Love In No Man's Land

by Duo Ji Zhuo Ga

  A man entirely swaddled in red robes, with only his eyes visible, was coming down from higher up the mountain. When he saw Gongzha, he looked startled, turned and hurried back up the mountainside, quickly disappearing around a curve in the path. But neither Gongzha nor Feng had noticed him, they were so focused on the stone house in front of them.

  Gongzha raised his hand and knocked on the low wooden door, which also bore the mysterious ¤ symbol.

  The door creaked open to reveal a ruddy-cheeked, silver-haired elder. Around his neck was wound a length of red cloth, one end of which hung down his chest. Many Buddhist ascetics dressed that way: when they meditated, they attached the loose end of the cloth to something high up, so that if their head drooped and they nodded off, the cloth would tug them awake. Ascetics lived a life far removed from worldly distractions; they spent their days immersed in the vast canon of Buddhist doctrine and literature, researching and pondering.

  ‘Excuse me, does Teacher Samu live here?’ Gongzha asked courteously.

  The old man placed his palm on his shoulder and nodded.

  ‘My woman is injured and we’re hoping you can help make her better.’

  Samu noted the streaks of blood on the front of Feng’s jacket and opened the door a little wider. Gongzha carried her inside and Samu motioned for him to lay her on a cushion on the floor. Then he gestured for Gongzha to undo Feng’s clothes.

  When Samu saw Feng’s wounds, he frowned. Her shoulder, waist and right breast had become seriously infected and inflamed, and some places had already started to fester. He handed Gongzha a wooden bowl, followed him outside and indicated the steaming lake below; he meant for Gongzha to quickly fill the bowl from the lake. Gongzha nodded and strode off.

  Samu returned to the house. Taking a cloth bag out of a cabinet, he pulled out some stone knives, some small wooden rods, a yak-horn needle, some lengths of thread and several bottles of different shapes and sizes. From one of the smaller bottles he shook out some powder as white as jade into a bowl.

  Gongzha returned with the hot water and Samu poured some over the powder. When the water had turned purple, he dropped the stone knife, horn needle and thread into it to soak. Then he took a soft red cloth out of the cabinet, handed it to Gongzha and made a scrubbing motion near one of Feng’s wounds. As Gongzha duly dampened the cloth and carefully washed away the blood, Feng ground her teeth at the excruciating pain; drops of sweat as large as beads broke out on her forehead.

  Gongzha sighed heavily: washing the three wounds clean was quite a challenge.

  Samu glanced at Feng’s deathly pale face, selected one of the bottles from his collection, took out a black medicine ball and put it in Feng’s mouth. Soon after, Feng slowly shut her eyes and went to sleep.

  Samu now set about cutting open the infected areas with his thin stone knife. He pressed the pus out of the wounds then used the horn needle to sew them closed. After that, he spread red ointment over them and covered them with bandages. By the time he’d finished, the sun’s rays had already begun slanting into the stone house.

  Samu picked up a pen, wrote a few sentences on a piece of paper and passed it to Gongzha:

  There is an empty stone house at the foot of the mountain. You can stay there, but don’t go wandering: there are poisonous scorpions everywhere and you need to be careful. If you’re stung, there’s no medicine that can save you. When the Rigel star rises, take your woman out to where the hot springs are in the lake and let her soak in them for two hours each night, then come back up and change the bandages. Once she’s better, please leave immediately and do not speak of this place to anyone.

  Gongzha realised that Samu must be a hermit and therefore didn’t speak. He brought his palms together in gratitude, then carried the sleeping Feng out through the door.

  *

  Inside the stone house were a couch, a chair, a pan, a pot and a stove. Hunks of wind-dried yak meat and mutton hung from the walls and there were stone pots full of tsampa.

  Gongzha laid Feng on the couch and covered her with his chuba. Then he sat beside the couch, held her hand and watched her face as he silently replayed her words in his head: ‘I’ve never forgotten you, Gongzha, not once in these last three years. Not a day has gone by without me thinking about you. The time we spent together was the happiest period of my life. I wanted to come and find you, and the prospect of being with you kept me going me through my darkest days. I love you, Gongzha. In this world, in this life, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved and the only man I’ve wanted to spend my life with. So I came to find you. I didn’t worry about the ferocity of the sandstorms or the length of the journey – I didn’t care about any of that, I just wanted to find you. And now that I have finally found you, how could I even think of exchanging you for a Buddha statue? To me, you are my Buddha, my master. Without you, I have no reason to live.’

  Every one of those words carried such power, and Gongzha was deeply moved. It made him more determined than ever that she should come to no harm; he’d already done her enough damage.

  The woman he loved had gone far away, but he’d never stopped loving her. When he calmed himself and looked at Feng, Cuomu appeared. Cuomu always kept him company when he was at peace; over the years, she’d become part of him, part of his body and his soul.

  When Gongzha saw that Feng was sleeping peacefully, he gathered up an armful of clothes and went down to the lake to wash them. Further up the mountainside, a gaunt face appeared at the ¤-shaped window of another stone house. As Gongzha washed the clothes, the face stared at him with hate and fear.

  Feng was still sleeping when Gongzha returned to the house. He spread the clothes out to dry on a boulder outside, then boiled some water and ate a little tsampa. He sat down by the couch again and took Feng’s hand. Watching her face deep in sleep, he felt a familiar sense of peace. It was as if Cuomu was lying next to him, calm and still.

  The moon rose. The night sky beyond the window was like water and the stars were brighter than ever. Unfamiliar insects raised a chorus of sounds, rendering the tranquil night extraordinarily lovely.

  Gongzha quietly waited for Feng to wake up. When the Rigel star rose, he would do as Samu had instructed and take her down to the lake.

  He felt her fingers stirring and smiled as her eyes slowly opened. ‘You’re awake? How do you feel? Are you still in pain?’

  ‘Yes, but a bit less than in the past few days.’

  ‘Samu said that each night, once Rigel has risen, we’re to soak your wounds in the lake for two hours and then change the dressings. It will help you heal quickly.’

  There was no one by the lake.

  A crescent moon hung over the mountain ridge.

  Gongzha carefully removed the chuba Feng was wrapped in, lifted her into his arms and waded into the hot-water lake. When he was in deep enough, he sat down, leant Feng against him, put one arm round her and used his other hand to bathe her wounds.

  When the water came into contact with her injuries, Feng frowned and moaned.

  ‘Does it hurt? Does it hurt a lot?’ The sight of Feng’s deathly white face made Gongzha wince in sympathy.

  ‘It’s fine.’ When the pain had faded a little, Feng forced a smile. ‘It’s fine, I can put up with it.’

  ‘Doing this for me – is it worth it?’ Gongzha murmured, stroking her cheek.

  ‘Even if I had the chance to go back and do things differently, I’d still make the same choices.’ Feng rested her head on his shoulder. ‘A life without you in it would be no life; I might as well be dead.’

  ‘I might as well be dead,’ Gongzha repeated softly. What if he hadn’t joined the army, if Ama hadn’t needed looking after, if he’d not been so set on seeking revenge – how different would his life have been then? Oh, Cuomu, if only I’d got to you just a bit earlier; if only I’d brought you here, to this lake, you would have recovered too. He pictured the terror on Cuomu’s face and it was as if she was right there in front of him. Oh, Cuomu… He dro
pped his head.

  She sighed gently, lifted her chin and pressed her lips tightly against his.

  A shiver passed through Feng’s body, as if a feather had lightly brushed the deepest recesses of her heart. After all that she’d experienced, this moment was more beautiful than anything she could have imagined. This solitary man, so like a wild wolf, was the one she’d chosen. No matter how unlikely a couple they seemed, no matter that other people thought she was crazy, she had no regrets. She loved him and she wanted nothing more than to be with him.

  It was a night to be lost in the moon and the stars. The waves lapped lightly against the lakeshore and a white mist shrouded the two lovers. But Gongzha quietly whispered Cuomu’s name and an enormous rift seemed to open before Feng’s eyes.

  Off in the distance, the hum of scriptures being recited drifted out from one of the houses and slowly circled in the air. Together with the gentle slapping of the water against the shore, it kindled ineffable emotions in the pair of troubled lovers, further inflaming their hearts and making their feelings even more complex.

  *

  After ten days, Feng’s wounds started to heal. With Gongzha supporting her, she began to leave the stone house and go for little walks to have a look around.

  ‘I think this place must have some connection to the cave you told me about. It’s a pity none of them talk,’ Feng said from the path as she stared at a white ¤ on a large black boulder.

  Gongzha kept silent, mulling over something.

  ‘There’s a secret somewhere here. This place definitely has a secret.’ Feng turned and caught a flash of crimson as a monk darted behind a yellow cluster of thorn plums. ‘That person… it’s like he’s watching us. I see him every time we come out.’

  ‘Who? Where?’ Gongzha looked around in surprise.

  ‘Behind that bush with the yellow flowers.’ Feng gestured with her chin towards a bend in the path. ‘I’ve noticed him lots of times, but as soon as he sees me looking, he always hides.’

  Gongzha saw that there was an indistinct figure behind the bush and was about to walk over to him, but Feng pulled him back. ‘Don’t rush over. Didn’t Samu tell us not to go wandering? We don’t understand anything about this place, so let’s just observe for now and discuss it later.’

  Gongzha glanced at her and nodded. Feng always stopped him from rushing in at the key moment. He took her hand and held it in his, as gently as if he were holding a baby rabbit. He had no idea how Feng’s hands could be so soft; it was almost as if they had no bones. They were warm, too, and he’d grown to love that.

  The more time they spent together, the better he understood her qualities. She could be strong and independent, but she could also be weak and dependent; and sometimes she was petulant, tearful and complaining not on account of her injuries but purely because she wanted a hug. She was very curious and very determined. The more he got to know her, the more he appreciated her warmth, and the more he was reminded of Cuomu’s warmth, Cuomu’s determination and Cuomu’s softness.

  His days were spent peacefully now, not continually on the move through the wilderness, and whereas before his heart had been lonely and full of hurt, it had now come back to life, thanks to Feng’s strong affection, and was stirring once again. But the stirring had made his longing for Cuomu even more intense, and he wanted her badly.

  Gongzha and Feng sat on the grassy slope looking at the lake, Feng resting her head lightly on his shoulder, and Gongzha holding her hand.

  ‘How beautiful it is. Wouldn’t it be nice if it could always be like this, just you and me,’ Feng murmured.

  Gongzha squeezed her hand and said nothing. She had given up her life for him, and he would use his life to protect her and stop any harm from befalling her ever again.

  As they sat there, they heard a commotion coming from the foot of the mountain, and people began calling loudly for Teacher Samu.

  Samu appeared at his door, followed by a disciple carrying his medicine bag, and the two of them shot straight down the rocky slope, ignoring the path they usually used. Gongzha and Feng had no idea what had happened, but they went over to have a look anyway.

  In front of a stone house on the left, a band of Buddhist ascetics stood pressed together in such a tight knot that even the wind couldn’t get through them. Gongzha pulled Feng to the side and they saw that an elder was lying on a cushion. His hand had gone black. Samu squatted on the ground and jabbed it with his needle. Black liquid spurted out and splattered on the ground.

  Samu silently cleaned the needle and then stood up. He sighed, made it clear that the elder should be taken away and then impressed upon Gongzha and the others that they should be careful: the elder had been stung by a scorpion. He returned to his house, his back as crooked as a weak bow.

  As they made their own way home, Gongzha gripped Feng’s hand tight, his eyes fixed on the ground for fear a scorpion would scuttle out.

  ‘This place is infested with them – why don’t the ascetics just move somewhere else?’

  Gongzha shook his head. Even though he’d become friendly enough with the ascetics during their time there, and even though he was intensely curious about the place, he was afraid of asking them the wrong question. The last thing he wanted was to offend Samu and make him unwilling to treat Feng. Deeply curious though he was, Feng’s recovery was more important.

  *

  ‘Dr Samu! Dr Samu…!’ Feng energetically pushed open the door to Samu’s little house, a bunch of yellow, white and purple flowers in her hand. She’d grown fond of the silent, compassionate elder. Yesterday she’d forcibly taken his dirty cushion and monk’s robes down to the lake to wash them.

  Samu had just finished meditating. When he saw Feng, his expression brightened and his eyes smiled. This girl was not at all like the wilderness girls: she was spirited and wild, forever coming up with strange new ideas. For example, she’d gathered up all the broken and discarded bottles from outside and put water in them, and now every day she placed a bottle with a wild flower stuck inside it on the windowsill near where he meditated, bringing a touch of life to the dark room. She’d washed his medicine bottles and arranged them neatly so he didn’t have to search everywhere for them, and she’d also put all his scriptures and ritual instruments in a cabinet together so he could find them easily when he needed them.

  Feng took the flowers from the day before out of the bottle and threw them out the door. Then she put in the new flowers and stepped back to admire them.

  ‘They really do look lovely – this girl is so creative!’ said Samu.

  Gongzha stood behind her, covering his mouth, wanting to laugh but not daring to.

  Afterwards, Feng sat on Samu’s meditation cushion, her legs crossed, and asked pointedly, ‘Old Mr Samu, aren’t you going to thank me?’

  Samu didn’t understand what she was saying, but he could understand her expression. He smiled and stroked her hair. Then he took a medicine bottle out of the second cabinet on the right.

  Feng pouted but bared her wounds with Gongzha’s help.

  Samu pressed lightly round each of her wounds and smiled with satisfaction. He spooned out a dollop of the sticky substance and began spreading it gently on each wound, but before he’d finished applying it to her shoulder, Feng screamed and fainted.

  ‘Feng! Feng…!’ Gongzha was terrified. He snatched her up and patted her face.

  Samu was also stunned. He gazed in astonishment at the bottle in his hand, lifted what was left of the paste on the spoon to his nose and sniffed it. He was so shocked that he forgot he’d taken a vow of silence. ‘Why does it smell like scorpion venom? Impossible, this is impossible!’ He sniffed again, then pushed open Feng’s eyelids and her now dark purple lips to take a closer look. He shook his head. ‘It’s over. It’s all over!’

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong with her? Why has she suddenly gone purple?’ Gongzha gazed in horror as Feng’s face went puce. He felt as if the sky was falling in.

  ‘She�
�s been poisoned. There was poison in the medicine and it was from the most venomous scorpion in the wilderness,’ Samu said, looking at Gongzha with frustration.

  ‘How could there be poison in the medicine? You used it before without any problems.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened either, but someone must have poisoned the bottle while I was out.’

  ‘What can we do? What should I do?’ Gongzha stared at him in desperation, clutching Feng close.

  ‘Take her down to the lake and wash her wounds, then press down hard on the wounds until you see fresh blood coming out of them. Don’t worry about hurting her. I’ll go and find my master and see if there’s anything else we can do,’ Samu said quickly. He rushed out the door and began hurriedly heading up towards one of the higher peaks.

  With Feng in his arms, Gongzha slithered so fast down the mountain, it was as if he was flying. He ran straight into the lake, ripped opened Feng’s shirt and supported her in the water. Then he started to press down on the wound on her shoulder. The shattering pain brought Feng back to consciousness. She screamed and struggled, feet and hands flying. ‘No, Gongzha! It’s killing me, it’s really killing me!’

  Gongzha used his arms to hold her still, his hands still pressing on her wound; black blood spurted out, staining the lake water.

  ‘It hurts! It really hurts, Gongzha! I really am in pain – stop pressing it, okay? Let’s just stop the treatment – we’ll just leave and go back to the grassland. It hurts too much…’ Feng screamed and at one point even bit Gongzha.

  Gongzha ignored her and kept pressing on the wound. Bean-sized drops of sweat and tears rolled off Feng’s purple face and slid into the lake. She gave one final scream, then fell unconscious.

  All Gongzha could think about was pressing down with all his strength. A thousand voices shouted in his head, ‘Don’t let her leave you, don’t let her go like this.’

  The foul-smelling black blood continued to pour out of her.