to life and droned on with their propaganda messages.....trying to reinforce the twisted logic into the vulnerable and stricken crowd. The villagers were forced to stay, and witness things so horrible they could never even imagine them in their worst nightmares.....all in the name of ‘re-education.”
“The world has changed,” the recorded Tibetan voice rang out from the speakers. “You have been poisoned by imperialist religion that has weakened a once proud people. Yes,
While the twisted speech had played, and replayed, another two pairs of parents and young children were brought alongside the bodies of girls who had refused to have public sex with the monks. Again, the children were forced to shoot their parents in the head. One of the children didn’t understand what a gun was, and easily complied. But, when he saw his fathers brains fly with a large spurt of blood, he shrieked with blood curdling and hysterical screams. The other child had seen what happened, and understood what he was being told to do; so, he had to be forced by a solider to squeeze the trigger in unison. Carnage and screaming was everywhere.....the scene was straight out of one of Dante’s hellacious infernos.
“Let them consider that!” said the general absently to his commanders.
“They comply now, and change as we desire. People do anything to stay alive, will they not?”
The terrified, and emotionally destroyed, children sobbed uncontrollably over their parents inert bodies - not knowing what to do, and given no comfort. The crowd was too horrified to even whisper.
After a while, the guards pulled the children away, and pushed them towards the crowd. Almost immediately, they were absorbed into the crowd. Padma was dumbstruck, and could only look up into the brilliant blue sky for a mental escape from the grisly scene. It was a sky that he loved so much, a sky that had held reassurance and comfort for him in the past. Now, however, the sun just hung in the sky.......like the day was no different from any other day....and he cried with unabashed sobs at the apparent betrayal of the spirits of the skies - going on, as if nothing had changed, when reality had in fact been destroyed.
The Chinese general, bored with the spectacle of the public sex and occasional executions, told the commander to continue in his absence. As he walked briskly away to a waiting lunch, he commented blithely: “But, save monks who refuse to have sex. Kill girls, if need be, but save the monks for later. And, try to leave enough of the village alive to remember today. Do as you are told!”
The bloody event went on for a few hours, until all 38 monks had been forced into sex, or had refused to participate. Those who had complied were released into the crowd as being ‘married’ to the girl with whom they had sex. Those who refused were made to stand against a wall to await the consequences.
The general returned late in the afternoon, near evening, when he was notified by the commander that they were nearly done.
The bodies had been cleared away, and the lingering stricken victims were given water and food. As this was being done, the General’s voice boomed over the speaker: “You see, now, we are generous people! We desire only to release you from tyranny, and do what we must to accomplish this goal! Since your people have been in clutches of this tyranny so long, it take time to assimilate and adjust. We patient people, though; and, as prosperity improve your lives, you realize tdhis!”
The looks of disbelief and terror on the villagers faces had been replaced by resignation, and fear of retribution. The recalcitrant monks, however, were not phased. Their very discipline and calm, learned from years of meditation and daily practices, had made them somehow immune to the Generals’ falsehoods - and he knew it the minute that he looked at their faces. Bile rose up into his throat at this thought; and, his anger from disgrace reared its ugly head once again. But, outwardly, he kept silent and deadly still - although his eyes belied his demeanor in their intense and animalistic glow. His piercing gaze sought that of the unflinching monks. With sharp commanding words, and crisp movements, he demanded that the monks be brought out of their group, seven at a time. Once removed, they were lined up against the wall of the adjacent building. Twenty one monks had refused to comply to the public sex, out of the thirty eight monks who had survived the invasion. This left twenty two survivors from the 120 monks who had lived at the monastery....including Padma. Even though he was happy to be alive, the sadness and despair in him over his fellow monks threatened to overwhelm him. He was having trouble even standing, and again, his friends came to his aid...unbidden, but welcome. Their physical presence was reassuring, and it was the only thing that kept him from collapsing. He almost longed to be with his brothers who had died, and to leave this painful world cleanly and quickly.. As it was, he was the only one to escape unscathed.....physically. He wasn’t afraid of death, no real monk was afraid of death. Rather, he feared the pain of his future life. But, he could no more deny his duty than any other exercise of his patience. This would just be a very big, and hurtful, exercise. He silently prayed for the strength to adhere to the duty laid out before him.
Unceremoniously, the General ordered the firing squad to shoot the monks against the wall. Although the crowd gasped, there wasn’t enough fear in their faces for his liking. After the second group died similarly, he ordered that the last group of seven monks be killed slowly. They were dismembered slowly, piece by piece, with a sherpa knife - literally hacked to pieces as they died.
“Throw the bodies in that well,” he instructed, “and cover them with dirt afterwards, so that the crows and vultures can’t get to them!”
This was another unspeakable horror to the Tibetans in that it was tradition to allow bodies to be given up to the animals.......to be recycled into life.
The general’s voice boomed once again over the raspy speaker: “See, the teachings of this God Buddha does nothing but make you weak. Action is strength! We must teach you this! Inaction is weakness, and the world rewards the men who do, rather than those who live like parasite off the rest. Talk of compassion and non-violence is weak thinking that has diluted a once proud Chinese peoples, and caused your society to revert to weakness of action. Someday, you thanks us for eliminating these religious oppressors; these instruments of religious imperialism! They have told you many lie, for very long. We here to deliver you from such tyranny; and as you see, we now removing the perpetrators. Those who refuse to comply to inevitable. Because there are more among you! That why we must stay, to guard you from their resurgence, and to educate you on the true motherland
With this last statement, he motioned the guards to release the remaining prisoners. Many stood motionless, still stunned in shock.....until they were pushed into the crowd by the armed guards.
Moving out of need, Padma, directed people to take the abused monks into their homes.....assigning them with simple hand motions. What girls remained, those who lacked any family to claim them, were similarly assigned to capable people for help and shelter. The crowd, once released from the terrible spectacle, dispersed quickly in deathly silence.....all too numb to even talk. They drifted to their homes, trying to find a safe place to hide and recover. Muted sobs were the only sounds to be heard; and Padma...although stunned as much as anyone....was the only person to provide the necessary direction the stricken people required. He felt numb - beyond shock, words, and feelings. He stood awhile, frozen like a statue, before his rational mind said: “move.” Then, his body asked: “How?”
He’d been knocked into a mute, and emotionless, state. His brain and emotions had been overrun. Before all of the disaster, he had attained a highly sensitized state for the feelings of others, and therefore was highly attuned to acts of compassion. He’d been incredibly vulnerable, and was unprepared for the assault of his mind, body, and soul during the invasion. But, his mind also told him: “You must move......they need you.”
So he forced himself to function....quickly, decisively, and continually.... throughout the following weeks, even though his mind and body suffered the consequences. Too much needed to be done, and too many people were either physically hurt, or emotionally trashed, to function effectively. Conflict was negligible, and everyone did what he asked of them without question. And so, the community began to become one again, and started onto a healing course. Focused on helping and restoring the community as quickly, and as best as possible, he did little to hide his efforts. Therefore, his leadership didn’t go unnoticed.
“Commander?”
“Yes? Why you bother me?”
“I have intelligence to report - from our new spies in village.”
“Yes, go on. How goes conversion process?”
“Not so good, sir....”
Fear of delivering the bad news had kept the captain from reporting to the commander until it became clear that he couldn’t hide it much longer. His voice broke as he spoke.
“Sir. The people are falling into daily activities again, but they not as cowed and repentant as expected. They have leader, and he brought them to work together. Our efforts to sow dissent and distrust amongst peoples are frustrated by his presence. They trust and respect him!”
“Can we bribe him to our cause?”
“We try, sir. But he not accept bribes!”
“That impwossible! Everyman has weakness....find it! Don’t bother me again - until you do!”
“Sir, respectfully, this humble servant has tried all manner of things. Women, money, alcohol and drugs; even promise of rewarding position! Nothing work!”
“Hmmmm, nothing??”
“Nothing.....”
“Bring him for questions. Spread rumor that he work for us! Hold him, and while you hold him, undermine his authority by punish those close to him, very harshly. As if he be held, safely, while we pursue people who he implicate as being subversive. Through this, and other means, you turn everyone against him, as their betrayer.....while you hold him - without outside contact! Have him appear protected, while others hurt from his betrayals.”
“Very clever, sir....very clever.”
“Don’t bother me again, captain......do you work....or suffer consequences!”
“Yeeesss sirr,” he said with quiet intensity, as he backed out of the Commander’s office.
Within the hour, Padma was politely escorted to visit the command building. The captain himself, talked amicably to him, as they took a circuitous route through the village. He wanted as many people as possible to see them together - so that the charade would be complete.
Padma was puzzled, but offered no resistance. He knew that would be futile. He was resigned to fate’s fortune.
Upon entering the command compound of buildings, he was taken to an interior room and left there for many hours.....until darkness was heavy upon the world. At near midnight, he was taken out of his room by two armed guards, and literally thrown into a newly dug hole with a trap door covering. Just as the door was shut, the Captain said maliciously: “We see how they welcome you, once they know you for who you are!”
Puzzled, and shaken from the rough treatment, he cowed in a corner of the small space as the trap door fell shut with a sickly thud of finality. So had started his incarceration....
All of his recollections were played, and replayed, through Padma’s head during his months of captivity. After a while, they came out of order, randomly, and without bidding. His only defense against insanity was his mantras, and reflections upon his childhood and his life in the monastery. His door was only opened after dark, and then only for a short period of time - just enough to throw in minimal food and water. So, Padma could never really see the sun. It was a dark and lonely hell.
The events went according to the Captain’s plan. People who had been close to Padma were interrogated, tortured slightly, told that they were lucky to be left alive, and sent back into the community to sow further dissention. One had to die....to prove the point that Padma had betrayed them. They chose a shopkeeper that they wanted to remove anyway, and that was done publicly with a “trial of sedition and conspiracy,” and then he was summarily executed. By the time the captain decided to release Padma, the community was in a irreversible state of confusion and contentiousness. The propaganda, and newfound opportunistic undercover informants and spies, had done their work. The captain expected Padma to be killed once he was released into the streets. He publicly denounced Padma, as a “corrupting influence” to the new order, but that he had “been partially reformed, and ready for re-admittance to society to be taught now by the peoples themselves.” Padma was heralded as an example of “ultimate charity,“ that “even traitors and spies would be treated fairly.” Confusion upon confusion, lies upon lies, and deceits within deceit was the new social order; and so the Chinese misinformation process went reasonably well, turning the peoples upon themselves. The “process” was far enough along to allow the release of most of the soldiers onto another “mission of freedom,” in other villages. The captain didn’t even wait to see what would become of Padma. He’d served his purpose.
“Who cares now what he does?” he thought, as he rode out of the village for the last time.
The crowd assembled for his public trial and denouncement, dispersed fairly quickly after the trial was concluded and wandered aimlessly away - into former duties, with the lackluster effort of a beaten people. No one dared to even look at Padma.....let alone help him. He was a terrible, and foul, sight after he had been drug from his underground prison - blinded by the sun, and babbling like a lunatic. After darkness came, protected by its cloak, his ‘wife’ came and took him home with her - with the silent assistance of her male family members.
Padma stayed in bed for weeks. Time again, didn’t make sense. It flowed as it flowed, without his consideration. His mind needed time to assimilate all he’d undergone, and his body was healing from muscle damage and ugly open sores. At some level he was aware that he was no longer captive, and that he was in a safe and healing place. But, his mind and emotions had been stretched nearly beyond repair. His mind needed time to assimilate the major paradigm shift of the new, horrible, world view. The unthinkable had happened....and worse. His mind tried to deny the reality, but that protection only lasted as long as he was unable to accept the tremendous amount of pain that he felt. His pain for those who had died; his pain for himself, and for those who also had to live with the horrors. And, empathy for the future pain for those yet to be born into the newly twisted world. Without understanding it, he’d become nonfunctional. Deep down, there was a faint awareness that his body was being cared for, so he no longer worried about physical survival, and allowed himself to relax enough to try to understand what had happened to him. The woman quietly, and lovingly, nursed him day by day. Feeding him nourishing Tsampa porridge, and butter tea, like a baby. Like an invalid child, she cared for him.....changing soiled bed linens, and asking for nothing.....nurturing him as best that she could. His body responded mutely to her gentle requests, and ministrations; swallowing and moving, as asked, but never of its own accord....until one day.
Awareness dawned on Padma as his eyes registered posts and beams. Posts and beams directly above his prone body.
“Red, lots of red,” was his first conscious recognition; then other subtle colors....all in harmony with each other, painted on the beams, posts and walls. Then, there was a sound. One he had recognized had been there before; but now, he heard it! He lay still in bed, afraid to move....trying to take in all the voices he sensed; for they felt like voices. Even the colors......he seemed to hear them? They drifted in and out of his conscious awareness through his ocular vision, and mind’s eye, by fading in and out as they moved.
“Moved? Did anything move?” he asked himself.
“No,” was his rational mind’s response, but his eyes disputed that assessment. Then, they all stood still, the voice became steady and sure, and it all matched his mind’s perception.
“Whew!” he said aloud, “I worried that my mind had been lost,” he thought.
He still wasn’t aware of the difference between thought and speech, but was reassured nonetheless....although he never really felt much panic.
“If there’s a problem I can solve, then there is no reason to worry; and, if there is a problem I can’t solve then worrying will do me no good.”
“Ahhhh, the teachings of His Holiness, the wise Dalai Lama, are not forgotten.....they bring me peace and reassurance,” he told himself. “I must’ve gone unconscious.....what happened?” he asked aloud, to the air, and tried to rise out of bed.
“Ouch, a bad incident to be sure. My body hurts all over, but I have to let water....bad....and I will not pee my bed like a child!”
Talking aloud helped motivate him to action, and he forced his rubbery legs into moving. He made about two steps before he fell, crashing to the floor and upsetting the little stand that held a pot of water and a bowl. Both the pot and the bowl broke, and he lay in a mess of broken pottery and water. Unable to hold his bladder any longer, he then peed all over himself and the floor.
“What a mess I have made,” he commented lamely to himself.
Before he could manage to move much further to help himself, the door to the room opened, and he looked up to see the smiling face of a portly woman....her face framed by the bright red door frame. She was a large woman, and apparently a friendly woman. Padma relaxed at the realization, and accepted the fact that she would care for what he couldn’t. Before he could say anything, she was talking.
“We feared you would not wake, asleep so very long. But, I keep trying....and now?”
“Thank you,” was all he could get out of his parched mouth, and rattling throat. She then set to helping him back into bed; and began cleaning, as she hummed her prayers in a subvocalized tone. It was a prayer that Padma remembered.....one from his childhood, as his grandmother had held him by the fireside. He also remembered hearing it while he had lain in bed, seemingly unaware. He smiled at the memories, and drifted into a light sleep.
Over the days and weeks to follow, Padma regained his awareness and the use of his limbs. Fragile as they were, from months of atrophy, they still worked; and, he gradually grew stronger each day. The news was more than horrible, and the family tried to keep it from him as much as they could - until he was more fully recovered. They could see the harmful effects on him when he heard the hurtful news, and therefore tried to shield him the best that they could. Chamdo had fallen, due to the betrayal of the opportunistic governor there, and the Chinese had taken
No one trusted what the Chinese or any strangers said, but that very fact bred the distrust and dissent that was their objective. Manipulation worked best when the subjects were kept from the whole truth, and were systematically kept in a state of confusion - while the manipulator was the only one who retained knowledge of the whole picture. It was a plan, and it was working.
“If nothing else, they are good liars,” Padma lamented.
“Good enough to even fool themselves, and maybe other countries - if other countries even cared about the Tibetan people. We have been too isolated, and were perfect for conquest,” he realized sadly.
“But,” Padma hoped, “maybe they aren't good enough liars to fool the Tibetan people.”
The Tibetan’s life practices, religion, farming, and herding activities were all integrated into a whole; a unique world of existence. Nothing existed independently, and the Tibetan people knew that truism deep into the core of their beings. Padma knew that this was something the Chinese could never comprehend.
“Theirs being a society managed on fear, ignorance, propaganda, and deception.”
For the Chinese to deprogram this from the Tibetans was impossible. But, they persisted in their efforts, and grew more angry and hurtful as they failed to achieve their goal. Padma heard many of the horror stories, and could discern the desperation in the Chinese that had fueled the atrocities. There was a definite fear that the Tibetans would be able to resist effective ‘cleansing.’ If that were the case, it would continually call their actions into question since they couldn’t hide their horrible acts, and propagandize resistance away. From what Padma had been told, the Tibetans had generally withstood the attempts at bribery and betrayal. Their values were the opposite of material attachments; and, compassion ruled their actions. The Chinese could spoon feed their population, and control information and propaganda within
At first, Padma remembered little from the travesty of the months before; but, the changes in his world were ever-present harsh reminders of those horrible days. Bit by bit, the memories returned, and he sobbed anew at the unbidden pain that they evoked, as he relived them upon review. The first change he had noticed was the sign of near constant watchfulness, and fear, on his host’s face. When he first awoke, the woman’s first action was to motion him to silence, and then to check each of the windows and doors for any sign of prying eyes or ears. When Padma had awoken the second time, he was full of questions and talking loudly. His body ached with unanswered questions of its own. What was broken in this body? What was just bruised? And, what merely ached from not being exercised?
The woman sat on the floor next to his bedside - once assured that they were not being watched.
“You must not move yet, you are not ready.”
“But I....”
“No, you have suffered grave damage, and must re-awake slowly!”
These were bold statements for a village woman to speak to a venerable monk; but, these were desperate times, and she obviously feared for the safety of her patient. She didn’t want him hurt further, out of ignorant actions. Padma accepted this all without comment, and sat up with a pained effort.
“Where am I? This is not your home ......I remember....what has happened?”
“You were frozen from abuse, while being held captive for so long.”
Padma remembered horrible events, but his memory was sketchy on the status of the other monks. It was like there was a hole in his mind, where they should have been.
“Tell me, what has become of my brother monks? Why do they not tend to my needs?”
The awful look of dread that showed on her face answered it all, before she even spoke a word. In that moment of hesitation, the memories all rushed forward through his mind, and hit him with a blow akin to a physical slap. She closed her mouth without uttering a word. She knew then, that he now remembered it all.
“They are all gone,” he answered his own question simply.
Then, she reached over and held him close to her breast, as sobs racked his pitiful frame. She held him thus for over an hour, until his breathing resumed to normal. Once out, the feelings were almost bearable.
“How long has my mind wished for this release?” he wondered.
The woman said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. Sparse of words, and blessed with an almost telepathic connection with each other, the Tibetan people understood many things without the rough encumbrance of speech. Speech was such a minor part of real communication. This was another thing that made the subjugation of the Tibetan people so hard for the Chinese. Communication between the Tibetans was so much deeper, nearly cryptic, and full of feelings and emotions. To the Tibetans it was always an awful irritation to have so many clashing voices rattling off, when they came into contact with foreigners. It was clear from the nature of their communications that non-Tibetans possessed little understanding of real communication between themselves, the forces of nature, and others.
“They lack the sense of harmony that is the basic foundation for truly effective communications. Delighting in miscommunications, misinformation, and deceptive manipulation, they’re lost in a sea of confusion. So out of touch with real life......it is truly sad,” lamented Padma silently.
“Did no monks survive? Am I THE only one alive here?” he asked.
“No, a few cowered in corners - young and weak ones.”
“Thanks no doubt to their respect for the Buddha‘s teachings,” he said in relief.
“Enough, enough - eat and sleep!”
Although it seemed like he’d slept for an eternity, he did feel drowsy, and ravenous with hunger. She spoon fed him warm Tsampa porridge with goats milk, as she had done for so many weeks; but, now he was alert and impatient for nourishment. His body cried out for sustenance. Gently lifting the burnished wooden bowl from her hands, he drew it close to his mouth and drank deeply. She smiled, and gave him two more bowls worth, before he waved her off with a gentle hand motion. Signaling that he was full, and no amount of argument would get any more food past his lips today. She smiled, cleaned up, and left the room silently - pretending that she had been cleaning the room all the while. All food and utensils were cleverly hidden in her bucket, beneath cleaning things. She gave him a stern look, and an upward index finger placed over her closed lips brooked no discussion. The message was clear, he was to remain quiet until she returned. He wondered at the necessity for such subterfuge, but not too long, as he fell into a very deep sleep. Suddenly, he’d become very tired.
Later that night, the door bumped open, and hurried footsteps could be heard in the murky darkness. The footfalls were the footsteps of Tibetans, clearly identifiable...even in the darkness of the night....by the padded thumping noise they made. It sounded like bears tip toeing about on their thick foot pads. Their warm and durable shoes were made from layers upon layers of knitted Yak wool pads. So, hearing the sound of these feet didn’t alarm Padma....even though he could see nothing of their owners. The multiple feet thumped across the floor of the long room - growing louder as they approached his bed.
“What’s happening?” he wondered, but dared not speak.
A large, round, friendly face came within inches of his face; and although his breath was warm and smelly, Padma felt comforted and safe. With a flick of eye contact, the sturdy man nodded his intent to Padma, and swept him up into his strong arms. Now Padma was totally confused, but he considered that his safety must be at risk, and that they were moving him to some other location. He relaxed, and offered no resistance to the strong muscled grip of the stocky sherpa who held him aloft - like a child being moved in the night. Down the ladder-like steps they went, nearly losing balance twice, to the ground floor of the house. Another man below them on the ladder supported Padma's carrier, and himself, as they descended ....to forestall any chance of falling. Padma felt lucky to be in the care of these people.
“But, then again why shouldn’t I?” he scolded himself internally.
“Let not doubt cloud your reasoning, nor distract you from your focus,” he chided himself in a teacher’s scornful way.
“Don’t give into the distrust of the Chinese.....these are my people. Of course I can trust them!”
Someone lit a small fire in the open hearth located at the center of the large room.
“This in itself isn’t an unusual thing, and therefore should not be suspect to prying eyes,” Padma considered.
So again, his fears were quickly allayed. His caretakers were thorough.
“Very thorough,” he thought.
Sincere, loving, and wonderful people they were - but not stupid.
“That’s another Chinese blindside I must remember to utilize,” thought Padma.
“They think us stupid mountain people, and weak because we don’t value the things they do, nor are as aggressive or violent. Let them wonder,” he schooled himself, “let them underestimate us.”
“This intrusion into our land, and the massacres, were indeed horrible - but not irreparable,” he reflected.
All of these thoughts strengthened his feelings of hope, and gave him a renewed sense of duty.
They seated him, as best they could, on a pile of Yak wool sleeping pads. The pads were spread all around the perimeter of the large room, and spoke to the importance of this place and its owners.
“It was big enough to meet in,” he thought.
But he then quickly reminded himself that they were now in different circumstances; and easily killed, if any thought of that reached the Chinese patrols. Yes, they had made changes. The room now looked like a refugee shelter for homeless people. Padma was propped up in a corner of the room so he wouldn’t fall down, and left there in silence with two words of instruction: “Watch, and learn.”
He understood, with an unusual clarity, his role. He must pretend to be a refugee, not a monk. His clothes had been changed during his convalescence, but they were still the simple and functional clothes of a nomad herder. Herders were necessary to keep animals alive, so if they didn’t get into any trouble, they were considered ok by the Chinese, and were therefore the safest of the Tibetans. A lot had changed in his long sleep, and Padma did indeed need to observe and learn. Quick witted as he was, this only provided more hope to his cause.
“Acquire facts and information, and learn. That’s what I’ll do first!”
Violence against the Chinese was unthinkable, regardless of their barbarous actions. But, non-violence didn’t mean compliance either.
“This is destined to be a quiet war, but a long one,” he mused.
“Long, and arduous,” his master had told him.
His only defenses for his people was the wisdom of pursuing their enlightenment. With adequate information and perseverance, they could outwit the aggressors, and once again light the righteous path of the Buddha, for those who chose to learn.
The room filled with an assortment of people. Old, young, and of varied origin, the group looked as though they had all eaten and intended to sleep there through the night. Some awake, others feigning sleep, the tableau was completed.....and not a moment too soon.
The wide wooden front door was suddenly kicked open, causing it to hit a pile of goods, and a person sitting nearby it - knocking all asunder. Feigning surprise, the Tibetans kept their eyes on the Chinese officer - right where he wanted them. They knew the ego of these people, and played into it skillfully, with their outward demeanor displaying subservience, their inside resolve only grew stronger. Barking out orders in Chinese, the officer threw his arms out in commanding motions - directing his men to search for any irregularities. Although he didn’t expect any, he acted the show nonetheless. In his mind, he had to maintain the view that these were dangerous people to his men; although, they all stood motionless - mutely facing the pointed guns.
“They don’t even try run;.how stupid they are,” he thought. “They care so little for life that they live in squalor, and follow any command. This be easy war,” he thought.
“A no-war of sorts.”
He had to retain some sense of righteousness, to convince at least himself of the validity of the Chinese “reunification of the historic homeland.” Built upon shaky foundations, and propped up with sketchy information, the average Chinese citizen could only trust the few old men that ran in the country.
“They are right. I am right. I just don’t understand all - it not my place! That is above me, I dare not question!”
So, the hive mentality of the average Chinese soldier, bred into emotional insensitivity, kept the charade alive - and provided the rational for the necessary “cultural cleansing.”
“Enough!” the officer shouted to his men. “Check upstairs!”
Two soldiers scrambled up the ladder and checked out the second floor.
“No one here,” one reported.
"Ok,” he thought, “killing one now would only mess up my boots.”
So instead, he cuffed the one who had been hit by the door with the butt of his rifle. Ostensibly, to punish him for blocking the door - but more so, to reinforce his shaky hold on his justification for the war.
“Why
“What I do to displease someone so much, to sent me to this barren and tree-less world? I be happy when this over, and I can go home to drinking partners, and real women!”
With his thought complete, he remained standing for a few minutes longer - trying to look as severe, and threatening, as possible. With the appropriate amount of time spent on intimidation done, he snapped to attention, and led his soldiers out into the waning light of day.
Everyone was visibly relieved when the Chinese had left. Although they didn’t relax, nor move for another 15 minutes or so - until they were sure that the soldiers wouldn’t be returning. Even still, there was a tension in the room ......of a kind that Padma had only experienced during his trips to outlying areas of
“It has begun,” he thought.
“We must reassure the people in this dire time of repression.”
His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of an old man standing at his side. People alongside Padma’s left side moved noiselessly aside, for the patriarch of the group. He settled down with a long sigh, and a welcoming warm smile for his ward, Padma.
**********
“Are you ok, Thomas?” asked Matt‘s disembodied voice, in a tone of real concern.
Tom awoke halfway, in the pale, dawning morning light - physically shaken from his ‘vision’ dream. It was as if he had lived years overnight, and it must have shown on his face. As his ocular vision cleared, his dream vision faded; and Matt’s concerned visage loomed closely overhead. Matt’s face came into focus, as the muted morning light coalesced around him. His form went from a big black and gray form, to that of a caring person. As Tom’s vision cleared, so did his mind. But there was a delay in attaining synchronization. The image came first, then the sound. Then, a while later, the understanding. Like an old motion picture projector, his view of the real world rumbled awkwardly into action. Tom sat up, to help himself regain full consciousness; and was rewarded with a tinge of vertigo.
“Hey, Matt, howsss......”
“Whoa, boy! Lay back a bit, dude. Catch your breath, ok? You’re a little out of your mind here. It must be a touch of altitude sickness....” Matt said, as he gently guided Thomas back down to his pillows.
“No, I’ve been somewhere. I ‘m just foggy, its clearing up.”
“You haven’t been anywhere, but in dreamland for fourteen hours. You were talking most of the night, out of your head things! It was kind of eerie, and frankly, freaked Andre out. He’s gone to breakfast, I told him I’d get you going. So, Wassssup? Quite a bit of dreaming, eh?”
“It was sooooo real. I lived it. I was there!”
“Yeah, the best ones are like that. Sounds like you had a doozie! You were looking a bit dazed last night at dinner, and then you just went to bed and died! When we got to the room you were already stone cold out of it, so we just let you sleep. But, the tour guide wants to get moving, so we can make it to Shigatse early enough to tour the head Lama’s palace and monastery. Do you feel well enough to move? I can check and see if they have altitude sickness medicine.”
“Hello? Are you ok, Thomas?” Helga's voice broke in, as she entered the room slowly; starting first with her head.
“Andre says you aren’t well, is there anything I can do?” she asked, sincerely.
“Yeah, spank Andre for worrying everyone, and doing nothing!” Tom replied with a half laugh.
“Oh, I’m ok guys, really. Don’t worry them, or yourself, about altitude sickness. I’ve spent lots of time in higher altitudes. Its not that, I’ve just dreamt really vivid dreams. I was wiped out!”
“They say that's what happens here, Thomas,” intoned Matt.
“I know. I think there are two interpretations to that. One, low oxygen makes you delusional. Two, that this is a highly receptive area for channeling. As stupid as it sounds, I think it’s a little of both.”
Matt gave Tom an even more concerned look after his observation; and Helga remained tactfully silent. Tom then realized that if he shared his present feelings and dream beliefs, it would only give them more reason for concern. His thought processes had cleared, and he felt strangely calm and rested - even though his heart felt like it was going to break from sadness. He knew that he had to be careful what he said, because he himself hadn’t had a chance to review it all, and to totally understand it yet. So, it was bound to come out garbled, and he didn’t want a reputation for being nuts. He had that reputation in other times in his life, when he’d openly questioned conventional thought on a particular subject. He learnt from those experiences, that people couldn’t necessarily make the same leaps of intuition that he could. A leap meant a big shift from one paradigm to another, and he had seen that most people had to be phased into a shift......not thrown. It was Tom’s biggest gift, and initially his biggest curse - until he understood how to manage it. He often found himself suddenly on the other side of a big understanding gulf from others, people to whom he had formerly been very close. It annoyed him to not be understood, or taken seriously, but it alarmed others as to his sanity. He had ultimately come to realize that people coped better with steady change, not radical shifts in perspective. Reflecting on all of this, he realized that he couldn’t fully share his night’s experience; and that he had to tread softly, to gauge other people’s reactions as he did. Obviously, Andre’s reaction was to block it, and Tom, out. Tom could almost hear Andre‘s voice: “He is sick, stupid in the head! He keep me awake with his nightmare dreams all last night! I go eat, you go see what to do with him,” was what Tom thought Andre had said to them. Tom decided, therefore, to ease their minds, and regain his credibility.
“Sorry guys, I’m just really fuzzy this morning. The other night without sleep, the long days on the road, and the worries about getting kicked out of the country; it all must have crept up on me. I feel great, actually. It’s just that I had a very vivid, and sad, dream. Dreams like that mean something, don‘t they? I guess our subconscious mind ‘talks’ to us about all kinds of things we’re trying to assimilate. When I’m in totally different cultures I try to absorb them, not block them out. So, that usually means a lot of reorganization upstairs in my brain, to incorporate radically new ways of looking at the world. I think when you have to re-think things you have held to be self evident for most of your life, its a little unsettling, eh?”
“I certainly understand that,” said Matt. “I tend to take it all in, as much as I can, and then figure it out once I get home.”
“Me too,” added Helga. “I think you take on too much, Thomas. Andre is enough, isn’t he?” she laughed.
Her comment got Matt and Tom laughing too, but Tom suddenly became silent and morose.
“What is it Thomas?” she asked, noticing his quick change in mood.
“Its hard to be happy, once you realize some things. I’ll be ok. But, you probably could understand better than anyone here...”
“What?”
“Have you ever been to the concentration camps?”
Helga grew suddenly silent with his unsettling question, and responded with a bleak “yes...”
“That’s how I feel about this place. I got stuck in Dachau for a week; and while it wasn’t set up as a place to gross you out, or to be morbid, it was striking in its lifelessness, its bleak silence, and the absence of life. It was so silent, you could almost hear the voices. It felt like there were thousands of ghosts - invisibly floating around you. Tortured souls......dead ones; and then, the walking ghosts of people who had lived there during the bad times. Not just the ghosts of the Jews that had died, but also those who participated in the genocide, or were mute observers. Not just the people who died during the war, but the people who survived......on both sides.....and who had therefore dealt with horrible pains. The people who escaped going to
“Anyway, all of those kinds of feelings somehow got through to me; and I had a dream of what it must have been like here in
Tom paused, to catch his now ragged breath.
“I think many Tibetans are being tricked by the Chinese leadership into thinking that they’ll be allowed to freely live life, when the truth is that they’re never going to stop trying to corrupt their spirit. I just don’t want to be any part of their plan by default, or through lazy ignorance. I wanted to come here and believe that things are better, but they aren’t. They’re worse, because reality is being glossed over by a growing false perception that they are. Better the blood and visible pain, than the malignant twisting of someone’s spirit, eh? Its like child abuse. Cigarette burns, and bruises, on a child are visible evidence of pain inflicted, and usually illicit immediate retribution by other responsible adults. But, verbal and emotional abuse stings harder, lasts longer, and is seemingly invisible.....usually going undeterred; yet, is often more damaging than physical blows. We’re walking in a world of emotionally trashed people, and its nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Also, it’s a world of people whom are hit hardest by this kind of abuse; and it’s only getting worse, as hopelessness opens the door to despondency and the mute acceptance of their apparently inevitable fate. We’re walking through a macabre requiem for an endangered people; a theatre within which the Chinese leadership are presenting a propaganda play that will seal the Tibetan’s fate. We’re the test subjects in this play; the preview audiences, as it were. That's why they watch us so much, to see what works and what doesn’t work. In the tried-and-true method of
“Damn, Thomas, that must’ve been some dream!” commented Matt.
“He’s right, though, Matt,” agreed Helga. “I feel it myself. It’s something that nags at me, but I haven’t been able to identify it so well. There’s something deeply wrong about the whole place. And he’s also right about the camps, and the effects on so many people. Young people today had nothing to do with all of the bad things of war, yet they’re always judged by what happened. There’s much growing resentment and anger over what the Jews do now, continuing to punish people who did nothing.”
“’Never forget,’ is the motto I think,” said Matt.
“True, but to never forgive, or to punish innocents, is not healthy either,” added Helga.
“The Jews have suffered much through the ages, the Germans weren’t the first to persecute them,” she continued.
“Yeah, but they intend them to be the last!” quipped Matt.
“But, Helga’s right. Destroying what’s good about the Germans, and the German culture by default, isn’t going to help anything but perpetuate another cycle of retaliation....or obliteration. I think there are differences of opinion in the Jewish community on this very issue.”
“I agree with you, Thomas,” added Matt. “I asked a Jewish friend of mine why Jews seemed to buy so many BMW’s and Mercedes automobiles. His response? ‘We must learn to forgive.’”
“Matt, you’re going straight to hell with jokes like that!” Tom laughed.
“I thought you’re going to be an enlightened Buddha! Are you still an unconverted Christian, Thomas?” he quipped back.
“I was just appealing to your system of beliefs, Matt. And if hell fire doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what to do to make you do the right thing!” Tom said, teasingly.
“Shouldn’t I work on figuring that out myself? You know, coming to the same conclusions through informed self-examination, rather than blindingly accepting dogma of any church?”
“Now you sound like a Frenchman!” joked Thomas. “Anyway, Buddhism is not incompatible with Christianity. Actually, it’s Christianity without Christ. It places much more emphasis on self determination, and personal responsibility for our actions; not leaving everything to God or Christ to solve. Isn’t it kind of presumptuous and controlling to think that God watches everything every one of us does or says? So, you can believe that, or not; but it can‘t hurt to have daily practices in compassion, empathy, and the avoidance of violence, anger, and hate, can it?”
“I guess not, but I‘m certainly not going French anytime soon! My family is protestant, and we still haven’t forgiven the French Catholics for killing all of us! Anyway, we know we’re going to heaven........if we just work hard enough, and are productive enough,” Matt said with a grin.
“What does that mean?” asked Helga, sincerely.
“Its called the protestant work ethic. Work is next to godliness, and all that stuff about thrift, haste makes waste, blah, blah, blah...” explained Matt.
“Hullo, guys, we have to leave now! To the trucks, the drivers are waiting,” Andre said, sticking his head in the room just long enough to get his message delivered.
“Opps, sounds like your karma just ran over my dogma!” Matt joked, as their conversation was abruptly stopped by the call back to the Tibetan tour.
“Funny, Matt, really funny! Hey, thanks you two, for waking me up; we’d better get going, Napoleon has spoken!” Tom joked.
Tom packed quickly, and kept out his package of snack food to eat as breakfast. The drive was quiet, and mentally restful for Tom. Andre rode in another truck, and Matt and Helga, like Tom, kept to their own thoughts. It gave Tom time to consider his dream, and to think and feel his way through the emotional minefield that it presented. Even still, Tom had trouble shaking off the dream. It had been too real, too accurate in details that he could never have known. His experience with dreams taught him that known things were often rearranged during sleep, and presented in different contexts; or even in allegorical representations. But totally new factual information, and previously unknown topics, in his dreams was a new experience.
“How many months, even years, in one night? How can I know these things? Can it be just the altitude thing? But its too accurate, too real, too complete....” the questions nagged at his logical mind, until he finally accepted that there wasn’t going to be a logical explanation, and that he had to let go of his worries, and let time answer his questions.
They arrived in Shigatse without fanfare, and quietly toured the Panchen Lama’s monastery and the surrounding buildings. The monks were rude, didn’t smile, and seemed strangely disconcerted. Instead of the open and glowing smiles that Tom had come to associate with Tibetan monks, they received suspicious stares, and looks of annoyed resentment. There was tension in the air, and decay in the spirits of those whom they met. It felt strange to everyone, especially Tom. But Tom seemed more prepared for the situation. The buildings were more complete, and historically accurate, Tibetans structures than any they’d seen anywhere, but they were in shoddy repair. Where Tom had experienced harmony in the ancient Northern Nepali villages, he only found quirky incongruities in Shigatse’s paint colors, and weedy and seedy appearance. The buildings had been maintained, in a manner of speaking; but, the maintenance was reckless and done without pride or attention to detail.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Tom commented.
“Thomas, you do go on. Just enjoy it for what it is,” suggested Andre.
“What is it? It feels like a museum, not a living village.”
“Phhhpppp!” was Andre’s only response.
Tom slipped off to be by himself, and wandered into a dimly lit hall full of raised platforms. The walls contained stacks of old tablets that held sheaf's of paper bound together into long rectangular tablets. He knew that they contained the monks’ chants, prayers, and lessons. Thick with dust and darkened with soot, most looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. A few monks were seated on the raised platforms, on thick Yak wool rugs, and chanted rhythmically as they rocked slowly forwards and backwards in gentle movement, with their eyes closed. Only the first couple of rows contained monks, most platforms remained empty. A little less than half of the monks seemed to be sincerely praying, while the majority were obviously putting on a show for the occasional tourists who stumbled into the room, and remained for only a few minutes.......just long enough to drop Yuan into the big plastic money container. The smelly smoke from the rancid butter candles permeated the air, and gave a weird cast to the shadowy room, and the hundreds of little statues that lined the narrow shelves above the candles. Due to the darkness, and the smoke, it was hard for anyone to see much further than a one or two rows ahead, so the monks remained shadowy forms in the front rows. Tom wasted no time on thought, and dropped his shoes as he hopped up upon a platform, nearby the monks; and closed his eyes to relax. After a few renditions of the chant, Tom picked up the words and the tonal sounds, and began chanting along with the monks. It gave him a comforting and unifying feeling; and seemed somehow very natural to him. He’d never meditated nor chanted before; yet it didn’t seem strange or new to him, as it would have been at home. He’d never even considered chanting mantras until this trip, and briefly wondered what had possessed him to jump in like he had. Certainly no one other than the monks did chants, and he noticed a few odd looks from a couple of random tourists before he shut his eyes to anyone’s consideration. Before long, his ears could discern the serious monk’s voices from the lackluster ones. His joined, and retained synchronicity, with the more seasoned voices. He lost track of time, as his body seemed to move of its own volition, and the deep guttural multi-phonic tones soothed his mind and spirit. The vibrations were subtle, but resonated along with the voices. After one of the changes in chants, he felt the consideration of other’s eyes upon his presence. He opened his eyes slowly, and with the real serenity that he felt, to see a few of the bogus monks looking at him and looking askance at each other. Tom could tell that they were some of the lackluster monks, as that chorus dimmed with their now silent voices; then, their faces confirmed Tom’s initial assessment. Their countenance lacked all sense of contrition, sincerity, or peacefulness. So, therefore, Tom had little respect for their opinions. With the loss of more voices, the awareness of the few real monks was piqued, and they opened their eyes as well, to consider the situation that stilled some voices. With all attention on him now, Tom winked to the bogus monks giving them a ‘what the hell’ smile. He then regained his composure, and took a position of sincere respect, with folded hands and bowed head, as he bowed deeply at his waist to the real monks. As his head rose, his eyes opened, and he was greeted with sincere and amused smiles from the real monks. The bogus monks only stared in puzzled ignorance. Tom then rose from his seat, his legs now numb from being crossed for so long, and he bowed once more to the monks as he waived goodbye and left the hall. The real monks waved back, smiling happily; while the bogus ones babbled something to each other in Chinese.
“Time to move on,” Tom thought, as he wound his way back to the waiting caravan of trucks to claim a seat.
“There you are, Thomas. We thought we lost you. Where were you?” asked Matt, kindly.
“Oh, sorry, I haven’t held you up, have I?”
“No, we all just got here. Just wondering. The guide wants to take us to the marketplace to buy souvenirs, and have us stay at the Shigatse Hotel. It has bathrooms in every room, with showers and hot water!”
“Sounds great to me, I need a good bath. I feel somehow dirty.”
“Where is it that you go, Thomas?” asked Andre.
“I wandered into a hall where monks were meditating. It was interesting. How about you guys?”
“Oh, there wasn’t much after the buildings. I wanted very much to take a picture of monks, but they wanted money for picture! Can you believe?”
“And, one of them yelled at him, waving his hands in the air,” added Matt with concern.
“Yes, he was most funny. He wasn’t real monk,” Andre said, in his uniquely humoristic and dismissive way.
Tom just laughed, as the land rover lurched into motion. Soon they arrived at a large market, full of colorful people and interesting products. Andre and Tom walked together, as the others split off onto their own forays into the melee. Andre was approached by a persistent woman who wanted to sell him things from her booth.
“Very good price here, no better price anywhere. You buy, now?”
“No, thank you, I’m just looking.”
Tom slipped off to the left to avoid being accosted by the woman, and learned to keep moving in order to not be similarly assaulted. Andre got caught up in a tangle of persistent women, and laughed as they showered attention on him; playing along, like he intended to buy something. Tom was relieved that Andre kept them distracted, as he shopped in earnest for presents for his kids. He had difficulty however, finding authentic Tibetan jewelry. Most of the products were of Chinese manufacture, and the Han Chinese women dressed like Tibetan women in order to pass off the goods as real Tibetan handiwork. Tom knew that selling jewelry, and other craft works, was often the only cash income for some Tibetan families, so he shopped diligently to purchase real products from real Tibetan women. He found one booth, where a Tibetan daughter had been left in charge, and examined her jewelry to find some that he could buy. As he looked her wares over carefully, the pushy Han Chinese woman, dressed as a Tibetan woman, got into his face.
“I can sell you anything anyone try sell you, at much better price. Don’t buy her trash! Come here, I show you,” the woman said, as she tried to lead him along.
“No, thank you, I prefer to find my own things. Thanks anyway,“ Tom replied firmly, while removing his arm from her clutch.
Tom watched the look on the faces of the other women in the areas around him, and it became clear that there was a silent war going on between the Han Chinese fraudulent women, and the modest and polite Tibetan women. The contrast, once he noticed it, was startling. The Han Chinese women wore too much jewelry, their clothes were too much like costumes, and their manner was as boorish as the
“Andre, this woman here has very nice things to look at. Could you please go with her, and look at them,” Tom said with a conspiratorial wink.
“Yes, Thomas. I like many things. Please show me your good buys,” Andre said, hamming it up, and laughing with his cheesiest of laughs.
The double entendre was lost on her, and she literally leapt at the opportunity to escort the handsome Belgian to her lair.
With the time Andre was buying him, Tom moved quickly to the Tibetan women vendors who were interspersed between Chinese women. He’d looked at many things, and had established fair prices in his mind as he had moved along......Chinese and Tibetan alike. Now, however, he retraced his steps and quickly purchased expensive things from four startled Tibetan women.......including the young girl....without negotiating prices. The prices they had quoted him were fair, and he didn’t want to take advantage of them in any way. The prices, relative to U.S. dollars, were insignificant to him anyway; and, more importantly, he didn’t want the bitchy matron of the market to see who he’d purchased from. The women seemed to understand his actions after their shock abated; and they smiled warmly, as they quickly hid the money he had given them - feigning instant ignorance after he’d moved on. Tom was reassured by their eagerness to hide their good fortune. It confirmed his assessment, and made him feel good that they’d keep their money, and remain safe, after he had left. It was a deception he never expected to have to employ, but he was beginning to understand the life of captive natives in an occupied country. Within a few minutes, Tom had completed his purchases and strode towards Andre, who was desperately trying to extricate himself from the overly solicitous woman.
“Andre, are you ready to go home now?”
“Oui, most ready, mon ami!”
“Well, lets go then,” Tom responded, as he led Andre away from the woman. The woman then became even more insistent.
“You buy from me! I sell the cheapest. What, you already buy?” she exclaimed, as she saw Tom’s bundle under his arm.
“Yes, thank you anyway. Have a nice day!” Tom said as he tried to move along. She grabbed at his arm, and looked at his merchandise.
“You take it back, I sell better quality, for cheaper!” she shrieked at Tom in anger.
By this point, Tom’s patience was gone, and all of the women in the market were looking at them.....Chinese and Tibetan alike. It was clear to Tom that no one liked this woman; but they were cowed, they expected Tom to go for lower prices. They were being run out of business. Tom knew it, was upset by it, and the woman’s in-his-face boldness set him off. Tom had a surprise for those who couldn’t fight back.
“I not buy from you, because you lie! You try to pass off Chinese factory trash as authentic Tibetan jewelry; it is so obvious, it is the same, everywhere. All cheap trash, turned out by Chinese factory in Beijing! You dress like Tibetan, and you try to steal their only livelihood. And, you think tourists are so stupid to not see your game? You can bully the women at this market, and pretend to be what you want; but you can’t bully us. Go away, and take your trash home with you. We no buy! Take your arm off of me, and remove your comical costume......you act like clown......go home, no one want you here!“
The woman’s hand dropped like a rock from Tom, and her face registered real shock. She had thought that she’d been very clever, and that her Tibetan act was an easy money thing. Maybe it had been with others, but not with Tom and Andre. The women all around them, Chinese and Tibetan alike, laughed and grinned at her public exposure. There was safety in their number, and they were all happy to see the woman receive her due. She had evidently been every bit the tyrant that Tom surmised. Her look of shock turned to quick anger, and she started to rant and rave in Chinese. Tom and Andre just smiled, as they walked away from her, and waved her off with a dismissive hand motion.....leaving the market for the trucks. Soon thereafter, the rest of the group returned to the trucks, and they proceeded on to dinner, and a comfortable room - where Tom got a hot shower, and a great night’s rest. He and Andre shared a double, and ate snacks in bed as they tried to watch silly TV programs.
“This TV is too stupid for even me,” Andre said. “Let’s sleep. Tomorrow come early, as you say, Thomas.”
*******
The next day the tour group arrived in Gyantse. All were fairly rested, and eager to explore the bustling and strangely upbeat city. Their first stop was at the Gyantse Kumbum.
“Its looks like a giant six layered wedding cake, with eyes on the top layer!” joked Tom.
“Thomas, you must take this more seriously, this is a religious shrine,” instructed Helga, parentally. “No, don’t ever say that to Thomas - he very serious now! We don’t want him too serious,” commented Andre sarcastically, and with derogatory intent.
“I have an idea,” interjected Thomas. “I’ll take all of your pictures from the top. Go up and stand by the big eyes, and I’ll get your pictures from the other building. You guys go up the Kumbum, and I’ll go up that old monastery building behind it.”
“But that means we split up,” whined Andre, “and someone else......”
“Will have to look after your sorry ass,” completed Thomas. “Damn, I can’t get anything past you, can I?” Tom laughed. Then he turned to Matt and Helga, and commented “good luck guys, he’s all yours! Smile when I wave to you, I doubt I’ll be able to hear you, ok?”
“Sounds good, Thomas. We’ll see you on the top.”
Tom bolted at the chance to be alone, and left the bewildered Andre to fend for himself. Tom was losing his patience with Andre, and hoped that he’d return to the Andre of their
“That's it!” Tom said to himself as he hurried along the dusty street, passing prostrating pilgrims as he walked. “It seems like I’m making every effort. Andre was solicitous, generous, and bilateral when we first got to know each other; but once he knew that I was convinced of his sincerity, he began riding the easy train.....doing as little as possible, paying for as little as possible, and expecting me to get jealous of him spending time with others. This is how he thinks himself clev-ar; hook them, then play people off of each other. I still think he’s trying to be sincere, but this game.....is going to stop,” Tom resolved, as he walked into the dark earthen building.
The old monastery building seemed dark and foreboding, but he found the narrow passages and tiny rooms cozy and comfortable, as he wandered through the vacant and wide-open building. There were newer beams and stacks of rocks supporting parts of the building. If Tom had been thinking, he probably would have gotten worried about his wild scramble through the decrepit and ancient old building. Even though it was worn by over five centuries of use, and the elements of weather, it felt strangely safe and secure; like a part of the steep mountains in which it was built. He was the only one in the building, and as he climbed to the roof, he realized that the building wasn’t really a regular site for visiting. He was probably breaking some law by even being in it. But he also knew that he wasn’t harming anything; and that if anything broke, it would be him. Then he’d pay that price, without any sympathy from the Chinese officials. So it became a minor adventure to navigate through the ruin, and find his way to the roof. Atop the roof, he was rewarded with an astounding view of the mountainous foothills below him. The view was unobstructed, and stretched across the north, south and eastern vistas; all ringed with a solid fortress wall that rose and fell gracefully with the undulating landscape. The defensive wall was beautiful in its simplicity, and astounding in its size and incredible curves. Tom sighed aloud, in awe, at his reward for his wild exploration. The huge, gold domed, chörten loomed directly in front of him, in all of its brilliant whiteness. On the uppermost level, there was a monstrous set of eyes painted on the wall, and they seemed to stare right at him. Tom, enthralled by the large set of mysterious eyes, was held captive; and sat down on the edge of the roof, with his legs dangling precariously over the side of the multistoried structure. He held little concern for his safety, feeling perfectly comfortable perched upon his bizarre aerie. He knew that he’d reached the top of his building long before the others would reach the top of theirs; so, he was prepared for a wait. Besides, the serene silence of the place, combined with the incredible view, held him in a mystical stasis that he was wont to break. How long he sat there, he wasn’t sure. Time seemed to mean little in this world of
“The challenge will be to get my children back to the same place,” he concluded, aloud.
“But, that shouldn’t be impossible,” he realized with relief.
“We’ve been there before when we’ve camped, traveled through the National Parks, and worked together closely on our projects. I’ve just got to figure out how to get them to trust that place above all others; while they have their own ‘growing pain’ struggles with society. I’ll just have to be myself, and let that be an example,” he concluded.
As Tom mulled over his cathartic thoughts, Andre, Matt and Helga emerged from the narrow and twisting stairwell within the Kumbum to the sixth level roof. Since Tom was the only form of visible life, they quickly saw him as he waved for their attention, rising to stand on the roof’s edge. Then, as a group, they joined together and waved in unison, all smiling happily; posing for Tom’s camera, directly between the pair of immense eyes that were painted on the whitewashed chörten. Tom snapped a few shots of them, and then began his descent from his precarious perch; again winding his way down through the haunted ruin. Calm, relaxed, and no longer concerned with Andre’s antics, Tom made his way to the entrance of the large whitewashed structure. The first floor was open to public view, but at the second level a fat red robed monk sat collecting money. The entry fee seemed excessive to Tom, and the glossy Disneyesque ticket he received in return was fraught with typographical, and obvious historical errors. Tom held his disgust for the greedy monk, until the man grabbed at his camera. The Chinese monk, was hardly a real monk, and only wore a monk’s robes for the benefit of uninformed tourists.
“If he actually graduated from a monastery, it had to have been one of the bogus Chinese monasteries that produced more thieves than real monks,” Tom observed.
Of this, Tom was sure. His ‘used car salesman’ countenance said it all; that, and his Chinese diatribe about Tom’s camera. It was obvious that he wanted more money from Tom for the ‘opportunity’ to take pictures. Tom played dumb, refusing the extra money out of principle. He knew where the money would go - to the fat pigs’ banquet. Tom would rather see his money go to real monks, or to the poor pilgrims. Then, there was the question of taking pictures at all. There was the issue of religious objection to the practice; which was conveniently sidestepped by paying the appropriate fees. Tom knew this to be another instance of cynical Chinese opportunism. So, any monk asking for money for pictures wasn’t a monk in Tom’s eyes. Tom stood back a few steps, and used the last of his film taking pictures of the monk. The guy smiled at what he thought was a compliment. Tom then neatly opened his empty camera, and showed the belligerent monk that he no longer had any film for pictures.
“No film, no pictures!” Tom said a few times, as he mimed his message.
Disappointed at the loss of extra money, the monk grumbled something and turned his attention to the next person in line. Tom never got permission to go, he was just immediately ignored. Taking the opportunity for what it was, Tom walked past the cranky and petty crook. As he wound up the narrow stairs, Tom pulled another roll of film out of his pocket, and popped it into his camera. His interest in photography wasn’t all personal. Of course, he wanted a few photos for memories sake, but mostly he felt like his pictures were for others......to expose the true situation in
“Hullo, Thomas!” he heard Helga pronounce behind him.
“Hey, you startled me!” he said, as he turned to face her.
“I was looking at these paintings; they’re really bizarre and incredibly complex. From a Western point of view, they seem overcrowded, and depict too much to take in - all jumbled images, without a proper perspective.”
“I’m not sure that they’re for viewing, as much as for documenting, providing instruction, and emphasizing the statues themselves. Its not art for ego‘s sake, its for communication to illiterate pilgrims; and to provide protective deities for Buddha.”
“That makes sense. The guide said that Kumbum means 10,000 images. I think that might be just about the right number, and there are quite a few wrathful ones!”
“There have to be over a hundred chapels, Thomas! It’s really amazing. They seem to get smaller the higher you get, but there are two story ones with big statues in them too! It’s quite overwhelming. The whole structure is a three dimensional mandala. While it looks simple, it’s really quite sophisticated.
I’ve been trying to get pictures, but there are people dressed in regular clothes that police the chapels. Seems as though everyone wants to be paid to take a picture, and I’m tired of paying money to everyone for bad pictures!”
“Yeah, I hear that. But did you notice that the colors are all wrong on many of the statues?”
“How can you tell? They all seem extreme to me, anyway.”
“Well, the place has been ‘restored,’ but the restoration seems to be worse than if it had just been left alone. Look at the blues on that statue, the paint is running down the sides of it; and if you look deep into the chapel, the statues in the back have their original patina. The contrast between the authentic ones and the newly painted ones is striking.”
“The money from ticket sales is for restoration, they say,” commented Helga.
“I don’t know how they are spending it, but it isn’t going to where it belongs. If I was a house painter in
“You’re right, Thomas. The art is so different in design and theme, I already have a hard time relating to it, I missed the obvious. There are some untouched chapels on the other floor, try there.”
“I will, and I’m sorry if I sound so cynical about it all - its just very disturbing. For what it costs to support artists here, they could’ve had real artists working for years in accurate and thoughtful restoration - if they really respected the works, and the history. As it is, they prefer to remain sloppy and to further destroy what little that remains. Part of the plan must be getting people to paint over the parts that they don’t want to show. Only hacks would do that kind of work. It’s just another reminder of the ongoing cultural destruction, and it bothers me. I’m sorry if I go on about it all.”
“Don’t worry, Thomas. I appreciate your observations, otherwise I would think I’m seeing something that I’m not. I’d much rather know the truth.”
“Andre doesn’t appreciate it, he thinks I’m obsessed with it all, and can’t have fun. It’s just that its too disturbing to have fun, and I can’t pretend to deny or ignore reality. Frankly I like
“I think so, Thomas. I envy you your cycling trip. I wish I was as brave as you and Andre. I think you’ll find what you seek, but it won’t be easy. Occupied peoples are not very open. They have to distrust others in order to survive. Maybe the
“I agree with you on a philosophical level; but physically, they enjoy monitoring everything in people’s lives. It amounts to continually torturing these poor people. It seems to be their favorite form of entertainment - while they pretend otherwise to the outside world. Those are the pictures I want, Helga.”
“That’s very interesting, Thomas. I think you’ll find them. Keep on your mission, its worthwhile. Most people here who would ordinarily do that, would be watched too closely to really be able to do it accurately. By looking like a traveling student, you’ll be able to see and experience the real situations. But please be prepared for unhappiness. The reality probably won’t be pretty. Try to derive a sense of happiness from exposing the issues, rather than letting them take you down into despair too.”
“’That's good advices,’ as Andre would say it!” Tom joked.
“There, its better to see you smiling, Thomas. You have a wonderfully warm and loving heart, and it shows in your smile. That’s why Andre likes you so much, you know. You’ve something he wants to have...... to be.”
“He just has to be....”
“Himself, I know,” she completed for him.
“But, Thomas, you know it isn’t as easy for everyone as it is for you. You must have patience with him. He has much to unlearn.”
“Well, the first thing to learn is that it isn’t so easy to do the right thing.....it requires more effort than just going with the flow blindly.”
“That’s why its easier for him to pretend, than to do it for real, Thomas. Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t. Pretending only distracts you from the right path. Then you’ve got to go all the way back, and start over again where you made the wrong turn from the right path.”
“And you think that isn’t scary, Thomas? To do all of that, for what? To be laughed at as weak, silly, romantic, impractical, ‘not dealing with the world the way it really is,’ and being judged as idealistic and therefore stupid?”
“I don’t even consider....”
“That's what I mean. You can’t see their path anymore than they can see yours! They just see that you seem to ‘win’ at everything you do, while they are continually faced with frustrating disappointments. After a while, people......”
“Give up. ok, now I get it. But what can I do differently?”
“Nothing, just be true to yourself. Just don’t expect too many people to fully agree with you; in fact, expect them to fight you. They’ll respect you, ultimately. But, you can’t expect them to be there for you the way you are for them - they are like children who don’t know yet. So, be careful not to judge or inadvertently judge them by being impatient.”
“More good advices!” Tom laughed.
“Yeah, well, I should follow some of my own, eh?” she quipped.
“Hey, I’ve got to leave now, I’m supposed to meet Heinrick in a few minutes. The nuns are going to perform some music near the entrance, and we want to hear them.”
“I think they are real.”
“Yeah, me too. See you later!”
Tom wandered for hours among the chapels of the Kumbum, and took a full roll of pictures. His favorite chapel contained a huge golden Buddha statue, and he had to literally climb up a fence to get a good photo of it. Someone yelled at him as he got down, but he simply ignored them and kept walking. Everyone returned to the trucks at the given hour, near dark, and rode to a hotel. The dorm room was warm, clean and full of yak wool blankets, rugs, and raised platform beds. Matt, Andre, and Thomas shared a dorm room meant for ten, so it was spacious as well as comfortable. One wall faced a large courtyard, while the other faced the commercial street down below. After they showered in the pay shower, the threesome walked across the busy street to the Tashi Restaurant. It was a wonderful little restaurant on the second floor of an old building that adjoined the gates to the fortified Dzong. Dinner was great fun. They sat on thickly padded floor mats around a wide, low table, and the waitresses were cheery young Tibetan women. After a relaxing dinner, and a few beers, Andre began flirting with the waitresses. All the other diners had left, and they were alone with the group of happy and jovial waitresses.
“Andre, you’re shameless. Those girls are just being nice to you, don’t expect anything other than that,” Tom advised.
“Phhhpppp! What do you know of women, Thomas? Watch and see me work!” he said.
Tom, Helga, and Matt just laughed, and Heinrich stared in disbelief. The music had changed a few times, and it became evident that the girls were playing music videos on a large TV in the adjacent room and dancing to the music. Andre got up to go to the bathroom, and walked past them on his way. When he returned, he tried to entice them - by dancing along with them for a few minutes. Tom chuckled as he got nowhere with the women, and returned to his seat like he was the Don Juan himself.
“You think you can do better, Thomas? I’d like to see.”
“No, really Andre, I’d prefer not. You did fine, it’s just that these girls aren‘t the dirty dancing types, they just want to have silly fun.”
“You can’t, Anglais. Dat is eat! Poor Anglais, you laugh but you cannot dance!”
“Excuse me? Have you ever seen me dance? I’m pretty good at it!” Tom said, in mock shock - baiting Andre to challenge him openly, so that he’d have a justification for dancing.
Tom loved to dance, and it had been hard for him to sit still as the music had picked up in volume and intensity. The music was an odd combination of Donna Summer tunes, sung by American looking Indian men, in Chinese. The videos were bizarre to Tom, but the beat wasn’t. It sent a well known pulsating feeling through him, and awoke welcome memories of total release. For when Tom danced, everything dissolved for him. All sense of worries, sadness, hurts, and pain, left him - as he let the music take him along with its inexorable rhythms. He attributed his turning point in dancing to a Jamaican woman that he’d met once in a club.
“You ‘ave it all wrong, mon!” she told him. “You must mooove with the music, mon. You must feeeel the music, an let that moove you, mon. Then, and only then, you will learn proper dance!” she had admonished him.
Tom remembered her then, standing back from him - challenging him in plain view of the crowd, as the live reggae music throbbed into a vibrant crescendo. It began as an embarrassing moment, but became a defining moment of reckoning for Tom. He rose to the occasion then, and never looked back. Ever since, he moved with the fluid ease of a Spanish dancer......a true Dan Juan.
“I dare you Anglais. I buy you your beers if you dance!” Andre taunted Tom in front of everyone, laughing at him to transfer his feelings of embarrassment.
Tom stood up, and looked Andre right in the face as he spoke.
"Ok, Andre, I take your dare. But this is the last one! Once again I show you that you underestimate me, misjudge me, and therefore treat me without respect! After this one, I expect you to admit this openly and treat me better. Otherwise, I will despair that you’ll never learn, and therefore must go on alone...” Tom declared, with purposeful melodrama.
Andre gave Tom a equally challenging look, but merely grunted “Phhhpppp!”
Tom left the table, and sauntered over to the women in the adjoining room. He knew that they were circumspect young Tibetan women, and he was frankly surprised that they even danced so openly. But it was also obvious to him that they were just having fun with the music, and were only trying to mimic dancing moves that they saw on the videos. The young women reminded him of his older sisters, when they danced during the 1960’s summer parties at
“This one is really easy, girls. Let’s turn up the sound, and start at the beginning,” he said, once he was ready to start dancing.
The girls all laughed at Tom’s suggestion, but were curious at the same time. The woman in charge rewound the tape, and restarted it at the beginning. Tom copied the dance moves in the simple video exactly. Then, he watched the girls on either side of him, and made minor suggestions on how to ‘move with the music.’ By the third video, all of the waitresses were swarmed around Thomas, and they literally shook the floor of the second story room. Tom got lost in the music, as did the women, and had a great time doing silly dances like ‘The Bump.’ The startled looks of everyone at his table, however, was his greatest joy. But he didn’t want to showboat or be pretentious, so he bowed out of the dancing and thanked the young women for all of the fun. They all smiled, and hugged him, as he said his goodbyes.
“So, was that good enough?” Tom asked Andre, as he returned to the table.
“Phhhpppp! A-mer-e-cons!! Always showing off!”
Helga and Heinrick said their goodnights, and she winked at Tom as they left. Matt was less subtle.
“Damn, Thomas, you had all the women going! Great job! Can you show me how to do that?” he asked, to purposely rub Andre’s nose into the mess.
Matt had been given mixed signals from Andre long before Tom had met him - when they had trekked together. And while he seemed to resent Tom’s and Andre’s apparent closeness at first, he now saw through Andre’s confusing behaviors because of Tom’s unflinching resoluteness to highlight the effects for Andre. Matt had blamed himself for Andre’s mixed messages in the past; so now he was appreciative of Tom’s hand slapping of Andre’s bloated ego, and did a little of his own.
“Sure, there’s a real disco here in town, just down that busy street, nearby or above the Gyantse Hotel. The girls told me about it, and said that they do karaoke to the videos. Can you imagine how bizarre that has to be? It’s too fun to miss out on, eh? So, I vote we go there tonight, and dance the night away, ok? It has to be a real cultural experience, no?”
“Sure, that sounds interesting, right Andre?” asked Matt.
“I feel tired tonight. Tomorrow is a long day driving,” he moaned, sullenly.
“Blah, blah, blah.... It’ll be fun, at least for a while, huh?”
“We will see. Let us go to our room, they want to close restaurant now, we are the only ones left here.”
The three guys walked silently to their hotel across the street from the restaurant, and up the randomly spaced stairs that led to their room. Tom was energized by his short dance episode, and looked forward to stepping out for the evening. Andre, however, walked with dogged steps. He didn’t like it when Tom deflected his slights; and in fact, gently spanking him with them. Again, he had been faced with personal behaviors that he didn’t want to deal with, and he was retreating into a dejected, yet ultimately reflective, mood. As they got to the room, Matt begged off about going out - trying to remain sensitive to Andre’s mood. By this point, Tom had zero patience with Andre, and knew if nothing else, he’d end up arguing with him if he stayed. He wanted the release of dancing, totally letting go, and just having fun. As Tom left their room, he gave them one more chance to come along.
“Guys, there’ll be loose women there tonight! It’s a Chinese Karaoke disco bar, and they’re supposed to have a wall sized big-screen for the videos....”
Greeted with groans, Tom said his goodbyes, and left. As he left, Andre spoke to him.
“Be careful Thomas, we don’t want to have to come looking for you.”
“Thanks for the thought, but I’m a big boy, and you wouldn’t have to look far, I’ll just be down the street, ok?”
"Ok,” he answered dully, now deep into one of his sullen stupors.
“Men!” was all that Tom could say to himself, in disgust, as he skipped down the steps and out onto the vacant, and poorly lit street.
Tom found the disco by walking down the street and seeing colorful lights flashing out of a large upstairs room in a fairly new building. He went inside and up a large flight of stares, and was greeted with many astonished stares. He was the only non-Chinese person there. The place was more bizarre than he could have imagined, and Tom was therefore very intrigued.
“Anyway I’m not going back to the room too soon, regardless,” he resolved.
He wanted to stay away long enough for Andre to go to sleep. The last thing he wanted was an argument with him. So, he ordered a couple of beers, and sat at a table near the front of the dance floor. There was no hiding, so he decided to be highly visible. It was often his strategy to avoid being mugged or hurt. He believed that being highly visible assured him more safety.
“If lots of people are watching, I have less chance of being taken advantage of,” he reasoned.
The videos themselves were interesting mixtures of music. The club in Kathmandu had a sophisticated DJ who remixed different music types, to come up with a highly sophisticated sound that Tom thought would play well in
“Hello visitor, you happy tonight?” one asked Tom.
Stifling down surprise and panic, Tom answered honestly.
“Yes, I am. Can I buy you a beer?” he offered, to quell any possible conflict.
“Why, yes!” he said, almost instantly, and waved down the waitress.
He barked off orders in Chinese, and the woman returned with beers and shots within a few minutes. Tom was surprised by the overtly friendly guys, but sensed no malice; so he decided to relax, and go with the flow. It was the last drink he bought all night. The men wouldn’t let him pay for any drinks, as they continued to buy round after round. Within an hour, his initial guests had faded back, and others replaced them. Two of the original men, had gone to the back of the room and passed out on sofas along the wall. The third staggered out of the club eventually, and Tom was unsure how he made it down the stairs alive. Tom was a novelty, one that everyone wanted to explore. As the club got more crowded, people began dancing, and Tom got up and joined them - relieved to be released from scrutiny. As he danced, beautiful women circled around him, but he noticed that the women were shy to be seen physically in contact with any men. They moved sensuously to the rhythm of the video music, and like Tom, their favorite video was ‘Be My Butterfly.’ The men, however, were not at all shy; and after having a few beers, they were very physically active. Tom was beyond surprises, and he just enjoyed the music, the drinks, and the positive vibes. The dance floor wasn’t tightly packed like many others he had been on; as such, people were very aware of their personal spaces. No one approached too closely into another’s space. So while there was intimacy, it wasn’t a group intimacy like many clubs - it was restricted to couples, or small groups. Tom created no barriers to anyone, being cautious not to offend anyone inadvertently. So while the unspoken etiquette kept people from a distance from each other, it kept no one from Tom; and he politely danced with all comers. He was the center of attention, and felt safer that way. He had no intentions of going home with anyone, nor taking anyone home with him. He just wanted to dance, release his built up tensions, and have fun. He had learned, early in his club experiences, that to insure that eventuality he just needed to keep moving and seem flighty, while turning no one down. He acted like a male version of the video butterfly. It worked most of the night, until the military officers arrived.
Tom was dancing near his table, and a group of off-duty military officers came into the hot and sweaty club. The crowd moved aside for the new arrivals, as the men carried themselves with the poise and confidence of leaders. They were physically strong, and wasted no time hiding the fact, as they shed any extraneous clothing while they slowly walked towards a group of tables that had been cleared especially for them. Tom, like the others in the club, couldn’t help but watch them arrive; but he continued dancing happily. Feeling a little overwhelmed, Tom went back to his table, downed another drink, and went back to the dance floor. By the time he had gotten back to the floor, the leader of the military group had also entered the dance floor. He was extremely handsome, and powerfully built. He wore tight black pants, and a thin, gauzy, see through, white silk shirt. Tom watched, uncomprehendingly as he danced directly towards him, and looked straight into Tom’s eyes - with the look of a challenging male. Tom, long accustomed to club floor drama, played his part, and held the man’s gaze unflinchingly. The man’s torso was ripped with muscles, and his sinuous arms rippled when they moved. He didn’t say a word, and placed his right hand firmly on Tom’s left hip, and they danced. Tom had watched lots of other men dancing together that evening, so he tried to imitate that which he’d seen. It was a strange type of dance for a Westerner to imagine, but it made sense in an Asian world. They danced expressively, not unlike a modified flamingo, to the song ‘Be My Butterfly.’ It was formal, yet intimate; but not so intimate as to be overtly sexual. Although, the electric charge between the two alpha males was undeniable. The officer smiled at Tom, acknowledging Tom’s passable attempt at formal dance, and Tom’s consciousness reeled.
“If they could see me now.....” Tom thought to himself, with sardonic humor.
Like everything else in
“What if Mr. Military and his friends want me to go home with them?” he worried.
“How do I get out of here, gracefully, without any complications?” he wondered.
“How long will it take me to run back to the Hotel, once I get out of this place?” he tried to determine, in a near panic.
On the dance floor, and in a club, he knew enough to get along without incident. But now, he was in uncharted territories, and it concerned him. He remembered his motorcycle rescue in
“No one will risk their neck for me here,” he worried.
“Calm down, Thomas. Its no big deal, this is just their culture, and you’ve just stumbled in. It’s no different than Alex told me, the guys resent American men but are also fascinated by them. You’re just today‘s exotic interest,” he reassured himself.
Then, he came up with a plan. He walked directly up to the bartender, and requested a video song. Since he was now Mr. Super Nova, nothing was denied him, so the bartender happily complied and handed Tom the microphone. The room fell dramatically silent, as the current video was suddenly cut short, and Donna Summers’ sultry voice began to sing a low background melody which quickly ramped up to a fast tempo.
“Bad girls, talking about bad bad girls...” Tom belted out the lyrics to the shocked, and instantly mesmerized, audience. He’d grown up with Disco, so it was a song he knew very well. It just so happened to be their current favorite. When he’d gotten done with his performance, dancing around women on the dance floor, and acting a total fool, he handed the microphone back to the bartender and walked out, stage left, to thunderous applause. Within minutes, he was breezing past shocked people and down the stairs and onto the street. Within five minutes, he was knocking furiously on the locked front gate of his hotel. The gate led to a two story courtyard, with individually locked rooms, so he hadn’t expected it to be locked.
“It too late! We closed! We locked UP! Go Away!!” some woman screeched at him, from her cloaked doorway, deeply recessed inside the gated hotel.
“Room, 28! I am in room 28! Let me in! I got locked out!” Tom pleaded.
After a few anxious moments, she opened the gate a crack and peered out suspiciously.
“You no go out after dark! It not safe! No more let you in!” she admonished, as she let him in, and slammed the gate loudly. Tom walked quietly as he could up to his room; yet stumbled a few times up the exterior staircase. He crept into his room, and climbed into his bed thankfully. He let out a long sigh, relieved to have made it home safely. It had been a fun evening, but nerve wracking at the end. As he adjusted himself in bed, he heard Andre’s quiet voice.
“Thomas, it is good you are back; I became worried about you.”
“You waited up for me?” Tom asked, incredulously.
“But of course, Thomas. I care for you. Now go to sleep, we can talk in the morning.”
Tom fell asleep with a smile on his face, and with an indescribable glow within him. The next morning, he was duly questioned by Matt while they ate breakfast.
“So what was it like, what did you do?”
“Oh the usual thing you do in a shameless Chinese disco. I danced with beautiful whores, various men, sang Donna Summer songs, and danced a semi-traditional dance with a half dressed, terribly handsome, and muscular military officer.”
“Thomas, you are so full of shite!” responded Andre, quickly.
“Just when I think I can trust you.....you tell me stories! What will I do with you? I am not so sure I can continue to travel with such a man,” he lamented, drolly playing off of Toms’ former admonishments.
“Maybe you are right, Andre. I’m crazy nuts, eh?” Tom grinned, and left it at that.
“There’s no explaining that night,” he thought. “Too surreal to be believable.”
The drive that day was one of the hardest for Tom, due to his mildly hung over state; yet, the most beautiful of the trip. As they drove upwards, over 3,200 feet, in the first few hours to Karo La, Helga read to them about the endeavors of Francis Younghusband from her various guides, her favorite ‘Lonely Planet Guide’ among them.
“He was the British officer who fought the highest battle in British history at Karo La, well over 16,000 feet above sea level! Supposedly, he defeated thousands of poorly equipped Tibetans on his quest to capture
“The British wanted to break the Tibetan hold on trade in the area and forced their way into
“He says here, that he wrote in his journal: ‘that single hour on leaving
“He and his troops spent months in Gyantse waiting for
“Like they owned it? Please,” Tom chimed in.
“That was the British way. Well, most conquers’ way,” commented Helga pragmatically.
“I think it’s funny that the Tibetans ignored them. And, to his credit, its good that Younghusband didn’t try to force them to listen.”
“Well, it was getting harder for the British to retain firm control over their conquests at that time. I don’t think they wanted a fulltime occupational force in
“Hey, here’s something more curious. The book says that Younghusband was the youngest member ever elected to the Royal Geographic Society.”
“Is that the predecessor to the National Geographic Society? No wonder the Tibetans don‘t trust them.”
“No, the Royal one is British, and the National one is American, based in Washington. I think the reason they don’t trust the National one is that they cut deals with China to pretend Tibet is a done deal, basically ignoring the whole issue, so that they could get into those ancient Chinese archeological sites. You know, that whole buried army of terracotta statues, and stuff like that. That's the rumor, anyway, and it seems to reflect their inaction on the issue. I’m not sure,” added Helga.
“Another example where ‘the quest for knowledge’supersedes the rights of the living. I was at a University for eight years, and I still can’t get my head into the concept of ‘the pursuit of knowledge above all.’ It’s so dehumanizing, and clinical.”
“Thomas, Thomas, will you never learn?” patronized Andre.
“Some people fear living life, so they spend their time keeping track of others, or burying themselves in objective work. And their societies memorialize cultures into nice little museum exhibits. When one reduces life to a curious thing to study, they aren’t capable of living it. They place themselves outside of living it......as observers. It’s safer, easier, and defendable. They fear uncertainty, and crave safe definitions of the indefinable. Jacques Cousteau did much with the National Geographic Society, to preserve underwater life. But, like many organizations, there are different agendas than those that are spoken about in public, oui?”
“Yes, I get it.”
“Hey, look at that lake!” Helga exclaimed, as the truck turned a sharp corner, and it came into full view.
“Oh my God, that’s so beautiful!” she continued.
The deep turquoise blue lake was startling in its color, shape and size. It stood in stark contrast to the bare mountains that defined its shape; and seemed to join with the unreal blue sky in colorful harmony.
“It’s called the scorpion lake by some people, because of its shape, but the Tibetan name is Yamdrok -Tso,” informed Andre, as he read his favorite map, which he always kept within easy reach.
All conversation ended, as everyone looked; transfixed by the beautiful sight. For the next hour they drove around the lake, and a natural calmness settled upon them. Everyone eagerly awaited their arrival into
“That thing has to be 30 or 40 meters high, at least!” exclaimed Andre as he pulled out his video camera for pictures.
“What's that in feet? I don’t get these meter things....and my brain is dead,” asked Tom.
“A-mer-e-cons! Phhhpppp! These feet things are what's antiquated. It’s over 100 of your silly feets high,” he responded casually. “One meter is de same as 3.281 feets.”
Helga and Tom walked stayed on the side of the road that bordered a lake, while Andre walked right through traffic - to the immense statue.
“Do you not want pictures, Thomas?” asked Helga.
“Not now, I’ll get a copy of his videos, and he’ll get a set of my stills. I bought film for both, and the deal is that he’ll give me a copy after he edits it into a travelogue thingee to play in
“This place is wonderful, beautiful, and still so very odd to me. Does it feel that way to you?” asked Tom.
“Yes, it’s hard to think of what should be, and easily could be again, if people outside stood up for the Tibetan people. If just to allow them to worship their own way, freely.”
“That seems to be the rub, eh? I don’t think the Chinese leadership is capable of allowing that, for anyone. That's why their control has to end totally, for the Tibetans to be themselves.”
“There are many Tibetans that think that they can co-exist, though.”
“They’re fooling themselves, the Chinese will never allow real freedom; control of everyone is too much a part of their culture, it can’t change without them changing. And, they can’t change until they have been shown, through an independent
“Yes, but what does it means, horns?”
“I think its an old Spanish thing, having to do with the bull’s horns as a metaphor for a lose, lose, situation. The matador is faced with a dilemma, which way to run from a charging bull. Either way, he is impaled on a horn. The Chinese are in that place right now, with
“I hope
“It probably will be, there are still a lot of real people out there, you just have to be careful in how to approach them. I hear there are spies everywhere, just looking for ways to get people into trouble. I think I’m just going to force myself to say nothing, until we’re in the country alone, on our cycles.”
“It’s probably safer, Thomas. You don’t want to jeopardize your hard earned trip by sounding radical. Just remember, it’s an occupied territory; freedom, if any, is a ruse. You getting arrested, or deported, will do no one any good. And, besides, who would look out for Andre?” she snickered.
The remainder of the drive into
“I guess they figure if you’ve made it this far, you must be authorized,” commented Tom, on their speedy passage.
“The tour guide told me that they call ahead from other checkpoints along the road, or at the designated hotels. They have to check in daily, somewhere, and that’s communicated to the other checks points. If they don’t follow the procedure they face loss of privileges, or imprisonment for seditious behavior,” interjected Helga, in a detached voice.
“Wonder if they baked us a cake, then?” joked Tom.
“What?” asked Andre, in confusion.
“Nothing, just another dated euphemism. I never realized how many of those I use in everyday speech, until I’ve had to explain them to you. It’s kind of a joke, from a song, actually from my parents time. ‘If I knew you were coming, I’d a baked a cake, done my hair...’ is part of it.
“You speak too much in euphemism, metaphor, and allegory Thomas. How am I ever to understand you?” Andre joked.
“Well, the four graces and the muses are allegorical figures for abstract concepts like creativity, art, music, love, et cetera. A metaphor is likening one thing with another....a ‘river of emotion,’ as it were. And, a euphemism is a common saying that encapsulates folk wisdom in a brief phrase. One from Shakespeare, for example, is: ‘Be not a borrower; nor a lender be.’”
Andre rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation, Tom just chuckled.
As they drove into
“This road is gross, it looks like a poor attempt at thoroughfare.....nothing matches! Look, the lampposts are some weird design that clashes with everything else, and the road itself is out of proportion to the Potala, too close to it, and shouldn’t even be here!” Tom said, exasperated.
“They try to incorporate their culture into the old culture,” commented Andre. “It’s not uncommon.”
“Yeah, but you can see that the Potala fits into the mountainside perfectly, and the green fields around it should’ve been left alone. There’re plenty of other places to build this crap,” said Tom, disdainfully.
“To the Chinoise, Thomas, they see it as improvement. An assimilation of old and new,” continued Andre, without emotion. “Again, Thomas, you expect......”
“I expect that people wouldn’t harm such a historic and revered place with insults like this,” Tom finished, as he waved his arms to encompass all of the newer construction. “I’ll tell you what urban renewal I’d do. I’d bring in huge bulldozers and shove all of this mess off the mountain into some hole, and return it to its original form. That's what I’d do, once I got the Chinese to go home!”
“Thomas, you are so naïve.”
“No, I’m just quite adamant about important things. Look there,” Tom said, as he pointed to some buildings while they drove on. “That's a whorehouse! Right here! I was told that there are 20 to 30 whorehouses in
“You’re Catholic, Andre, how would you feel if people built a whorehouse up next to the
“When you say it that way, Thomas.....”
“I’m sorry guys, I promised I’d be quiet; but this is too much. And, the only reason people don’t know about all the new travesties here, is that the Tibetans are too nice to talk about it. They don’t want to cause more strife, and expect it all to work out. The less friction, the better opportunity for them to maintain a healthy attitude; and not fall into a trap of retribution, hate, and anger. I understand that, but I don’t understand why others don’t bring
“Thomas, Thomas, don’t upset yourself so,” Andre said, sincerely. “You tell me yourself, it’s money! Simple, oui? No one wants to stop making profits from Chinoise, so they ‘not rock the boat’ as you say.”
Tom was touched by Andre’s sensitivity over the issues, but still didn’t understand his coolness about the injustice of it all.
“Andre, how can you know this, and not get upset?” asked Thomas.
“It does no good, Thomas. Accept things for what they are. I keep saying that to you. I’ve been many places. Although this is bad, and I understand your feelings, it isn’t as bad as some. Look what Pol Pot did to his own people in
“I know, I’ll shut up. It’s just that......”
“You think this can still be stopped, and reversed?” suggested Helga.
“Yeah, I guess so. I really do. I’ll just collect information, do what I can, and let go. How's that, Andre?”
“It is the smartest thing you say yet, Thomas,” he said with a smile.
©Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World…the American Delusion, a Parody of life ( L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie); is copyright protected, by author, Patrick Mahoney. Online Internet Reproduction/Propagation/Quotation Encouraged, with this citation. Any Printed reproduction, other than for personal reading, requires written permission by author, patrickm at http://patrickm.gather.com/ or patrick1000000000@yahoo.com
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