The Abbot stared at him, his gaze passing over each part of Luca’s face. A long scar ran over the top of his lip and his cheeks were still puffy from the last of the swelling. In the week that had passed since the avalanche, the Westerner’s face had healed a great deal. Physically, he was recovering well, but in all that time he had barely uttered a word. The Abbot had been informed that he lay for hours in his cell, staring vacantly at the ceiling and hardly touching his food.
Dorje placed a bowl in Luca’s open hand. As he set it down in front of him, some of the boiling tea sloshed over the rim and scalded his fingers. He didn’t appear to notice. Instead, he returned the Abbot’s gaze, his own eyes dull from sleepless nights.
‘So what happens now?’ he asked.
‘That depends to whom you refer,’ Dorje answered, before taking a sip of his tea.
‘The boy.’
‘His Holiness will remain here at Geltang under the direct supervision of our Abbot. He will be instructed in our teachings to the very highest level, until he is ready to take his place in Shigatse.’
‘But that means the Chinese will win,’ Luca said flatly. ‘After all that’s happened, after so many people died, you’re just going to sit back while they crown their own Panchen Lama. What was the point of it all?’
Dorje inhaled deeply, then nodded. ‘Indeed they will have their victory, but only for now. We cannot risk exposing Babu to the world before he is old enough to know his own mind and his own path. Many would seek to control him, as you saw even within our own walls. You must remember that despite the awesome knowledge and power within Babu, he is still just a boy. We shall wait until he is ready to be known. But rest assured, Mr Matthews, he will be known, and our rightful ruler will be restored.’
‘That could be years from now. Decades even.’
Dorje nodded again. ‘It could indeed, but fortunately, patience is one of our greatest attributes. We have already waited many decades for our country to be free, and are prepared to wait many more.’
He took another sip of tea and gestured for Luca to do the same. As Luca raised the bowl to his lips, the Abbot’s eyes finally left him and turned towards Dorje.
‘I believe it is time to tell the Westerner the whole truth about our monastery,’ he said in Tibetan, his voice slow and deliberate.
Dorje looked aghast, the bowl tilting in his hands and spilling some tea on to his lap.
‘But why, Your Holiness? Why share such knowledge with an outsider?’
The Abbot’s eyes traced over Luca’s slumped shoulders and the scar running across his lip.
‘Because he has given everything for us,’ he said. ‘After all that has happened, he deserves to know what he has helped save.’
Dorje inhaled deeply, setting his bowl back down in front of him. He hesitated for a second, then as the Abbot nodded again, started to speak.
‘Some time ago, Mr Matthews, I told you that Geltang Monastery was a repository of treasure, but the treasure I was referring to had nothing to do with the statues you happened upon in the basement.’
Luca looked up as an image came to him of the Buddha’s eyes sparkling in the flame of his lighter.
‘But I saw them… I saw the diamonds and gems.’
‘To some they are significant, true, but to us, they are little more than tokens with which to decorate our holy statues. Geltang was not built to safeguard them. Not at all. Our mountain beyul, indeed all our secret beyuls, were built for another purpose entirely. But you need to understand something of our history before this story will make sense.’
Dorje stood up, moving over to one of the windows to stare out at the view.
‘Over two thousand years ago, an Indian prince called Siddhartha Gautama was the first to attain perfect enlightenment. He became what we call the Supreme Buddha. During his lifetime his teachings, and by that I mean the actual words he spoke, were precisely copied down by scribes and divided into eight sections, or paths as they were called. Each path was then divided again by subject into a further eight.
‘This gave rise to a total of sixty-four books. Now, you must remember that these books were not copies or hearsay, they had not been rewritten or revised — they were the actual words spoken by the Supreme Buddha. The books were then divided and spread amongst our beyuls for safe-keeping, housed in our most secure libraries and kept secret from the world.’
Dorje slowly turned away from the window, his expression full of sorrow.
‘But, as you know, our beyuls were discovered and razed to the ground. One by one they fell, and many of our treasured books were lost. After Benchaan Monastery fell, two complete paths were destroyed by the flames and it was then that a decision was made throughout the five orders to draw all knowledge to Geltang. But the books could not be transported by hand. This was the dark time of the Cultural Revolution and all religious works were either confiscated or burned on sight, their carriers arrested and brutally tortured. We could not afford for any more to be lost.
‘So, in all this madness, certain monks were chosen to memorise each of the books by rote. Every word, sentence and paragraph of Buddha was thus preserved in living, walking books. Disguised as peasants or traders, they then made their way past road blocks and patrols, eventually arriving at Geltang to begin the long process of transcribing each of the teachings back on to paper.’
‘Books?’ Luca repeated. ‘That’s what all this is about — books?’
‘Yes,’ Dorje answered softly. ‘And now we have nearly all of them. The last of the eighth path is all but complete.’
Luca shook his head, picturing the lines of monks he had seen in the library, pens working in a ceaseless flow across the pages. Shara had been there, amongst them.
‘That’s what she was delivering, wasn’t it?’
‘I presume you mean Miss Shara? She is indeed a living book — the fifth book of the eighth path, and one of our most treasured works. She is here under most exceptional circumstances. Her brother was meant to deliver the text to us but was caught crossing the border three years ago. Despite finding no evidence as to his true identity, we believe the Chinese still hold him in Drapthi prison in Lhasa. But as I said, we have heard nothing more of him in all that time. We discovered that Miss Shara has the same ability as her brother. Eventually it was she that volunteered to take his place. She was travelling across the breadth of Tibet, coming to Geltang, when news of an attempt on His Holiness’s life was made known to members of the Gelugpa sect. They managed to divert her and she was charged with bringing the boy here.’
Luca’s expression remained blank as he tried to imagine memorising an entire book. The tomes he had seen in the library were inches thick.
‘I’ve been in the library and seen them working,’ he said, ‘but I can’t understand how a person could memorise an entire book.’
‘To be sure, it is no small matter, especially given the significance of what they were memorising. But the human mind is capable of so much more than we give it credit for. Even in Western societies you see abundant evidence of all it can do. Take those afflicted by certain types of autism, for instance. They are able to retain and process vast amounts of information.’ Dorje paused, thinking back to the early days when he had first arrived at Geltang, disguised as a wandering beggar. ‘It was only after many years and countless trials of controlled meditation that some of us were able to access this exact same part of the brain.’
As Dorje fell silent, the Abbot swept his hand round, gesturing for Luca to go to one of the open windows. After a moment’s pause, he set down his bowl and got to his feet.
Beyond the interlocking valleys the entire pyramid mountain was exposed, its summit free from cloud in a rare moment. Luca’s eyes followed the clean lines of its sides until they converged in a sharp, glinting point, as if threatening to pierce a hole in the sky. Despite it all, he was staggered by the mountain’s beauty.
‘You know we gave it a name,’ he said, his eyes locked on the vie
w. ‘Bill called it the Cloud Maker.’
Dorje nodded, letting a silence descend across the room. As the minutes passed Luca remained staring out at the mountain, feeling all the emotions he had struggled with during the last week resurface with overwhelming force.
Eventually there was a soft tinkling sound and he turned to see the Abbot holding a small, golden bell. He gestured for Luca to sit before him and, with his right hand outstretched, rested his palm against Luca’s forehead. He kept his head bent low as the Abbot recited a long blessing before finally removing his hand.
‘Time for you to go,’ he said in a thick accent.
A sudden fear swept over Luca at the idea of leaving. He had been so engrossed in his own endless remorse that he had blocked out any thought of what would happen when he finally made it home.
Now a chill settled in the pit of his stomach. He would have to resume the banality of everything he had left in the Western world — his job, his home, his father’s hopes. He would have to tell Cathy the story of what had happened and somehow explain to Hal and Ella that their father would never be coming back. He would be forever judged by people who could never understand, just like with the Everest expedition.
As Luca felt that surge of dread, he was suddenly overtaken by a desire to stay here in Geltang, amongst the placid monks and silent mountains. Why should he not stay — fall back into a new life here and leave behind everything he had once known?
‘I don’t want to go,’ he said, his eyes meeting the Abbot’s. ‘I need some time to work it all out. Begin again.’
The Abbot’s expression remained set.
‘You must face own life,’ he said, pointing a finger at Luca’s chest. ‘Only once you see own life, can you see others.’
There was the sound of approaching footsteps and Shara arrived at the top of the stairs. She bowed deeply towards the Abbot before offering her hand to Luca.
‘Come,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘Everything is ready.’
Luca stood under the blossom trees in the courtyard, watching the petals slowly drift to the ground. Just to the right, the stone steps reached down into the base of the mountain far below. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since they had first staggered across these same flagstones with Bill held in their arms.
Shara had already prepared Luca’s rucksack and it was resting on its side by the first of the steps, crammed with provisions and kit. On an enclave in the nearby wall, she was pouring two fist-sized cups of tea.
‘So how long will it take you to transcribe the whole book?’ Luca asked, still staring at the blossom.
‘Two to three years at least,’ Shara answered, carefully setting the cups down on the edge of the first step and looking out at the view. Luca moved closer, so that they were side by side. ‘Of course, it took me many more years to memorise it in the first place.’
Luca glanced down at the delicate china cups.
‘I think I’ve had enough of that stuff,’ he said.
‘This one is for me,’ Shara said, picking up one of the cups and taking a small sip. ‘The other will wait here for you, as is our custom, in case you ever decide to return.’
Luca looked up into her pale green eyes. They shone with a sadness he’d not seen before, and from the way her lips were pressed together, he could tell she was trying to hold back her emotions.
‘But the Abbot told me to leave. He doesn’t want me back.’
‘He told you to face up to your life. When you’ve done that, you’re free to go wherever you choose.’ She reached out and took one of his hands between both of hers. ‘But whatever happens, Luca, just remember that it was not your fault that Bill died.’
At the mention of his name, Luca turned his eyes away from hers. The enormity of it all crashed over him again, almost driving the air from his chest.
‘Goodbye, Shara,’ he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. His face remained pressed against hers for a moment longer, breathing in her delicate scent. Then he suddenly turned away, squaring his shoulders. He scooped his rucksack off the ground and started down the steps.
Shara remained at the head of the stairway, the breeze playing with the long strands of her hair. For a long while she watched his retreating figure, waiting for him to turn his head back towards the monastery. But he kept on walking, until his outline had gradually sunk back into the far mountains and the tea sitting beside her had long since gone cold.
Chapter 58
Rega staggered along the broken pathway, clutching on to Drang’s arm. The toes of his sandals caught on the loose stones, tripping him forward, while his spare arm reached out into thin air, fingers splayed wide.
Everything was so unfamiliar. There was no corridor to guide him, no indentations in the stone wall to show him the way. His whole world had been based on familiarity and memory, and now all that had gone.
The wind streamed across his face and Rega inhaled the cold air deep into his lungs. It smelled bitter and fresh, and he didn’t recognise a single part of it. In the monastery he had been able to tell every storeroom from the smell of its countless jars and vials. He could navigate the twists of the library just from the aroma of the dry parchments. Yet here, in the open vastness of the mountains, all that knowledge suddenly counted for nothing.
The wind blew harder, tugging at his cowl and billowing out his robes.
The moment he was banished from Geltang, the gates bolted shut behind him, Rega had felt a terrible sense of helplessness overcome him.
‘We must reach the shelter of the lower valleys,’ he said, trying to keep the fear from his voice.
He could feel Drang tugging at his sleeve. They were moving tortuously slowly down the path and he guessed his aide’s patience was fast running out. In the mountains, an old blind man could only slow him down.
‘You have always been a loyal aide,’ Rega said, briefly resting his other hand on Drang’s forearm. ‘And you shall be rewarded for such service, I give you my word.’
Drang only grunted, his good eye staring down the slope in front of him. Gauze bandages were wrapped tight across his face, and where the skin was visible it shone with a greasy extract used in the treatment of burns. Under the bandages, weeping patches of raw skin clung to the gauze.
‘Most loyal,’ Rega repeated, fear thick in his voice.
Drang grunted again, pressing him forward. Across the far line of mountain peaks he could see clouds rolling over the sky, blotting out the sun. The wind had already changed direction, bringing an icy cold from the higher slopes. A storm was brewing.
Rega stumbled on a rock lying in the centre of the pathway, his hands digging into Drang’s arm for support. He pulled himself upright, his breathing laboured, and quickly tried to gather himself to continue. Drang simply watched, his expression unchanged, as Rega staggered forward once more.
For another hour they continued before Drang pulled him to a halt.
‘The ground is more dangerous ahead, Father,’ he said. ‘The path has run out. I need to go ahead and check the way down.’
Rega nodded and very slowly uncurled his hands from Drang’s arm. He stood on his own, shifting his weight and reaching out his arms to balance himself. He heard Drang leave a bag at his feet, then the scuffing of his boots across the uneven ground just ahead and some loose pebbles tumbling away down the slope. After that, there was only the noise of the mounting wind.
For over two hours Rega stood where he was, in the vain hope of Drang returning. Even when he understood that his aide was never coming back, he remained in the same place for want of anywhere else to go. The wind whipped around him, sending ripples across the folds of his robes, but he did not reach down into the bag at his feet and put on one of the heavy jackets they’d been given.
Turning back in the direction they had come, Rega tilted his head up towards the distant walls of Geltang, his expression shadowed with remorse.
‘I’m so tired,’ he whispered. Then, sitting down on the hard groun
d, he lowered his head, letting the cold slowly claim him.
Chapter 59
3 November 2005
Jack Milton was discussing Phd potential with an undergraduate in his study when there was a knock at his door. It opened a fraction to reveal the left side of Luca’s face.
‘Jesus, Luca!’ he said, jumping up from behind his desk. ‘We’ll continue this later,’ he muttered to the student, waving him up from the armchair and out of the room.
As Luca stepped hesitantly into the office, Jack took him by the shoulders. As soon as he touched him, he could feel just how much weight Luca had lost. His grey eyes looked paler than normal and were ringed with fatigue. Despite his clean clothes, Lucasunburned face and matted hair made him look weathered and somehow uncivilised, a far cry from the pale academics who normally inhabited Jack’s study.
‘Why didn’t you call?’ he demanded. ‘We hadn’t heard from you in so long, we thought the worst had happened.’
He pulled his nephew forward, hugging him tight in his arms. Eventually, with a couple of awkward pats on his back, Jack stepped away and turned to the window. Behind his reading glasses, Luca could see his eyes were clouded with tears.
‘Next time you go on a trip, I’m giving you a bloody satellite phone,’ he said, busying himself by making some coffee. Pouring the dregs from the glass pot into the top of the coffee machine again, he packed in some new grounds from a well-thumbed packet and pressed the switch. Soon they were settled into the two armchairs, facing each other.
For over an hour Luca talked. In all that time Jack did not interrupt or ask questions, but sipped his coffee long after it had turned cold. A mixture of disbelief and horror spread across his face as his nephew related every step of the journey. When Luca explained what had happened to Bill, Jack reached up his hands to his face and covered his eyes. His shoulders shook from sobs and for a long time after that they both sat in silence. Eventually Luca got up from his chair and poured his uncle another coffee, resting his hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed him the cup.
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