The other Khampas gathered around Remo and almost broke into knife fights over who would be privileged to donate articles of clothing to Gonpo Jigme. Remo settled it by saying, "Everybody donate one item."
So they started to fight over who would donate which item and which were of greater or lesser value.
In the end Remo was wearing mismatched yak boots with upturned toes, sheepskin pants with the fleece turned inside out and a wool chuba. Someone gave him a silver-fox turban. Nothing exactly fit and everything smelled. Remo slapped his body here and there to kill the fleas. Then he was ready.
"You take this," said Bumba Fun, removing the box on a cord around his neck.
"Don't need it."
"Charm box. Ward off Chinese bullets."
"Gonpo Jigme doesn't need charms to ward off bullets," Remo told him. "Now, let's go."
They had to walk. The jeep was burning nicely now. It had been running low on gas anyway.
"How far to Lhasa?" Remo asked as they started down into the valley.
"Less than a day's march," Bumba Fun told him.
"Good. Maybe I can hitch a ride."
"Any true Tibetan would be honored to give Gonpo Jigme a ride to Lhasa, but there is not enough room in the truck for all of us."
"I just need you guys to get me through this city."
"It is called Shigatse, and why does Gonpo Jigme speak English?"
Remo thought fast. "Because Gonpo Jigme took a vow not to speak Tibetan until Tibet was free again."
Bumba Fun translated this for his fellow Khampas. Grunts and nods of approval followed. Mentally Remo wiped his brow.
As they neared the city, music blared out. Remo had seen the loudspeakers posted throughout the town. And the music, martial and strident, was the Chinese national anthem, "The East Is Red."
Remo's face darkened in a frown. "Great. Now the whole neighborhood is going to wake up."
"It is a great day," agreed Bumba Fun.
Remo was wondering how they'd get through the city quietly when Bumba Fun gave a signal to his men. They pulled the box-headed arrows from quivers, nocked them and let fly.
The whistling startled crows, set dogs to barking and was guaranteed to alert any PLA or PSB cadres who happened to have retained their hearing.
"What are you doing?" Remo demanded.
"Announcing to the oppressors your arrival, O Protector of the Tent."
"Are you crazy?"
"The Chinese will run once they realize it is you, Gonpo."
"The Chinese will shoot us where we stand," Remo said flatly.
The Khampa shrugged. "If we are fated to die in your company, so be it."
"You screw this up, and I guarantee you'll come back as a yak in the next life," Remo warned.
The Khampa brightened. "Yaks are good. Give meat, milk and do hard work."
"A three-legged yak with no horns. And fleas."
The Khampa bowed his head. "Command us, O Gonpo, and it will be done as you wish."
"I gotta get through town without the Chinese getting suspicious."
"It will be done."
"Then I'm going to need to get to Lhasa as fast as possible."
"This can be done."
"And no screwups."
"What is a screwup?"
"A three-legged yak without horns."
"No such yaks will trouble your journey, O Gonpo. Await us here."
Remo got down behind a rock and waited. He hated waiting, but even dressed as a Khampa, he had an obviously American face, spoke no Tibetan and would stick out like a sore thumb.
He didn't have to wait long. There was an explosion. It was followed by a coil of black smoke. A siren wailed. The rattle of small-arms fire came and went.
"Damn. They screwed up."
A truck barreling back from town, overloaded with Khampas, made Remo think otherwise. He stepped out into the road and noticed that more Khampas were coming back than had gone in the first place.
"Where'd you pick these guys up?" Remo asked, jumping into the passenger seat, which had been reserved in his honor.
"Chushi Gangdruk everywhere," Bumba Fun said. "Chinese never know what hit them."
"They're all dead?"
"Most. Some may still be dying. It will not be long."
The truck turned around and barreled into town.
The city wasn't any more appealing up close than it was from above. Gray, uniform buildings clicked by. So did Tibetan faces. They were lining the road to wave to him. Most showed him their tongues. Occasionally Remo stuck out his tongue in return.