by Fritz Galt
Yet, that was exactly what Dr. Rock was proposing to show him. The scientist shooed the guard away and opened a door to the side of the compound opposite the museum.
It smelled like paper that had been left exposed to heat and moisture for years. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Brad made out two shelves full of leather-bound books.
Rock approached a table where papers sat scattered. He pushed them aside to clear the surface. Then he brought a wrinkled scroll out from under the table. “This might be what you’re looking for.”
Brad doubted it, but gave it a look.
“Dr. Yu asked to see this,” Rock said.
With reverence, the man began to unroll it. It was a magnificent work of art. Each turn revealed another section of paintings ranging from the dark and brooding to the vibrant. In all, it was forty feet long.
Brad moved closer to inspect it. The scroll appeared to be made of homespun hemp cloth. The paintings were gouache, an opaque watercolor mixed with gum.
His understanding of the Naxi religion was sketchy at best. It was a mixture of Tibetan Bon-Shamanism, Indian Tantrism, and Lamaism. “Does this scroll depict Naxi rituals?”
“This is a funeral scroll,” Rock said. “You hang one end at the head of a coffin and carry the other in a northeasterly direction. You see, these are the various stages and realms that the soul of the deceased must travel through in order to reach the Naxi pantheon of gods.”
Brad could see what Rock was talking about. The beginning of the journey depicted nine black areas of hell guarded by demons. After that, the soul traversed a human domain and ended up, with the help of the shaman’s exorcism, in the realm of the gods. Once beyond the human domain, the paintings were colorful and breathtaking.
“It’s their version of heaven,” Brad said.
“Or so I thought at first,” Rock said. Then he rolled the scroll up and pulled out a stack of thick pages sewn together to form a book.
Brad fingered the coarse paper. “What is this made of?”
“Hundreds of years ago, the Naxi wrote on tree bark. A toxic substance in the bark keeps insects from devouring it, thus preserving the writings.”
“Clever.” Unfortunately, the simple line drawings of everyday objects meant nothing to Brad. He had seen dongba script in textbooks before, but had never tried to decipher it. Boy, he wished he had paid more attention in his comparative linguistics course. He barely knew his numbers in Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Then Rock dropped a heavy leather-bound book on the table.
Brad perused the typeset pages. It was a 1,094-page encyclopedic dictionary of the Naxi language, published in 1962 and written by one Joseph Francis Charles Rock. Brad sucked in his breath. The copyright page gave Rock’s date of birth as 1884. How could that be?
“Don’t worry about translating. I’ve got every page of these Naxi scriptures translated.” Rock indicated a tall stack of other such tree bark books leaning against the back wall. “The one in front of you tells of myths in which various sacrifices were made to heaven.”
“And where is their heaven?” Brad asked.
Rock shook his head. “I’ve visited all the places they write about. Since the ’20s, I’ve traveled to sacred mountains such as the three sacred peaks of Muli in western Sichuan, to Gonga Shan, which I mistakenly measured to be the tallest mountain in the world. I’ve traveled and written extensively about Yunnan, Sichuan and western Gansu province, not to mention eastern Tibet.”
Then Rock got the giggles as he remembered something. “Silly fiction writers. James Hilton wrote a book named Lost Horizon based on my reporting to National Geographic.”
He collected himself and continued. “I have talked with shamans and lived among the people of western China for decades. All of my scholarly research and personal experiences have led me to this mountain behind me. Yet, I am still missing the key.”
He shoved the parchment aside.
“I’ve been knocking at the door of Shambhala for decades, and nobody has let me in. There is some vital piece to the puzzle that I’m missing.”
Brad couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man. Rock was a born explorer with a keen, self-taught knowledge of taxonomy, languages, religions and cultures, and yet paradise had eluded him his whole life. “So this scripture tells about heaven,” he said and leaned in close to examine the stick characters.
“Here is my translation.”
He shoved a piece of paper under Brad’s nose. It was broken into rows and columns the same size and shape as the manuscript. The top half of Rock’s work was a phonetic transliteration, and the bottom half showed an English translation of the page.
Brad began reading. The Naxi sure had a vivid imagination. They believed that both man and nature were born from the same father, although they had two different mothers. The two half-brothers have been at odds with each other ever since, especially when humans used up too many natural resources, bringing about the wrath of heaven.
It sounded like a workable belief system. But as a writing system, the dongba pictographs looked like gibberish. Rock’s translations were precise, but something didn’t add up. He examined the pictographs in more detail. There was a man and a child, a woman and a child, two parents, and two children in nearly every rectangular sentence of the book.
Rock had the groupings translated as “men,” “women,” “adults,” and “children.” However, in some pictures, the child was on the left and sometimes on the right. “How do you account for that?” Brad asked.
Rock shrugged. “I attribute it to artistic license.”
“Don’t you suppose those could also indicate directions?”
“No. This scroll is about heaven. It doesn’t refer to the real world.”
The lack of an obvious explanation for the adults and children switching sides triggered another thought. “Do you have a mandala here?”
Rock rummaged around a pile of poster-sized artwork and found a faded color print of the Tibetan Kalachakra mandala.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Brad said.
May and Rock held the four corners down while he explained.
“As you know, the mandala describes the realms that surround heaven. You have to look at these five concentric boxes in three dimensions as levels leading up to this temple in the center, which is paradise. There is a gate into each level, and one must navigate the maze of gates to climb up to the highest level. The mandala shows you the walls and gates, but these don’t relate to the four cardinal directions.”
He showed them four wedge-shaped colors within the inner circle.
“For that, you have to look at these wedges that represent Kalachakra’s face. His blue-black face points east, his white face points north, his red face points south, and the orange face points west. So, if you enter the first gate from the east, you can follow the maze inward to Shambhala. The only question is which way to turn on each level in order to reach the correct gate.”
He pointed to the human figures in the Naxi book. “I think these might be the key.”
Rock moved to Brad’s side and asked him to hold the poster flat for him. His eyes darted back and forth between the text and the large Wheel of Life. “What is the first temple called?” he asked.
“The first level of the palace is the mandala of the enlightened body,” Brad said, recalling his research into Tibetan teachings.
Rock nodded and pointed to the first rectangle in the Naxi book. “Left.” His finger proceeded through the entrance and turned left. “Next level?”
“Speech,” Brad said. “The enlightened speech mandala.”
Rock found the correct reference in the Naxi script. “Straight.” Halfway inside the temple, there was another set of four walls, each with its own entrance. His finger continued straight into the next level. “Next?”
“The enlightened mind mandala.”
Rock looked for the corresponding characters for the mind and said. “Right.” Halfway inside the sp
eech mandala, he turned right and entered the square platform that represented the enlightened mind mandala. “Next?”
Brad thought back. “The fourth level is the enlightened wisdom mandala.”
Rock nodded and found a wisdom panel in the book. “Left again.” His finger climbed up inside the mind mandala and took a left to reach the next entrance. “Next?”
“The enlightened great bliss platform.”
“Bliss. Bliss,” Rock said. “Would that be akin to an orgasm?”
Brad shot May a look. She didn’t need to hear such graphic terms. “Yeah, that would work.”
“Okay, then, right again.” Rock entered the wisdom mandala and found another square platform. Here, he turned right and his finger entered the highest level of the palace, the enlightened great bliss mandala. It showed Kalachakra and his female counterpart, Vishyamata, the All-Mother, entwined in what could be nothing other than enlightened bliss. “There you go.”
“Hum, left, straight, right, left, right.” Brad retraced the path Rock’s finger had taken.
Rock sat down hard. “I believe that you have just reached the highest level of the dongba script,” he said. “I never knew. How could I have known?”
May patted Rock on the shoulder. “You must remember,” she said. “Brad is a scientist, too.”
Rock looked up at Brad with newfound respect, but his lips were white and trembling.
“Yeah, this is all well and good,” Brad said and tried to deflect the admiration on the man’s face. “But where’s the starting point?”
“That’s easy,” Rock said in a dry croak. “There’s a cave up the road at the end of town.”
He pointed at the mountain with a smile on his lips. Then suddenly his legs crumpled under him. May was able to catch him before he landed on the floor.
“Dr. Rock!” Brad said. He helped May lay the man down. His chest was not moving. He had gone ashen. But the grin remained on his lips.
“I believe that he is dead,” May said.
Brad bit his lower lip. The world had just suffered a tremendous loss. He felt the combined weight of all the books in the room crushing him. Dr. Rock had contributed to the sciences as much as any Nobel laureate, yet had died in obscurity in a rustic room in southwestern China, a mile from the dream he had pursued his entire life.
Brad’s role had been miniscule. Sure, he had opened up an interpretation of the dongba script that had long eluded scholars. And it would help him navigate the five gates through which one must pass to achieve enlightened great bliss.
Others had preceded him.
Professor Fried and Dr. Yu had passed that way before him. They might have had the Shangri-la Code in hand, but they needed to consult the Naxi scripture first.
The act of laying Dr. Joseph Rock out on the floor didn’t feel morbid. And May’s eyes were dry. “He lived a long life,” she said.
Brad didn’t want to tell her how long.
He signaled the guard to enter the room. The old Chinese guy looked down at the deceased Austrian-American with despair. He wasn’t looking at an ancestor. They shared no common heritage. They were strangers to each other. Yet Dr. Rock had spent a lifetime learning the Naxi language and culture. He had been drawn to become someone he was not born to be. He had become Naxi. And he had died knowing the secrets to paradise.
Brad took May to the doorway that faced the cold wind whipping down the mountain. Like so few before them, they were about to enter Shambhala.
Brad felt no compulsion to remain in the compound. With Dr. Rock no longer alive, the place seemed as lifeless as the gray stones that made up its walls.
Laboring in the thin air, he considered what path May’s father might have taken. Dr. Yu must have continued up the slope without informing anyone, not even Dr. Rock. Was he adhering to the code, whereby he could not divulge the location of Shangri-la? Or had Liang forced him up the hill at knifepoint, preventing him from informing others where to go? He shuddered to think of Liang in paradise.
Screw the code. Brad had been handed no document from the past, and the code didn’t apply to him. He had to call in reinforcements if he was ever going to deal with Liang. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Earl in Beijing.
“Hey, buddo,” Earl said, a note of annoyance in his voice. “You’re interrupting my wedding.”
“Oops. Forgot about that.”
“And where’s my best man when I need him?”
“I’m just outside of Lijiang in a village called Yuhu.”
He could hear Jade in the background ordering Earl to hang up.
“Listen,” Earl came back. “Gotta run. There’s a shotgun at my back.”
“Wait. One thing. Get your caboose down here pronto. Find Dr. Rock’s house and head for the cave just above it. Then follow the turns in the Kalachakra mandala, using this key: left, straight, right, left, right. I’ll meet you on the other side.”
“Ooh, the ‘Other Side.’”
“Repeat the directions.” He stopped walking and listened carefully.
“Yuhu, Rock, left, straight, right, left, right.”
“Put that phone away right now!” came Jade’s sharp voice.
Brad couldn’t blame her. After all, a wedding should be a sacred affair. What was Earl doing with his cell phone on anyway?
“Kiss the bride for me,” he said, and clicked off the instrument.
He looked at May. They should be getting married as well. If they didn’t tie the knot by the end of the day, it would be too late. Time was working against them, but he was determined to succeed.
“Let’s go find your dad,” he said. Together they resumed climbing the rocky path out of the village.
Moments later, they came to a familiar looking spot. “I know this place.” He recognized the angle of the mountains and the perspective on Lijiang far below. But where had he seen it?
Oh yes. In the photograph of Dr. Rock and the biplane.
They rounded a low stone wall and came upon a flat field. And on it sat a gleaming white business jet.
“The Citation!” May jumped in the air and threw her arms around Brad.
He studied it closely. Indeed it was the same Cessna Citation X that Jade and May had flown to China. And that was how Liang, also a pilot, must have brought Dr. Yu to Yuhu.
“You found baba,” she said.
“Was there any doubt?”
He checked the time and date on his watch. “It’s one o’clock, Friday afternoon. You have a decision to make.”
Her eyes shifted from the plane to the cave entrance, a narrow opening in the rocks.
“Either we enter that cave and get your father, or we fly to Beijing. We would have just enough time to get officially married before your birthday at six o’clock.”
Her eyes remained on the cave. “I have a decision. We will get baba.”
Brad knew that it couldn’t be otherwise.
“Can we not fly over the mountain?” she said.
With a last, longing look at the sleek airplane, he grabbed her hand and led her up the path to the cave. If they were going to achieve nirvana, they would reach it correctly.
Chapter 59
Leading May, Brad strode confidently toward the light at the end of the passageway. He had just negotiated the underground labyrinth without a single wrong turn. Along the way, he had calculated that there were 1,024 ways to go through the upward-leading cave, but only one way was right. With the help of Dr. Rock’s text and the mandala, he had found that way.
Delicate bell-shaped flowers formed a curtain to the other world. Birds with various types of calls were singing. The laugh of a stream tinkled in the warm air. And the heady scent of jasmine mixed with the damp air howling through the tunnel.
May’s eyes shone brightly in the distant light. She saw Brad looking at her and squeezed his hand. Her wide cheekbones and pointed chin formed a perfect heart under her bangs.
“Step this way, my fair lady.”
“Anything
you say, my lord.”
Whew. He had to catch himself. She spoke perfect English.
Together, they drew back the veil of flowers and stepped into the full warmth and light.
The barren stones and thin atmosphere of Yuhu were a world away. Ahead lay a natural pool. Brad wanted to strip down and wade in. He bent to untie his boots, and May did the same. He didn’t want to contaminate the new world with dirty clothes, so he and May left them in the grass.
The sun soothed him and released the tension in his shoulders. He plunged into a stream that tripped down the hillside. The water was icy and stung at first, but soon he was in the middle of a much warmer pond and wading toward a waterfall. The water gushed from the mountain, fell between giant ferns, and sprayed the surface of the pool, soaking him clear up to his briefs.
May scooted past in her panties and lace bra. The water was so clear, he could see straight down to her toes. Then she stood under the waterfall, which plastered her hair and made her fair skin glisten.
He found a thermal vent and sat down in the naturally heated water. Relaxed, he lay back on the surface and began to float. It felt like he was washing off years of toil and worry.
“Let’s take a drink,” May called from the roaring waterfall.
She cupped her hands and caught the cascading water.
Suddenly Brad’s mind shot back to the admonition of the Shangri-la Code that his father had read to him while he was cornered atop the Notre Dame Cathedral. The kalika was not permitted to partake of the rejuvenating waters. But before he could react, she had taken her first sip. A smile spread across her lips.
“It’s refreshing.”
He was seized by an image from the Bible. Was Eve offering him the apple of original sin? Was this some test in the Garden of Eden?
Maybe if he was the ruling kalika. But he wasn’t. He was a mortal man. So he waded toward her.
“It tingles,” she said.
He cupped both hands and caught a plume of water mid descent. It was clear and couldn’t be more pure. So he tasted some. He didn’t know how thirsty he had become. He slurped like a child from both hands, guzzling as much as he could hold. May was right about the tingle. More than that, it seemed to scour his insides. He could feel it irrigating every cell in his body. He didn’t stop until every corner of his being was renewed.
