The head monk Giyenchen sat meditating for a couple of minutes, eyes closed behind his glasses. He made a faint humming sound. Stone and Carslake looked at each other, but neither spoke. Dusk was closing in outside, and the tiny room was dark save for the glow of the incense and the guttering flames of the candles.
‘In 1966,’ said the monk, breaking suddenly into speech, ‘China was not the peaceful place it is today. It was the Cultural Revolution. A madness of suffering. Workers were turned on their managers, pupils denounced their teachers, people of learning were sent to labour camps. Religion was proscribed. Temples were closed, Christians and Muslims could no longer worship, and vulgar mobs came to drive the monks from the temples. Our temple here at Shanglan was abandoned and the monks sent to work in the fields. For ten years Shanglan lay empty.
‘When the monks returned, they discovered the place the Chinese called the Death Hole had expanded from a few disused mine buildings. For many hectares nothing grew. As nothing grows there now. Whether for reason of poison or evil, we don’t know, but this place is very near to the Shanglan itself…’
‘But what..?’ began Carslake.
Giyenchen held up a palm to silence the American. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Do not interrupt. There were mines here, it’s true, since the Manchu times. But not this. Some say they tested their atomic weapon there.’
‘A nuclear test?’ asked Carslake.
‘Others said it was to create a hole for mining, still others said it was an explosion to destroy the mine, to seal the mine forever. However, the hole is still there, and nothing grows. One of the Communist leaders, Lin Biao, it is said, ordered the mine dug out again. He had deep shelters and bunkers dug all over China, convinced the Americans or Soviets would attack with their missiles. That at least is true. Lin Biao had the mine begun again in 1969. Hundreds of miners lost their lives,’ said Giyenchen, ‘But deep workings were created. Lin Biao, of course, was an evil creature, swept away in the disturbances of those times. The popular politician Zhou Enlai ended the work at the mine in 1970. He ordered it to be fenced and guarded, and so it remains to this day.’
‘It has stayed that way since… 1976, when the monks returned?’ asked Stone.
Giyenchen nodded.
‘No activity in recent times?’
The monk said nothing, but he opened his eyes and looked accusingly. ‘Let us speak no more of it. And you must not speak of it to your Chinese companion.’
Giyenchen got up and left. Stone and Carslake looked at each other in the candlelight.
‘He said nothing,’ said Carslake.
‘Not true,’ said Stone. ‘He confirmed the mine is there. So we know our next move.’
‘No. I don’t know.’ said Carslake, mystified.
‘We take the radar set you picked up at the Fedex office in Chengdu. And we use it.’
‘Tonight?’ shouted Carslake. ‘Do we go and do it right now or what? Why tonight?’
‘Not right now,’ said Stone. ‘We’ll be missed. Giyenchen may look like a saint. But he’d be mad not to have us watched.’
‘He’ll be watching Ying Ning more,’ said Carslake. ‘He doesn’t trust her. And I don’t blame him.’
Carslake professed to hate Ying Ning. But he liked her, in spite of himself. Stone noticed that she did weird things to Carslake, had this strange hold on him. Carslake hated himself for it.
Which made what Carslake saw at dinner all the more galling. Ying Ning didn’t only do weird things to Carslake. She did it to most men. Now she was getting friendly with none other than the tall muscular-looking monk who’d followed her from the temple. Name of Panchen. It all looked like trouble.
Tibetans are generally much bigger and taller than the Chinese, and Panchen towered over Ying Ning. Tall, with a wiry muscularity, looking as aggressive and suspicious as he had before. Veins stood out on the brown skin of his temples, tense and moody, and his jaw muscles worked with some unknown frustration.
Stone stayed quiet while Carslake talked with Giyenchen. He wanted to observe this Panchen guy at dinner. He acted like he was some kind of unofficial leader of the younger monks. He moved around calmly and slowly, and kind of held court. He also showed a particular arrogance around Ying Ning. Having her next to him give him kudos with the other monks.
The community of monks here had the same dynamic as any human group of males. Stone saw a relaxed, older leader, and then young, thrusting pretenders to the throne. The scene at dinner just dripped with testosterone, but there was more to it than that. Giyenchen and the older monks were Tibetan monks in the sense that people in the West might imagine. Careful, intellectual, spiritual, determined — but above all spiritual.
Panchen, it seemed, had taken up the religion of his forefathers as political rebellion. He was a Tibetan Nationalist who hated the Chinese. That was his thing. The Buddhism, prayers and contemplation must bore him rigid. He’d probably seen the arrival of three visitors with an interest in the Death Hole as an opportunity to cause trouble.
All of which meant Panchen was a dangerous individual. Liable to get all three of them in hot water.
‘At least you know what kind of guy Ying goes for,’ Stone muttered to Carslake, watching how Ying Ning behaved around the young Tibetan.
‘Fuck him,’ said Carslake. ‘And fuck her. What’s she hanging out with an ape like that for?’
Ying Ning could handle Panchen. She could handle most people. Stone was expecting a spitting episode sooner or later, but was for now it was OK. She was sitting with Panchen at dinner with a little smile which Stone knew was as insincere as any harlot’s. What was she up to now?
Panchen resembled the young lion, gathering support, getting ready to challenge the king of the pride — the calm, lazy old lion, Giyenchen. Panchen was using Ying Ning to enhance his image. Ying Ning would see that and exploit it ruthlessly. The only question was how.
Was Stone the only man who could see this with Ying Ning?
Stone’s suspicion was confirmed way sooner than he expected. ‘Let’s go and check on Ying Ning,’ said Carslake as they returned to the dormitory cells after dinner.
‘Don’t do it, Doug,’ called Stone as Carslake strode off. Stone should have stopped him. But what the hell? Carslake had to know what he was dealing with.
Carslake knocked on Ying Ning’s door. No reply. He knocked again. No answer. Stone leant forward from behind Carslake and gently pushed the door open.
Carslake’s eyes told the story. ‘Oh man,’ he said. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Stone could just make out the naked form of Ying Ning’s legs stretched out on the floor. ‘You have got to be fucking kidding me.’
Stone pulled the door closed. Not even he had expected that. Not so soon anyway. Ying Ning’s naked body lay on a sheet on the floor. Beside her, the muscular form of Panchen, looking somehow even more naked with his shaven head beside the spiky red-black hair of the Fox Girl.
A man can befriend a fox. She will let herself be touched and stroked and treated for a time. But a fox’s nature is wild. She cannot be tamed.