by Fritz Galt
When he finished, May’s dark eyes were lifted up to him with a troubled expression. “Should we have done that?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think I could resist.”
“Me neither.”
Her teeth were chattering, so he threw an arm around her.
“Let’s dry off.”
He led her to a patch of sunlight on a meadow. They lay among the exotic Himalayan flowers and let the sun work its magic. He loved the way his skin pulled tight as the water evaporated.
When he had warmed up, he leaned forward and took a look around. Below stretched an oblong valley circled by snow-clad peaks. He and May were alongside a narrow path that led directly down the side of one such mountain.
At the bottom, he made out elaborately designed structures of adobe-like material. One building was larger than the others. Its golden roof gleamed in the sunlight.
“If we find your father, it will be in a palace like that.”
May sat up and stared at the valley. All time pressure had vanished. “I believe you’re right, my lord.”
“Ah, why are you calling me ‘lord?’”
“It suits you. You called me your lady.”
He couldn’t get over her grasp of English. “Something incredible has happened here.”
“I know. You’re speaking Chinese.”
“No. It’s you. Your English is flawless.”
She shrugged and let it go with a smile. She wasn’t going to argue the point. It almost seemed like she was letting his little mistakes go.
He smiled inwardly. He had never seen such a beautiful creature in his life. An inner radiance had come to the fore. He reached over and planted a kiss on her lips, to which she responded in a friendly manner. He felt no particular sexual excitement at the moment. It was as if he were touching her lips for the very first time.
Her responsiveness gave him his first look at himself through someone else’s eyes. For the first time, he could see how others saw him. And he was content with what he saw. He withdrew and offered a hand.
“Shall we check out the town?” he said.
“Why not?” And she began to run, leaving the rest of her clothes behind.
Hopping from foot to foot, he pulled his jeans on and followed her down the slope.
Along the way, he got a better feel for the dimensions of the place. All the buildings looked residential, with no stores or factories. They were dwarfed by their natural surroundings.
The path took them nearby a terraced villa. Through the fronds and flowers, he made out balconies and patios and open windows. Men and women sat outside reading books and soaking up the sun. The place was extensive, with no fence to bar people from entering.
When the path leveled out, they came to a round lake. Off the far shore was an island where several people sat in the shade of a gazebo.
“Let’s go talk to them,” he said. “Maybe they’ve seen your dad.”
She nodded and they set out around the lake. They strolled between shrubs. A stand of trees created a bed of pine needles.
Barefoot, Brad hesitated.
May squeezed her toes together in the needles, clearly enjoying the sensation. He tried it. It made his whole body come alive. They paused to inhale the fresh scent.
Then he heard the clink of chinaware across the lake.
“Onward, my lady.”
They continued walking until they came upon an arched bridge that led to the island. In typical Chinese fashion, two lion statues guarded the bridge.
He could make out the figures on the island distinctly now. There were three old men. Their conversation wasn’t in Mandarin Chinese. And their mannerisms seemed Western.
May’s father wasn’t among them. But perhaps they knew where he was.
May seemed eager to meet them. Brad took a long look at her skimpy attire. For his part, he had his jeans on, but that was it. She was uninhibited, so he fell in behind her.
The conversation halted when they reached the top of the bridge. Teacups poised midair, the threesome turned to look.
Brad clutched the cold marble railing. Adolf Hitler was drinking tea with Josef Stalin and Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
May didn’t seem to recognize anyone and called out, “Hi. I’m Yu May Hua. Has anyone seen my father, Dr. Yu?”
In casual slacks and a Polo shirt, Adolf was a healthy, happy version of his former self. Only his abrupt haircut and square mustache remained unchanged. He looked at Stalin in his thick mustache and dark eyebrows. He was doing well and looking svelte. Even FDR had a healthy glow. With his legs casually crossed, he sat in Bermuda shorts and a tank top, puffing on a cigarette and holder.
He removed it from his mouth and said, “We all know your father, young lady.”
His voice wasn’t vehement like the recordings Brad had heard of FDR’s more famous speeches. In fact, he had a paternal streak to him.
“He’s our ruler,” the former president went on.
The other two nodded. It was an odd admission for some of the most power-hungry men in history.
“Check out that palace over there,” Hitler said. “My guess is that he’s settling in our new guests.”
“What new guests?”
“What’s his name?” FDR said. “The Prime Minister of Britain.”
Brad gasped.
“Personally, I would have preferred Winston,” Adolf said. “I always wanted to meet him.”
“Egotistical bastard,” FDR said. “But a hellova guy.”
“Yeah, who else just arrived?” Josef snapped his fingers, trying to remember.
“President Webster?” FDR said.
“President Webster!” Brad repeated. “He’s here too?”
Adolf wagged a finger at FDR. “We don’t call people ‘President’ here. We’ve only got one chief.”
The three fell into a respectful silence.
May beamed. That was her dad.
In the meantime, Brad couldn’t believe the command of English that Adolf and Josef possessed.
Then Stalin broke the silence. “Wanna pull up a stool?” He clapped his hands, and a young woman appeared carrying a tray with two more teacups and another pot of tea.
To Brad’s surprise, May took a seat among the troika. Didn’t she know these men had led the world into war? How much had the Chinese left out of their history books?
He had little choice but to join them, lest the next servant brought a pistol.
“We were just discussing the Russian people,” FDR said. “I had never heard of the Kalmyks.”
“Yes, as I was explaining,” Stalin said. “They are Buddhists from Mongolia that have migrated across the world to Belgrade and Berlin.”
“I like the Kalmyks,” Hitler said. “In fact, they make excellent bodyguards.”
Stalin nodded to May. “Are you Buddhist?”
She shook her head, embarrassed by the question.
Stalin was confused. “I thought all Chinese were Buddhist.”
“Not in this day and age,” May said. “Mao didn’t like religion.”
A smile crept across Stalin’s face. It replaced his prickly demeanor with grandfatherly forbearance, as if he enjoyed news from the younger generation. “I must have a talk with him.”
FDR waved his cigarette holder in the air. “That is if you can get him out of the water long enough.”
The three sniggered like schoolboys.
Brad got it. Mao liked to swim, publicly and in the wintertime. He had seen the newsreels. Apparently so had they.
Then FDR turned and looked at the lake. “There he is now.”
A chubby man was swimming a perfect crawl toward them. Could it be? When the guy came up for air, Brad could see the ring of hair that so characterized the former party chairman.
Between Hitler, Stalin, and Mao, one thing didn’t change over time. Bad haircuts.
Then Stalin glanced at Brad. “You religious?”
He remembered back to Stalin’s purges. Over t
he years Josef Stalin had killed, imprisoned or exiled Ukrainians, peasants and enemies of the people such as political opponents, Red Army officers and intellectuals. Shortly before his death, he was preparing to bus Jews off to labor camps in Kazakhstan.
Brad didn’t want to fall victim as well.
Wait, what about death? Hadn’t the three world leaders sitting before him and the one swimming across the lake already died?
“Your religion, young man?”
Brad straightened. “Ah, no religion to speak of.”
“You’re not Christian?” Stalin said, and leaned forward. He still needed his front teeth fixed.
Brad glanced at Adolf, who had some pretty warped theories about Christianity, then at FDR who probably was expecting him to stand up for the church. At last Brad turned to May for help. She, too, was waiting for his response.
“Let me put it this way,” he said. He pointed at the palaces scattered among the mountains. “Is Jesus living here, too?”
Adolf pivoted on his stool and pointed down the valley. “I’m told he lives down there.”
“No kidding.” No one seemed to be gliding on the water.
FDR shook his head. “Never seen him. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.”
“Yeah,” Stalin said. “Probably doesn’t get around much.”
May finished her tea. “Well, it’s been real. I’m ready to see my dad now.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Stalin said, standing up.
“Ah, I’ll help her,” Brad said.
Mao was just swimming under the bridge.
“Hey Chairman,” May shouted, and leaned over the railing.
He stopped and treaded water. His cherubic face beamed up at her. He wasn’t even out of breath.
“One question,” she said. “Is your wife here?”
Mao waved her off. “No. I left her at home.”
Brad smiled. He was beginning to like these people. Mao had run the country into the ground on numerous occasions, but each time with the firm belief that he was helping his people. He was a poet-statesman in the old Chinese tradition. But Mao’s wife had been a nightmare, much like Stalin and Hitler.
Brad turned to look back over his shoulder. How could he accept those two men and not Mao’s wife? Or would he be polite to her, too, if they were sharing a pot of tea?
He followed May to the palace where Hitler had indicated her father might be. It was interesting how easily he accepted the strange new land and the faces from the past. It was even stranger to consider that the three mortal enemies were swapping stories like old chums.
A terrace led directly into the palace. Apparently no doors were necessary. They followed voices that bounced off the stucco walls.
“Baba?” May called.
They passed a pair of tall women carrying sheets. Looking back at them, he could swear they were going topless.
“May?”
The voice came from the next room.
May rushed in and found her dad standing beside a freshly made bed. President Chuck Webster stood opposite them, plumping up a pillow.
The room was lighted by a glass ceiling, which illuminated the teak walls and splashed sunlight on an arrangement of hibiscus flowers.
Yu opened his arms and threw them around his daughter. She buried her face in his chest and wept.
Brad looked awkwardly at the president. “Hi there,” he said.
The president nodded.
“Brad West’s the name.” He stuck out his hand.
The president shook it firmly. “Call me Chuck.”
“Finding everything to your satisfaction, Chuck?”
The president yawned and looked at the ceiling fan that performed lazy circles above them and at the woman in a gauzy scarf organizing his sock drawer. “I think I’ll like it here. I’m just not sure the others will.”
He gestured out at the hallway, where two men in business suits were passing by deep in conversation.
“Hey Troy, Walter.” Chuck called.
The men backpedaled and leaned into the room.
“Meet Brad West.”
For the first time, Brad encountered friction, even outward disdain on this side of the mountain. There was a “what’s it to me?” look on their faces.
He wasn’t about to offer his hand.
“Hey. Is that a newspaper?” one of them said.
Brad looked around at where they were pointing.
“In your pocket, stupid.”
Oh, that paper. He still had the Chinese newspaper with the hand-drawn map in his back pocket.
The younger of the two men reached out and grabbed it. “It’s in Chinese,” he said, disappointed.
The older fellow looked over his shoulder. “Hey, there’s the date. It says Friday. That’s tomorrow.” He looked up at Brad. “You read Chinese?”
Much as Brad would like to say he did…
“Let me see that,” Chuck said. He opened a set of louvers for more light. “Yeah, this is the Chinese equivalent of the Wall Street Journal. It’s got all the day’s news on the front page. Here’s an article about Chinese currency fluctuation.”
The older man stopped the president right there. “What’s it say?”
“Ah,” the president scanned down the paper, reading the Chinese characters in the vertical orientation. “Says the Chinese will further loosen their exchange rate next week. They expect the dollar to strengthen as a result.”
“Kid,” the old guy said to Brad. “When did you get here?”
“I arrived this morning.”
The old guy turned to the younger one. “We gotta buy dollars.”
“What else does it say,” the younger one said.
The president folded several pages back. Brad couldn’t believe he was watching the President of the United States reading Chinese. If the electorate ever saw that, they’d have him impeached as a traitor.
“Says here that there’s a hostile takeover bid on two electronics giants. The Dow jumped ten percent on the news.”
“What companies?” the younger man wanted to know.
The president took a moment to translate. “IBM and Cisco Systems.”
“We have to get back right away,” the younger man said.
The older one was already running down the hallway.
“What was that all about?” Brad said.
Then he saw the president slumped over, his shoulders shaking.
“What is it?”
Brad wasn’t watching a heart attack. It was laughter.
“That’ll get rid of those two,” the president said. “I can’t stand them.”
Brad grabbed the newspaper back. “You were making that up?”
Another set of hands took the paper from him. “This doesn’t say anything about IBM or Cisco Systems,” May said. “It’s about cultural ties with Indonesia.”
“Really?” Chuck said, still unable to control his laugh. “But they don’t know that.”
Brad was even more confused.
The answer to his confusion finally came from May’s father. “Brad, those are financial men. They only came to Shangri-la to get rich. They will be leaving shortly.”
Brad didn’t understand, but it didn’t really matter. It was just as well that they were leaving. Their abrasiveness had spoiled the otherwise harmonious atmosphere.
He studied Dr. Yu. They had last seen Yu in Paris just after his ill-received keynote speech asserting that Shangri-la was just a myth.
Yu seemed to be reading his thoughts. “We make some research team, don’t we?”
Brad hung his head. He had done the lion’s share of the research to debunk the theory. Now they stood in Shangri-la breathing the perfumed fragrance of orange blossoms, listening to birds calling across a gorgeous valley with spring eternally in the air.
“Maybe it’s best that people don’t know about this place,” Brad said.
Chuck agreed. “I certainly don’t want my wife to know.”
May looked
unhappy. “But that’s not fair to her.”
Brad thought about the huge outer world, the billions of people who dreamed of such a place, but would never gain access to it. Yet, if they could find it, the place would be overrun and ruined.
“Don’t think about fairness,” Yu said. “Everything is fair. People are happy if they are here. They are happy if they are not here.”
“But what is your exact role here?” Brad asked.
The scientist turned to Chuck. “You’ll excuse us, please?”
“Certainly,” Chuck said. “We’ll chat later.”
“I look forward to it,” Yu said. “Right now, I’ll take these young people to my palace.”
He led Brad and May onto the terrace outside Chuck’s plush pad.
An odd noise rose from the valley. It was the roar of a turboprop plane trying to climb upward in the thin air. Seconds later, a Y-12 military transport passed overhead. “That’s the plane that flew from behind Jade Dragon Snow Mountain this morning,” Brad said.
May squinted into the sun. “I believe you’re right, my lord.”
Chapter 60
Beau Buford had spent the previous day yachting on the lake with a bunch of dizzy young models.
It had been glorious.
He had had to abandon plans for a picnic, as rainstorms drenched Switzerland. But that hadn’t dampened his spirits.
And nothing had curbed his enthusiasm for the opposite sex. In fact, as he awoke that morning, he lay beside perfection in the form of an 18-year-old fashion major.
But his cell phone was summoning him.
He slipped out of bed and hobbled across the floor. He was no longer the sexual athlete he once had been.
“Yes,” he whispered into the phone.
“Buy IBM and Cisco Systems.”
“What?”
He identified the voice as Troy Hutchins, CEO of the largest hedge fund on Wall Street. But what was he doing on the phone? He should be living peacefully in paradise.
There was stress and urgency in the young man’s voice. “I’ve got an inside track on stocks, thanks to you and this guy named Brad West.”
