Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

  As the incense smoke spiralled, Gongzha saw the vultures circling. The brave ones darted down but were quickly driven off by the dogs. He couldn’t bear to watch. Aba had loved Duoga, his dog. Whenever he went hunting, he would always take his gun with the forked stand, and Duoga. And when they came back two or three days later with a wild ass or an antelope, he would always save his dog a big piece of meat, saying that Duoga had worked harder than he had. If Gongzha were to see Duoga in that pack of dogs around his father’s corpse, the pain would be unspeakable.

  He wiped away his tears and began to make his way back to the encampment. At the foot of the mountain he ran into Cuomu’s Uncle Zhaduo. He was wearing regular clothes, white hair was growing out of his once-shaven head, and one leg was lame. He was carrying a basket, as if he was going to collect yak pats.

  Gongzha yielded the path out of habit and waited for him to go by. This was what his father had taught him to do: when you saw a monk, it didn’t matter what age he was, you were deferential. Monks were learned people, they practised Buddhism and deserved to be respected. It was just that recently, all of the grassland people’s customs had changed. Monks had become cow-ghost snake-spirits, and temples were seen as part of the Four Olds. The elders who had faithfully worshipped the Buddha seemed overnight to have ingested some kind of inflammatory medicine. They became frighteningly violent, brandishing the Little Red Book in raised fists behind a crowd of adolescents, bellowing slogans Gongzha didn’t understand as they rushed into the temple, driving the monks out of the prayer hall, then bringing out the bodhisattvas, smashing them and throwing them into the lake.

  Zhaduo glanced at him and continued walking, his back hunched and his head hanging low. When they passed each other, the old man said softly, ‘He’s gone to Shambhala, to heaven.’

  Gongzha was startled and wanted to ask him what he meant, but Zhaduo walked quickly by and clearly didn’t want to speak to him. Gongzha carried on home with a heavy heart. When he passed Zhaduo’s lonely tent, he noticed the old man had put a small incense burner by the door and lit a stick of incense. People only did that to commemorate a deceased family member. Gongzha’s heart hurt; Zhaduo was honouring his father’s dead spirit.

  There was no chanting of mantras and no one held a ceremony to help Lunzhu’s soul find peace. Ama also placed a small burner by the door of their tent and lit a stick of incense three times a day. Seven days later she gathered up the burner and Aba disappeared from their lives completely.

  *

  With the death of his father, Gongzha became the encampment’s youngest head of a household. Whenever the production team was dividing up supplies or having a meeting, he went to represent his family, and his signature in shaky Tibetan script replaced his father’s fingerprint.

  The family had not had any meat in two days. Ama took the younger children to pick wild plants, which she stewed with yak bones that had been used so many times there was no fat left on them. The herders were used to eating meat, and when they ate anything else they got diarrhoea; the women began to look sickly, and the men lost their vigour and sat around listlessly in the sun like old people.

  As Gongzha was coming past Cuomu’s tent on his way back from collecting yak pats, he heard her mother yelling, ‘Why is it only you that’s taking an interest? No one else is bothered! Isn’t it just so you can see that face the colour of egg-white and that waist as soft as butter? Why don’t you just move over there? The tent is certainly big enough – are you not man enough for it?’

  ‘She’s a widow and I’m the team leader. What’s wrong with asking after her? Your yak-mouth talks too much!’

  ‘My yak-mouth talks too much? That wild yak’s mouth doesn’t talk at all! Why don’t you go be the head of the wild yak’s household?’

  The tent flap flew open and Danzeng plunged out with a leg of mutton in his hands. When he saw Gongzha, he was startled and gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Your auntie is crazy. Let’s go!’

  ‘Uncle Danzeng, don’t worry about us. Things aren’t easy for your family either.’ Such grown-up words sounded a little odd coming from someone so small.

  ‘No matter how hard things are for us, they’re nothing like as hard as they for you. Child, don’t be angry at your auntie. That’s just her way. Let’s go.’ Danzeng put his hand on Gongzha’s shoulder and they walked along the lakeshore towards his tent.

  At the tent, Dawa invited Danzeng to sit and passed him some clear tea; there hadn’t been any butter for a long time.

  ‘I talked to the local PLA unit – they’ll be looking for soldiers this winter. You should get Gongzha to enlist; at least they’ve got food there.’

  Dawa glanced at Gongzha doubtfully. ‘He’s still so young, will they accept him?’

  ‘Why not? He’s from a serf family, his father’s dead, his family is in difficulties and needs help, and let’s not forget, he’s already saved someone’s life. If the army doesn’t want someone like him, who do they want?’

  Dawa sighed. ‘When he’s gone, there won’t even be anyone to collect yak pats.’

  ‘I won’t go and be a soldier, Ama. I’ll go hunting and look after you all,’ Gongzha said, putting the meat Danzeng had brought into a basket.

  ‘Good for you, Gongzha – you’ve got deep feelings and you’re loyal. You’re our Cuoe Grassland hero. But you can enlist with an easy heart. I’ve already talked to the production team. They know how difficult things are for your family and they’ll try and do something to help.’

  Not long after, Danzeng went to the town and when he came back he told Gongzha that he’d signed him up. He just needed to wait for his notice to arrive.

  Gongzha worked harder than ever. As well as gathering up each day’s yak pats, he made time to shoot wild asses. Everyone knew his family’s situation, so they turned a blind eye to his private hunting.

  *

  Springtime was the busiest part of the year on the grassland because of the lambing. The lambing always happened in a special pasture in another valley. Changtang’s river valley lay between two mountains and from a distance it didn’t look that big, but when you were there, it seemed to go on for ever, and the landscape changed around every bend. The herders had used the same lambing pasture for many years. There was lots of water there, it was warm and sheltered from the wind, and because it was fenced off during the summer, the animals hadn’t trampled it, so the grass was soft and plentiful. This made it perfect for the ewes, who could feast on the grass and produce lots of milk for their lambs, which is what they needed before they got big enough to go grazing out on the grassland.

  The team had issued the order to move the evening before. The herders were to drive the sheep directly to the lambing pasture. Individual families were responsible for moving their own tents to the new encampment, and they had to move within a day.

  The cart hadn’t been used since the previous summer and its wheels had rusted. Gongzha repaired it and then went into the tent to bring out the things his mother had packed. The older two of his younger brothers used all their energy to bring out the pots and baskets of belongings. His youngest brother was put in charge of his sister, who could not yet walk, and was to make sure she didn’t fall off the couch.

  After moving everything out, Gongzha and his mother took down the tent poles and began to roll up the tent. The yak-wool tent was good at keeping the wind out, but it was heavy and even though mother and son spent a long time trying, they couldn’t quite roll the whole thing up. In the end they stuffed it onto the truck, along with the small wooden chest and the stove. To make sure their baskets of belongings stayed on the cart and the pots and bowls didn’t fall out, they covered everything with a yak-wool blanket and tied it down with a yak-hair rope.

  Since her man’s death, life had become increasingly difficult for Dawa; she began to realise that a family without a man was like a tent without a main pole. A number of men had approached her – some with good intentions, some not – and had taken to hanging ar
ound the tent at night, unwilling to leave. But Dawa had her own plans.

  The new site for the encampment was in a flat part of the mountain valley. When you looked up, you could see the peaceful blue of Cuoe Lake.

  By the time Gongzha and his mother had finished putting up their tent there, cooking smoke was already rising from the other tents. Cuomu came to help them move in and arrange their things. After Gongzha had risked his life to save her from the leopard, Cuomu had begun to see him in a different light. As time passed, new and different feelings crept into the hearts of the two friends who’d spent their childhood chasing each other across the plains. Children matured early on the grassland and girls were considered adults at twelve. Cuomu and Gongzha were at the age for love. They both had feelings for one another, but neither had yet spoken of this.

  After Cuomu left, Gongzha had something to eat and fell asleep. When he woke in the middle of the night to get a drink and did not see his mother, he didn’t think anything of it; he assumed she had gone to urinate.

  Dawa came back just before dawn; her hair was tousled and there was a twinkle in her eye. She called to her son to get up and told him he didn’t need to collect yak pats that morning and that he should go to the other side of the lake for a half-day of school.

  Gongzha’s eyes widened. He must have heard wrong. ‘Ama, if I don’t collect yak pats today, what will we burn tomorrow?’

  ‘We have yak pats. You go ahead. It’ll be good for you to learn some words!’ Dawa laughed and began to boil the tea water.

  Gongzha raced over to where they stacked the yak pats outside the door and, sure enough, there was a pile already there.

  ‘When did you go and get them?’

  ‘Your Uncle Danzeng brought them. Alright, go quickly after you’ve eaten something – don’t be late!’ Dawa spooned some butter into the wooden bucket, added the boiled water, then poured out their tea.

  After Gongzha had drunk two bowls of butter tea and eaten a little bit of dried meat, he dug his wrinkled textbook out of a bamboo basket.

  Dawa watched her son walking off into the distance, then gathered up the four younger children, closed the tent flap and went off to the sheep enclosure. It was the women’s job to deliver the lambs, and they remained at the lambing pasture. The men meanwhile concentrated on the other livestock, changing shifts every three days as they tended the separate herds of sheep, yaks and horses. The children who did not go to school stayed by their mothers’ sides, cuddling the lambs. Gongzha liked to watch the little lambs as they sucked eagerly on his outstretched fingers; it made him shout with laughter. Lambing season was an exciting time. As one new life after another appeared, the grassland that had lain dormant through the winter was suddenly revitalised.

  5

  Gongzha sat in the classroom, propping his eyelids open, staring with incomprehension as his teacher’s mouth opened and closed. He had no idea what the teacher was talking about. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make sense of the Mandarin pinyin. This was not Gongzha’s fault; he was keen to study, but he wasn’t able to come to school very often. The lecture was like a lullaby, and his eyelids drooped.

  Cuomu nudged him and Gongzha immediately opened his eyes and sat up straight.

  The tent school only had three grades; students who were in fourth grade or above went to the town school. Not everyone in the same grade was the same age; there were seven-year-olds in first grade and there were also ten-year-olds in first grade. Regardless, everyone shared the one tent. When the teacher was teaching the first graders, he made the other grades do homework or read. When he taught the other classes, he made the first graders do homework and read. One tent, one school and one teacher for all three grades: this was the unique feature of the tent school.

  When school was finished for the day, Gongzha, Cuomu and Shida got in the yak-skin boat and sat in the stern.

  ‘I’m not coming next time,’ Gongzha said. ‘I can’t understand a thing.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have long to study anyway,’ Shida said. ‘My brother says you’re on the list of candidates that will enlist this year.’

  ‘Really?’ Gongzha and Cuomu both turned towards him.

  ‘Yes, really. My brother’s friend is in the local PLA unit, and my brother heard him say so.’

  Gongzha’s eyes lit up, but a moment later they went dark again. ‘If I go, what will my mother do?’

  Shida patted his chest sympathetically. ‘You don’t need to worry. When I collect yak pats, I’ll just collect more.’

  ‘Yes, Gongzha, you should go,’ Cuomu said. ‘I’ll help your mother with her chores, don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Gongzha looked at his two friends and smiled. Like every other boy in the encampment, it was his long-held dream to exchange his heavy chuba for a green soldier’s uniform, to wear the cap with the five-pointed star, to leave the grassland… He would be the envy of all his friends!

  After they got off the boat, the three of them walked across the plain.

  ‘Gongzha, you promised you’d take us to see Kaguo. When will you take us?’ Shida asked.

  ‘How about tomorrow? It’s not a school day, so we can all go to Chanaluo and gather yak pats. You can usually see Kaguo over there.’

  ‘Alright!’

  ‘Don’t tell the grown-ups, otherwise we won’t be able to go.’

  Shida and Cuomu nodded.

  The next morning, Gongzha spoke to his mother and then set off, taking two bags and the dog. Shida and Cuomu were waiting for him by the lake. They could see Chanaluo’s snow-white peak from the shore, but reaching it on foot was no easy matter. The three friends talked and gathered yak pats and by midday their bags were full. They found a hollow out of the wind, stashed their bags in it, ate some of the dried meat they’d brought, then raced each other all the way to Chanaluo Snow Mountain.

  ‘Once we get over that peak,’ Gongzha said, gesturing just ahead of them, ‘we need to be careful. Kaguo often hunts mice there.’

  ‘There are people up there!’ Shida said suddenly, pointing at the slope. ‘It looks like Luobudunzhu and his crew. What are they doing here?’

  ‘Strange.’ Gongzha could see the figures too, skulking on the mountainside. ‘Let’s go up the other way – we can circle round and look.’

  Sticking to the dips and using boulders for cover, the three of them made their way up stealthily. They could see that Luobudunzhu and three other men were hiding behind a pile of rocks and watching another part of the mountain. As Gongzha followed their gaze, another figure came into view at the foot of the snow mountain.

  Cuomu pulled at Gongzha’s leather chuba. ‘It’s Uncle!’ she said quietly.

  ‘Why is Luobudunzhu following him?’ Shida muttered.

  Gongzha motioned for them to keep quiet. He had an uncomfortable feeling in his heart. Luobudunzhu had lost his way recently. The Red Guards had been disbanded, and a directive had come down saying that the cow-ghost snake-spirits were to be rehabilitated. The troublemaker and self-styled lord of the grassland no longer commanded the herders’ respect, and naturally he was disappointed about this. He was also bitter. He’d got used to strutting around and barking orders, so to suddenly have to listen to others was difficult. He also understood that there was no turning the clock back.

  When a group of outsiders had turned up on the grassland and said they were looking for old artefacts, Luobudunzhu had accompanied them (he had nothing else to do) and learnt quite a bit. It turned out that these old, unremarkable items were called antiques and were very valuable. It was then that Luobudunzhu remembered how insistent Commune Revolutionary Committee Director Ciwang had been that he and his Red Guards find the ancient Buddhas of Cuoe Temple. So insistent that he’d ordered them to tear the temple apart.

  Once Luobudunzhu recalled this, he immediately turned his attention to the lame and apparently crazy former living Buddha of Cuoe Temple, Zhaduo. Even though they hadn’t found anything valuable in the temple at the ti
me, that didn’t mean there was nothing valuable to be found. For a start, there was the black Medicine Buddha, which many elders had seen. It was said to be very old and it was also said that whoever found it would be able to open the great door to King Gesar’s treasure. Luobudunzhu had kept Zhaduo under observation for three months, but neither persuasion nor threats had elicited even half a clue. In fact, the old man grew crazier by the day. In the end there was nothing else he could do and on Ciwang’s orders he’d let Zhaduo go. But Luobudunzhu continued to have people secretly follow Zhaduo.

  On this particular morning, the old man had left his tent with a ragged bag. It looked as if he was going to collect yak pats, but he was walking fast and didn’t even glance at the yak pats on the pasture. Luobudunzhu suspected he was up to something, so he quietly gathered some men together and followed him all the way to the foot of the snow mountain. The old man did not realise there were people behind him; he just climbed doggedly upwards.

  Gongzha did not know what Zhaduo was doing there, but his instincts told him he might be in danger. Ever since Luobudunzhu had caught him and his father coming home from hunting that time, Gongzha had hated the pointy-faced, beady-eyed man. No matter what Zhaduo had come there to do, Gongzha did not want anything to happen to him, and nor did he want Luobudunzhu to be successful.

  He called Cuomu and Shida over and whispered a few sentences in their ears. Cuomu nodded, and then Gongzha and Shida crept back down the slope a bit, keeping a low profile. When Gongzha turned and saw the distance was about right, he waved to Cuomu. Cuomu started to shriek, ‘Brother Gongzha, Brother Shida! Come up here quick! I saw a fox.’

  Shida and Gongzha shouted back, much louder than necessary. ‘Where? Where’s the fox, Cuomu?’