Barbara Faith - Kiss of the dragon (16 page)

He thought that now, after today, they might have lost their pursuers. That's why he'd gotten on the train, although he suspected one of the men in the station might be after them. He and Bethany would stay away from the larger cities and they'd try to take a boat from somewhere along the Yangtze rather than from Nanjing. No one knew they were headed for Chungtai. If they could get there without any more trouble they'd be home free.

Tiger rested his chin against the top of Bethany's head. We will get the dragon, he thought. We will return to Tsingyun by a different route, and when we have rested we will go home. Home to Hong Kong.

When morning came they walked across the still damp fields until they found a road, and finally a man with an ox cart. Tiger explained that he and his younger brother, who could not speak, were on their way to the Yangtze River basin. He also said they'd had no food since the day before and that he would be glad to pay for whatever the man could offer them and for a
ride in the cart. The man dug into his knapsack, drew out two pears and a few chestnuts, and gestured to the back of the cart.

It was a morning Bethany knew she would always remember. The sky was clear, the countryside washed clean by the rain. Her body was stiff and sore from the fall she'd taken the day before. But she was alive, the sun shone on her face, and she was with Tiger.

Late that night they arrived at a farm on the outskirts of Nanjing. The man with the cart, happy with the money Tiger had paid him for the ride and the food, said, "My farm is humble, but there is room if you want to sleep here for the night. My wife will give you supper."

"We would be most honored," Tiger said as he helped Bethany out of the cart. "But please let me pay for our lodging."

That night, by the light of one flickering candle, they ate rice and vegetables in a thick black bean sauce. It was a simple meal, served on two cracked plates, but it was wonderful. Later the farmer's wife gave them a candle and showed them to their room.

It was filled with sacks of grain and baskets of onions. In one corner there was a rolled-up straw mat.

"That's our bed." Tiger shook his head. "I'm sorry, Bethany, but I'm afraid this it for tonight." He put the candle on the floor.

"A hard bed is supposed to be good for your back," Bethany said as she stretched. "It's warm and it's dry and I like the smell of onions." She went to stand by the open window. "It's so quiet," she whispered. "I never knew any place could be this quiet."

Tiger stood beside her, his arm around her waist, unable for a moment to speak. He held her close and together they looked out at the dark, silent, sweet-smelling night.

Chapter 16

T
iger and Bethany found a raft loaded with timber on its way to a sawmill in Chungtai at the village of Tungling. At first the boatman, a scrawny man in his seventies, shook his head. "No," he said, "I cannot take passengers."

"I will pay you well." Tiger took money from his pocket. "Enough to keep you and your family for a year."

But still the man hesitated. "You can take a river steamer from Nanjing. Why would you want to take my raft?"

"We are not in Nanjing, we are in Tungling. You have a motor on your raft. With it you will make better time than the steamer because you will not have to slow through the gorges."

"On the steamer you would have a cabin." The old man gestured to a bamboo lean-to. "That will be your accommodation on my raft."

"It will do very well for my brother and me." Tiger reached into his pocket again. "Now you have enough money to keep you for the next two years," he said.

"You must want to get to Chungtai very badly." The boatman pocketed the money.

"How long will the trip take?"

"Two or three days, depending on the currents. Come then, if you are coming, I am ready to cast off."

"Very well, and thank you." Tiger looked at Bethany. With a nod of his head he motioned her onto the raft, taking from her the basket of fruit and bottled water they had bought that morning.

Keeping her head down, Bethany nodded to the boatman and went to sit in front of the lean-to.

The morning was pleasantly warm; the water was smooth. Bethany had read about the Yangtze, but it was hard to believe that she was here, about to embark on a trip up the longest river in Asia.

There was a never ending panorama of life along the great river. Hour by hour the landscape unfolded before them. There was endless traffic too—other rafts, sane of them carrying passengers and produce, junks with red sails taut in the breeze, sampans, barges, a passenger steamer.

Most of the time Tiger stood beside the boatman. His face was thoughtful, pensive. Their journey had almost come to an end. Tomorrow, or the day after, tfeey would be in Chungtai. He was sure now that they had lost the men who had been pursuing them. There was a chance someone would watch the stops along the Yangtze where passenger steamers docked, but it would be impossible for them to observe all of the traffic on this three-thousand-mile river.

Even if somehow the men followed them to Chung-tai they could never know about the monastery. He and Bethany would go there as soon as they arrived in the city. Then the golden dragon would be theirs.

Tiger's hand tightened around the keys in his pocket, the keys that would unlock the secret of the dragon. Finding it was not as important to him as it had once been. He had a bad feeling about the dragon now; he'd had it ever since that night in the garden when his mother had told Bethany and himself about the warlord and his son. The golden dragon was a symbol of love, his mother had said. Yet men had killed to possess it.

Tiger looked at Bethany. She was sitting in front of the lean-to, chin resting on her knees as she gazed out at the great river. With her hair shorn she looked very young and fragile. But he knew now that Bethany wasn't as fragile as she looked. She'd been exposed to dangers, and to a totally new culture, not the Chinese culture that tourists experienced, but the China that existed beyond the tourist hotels, the temples and the gardens. She'd slept on a bed of straw in a peasant home and on the floor of a barn without a complaint. She faced each new experience with a courage that Tiger admired more than he could ever tell her.

As he watched Bethany, Tiger thought of his love for her. He would never have known her if it hadn't been for the dragon. And he knew that, although he didn't want it, he would get it for her. He looked out over the river. He worried that after they found it Bethany would no longer need him, that she would go back to her own country where he could never follow.

For a moment Tiger felt the chill of desperation because there were times when he didn't know who he was, whether he was Chinese or American. In Hong Kong it didn't matter. He was only a man, a man who was able to enjoy what was best of both the East and of the West. But he didn't think Bethany would be happy there; a part of her would always long for the sights and sounds of her America.

At noon Tiger and Bethany sat near the lean-to while they ate the fruit they had purchased that morning. Later he fished and that evening, when the traffic on the river slowed, the boatman tied the raft to a small dock. Over a charcoal brazier the boatman cooked the fish Tiger had caught that day and triumphantly brought out two bottles of beer. Together the three of them watched the sun set over the Yangtze, and later, while the two men talked, Bethany crawled into the lean-to and went to sleep.

Our journey is almost over, she thought as she lay looking up through cracks in the bamboo slats. The dragon is almost ours. She closed her eyes and finally, to the putt-putt rhythm of the motor, went to sleep. She dreamed of Flowering Peach and of the handsome young poet who was her lover. And as Bethany slept it seemed to her that she could hear the sad, sweet music of a lute.

On the evening of the second day they entered the placid waters near Changtai.

"It is late," the boatman said. "We will anchor here for the night. Tomorrow we will go on to Changtai."

To Changtai and the golden dragon. Tiger looked at Bethany. Our journey has almost ended, my love, he thought. Tomorrow we will find the dragon.

* * *

Changtai, on the south bank of the Yangtze, was a busy port. The old city walls, dating back to the Han Dynasty, no longer existed, but still the city, with temples and shrines, and pagodas set beside glistening lakes, had a feeling of antiquity.

"We are here at last,
"
Tiger said as he and Bethany stepped ashore. He turned to wave to the boatman who had let them off further down the bank, away from the more commercial part of the docks. "Let's try to find a restaurant, then we will ask about the monastery." He hesitated. "Or would you like to rest today? We could find a hotel and go to the monastery tomorrow."

Bethany shook her head. As much as she longed for a bath and a change of clothes, nothing was as important as finding the dragon. "Let's go to the monastery," she said.

Almost angrily Tiger took her arm, then he looked around, trying to get his bearings. They walked for several minutes and when they found a restaurant that he thought might be acceptable, he led Bethany inside. He ordered for both of them, noodles, baked fish and hot tea, and when it was served he said, "We must talk seriously now, Bethany."

Her gray eyes regarded him suspiciously. "Yes?" She spooned up a mouthful of noodles.

"I think we've lost the men who have been following us."

"Thank goodness."

"But we must go cautiously, just in case." Bethany nodded. "I understand."

Tiger rested his chopsticks on the side of his bowl. "Are you sure of what we're doing, Bethany?" he asked in a low voice. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Go through with it? With finding the dragon?" Her brows came together in a frown. "What are you talking about? Of course I want to go through with it. My God, Tiger, we've been through so much, we've risked so much. How can you even think of giving up when when we're this close?"

"We wouldn't be giving up, Bethany. We'd be letting go."

"I don't see the difference," she said angrily. "Our fathers risked their lives for the golden dragon, Tiger. They wanted us to have it. We can't stop now, not when we're so close."

"All right," Tiger said in a quiet voice. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

They ate the meal in silence, and when they were finished Tiger asked the waiter about the monastery.

"It is near Red Hill," the waiter told him. "You will pass the Endless Sky Pavilion. Just beyond the Pavilion you will see another hill in the distance. That is the Hill of Eternal Spring where the historical Museum of Oshan with its wealth of artifacts is located. To your right you will see the monastery."

Tiger thanked and paid the waiter. When they left the restaurant he said, "We'll take a taxi, but I'm not sure how we'll get back to town again." He took Bethany's arm, but still he hesitated. They were almost at their destination; why did he hesitate? In a
little while the dragon, the golden dragon that men killed to own, would be theirs.

Bethany was silent on the way up into the hills. Her heart thudded with excitement as she gazed out of the taxi window. The taxi drove away from the city, then wound up the mountain to where the beauty of trees hung heavy with summer blossoms and the air was filled with summer silence.

The monastery, which stood on a peak overlooking the Yangtze, looked as though it had been hewn out of the mountain, ancient and forever, a part of the landscape that was China. The breath caught in Bethany's throat as she looked up at it. This was another world, a world she had not even dared to dream about. The early morning mist had not yet lifted from the surrounding blue-shadowed mountains. The air was clean and pure and still.

The taxi driver left them at a tall iron gate that marked the entrance. "I'll call for you in one hour," he agreed when Tiger paid him. "I'll wait at the gate. If you don't come I'll return to the city."

"In case we're not here it'll be worth your while to wait for at least thirty minutes."

The driver nodded. "Thirty minutes," he said.

When the taxi drove off Tiger stepped up to the gate and pulled a bell rope. The sound of the ancient bell reverberated in the clear morning air.

Bethany wiped her damp palms against her trousers.

A Buddhist monk in a white robe approached the gate. He bowed formally and said, "Good morning, travelers. How may I serve you?"

Tiger bowed in return. "Good morning," he said. "A long time ago my father was allowed to leave something of value here at your monastery. I have come to claim it."

"I know nothing of this, but perhaps the elders do." The monk opened the gate and stood aside for Bethany and Tiger to enter, then beckoned them to follow him.

Bethany glanced nervously around her. It's so quiet, she thought. It's as though we were at the top of the world. There was no sound except for the wind through the poplar trees and the soft slap of the monk's straw slippers.

Before their guide could knock, a door of the monastery opened and another monk motioned them inside. The first man spoke rapidly in a dialect Tiger didn't understand, then said to him, "Wait here, please."

Then they were left alone.

Bethany reached for Tiger's hand. "We're almost there," she said in a low voice.

He squeezed her hand. "Yes," he said, whispering as she had whispered, for this was a holy place. It seemed strange to him that an object that had caused so much violence should be here in this ancient, peaceful setting. Why had their fathers chosen the monastery to hide the dragon? It was so far from everything, so removed from civilization. Perhaps that was the reason. Perhaps they'd known that in this inviolate place their treasure would be safe.

Tiger looked down at Bethany. She had removed the Mao cap and stood quietly, her head bowed. He wanted to reach out and touch her. But he didn't; he
only waited until the monk who had opened the door returned and said, "Follow me, please. The Saka Muni Buddha will see you now."

They were led down a long, silent hall and through an open corridor that bordered a flower-filled central patio. When they stopped before a tall, carved door, Bethany looked up at Tiger. The monk knocked. Tiger. took a deep breath as the door opened.

The monk seated behind the cherry wood desk was very old. His skin looked like dried parchment, the hand that bade them enter was blue veined and wrinkled.

"My brother tells me that you have come for something that we have held for many years," he said in a thin, high voice. "I am glad that you have come, for if the object is what I think it is, it is too beautiful to hide away." He indicated two straight, high-backed chairs, and when Tiger and Bethany were seated he said, "Do you have the keys."

"Yes, Eminence." Tiger bowed, then handed over the two keys.

With a shaking hand the monk took a pair of glasses from his desk and put them on. "There were two men," he said. He looked at Bethany. "She is not Chinese. Does she understand what we are saying?"

"No, Eminence. Her father was with my father when they brought the... the package here."

"Yes, I remember." The monk spoke now in careful English. "There were two young men, handsome lads in the prime of their youth. Why have they not come themselves?"

"They are both dead, honored sir. We are their only heirs."

"I see." The monk took the keys Tiger had given him and slowly he got up and moved around his desk to a heavy wooden trunk bound with brass fittings. Leaning down, holding the edge of the trunk for support, he fitted the two keys into two separate locks. "Please help me," he said. "I fear the lid is too heavy for
me."

Tiger moved quickly to the monk's side and opened the trunk.

The monk pointed a bony finger. "Take out the oblong box."

Carefully, scarcely daring to breath, Tiger took the box. It was heavy. He put it down, then closed the trunk. At the monk's nod, Tiger picked up the box and carried it to the desk.