The Silk Tree

by Julian Stockwin

  ‘Kind of you to think of us, Korkut sheng,’ Nicander replied. ‘We’d be honoured to come.’ He paused. ‘Would it be possible to take with us the Lady P’eng? She being so cast down and …’

  Korkut’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘Well, if you think so. I have to tell you that the Peach is very much your regular oasis inn, which is to say its pleasures and entertainments might not be to the taste of a lady.’

  ‘Zarina’s going?’

  ‘I couldn’t stop her!’

  ‘Then as she’s a lady, so there’ll be company for her.’

  Nicander was not proud of the fact that there was also another motive behind the request: as they were a party invited together Ying Mei could hardly refuse to pay for their share – one worry disposed of.

  Dunhuang throbbed with life. A caravan of colourful strangers with money to burn, fashion goods from China to buy, the latest gossip from Chang An and travellers to entertain were irresistible.

  The brightly lit streets were full with peoples from every remote corner of Asia in all kinds of outlandish dress. Korkut’s little band made their way through and soon arrived at the inn.

  From the upper-storey balcony, girls with elaborate coiffures threw them kisses. They passed inside to a roar of noise, candlelight picking out gold-leafed carvings, scarlet furniture, intricate tapestries – and the eyes of the revellers.

  Korkut took them to stairs at the rear. The upper floor turned out to be even more extravagantly furnished. They were shown to an elaborately lacquered table close by an open space.

  A voluptuously dressed girl bowed with a dazzling smile. ‘Good evening! I’m Mei Ling, mistress of the table, you are our honoured guests.’

  They sat on low benches, Korkut and his wife in the centre with Ying Mei opposite. Tai Yi eased herself between Nicander and her mistress. Marius sat next to Korkut.

  Waiters arrived with trays of delicacies. ‘Wine!’ ordered Korkut. ‘The best!’

  It came in a silver-chased jug worked with flying camels with wings, and was silky smooth, slipping down rapidly after the stern discipline of the desert.

  ‘Not so fast!’ Korkut ordered.

  ‘We’re here as guests in Dunhuang. We must follow their customs. So – will you drink my health, or will I drink yours, Ma sheng?’ He made a fist. ‘You see this?’ Two fingers came out. ‘Now you – any number.’

  Three fingers came out of Marius’s big hand.

  ‘So the total is five. Now to make it interesting, at just the same time we throw, we shout out what we think will be the correct number. Ready?’

  Marius caught on quickly to the drinking game but it was Korkut who first scored.

  ‘Your very good health, sir!’ Marius grinned and toasted him Roman fashion, moving his arm wide across his chest.

  Nicander joined in and after losing twice in succession, a pleasant fuddle settled in.

  The promised feast arrived. Pigeon’s eggs, a fish in bamboo root, tripe in spicy noodles, the dishes kept coming.

  He eased forward to catch a glimpse of Ying Mei. She was talking gravely to Zarina but appeared to be having a good time, even if her poise was as unbending as ever.

  There was movement at another table where caravan master Su sat. He wore a deep-blue silk top jacket with distinctive yellow patterns woven into it and leg-hugging red trousers which were tucked into calf-length brocaded boots. And on his head was a black conical cap cheekily tilted forward.

  His guests were two girls in as colourful a dress as he and both were in paroxysms of laughter.

  ‘Bloody Sogdians!’ Korkut spluttered. ‘Can’t keep away from ’em.’

  To one side a flute began an exploratory trill. It was from a trio which included knee drums and lute.

  ‘Ha! This is why we came, m’ friends. Only thing the Sogs are good for.’

  Two serving girls scurried out with a crimson and green rug which they threw over the reed-matting floor. An expectant hush fell.

  The flute then joined with the pipa lute in a soft, lingering melody, hinting at mystery and allure.

  Even through his alcoholic haze Nicander was caught up in the atmosphere. Mere yards away in the darkness huge silent dunes were stretching away to infinity, while here they were, cheating the wilderness demons in a celebration of their victory over the desert.

  In a flash of movement a dancer appeared in a bare-shouldered silk blouse and a long, filmy gauze skirt over loose green trousers. She stepped forward daintily, her tiny jewelled slippers pointing and tapping in deliberate movements until she reached the centre of the rug where she took up a provocative pose.

  Then the drums spoke with a soft but insistent beat underlying the music, steadily increasing in power until the dancer sprang to life. She threw out her arms and twirled about, setting off tiny bells on her arms and ankles, beginning a dance of sensuous whirling as the drums deepened and became more demanding in their rhythm.

  At each turn she fixed her eyes on a different man who shouted encouragement until the room rang with whoops and calls.

  Nicander’s attention was diverted by a sudden movement. ‘Come, My Lady, this is no fit place for a well-born!’

  Tai Yi stood, her face tight. Ying Mei hesitated, an unreadable emotion passing across her face, then she rose and left.

  The dance tightened, the turns became more abandoned, the drums deafening.

  For Nicander the wine was having its effect but he was as much intoxicated with the sensual impact of the exotic scene. This was the reality now – not the desert, not the Imperial Palace, not the domes and columns of Constantinople, now but a faded dream.

  The drums built to a furious climax, then without warning the dancer ran to Korkut’s table. With a deft movement at her blouse she thrust her bare breasts to Marius.

  There was a roar of appreciation as the legionary huskily acknowledged her. She held her pose, then turned and left.

  ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be others on,’ chuckled Korkut, his hand busy inside Zarina’s bodice.

  More wine came.

  In his detached state Nicander saw Marius furtively show Korkut something.

  ‘An Imperial silver sycee! Where did you get this?’ the merchant demanded loudly.

  Seeing Marius scrabble in vain for an explanation, Nicander leant over drunkenly. ‘It’s for doing a magical healing on the Emperor’s daughter,’ he burbled.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. So can you split it up, like. Coin or whatever?’

  ‘For you? I think we can do something.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Nicander acknowledged his friend with a smile. ‘Been wondering when you’d get back.’ It was well into the morning and he’d been able to sleep off the effects of the previous evening enough to take in the day.

  Marius grinned, then flopped down on his bed. ‘Hard work – the woman didn’t know a word of any civilised lingo.’

  ‘You’ve missed the excitement.’

  ‘Have I now?’

  ‘The caravan may be delayed.’

  ‘What a pity.’ The big man stretched lazily.

  ‘Seems the Tibetans are coming down from the mountains and causing grief between here and Khotan.’

  ‘How long?’ The eyes were closed, the speech slurred.

  ‘They’re sending a scouting party ahead to find when we can move out. Long enough, I would have thought, for you to spend all the Emperor’s silver – and half that’s mine, I’ll remind you.’

  ‘I’ll pass her across at the right time, don’t worry.’

  About to give a hot retort, Nicander saw the cheeky grin. ‘Korkut says there’s some famous caves close by. Feel like stretching the legs?’

  ‘Not now, I’ve got some kip to catch up on. Have fun.’

  Nicander demanded some coins and left him to it.

  It was hot so he hired a donkey as the distance to the caves was considerable, the path winding between dunes and craggy passes for a dozen miles or more.

  He went in compan
y with five monks headed there on pilgrimage. They chattered in a barbarous dialect, completely incomprehensible to Nicander.

  Left to his own thoughts he allowed it not impossible that he and Marius would make it through after all. The caravan was well organised, no doubt Su would be able to pay off the Tibetans to let them pass and then it was the lengthy journey to the mountains. There would bound to be some at that place who could tell them the direction to take next.

  At least the Ice Queen was talking to him now. Never had he been completely ignored before like that. It had rankled more than it should have, the way she looked down on him.

  The donkey stumbled, interrupting his musings and he saw that they had come to a winding valley with a flat floor. A shallow river meandered through and around a bend there was a little village, dominated by the pagoda of a monastery. The party drew closer; above the nestling trees there was a bluff stretching away and in its vertical face were regular square holes that must be the caves. At least a couple of dozen.

  The monks disappeared into the monastery. Nicander found the path up to the cliff face. Stepped walkways projected out that led to the caves and he made his way along one.

  In the first cave a scraggy, shaven-headed monk looked up and smiled. He was at work with a brush and a pot of pigment and stood back for Nicander to admire it.

  It was a busy painting, full of detail. A Buddha with colourful haloes sat cross-legged, and flying above him were heavenly beings trailing swirling ribbons. Not angels as Nicander knew them, but much more full of life, so different to the static piety of Christian works.

  On other walls were contrasting scenes of the Buddha’s life, which meant nothing to him but which held the same vitality.

  He murmured some words of praise but the monk shook his head in incomprehension then returned to his work.

  The next cave along was more spacious, with several separate chambers. Sunlight flooded the outer one but the inner room was in deep gloom, relieved by just a single lamp. There was no painter at work here, only a solitary figure sitting cross-legged in the centre, motionless.

  The atmosphere was stark and mystical and something reached out to Nicander. He moved closer to one of the murals. The figures came to life in the flickering illumination of the lamp. The central Buddha was posed on a lotus blossom, a look of utter serenity on his face, hands raised in a blessing. Around him were maidens in flowing gowns, mythical beasts and leaping and flying ferocious demons and warrior gods that seemed to come out from the wall at Nicander personally.

  A movement behind startled him. It was the man he’d seen when he entered.

  Was he a monk? His face was in shadow but he had a full beard and thickset build.

  The man growled some words at Nicander that he couldn’t understand. Shaking his head he said in Chinese, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, lao na.’

  The man came out of the shadows and replied in Chinese, ‘I said, what does this hold for you?’

  ‘Why, it’s very well done.’

  Nicander edged toward the doorway to the outer chamber, disturbed by the man’s aura. Pretending to admire the other frescos he emerged into the light. The man followed and stood watching him. Nicander glanced at him, meeting fierce blue eyes.

  ‘This one – I rather like the chorus of—’

  ‘They worship the bodhisattva.’ The voice was deep, commanding.

  ‘Ah, yes.’

  ‘You have no knowledge, no understanding of these mysteries?’

  He moved closer, inspecting Nicander keenly. ‘You’re an outlander as I’ve never encountered before – and I’ve travelled to the edge of the world where the four winds do spring, and never have I met those who do not fear and respect these teachings.’

  Nicander returned his gaze. ‘And I’d say you’re not a son of Han yourself.’

  ‘You interest me, barbarian. Where did you first draw breath? What do you here, that so few set eyes on these wonders?’

  ‘I’m – I’m a holy man from a far southern kingdom. I seek truths.’

  ‘The south, is it!’ the man whispered, then declaimed,

  ‘O Soul, go not to the South

  Where mile on mile the earth is burnt away

  And poisonous serpents slither through the flames;

  Where on precipitous paths or in deep woods

  Tigers and leopards prowl,

  And water-scorpions wait;

  Where the king-python rears his giant head.

  O Soul, go not to the South

  Where the three-footed tortoise spits disease!’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘That is my own land, the south. I’d be curious to know what part …?’

  ‘More to the west, I’d say.’

  ‘You seek after truths yet you show no desire to imbibe of the wisdom of this place.’

  ‘I’ve not yet begun to search.’

  ‘But truth is everywhere, as philosophers of every breed do attest.’

  ‘Sir. I came here for my own reasons. I do not wish to spend my time in wordy dispute.’

  The man bowed. ‘Do pardon me, wanderer. You may know me as Dao Pa and like you, I have an unquenchable desire for truth.’

  ‘I’m called, in China, Ni K’an Ta. I have travelled far and now return to my homeland.’

  ‘Ni lao na, forgive my importuning but I sense in you a different spirit, one unaccustomed to the ways of the Middle Kingdom, unsure of the patterns of life in our existence here. The inescapable conclusion is that in the compass of your own world, you are. You will have an understanding of earthly and heavenly matters that satisfies, but which will be either in agreement with us or at variance. The answer to this is of great significance to my understanding. It would gratify me beyond saying should we walk together for a space.’

  Outside he found his staff, and hitching his cloak – little more than a blanket – he and Nicander descended the cliff face to the flat sandy ground next to the river.

  There was something in his manner – the intensity yet dignity, the tigerish gaze with unsettling insight, that Nicander felt stripped him bare.

  They paced slowly then Dao Pa said, ‘Tell me, Ni lao na. What is your origin?’

  There could be no evasion with this man. ‘I am a Greek, from a place so far I cannot tell even in what direction it lies.’ He had no idea of the word for ‘Greek’ in Chinese, even if there was one, so used the actual word.

  To his surprise Dao Pa nodded wisely. ‘In India they still speak of a Hellenica, a great warrior teacher they call Aliksa Nada who many centuries ago conquered territories right up to the gates of the kingdom then received a sign from heaven and turned his back on them.’

  Nicander felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end – he could be speaking only of Alexander the Great!

  ‘You’ve been to India?’

  ‘Certainly. There is an infinity of wisdom to be learnt in that far country, worth all the pains of the travel. Know that the caravans that ply the deserts and mountains are brought on by merchants for their own purposes but have served for time out of mind as a river of knowledge and enlightenment for those who seek truth in distant lands, such as I. These caves, the teachings of the Buddha, all these have come from India.’

  ‘Are you – is it that you are a Buddhist teacher yourself?’

  Dao Pa stopped. ‘I will not tell you what I am.’

  He looked once at Nicander then drew a square in the sand. ‘If I do, you will have a form of words you believe perfectly describes both me and the structure of my thought.’

  He stepped into the square. ‘And by this you have made a prison for me. I cannot escape. You have confined me here and will make measure of every word I utter, every truth I reveal by the bounds of this prison for evermore.’

  ‘Then you are a teacher.’

  ‘I have my disciples, whom I needs must from time to time abandon for the pleasures of solitude. But now you are my teacher. Tell me – what is the essence of the Greek mysterie
s?’

  Nicander felt unreality creeping in. Here he was, about to convey what he knew of Pythagoras and the rest to an oriental mystic at the edge of the wildest desert in the world.

  ‘There are many philosophy masters in Greek thought, Dao Pa. Yet I believe you will find the greatest of these is Aristotle. At the heart of his teaching is one truth that to me lies at the centre of all things.’

  ‘Do continue, I pray you.’

  ‘Well, this is the prime thing we hold so precious. That nothing, no idea or belief can be accepted, without we have evidence for it. And if there is evidence in our hands, we are obliged to admit it as a truth.’

  Dao Pa turned to the sea of rearing dunes. ‘Come.’

  Nicander followed him up the face of a nearer one, the hot sand running like water to make every step an aching trial.

  Eventually they reached the top but did not stop to take in the spectacular panorama, stumping and sliding down until they were at the bottom. On all sides the dunes soared up. A trap of silence so complete Nicander thought he could hear his heart beating.

  Dao Pa turned to him. ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Why, nothing but sand – the dunes.’

  ‘Yes. You are born here and cannot leave. What evidence have you that within less than the length of a single camel train there are living, breathing humans who have their being in creating works of art of great beauty?’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘There is none. Nothing by your philosophy that reveals this alternate existence. Yet it exists!’

  There could be no answer.

  ‘And by this we have that there must be hidden worlds of man and gods that we can never know – and it would be folly indeed to reject their existence.’

  Nicander felt the certainties he had lived with recede, the mental ground under him shift.

  ‘Dao Pa – tell me now of your philosophy. What do you hold most precious?’