Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

  ‘Let’s say three hundred. Things aren’t easy for his family.’ Danzeng glanced at Gongzha then quickly lowered his head. It was hard to look into the eyes of this young man whom he had once loved and cherished as his own child, whom he had taken hunting and herding. How could he have grown up so fast and become his enemy? Was fate so impossible to anticipate, so impossible to fathom?

  ‘Alright.’ Gongzha took out a large wad of ten-yuan bills and tossed it to Wangjiu. It was two months’ salary and even after the two hundred he’d given his youngest brother, there was still more than a thousand left.

  ‘There’s no need for that much,’ Danzeng said. ‘His mother needs money for the doctor.’ He grabbed a wodge of notes, put it in his chuba and returned the rest to the clan elder, who passed it to Gongzha.

  ‘I don’t need it,’ Gongzha said in a muffled voice, and pushed the money back.

  The elder sighed and motioned for Zhuo Mai to put the money in Danzeng’s chuba. ‘You should take it,’ he told Danzeng. ‘Accept the gesture.’

  Danzeng lowered his head and his eyes blurred with tears.

  Gongzha glanced at Danzeng; he wanted to apologise, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He rose, bowed to the clan elder, turned and went out of the tent.

  Cuomu was standing outside in the sunlight. She looked at Gongzha askance, and his feet froze to the ground.

  Danzeng also came out. Seeing his daughter, he said in a low voice, ‘Let’s go.’

  Cuomu walked mechanically behind her father, looking back every three steps.

  Zhuo Mai came over to Gongzha’s side. ‘You must give her time, and give her family time.’

  With such hostility between the two tents, would it ever be possible for the pair of them to be together?

  The wind began to blow, increasing in strength, turning every which way and howling. It was always like that on the grassland: the wind and rain came and went at whim.

  *

  Five days later, people from the county town came to take Gongzha’s youngest brother away. Everyone in the encampment turned up to watch. After all, this was the first blood feud the government had stepped in to resolve, a new way of seeing justice done on Cuoe Grassland.

  The affair stopped Gongzha and Cuomu’s love in its tracks. How could love flourish amid the pain of a family member’s death? Their love was no longer protected and carefully tended, no longer unconditional but smothered under hurt and dust.

  The once singing, smiling Cuomu changed overnight, like the summer grass. She became silent and withdrawn; she no longer joined in with the other young people’s activities. No matter how large the dance circle or how exuberant the singing, she wouldn’t even look at it. She just searched for something else to do: cleaning the lamb pen, carrying water, washing clothes… If there really was nothing to do, she would sit by herself out on the plain, staring vacantly at the distant snow mountain.

  She got thinner by the day. The young men sighed when they saw her, shocked that such a free-spirited beauty could become skinnier than a two-month-old lamb in such a brief space of time. In the dead of night, the white tent that they’d all once been so interested in now often emitted the sound of stifled sobbing.

  Gongzha was also withdrawn, but like the mountains on the grassland, he stood tall and immutable. Seeing Cuomu get thinner and weaker, seeing her deep silence and deeper pain, made his heart so sore it grew numb. Every day, he followed Cuomu with his eyes. Watching her wander lonely on the grassland, his heart was like dried grass bending in a fierce wind; it twisted with such pain he could barely stand it.

  Deep down, he blamed himself. If he’d controlled himself that day, if he hadn’t raised his hand against her mother, everything would be different. Her uncle would still be alive, his brother would not be cowering in jail, and the two of them would still be slipping away to a corner of the grassland and whispering their warm, bewitching words.

  His mother’s mental state had become much more stable, at least, thanks to the herbs. Most of the time she sat quietly in the tent, neither speaking nor moving. But Gongzha could not suppress his longing for Cuomu. When he could bear it no longer, he would go out into the vast wilderness and yell hysterically, or he would take his old gun and go hunting, killing wolves, or foxes or nothing at all, simply riding on and on until he was exhausted.

  10

  Blood flowed, tears flowed, life went on.

  Gongzha took advantage of the moonlight and climbed the mountain behind Cuoe Temple. The path was overgrown with prickly shrubs, but he made his way steadily to the top, carrying a length of wire with him. He looked down at the grassland. It was deep in sleep; only that small white tent still kept its lamps lit. She always went to sleep very late, and sometimes not at all: some nights, her lamps burnt on till morning. Whenever Gongzha saw that, it was as if the butter lamps were scorching his heart.

  Was she planning to go without sleep again tonight? Did she not know how much he worried about her, how he ached for her?

  Gongzha forced himself to look away. Taking a deep breath, he walked round to a dip on the other side of the mountain. The boulder still stood tall. He looked at the crevice: he had often hidden there as a child, sheltering from the wind and rain, but he was too large now and could no longer squeeze inside it. He bent the length of wire into a hook, reached into the crevice, and began to carefully prod around.

  When he felt the hook catch on something, his heart leapt. The Buddha had blessed and protected the items, and they were still there. He suppressed his excitement, steadied his hand, and edged it carefully upwards, centimetre by centimetre. When he finally drew the object out, he saw clearly by the light of the moon that it was the book. He snatched it up and flipped through the pages; apart from some sand on the outside, it was still in good condition. He put it carefully in his chuba, then took up his wire and began searching again. He could feel something but could not draw it out. He removed the wire hook, adjusted it and reached in again. That made it much easier and he quickly hooked out the Buddha. He used his wool sleeve to dust off the sand. In the moonlight, the black Buddha gleamed as brightly as it always had.

  Gongzha sat down with his back against the boulder and examined it. The Buddha was heavy, but he couldn’t tell what it was made of. He remembered how, long ago, Luobudunzhu had been so desperate to find it that he’d subjected Living Buddha Zhaduo to struggle sessions and had even broken his leg. Was it very valuable – so valuable it merited destroying a temple?

  Gongzha examined the Buddha from every angle and turned it upside down. He felt something like a raised line on its back and when he held it up to the light he saw that what should have been a smooth surface actually had the image of a small ¤ engraved in it. What did it mean? Gongzha looked at it curiously. Was it a name for the Buddha? He’d never come across it before. But then he raised his head and an image flashed through his mind: an old man in tattered monk’s robes sat by the side of the lake, staring absently at Chanaluo Snow Mountain across the water. The old man drew a ¤ in the sand with his finger. But when he saw that someone was coming, he wiped the sand smooth and began laughing wildly.

  Why was this image on the Buddha? What did it mean? Gongzha squinted thoughtfully at it for some time, but he still didn’t have a clue. He decided not to think about it. He put the Buddha in his fur-lined robe, brushed the sand off himself and returned to the mountaintop. When he looked down and saw the dark temple below, he suddenly got the idea to go and explore it.

  He clambered down, slipping on scree and scratching his way through shrubs. The wooden door in the courtyard wall was still there. When he pushed it gently, it creaked and two terrified wildcats streaked off into the distance.

  He went into the courtyard. The large complex was now completely empty. The Red Guards had made their headquarters there, then it had served as a storage place for the commune’s meat, and after that it had been abandoned, left to the mice, rabbits and wildcats.

  Gongzha turned on his torch
and made his way through the empty rooms. A few of the murals were still intact, their colours just as vivid as before. When he got to the main hall at the front, he saw that the once highly revered bodhisattvas had disappeared. They must have been casualties of the Cultural Revolution, either hurled into the lake by a frenzied crowd or smashed up and recycled for some other purpose. Only their platform remained; several mice scurried across it. Four great pillars still stood in sturdy support, though of course their imposing gold and silver casings were long gone. The temple’s serene, esoteric atmosphere had been obliterated in that extraordinary, turbulent period. A thick layer of dust now covered a floor once so clean you could see your reflection in it, and the sweet smell of incense had been succeeded by a sharp, noxious odour. Lacking spiritual purpose or any believers, the temple had reverted to being the house it had been before, and a decrepit house at that; it had nothing like the warm, safe feel of a black tent.

  Gongzha took out the Medicine Buddha and set it on the platform. He stepped back two paces to look at it. The Buddha as tall as a child’s arm gleamed brightly in the faint moonlight. He contemplated it for a while, then picked it up and put it back in his chuba, turned away and went out.

  The path ran down the side of the mountain to the plain, through grass so withered it wasn’t even heel height. When he got to the encampment, his feet automatically took him in the direction of that small white tent. He stopped about ten metres away, from where the huge guard dog fixed him with a suspicious eye and a threatening growl.

  The stars were already vanishing from the sky and the moon had crossed the mountain peak – why had Cuomu still not blown out her lamp? Was she going without sleep again? Even the healthiest body couldn’t endure so many sleepless nights.

  Gongzha was full of longing: he wanted to kick the huge dog aside; he wanted to throw open the tent flap and go in; he wanted to pull her into his embrace and fall sleep beside her. But in the end he merely sighed, circled the tent and walked away to the west.

  Just as he was heading off into the lonely distance, the small tent behind him slowly opened a crack. Cuomu’s pallid face and tear-swollen eyes stared out and followed him bitterly as he went.

  In his heart, Gongzha continuously apologised to Cuomu. I’m so sorry, Cuomu… We can’t go on like this… I miss you so much, and I want to marry you… That’s all I want – to marry you.

  His solitary figure roamed the plain for a long time.

  *

  The regiment established a small school and brought in a teacher, temporarily solving the problem of how the border guards’ children would be educated. Once Zhuo Mai had settled his son Yihang into the school, he took some time to return to the grassland. He was planning to leave the army and return home the following year and he wanted to find the notes on the Four Medical Tantras and fulfil the old man’s wishes.

  He sought out Gongzha, but Gongzha wasn’t interested. Without even waiting for Zhuo Mai to explain why he’d come, Gongzha just picked up his gun and led his horse away. Impatient to get on with things, Zhuo Mai went to find Shida and ask him to go with him to find Kaguo.

  ‘Find Kaguo? You want to find Kaguo? You want to rush off up Chanaluo Snow Mountain?’ As they sat together on the plain, Zhuo Mai cradling his guitar, Shida’s eyes widened so much he looked like a yak. It was as if Zhuo Mai had just told him a joke.

  ‘I do. Why’s that so strange?’ Zhuo Mai was tuning his guitar and he turned his head to look at Shida while he listened to the twang of the strings. He always brought his guitar when he came to the grassland. His guitar and his medical bag were the two things he was never without.

  ‘This is avalanche season – did you not know that? There was one just a few days ago, and it buried two hunters from the other side of the lake.’

  ‘If we’re careful, we’ll be fine. Besides, if there’s just been an avalanche, the next few days should be safe.’

  ‘Brother Zhuo, it would be better if you didn’t go. Honestly. Besides, you don’t have to go to Chanaluo to pick herbs, other places have them too. You don’t want to mess around with that Kaguo, she’s hurt many hunters.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll go by myself.’ Zhuo Mai picked up the guitar and plucked a few chords. He sang while gazing at the distant snow mountain, and his bittersweet song spiralled above it.

  ‘Today I must go to a faraway land

  When we parted you said, “Please don’t forget me.”

  Our promise hangs high in the sky

  Those white clouds, those stars, that moon

  Bear witness to our promise that in the next life we will meet again

  And never forget each other.

  ‘Beautiful shepherdess, I love you

  No matter how the world changes, you are forever in my heart.

  Beautiful shepherdess, your laughter echoes under the blue sky

  And deep in my heart.

  ‘Oh, give me a tent

  I want to take your hand and live together free of pain.

  Oh, give me some land

  I want to dance with you there, slowly and forever.

  ‘Shepherdess, sweet shepherdess

  When will you return and make our love run smooth?

  My greatest hope is not to be separated

  Has our love in this life already scattered?

  Could it be that loving you brings only despair?

  Every day without you is a tragedy.’

  As the silk strings sounded, Zhuo Mai was submerged in pain. Beloved shepherdess, are you well? We’ve been apart so many years, do you still smile like you used to? Do you remember the young Han doctor who picked mushrooms with you and sang with you?

  Shida was also staring into the distance. Yangji’s hate-filled eyes flashed before him. Yangji had left with venom in her heart. She had left so quickly, so definitively, he’d had no chance for regret.

  Across the plain, Cuomu stood in front of her tent wrapped in a wool-lined robe, her two hands gripping the pole of her butter churn, tears streaming down her face. Zhuo Mai’s mournful song made her think of Gongzha. Their love had disappeared with her Uncle Niduo’s spirit. She would never smile or be happy again.

  Gongzha also listened to the mournful song. Nothing could suppress the regret and pain in his heart. He whipped his horse and thundered across the grassland.

  ‘Shepherdess, sweet shepherdess

  When will you return and make our love run smooth?

  My greatest hope is not to be separated

  Has our love in this life already scattered

  Could it be that loving you brings only despair?

  Every day without you is a tragedy.’

  As the sound of the strings faded, the sad beauty of the words intensified.

  On the empty plain, the herders stared up at the white clouds and dreamt. The yaks, sheep and wild asses came to a standstill. The grassland was suffused with unspeakable grief.

  *

  Zhuo Mai prepared to take on Chanaluo himself. During his years in Tibet, he’d crossed countless snow mountains and forded countless streams; he did not believe that Chanaluo would defeat him that easily.

  He rolled up his uniform tightly and wrapped it in a blanket. He put on a borrowed sheepskin chuba, took two dried legs of lamb and set off with his horse in tow.

  Cuomu came up to him, leading her horse and accompanied by the dog that watched her tent. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘What?’ Zhuo Mai thought he’d heard incorrectly.

  ‘I said, I’m coming with you.’ Cuomu looked at him and spoke firmly and clearly.

  ‘Do you know where I’m going?’

  ‘Chanaluo…’ she said quietly.

  ‘And you still want to come?’

  ‘If you can go, why can’t I? Besides, I’m a local, born and bred – I know snow mountains better than you.’

  ‘In which case you should be well aware of what the hunters say – that Mount Chanaluo is where the bears and wolves live. It’ll be hard enough f
or me as it is, but if I’ve got to look after you – a girl – as well, it’ll be twice as dangerous.’

  Cuomu looked him up and down, taking in his slight frame, and pursed her lips. ‘You think it’s you that’ll be looking after me? I don’t think so!’ She mounted her horse and nudged Zhou Mai with her whip. ‘I know what you’re thinking: you’re afraid I’ll be mauled by a bear or eaten by a wolf – or that you will… Don’t worry – if you get mauled or eaten, I’ll be fine. Let’s go! Two people are always stronger than one.’ And with that, she whipped her horse and tore off, the dog bounding behind.

  Zhuo Mai shook his head in exasperation and sighed, then mounted his own horse and chased after her.

  When the two of them reached the foot of Mount Chanaluo, they unbuckled their saddles and threw them aside, leaving the horses free to graze on the plain. Cuomu instructed the dog to look after the horses, then she and Zhuo Mai took the bags they’d packed with meat and began to climb.

  ‘Be careful!’ Cuomu frequently looked back to see Zhuo Mai crawling up the mountainside on all fours – it was funny. The grasslanders often crossed snow mountains and they would never resort to doing so on all fours, as clumsily as a bear. ‘Don’t step on the ice, it’s slippery.’ Just as she said that, Zhuo Mai landed flat on his face.

  As she’d explained, Cuomu was a local and had lived in the wilderness for many years, she was much more experienced than Zhuo Mai. He watched admiringly as she moved easily and energetically through the snow. It was a mistake to assume that just because grassland girls were cheerful, all they could do was pour tea, do the milking and look after their men. When trouble came, they never hid behind their men but stood shoulder to shoulder with them, keeping a cool head.

  His thoughts flew back to eastern Tibet. He was just eighteen and his army unit was stationed in the mountains there. As an army doctor, he often went down the mountain to tend to people in the surrounding area. That was how he met her, a young woman as beautiful as the moon who loved to laugh loudly at anything and nothing. She loved to sing and always sang for him. They went for walks together, and she played with her slingshot. She giggled incessantly. Zhuo Mai liked to see her laugh; he had only to see her laugh and anything that was troubling him would fly away. He often stayed at her house and when he went on his rounds in the town, she would carry his medical bag for him. They would return home in the evenings by the light of the moon.