Song of the Silk Road (7 page)

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Authors: Mingmei Yip

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BOOK: Song of the Silk Road
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As much as I was happy with the cheerful decoration of my new home, I also felt uncomfortable living there, especially at night. When the temperature dropped, even with my blankets, I felt chilled and sometimes my teeth would chatter. Anything moving outside my window would make me think of visitors from another dimension. Then I found myself thinking of Alex. It would be really nice to have him around. Men are useful after all. There are so many things they can do, both inside and outside a house, in a city or out in the desert—let alone having a warm body as company.
In fact, what really bothered me at night was not the cold, but something else. I felt suffocated. But by what? It took me a few days to realize it was the
qi
. It’s not that its circulation was blocked, but that it was oppressive. Strangely, though the cottage was tiny and its
qi
constricted, I also felt engulfed by an immense, chilly emptiness. Some nights I had nightmares of floods and woke up gasping for air. Were the tears from Guan Yin flooding all the way from Mogao to this village? Who was she crying for?
I seemed to find the answer one day when I took a long walk half a mile away from my cottage.
A graveyard.
There were just five graves, all marked with a thin wooden board inscribed with faded red paint. As I was trying to decipher the characters on the first grave marker, I suddenly heard footsteps in the distance. Swiftly I moved behind a boulder to watch.
It was a fortyish, muscular, tan-faced man.
He walked straight to one of the graves, dropped to his knees, and fervently prayed. Then he did the same at all the other graves, his face sad beyond words. My heart would often melt when I saw a sad face; for me it was a window to tragedy, mystery, and poetry—qualities that fascinated me. But this one looked so sad that there was no room left for any of these.
Finally when the man finished his prayer, he stood up, pressed his lips against each grave marker, and started to leave. I lowered myself so he wouldn’t see me. With his eyes unfocused and his expression hollow, I doubted if he was alert to anything around him, except perhaps those six feet under.
After making sure that the stranger was gone, I went up to take a good look at the two graves to which he’d paid the most respect. I took out my pen and paper, trying to copy the inscriptions, but one of them was so damaged that I ended up copying only one.
Back home, I asked Keku to translate the inscription for me.
1981–1986 Tangri, beloved son of the Limbit family. His five years of life on this planet gave joy and peace to many people, especially his loving parents and doting grandparent. May his beautiful body and soul rest in heaven.
I couldn’t even imagine the overwhelming sorrow to have lost a child at this tender age. What had happened?
Later, I asked Keku more about the burial sites, but she only widened her eyes. “Nobody knows. Nobody goes.”
Then I told her about the sad-faced stranger. “Do you think it was his son buried there?”
“Don’t know. Never ask. Bad luck. Better not go there yourself.”
“You’re not curious about this man and his dead relatives, friends?”
She didn’t answer my question, but sighed. “Miss Lin, now understand why rent cheap?” She paused, then, “Why no people, no thieves come here steal?”
I felt a shudder inside. Who were this village’s real residents, the Muslims or the phantoms?
But I thought it might actually turn out to be something good. Maybe I could know this area better by communicating with spirits—ancestors who might tell me tales about the mountains and the desert that the living didn’t know or wouldn’t tell. Of course, I would not tell anyone about this ability of mine, for I had no intention of being stigmatized by my new acquaintances as crazy or, worse, a witch.
Since my teens, I’d been attracted to graveyards—perfect places for me to read without the slightest disturbance, since the dead stay out of your way and don’t try to engage you in boring conversations. I’d never had more than one or two friends for I never had much in common with my classmates.
Besides the ordinary dead people, there were other kinds of spirits I connected with, especially deceased authors. So from time to time, I’d skip class and take the bus to the graveyard in Happy Valley where I would read
Sense and Sensibility, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Alice in Wonderland, The Sun Also Rises . . .
When I tired of reading my books, I’d walk around to read inscriptions on gravestones. I found it fascinating when a person died either very young or very old, since I was alive but stuck in between. I also tried to talk to the deceased, easing my teenage angst and filling my mind with otherworldly romances. The graveyard was an escape from the boredom of school and life into a world of fantasy and magical possibilities.
After I found the graveyard, my nocturnal feeling of suffocation stopped but the cold, empty feeling lingered.
A few days later, I was eating my simple breakfast of bread and milk and listening to cheerful, exotic Xinjiang tunes when I heard stirring outside the door. I went to lift the curtain, peered outside the window, and was astonished to see Alex Luce fidgeting in front of the entrance.
Like a hungry ghost, this kid just wouldn’t leave me alone!
I flung open the door and screamed in his face, “Alex, what are you doing here? You following me again?”
But his young face, agonized and exhausted, instantly melted my heart.
“Don’t be mad, Lily. I just wanted to be sure you’re OK.”
“I’m fine.” Seeing that he was sweating heavily under the hot sun, my heart melted again. “You want to come in?”
He nodded.
Inside, I signaled for him to sit on one of the floral “sofas.” After that, I poured water for him in a tin cup, then sat opposite him.
“I just moved here.”
“What do you mean by
moved
here?”
He pointed to the far distance outside the window. “I’ll camp over there.”
“At the graveyard?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why, are you out of your mind?”
“So I can look out for you, Lily, in case anything happens.”
“So you followed me here?”
“I paid the guy at the hotel to tell me where you are. I hope you aren’t offended.” He lowered his head. His voice came out tender like water, just what I needed in the desert.
Then he gulped down his water, put down the cup with a gentle clink, and looked me in the eyes. “Lily, I’m in love with you.”
I tried to sound calm despite my desert-hot emotions. “But, Alex, we hardly know each other.”
“Does it really matter? Either you love or you don’t, there’s no
but
in a relationship.”
“Then what do you want?” I asked, feeling hot, uneasy, impatient.
“Let me love you by taking care of you.”
“You never asked if I’m also in love with you.”
“Are you?”
His eyes were so tender that I felt my bones dissolving. Was I in love with him? It was a question I did not want to ask myself. But I was moved by this young man’s stubborn efforts to take care of me, to . . . love me. And I had to admit I did like to look at his delicate face and his lean body. Any girl would be ecstatic to have his company just for the sake of vanity. Then why would he choose me, years older? Was he starving for sisterly—or motherly—affection?
I didn’t answer his question, but said, “I already have a boyfriend.”
He looked stunned for a few seconds, then, “So . . . are you going to marry him, this boyfriend of yours?”
I didn’t respond.
A long silence fell between us before he spoke again, this time with urgency. “He’s married with kids, isn’t he?”
Did this young man possess a third eye, or was “screwed by a married man” written like bright graffiti on my forehead?
“He said he would,” I muttered, feeling completely drained.
“Married men always say that to their mistresses so they’ll stay—in bed.”
Stung by this unwelcome yet veritable remark, my voice shot out high like a jumping frog. “Alex, why don’t you find someone your age and leave me alone?”
“I’m not interested in girls my age. They’re like dolls, and I’m not a girl.”
“Do you want me because you miss your mother?”
“Lily, I don’t care how old you are, only who you are.”
“You hardly know me.”
“Then why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”
I blurted out, “All right. I’m an adventurer and an aspiring novelist writing a coming-of-age family saga based on my own life. My parents are both dead, so I’m all by myself on this planet.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You satisfied? Now tell me, what do you love in me.” My answer came out cold deliberately to cover the heat spreading inside me.
“You’re brave, beautiful, talented, and unusual.”
“How am I unusual?”
“I’ve never encountered a woman who travels by herself in a third-world country, let alone on the Silk Road, in a deserted village, and insists that she be left alone. I admire your bravery. But it’s also unbelievably stupid.”
I winced from his bluntness. “Did you just say stupid?”
“Yes! Haven’t you ever thought that a pretty young woman traveling by herself, in a third-world country, is an invitation for trouble? That’s why I’m here, to look out for you.”
Before I had a chance to respond, he threw me another question. “Why do you travel alone?”
I was not going to answer this, so I asked instead, “Alex, what makes you think you can take care of me?”
“Just trust me, would you?”
My voice, instead of keeping its cultivated cool, now came out vulnerable like a wounded kitten. “Alex, please, I don’t know. . . .”
He stood up and moved toward me in quick strides. Then our bodies, arms, and lips entangled. But we didn’t make love. After long, convoluted kisses and caresses, I hardened my heart and asked him to leave.
“Please, Alex, now leave and leave it at that. And don’t come back to see me. I really don’t need more complications in my life.”
He stared deeply at me and let out a long sigh before he walked to the door, then closed it behind him, leaving me alone in the cottage.
My heart sank.
How did this trip turn out to be so complicated at every step? And I had just barely started to retrace my aunt’s route!
I was touched and intrigued by Alex’s gentleness and concern. Yet, why did he choose me? Should I be suspicious? But he looked too young and innocent to be contaminated by the dust and poison of this world. Besides, he couldn’t possibly know about my upcoming fortune. Anyway, I needed to focus, not to be distracted by an attractive face or tongue-entangling, soul-losing kisses.
That night I dreamed that Alex and I were husband and wife, living in the desert where we were left alone by the civilized world. We hunted wild animals, climbed mountains to gather herbs, watched the constellations circle above us, and made passionate love on the warm sand. While my moans were echoed by the nearby dunes, my tanned, naked body rose and fell to the rhythm of the shifting sands and his thrusting torso. Peering over my lover’s shoulder, I saw the dazzling sun, trying to melt our two writhing bodies into one.
One day, when we were very old, we died making love under the moonlight. Ten years later our bodies—preserved by the dry climate and still in the “banquet-from-the-backyard” beneficial position—were discovered by an explorer monk. . . .
6
Witnessed by the Desert
T
he next day, to distract myself from Alex, I decided to call Chris Adams. Keku’s husband gave me a ride to the next village, where international phone calls could be made at a post office.
The connection went through after the fifth ring. A happy surprise!
“Chris?”
“Lily? Why didn’t you call earlier? I’ve been worried about you!” My former professor’s irritated voice rolled toward me from eight thousand miles away. “Where are you now?”
I apologized for not calling earlier, then told him I was now living at a cottage in a small oasis village at the desert’s entrance.
“I decided to live here for a while to have a sense of the place.”
“So you’re really going to settle down on the Silk Road? Then what about me?”
“Chris, don’t be childish; you have your family and I my desert. Anyway, I’ll be back before you know it.”
He again asked the purpose of my trip, but as before, I was evasive. So the conversation went round and round like a cat chasing its tail. Finally I changed the subject to ask about Jenny and Preston, then told him there was no way he could contact me since I didn’t have a phone.
“Then what if you’re in trouble, or sick?”
“Don’t worry, Chris, I’ll take good care of myself. Besides, I’m sure the very nice Uyghur people here will provide help when needed.”
“All right, then take very good care of yourself and call me more often. I love you.”
“Me too,” I said, my declaration sounding unconvincing even to my own ears.
Outside the post office, I walked around to clear my mind and calm my nerves, then went inside a store to do some shopping, and after that hired a donkey cart home.
Back inside my cottage, I vigorously plunged myself into cleaning so I didn’t have to think about Chris and the disturbing phone call. Not long after, feeling exhausted, I put on a Xinjiang music tape and turned up the boom box’s volume. Gradually, the cheerful, rhythmic folk tunes began to soothe my nerves and energize me. I picked up a book and tried to read, but the music was so therapeutic that I closed my eyes instead and let the tunes be both host and guest in my cottage and my mind.
I didn’t know how long I’d been soaking myself in the winelike music when frantic knockings on the door woke me from my dreamlike state. Was it Keku for a chat, or a neighbor to borrow condiments? I hurried to the door.
“Keku?”
I swung open the door and saw the face that had been forcefully pushed out of my mind, yet equally missed.
“Lily, please let me in.”
“Alex, how come you’re still here?”
“Sorry, it’s too cold camping out there tonight, so can I stay with you for just a short while before I find a place?” he said, tightening the jacket around his chest with his trembling hands.
“Of course you can.” I let him in, then closed the door.
“Trust me, Lily”—Alex put down his heavy backpack on the floor—“I won’t . . . disturb you.”
I almost chuckled at his boyish seriousness, but I kept my cool, even if only on the surface. “Alex, it’s bitter cold out there and I’m not a monster. Stay as long as you want.”
I immediately regretted what I’d said, realizing what this might possibly lead to. I really shouldn’t betray Chris, and so fast! But could I refuse a young man who might freeze to death in a ghost-infested graveyard into my home?
Studying his face, I envisioned what would soon happen as sadness rose inside me.
I snatched my blanket and threw it to him. “Take a seat and wrap this around you. I’ll fix tea.”
I turned down the boom box’s volume, poured water in a pot, and placed it on the gas stove, then started a fire.
Alex’s voice sneaked its way into my ears. “Lily, I really like your place. I’ve never seen something so cozy and beautiful in a desert.”
“Thanks. You’ve been to many houses in the desert?” I cast him a sidelong glance. His face, looking so happy and sad at the same time, tugged at my heart.
When the water was boiling, I dropped in a tea bag, let it brew for a minute, then handed it to my first desert visitor, or intruder, together with a piece of bread with jam.
Alex started to eat and drink ravenously. Poor thing, he must be starving. The bread was a two-day-old leftover, but he ate it with as much relish as if it were a freshly baked French baguette.
“Alex, there’s more food if you want. I just stocked up from the market today.”
“Tell me what you have, and I can cook you a nice meal.” His face rose from the steaming cup, now looking refreshed and spirited.
“Can you cook, too?” The “too,” of course, referred to Chris. I was sure he already understood, this smart kid.
“Of course. I’ve been cooking and taking care of myself since I was ten. What do you have?”
“Salted meat, sausage, herbs, potatoes, onions, canned fish, packaged soup . . .”
“That’s good enough. Trust me, it’ll be a nice dinner.”
That night, after a very satisfying meal, we made love for the first time. I felt I should give him warmth and love, which he had obviously been hungry for for a very long time. The simple fact was, I did find him attractive. I was beginning to think that the moment our eyes had met, witnessed by the ancient warriors, our fate was linked. Try as I might to blind myself to what was happening, I couldn’t hide from heaven’s all-seeing eyes.
Unlike Chris, who was like a panther filled with masculine energy and could be rough when he felt like it, Alex was very gentle to me as if I were a virgin whose body was shyly covered, or revealed, by silk. His tongue was tentative and his hands were careful to please my body but not hurt it. However, his lack of experience didn’t hinder his passion. He embraced me like a giant octopus, tentacles reaching for every nook and cranny of my writhing body.
When he came, he screamed with abandon, which pleased me tremendously. Zeal, infatuation, longing, desire, hunger, youthful energy, and sadness—all seemed expressed in this long, heaven-shattering scream. A scream with emotion so raw, so rich, and so complex that I was both stunned and moved. Had he experienced so much suffering in his twenty-one years of existence? Wondering, tears swelled in my eyes as I cuddled close to my desert lover.
Alex tousled my hair with his gentle hand; like vintage wine, his voice poured and spread in the dark. “Lily, now our lives and souls are linked together forever.”
I didn’t respond; I didn’t have an answer for that now, or for the future.
He added, “From now on, I will not live without you.”
“Alex, I think you’re too young to know what you really want in life.”
“Wrong, I know exactly what I want since I began to take care of myself at ten.”
I sighed. “
Hai
. . . Alex, relax. Let’s just live in the moment, at least for the time being, all right? I really don’t know what’s going to happen in six months,” I said, thinking of myself and my elusive three million dollars—like the rabbit forever in front of the greyhounds.
Alex was silent, seemingly deep in thought. Involuntarily my lips went to search his. He took my face in his hands, kissed my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my lips. “I’ll take very good care of you and do anything to protect you and make you happy.”
I didn’t respond, but looked out the window at the huge yellow moon resembling a womb as pregnant as my heart, together with the few stars scattered over the sky like diamonds displayed on a black velvet cloth.
When I turned back, Alex was already asleep, so I studied him under the moonlight streaming in from the window. Although he had only experienced the wind and dust of this world for twenty-one years, his face held something spiritual that possessed the power to calm. Who was this young man? In the silence I became aware of the ticking of my clock. And I knew that when enough time had passed, the answer, right or wrong, happy or sad, real or illusory, would eventually emerge.
Alex stirred, muttering in his half-dream state, “Lily, next time let’s make love in the desert.”
“But aren’t we now living in the desert? Alex, you’re tired, go back to sleep.”
He flipped me so his whole body was cupping mine from behind. “I mean we’ll go out to the desert in the evening and make love in the moonlight.”
“Then we’ll be frozen into two sand pillars.”
“Shhh . . .” Alex covered my mouth with his long fingers. “Don’t say ominous things like that. Let’s do it at sunrise, then.”
The following morning, when it was warm outside and the sun still hiding behind dunes, Alex came up to embrace me from behind, starting to take off my clothes, then his.
“What are you doing?”
“We’ll go outside.”
“Then we should get dressed.”
“Lily, I’ve been longing to make love with you in the desert for a long time. Now it’s warm and balmy, so let’s go,” he said, pushing me toward the door.
We were both completely naked, our clothes two crumpled masses on the floor.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“In nature, shouldn’t we go natural?”
He cast me a “Don’t pretend, you know exactly what I mean” wink, then swung open the door and pulled me outside.
I could’ve never imagined myself doing this in the desert with a man eight years my junior.
The sky was a dark gray with patches of Prussian blue and reddish brown. Like a private eye or a drug-sniffing dog, I looked around suspiciously, making sure no one was up and about this early. Then, feeling relaxed that Alex and I were the only ones who existed in the whole universe, hand-in-hand we dashed toward the tallest sand dune. Facing the emerging dim light, we stood holding and kissing each other for an eternity. After that, we lay our naked bodies on the sand, now turning a pinkish gold under rays of the awaking sun.
Alex wrapped me tightly in his protective arms, and we started to roll. It was a strange feeling. Above, a few lingering stars alternatively appeared and disappeared, like a string of spinning pearls teasing us to chase them. We rolled I didn’t know how long till we felt exhausted, and completely relaxed. Without a word, Alex started to kiss me, my face, my eyes, my lips, my neck, my nipples, my navel. . . . His tongue and lips slowly worked their way down until heat rose between my legs and I felt my whole body on fire.
Now I was covered with sand, and so was my young lover. Alex vehemently spit out the grit, then, with equal vehemence, tried to kiss the valley between my legs. I couldn’t help but smile at the comical sight. But more sand had come between his fiery desire and my deep, mysterious valley. Undeterred, he spit, then kissed again. I moaned and squirmed on the warm, grainy earth. My nails, like small insects, bit deeply into his bare shoulders painted golden brown by the virginal sunlight.
There was no wind, but the sand was still shifting, ever so slightly, making me dizzy with ecstasy. I realized that right here and now Alex and I were all alone, except the sky above, the sand beneath, and a few agonizingly twisted branches bridging the two in the distant horizon.
When Alex entered me, a few exotic birds flapped and flew with a mischievous
Sqwwwwwk!
seemingly approving my love while dissipating my hesitation to love. I noticed another one flapping and moving to and fro impatiently, as if trying very hard to get the same message through. I felt that not only my eyes but my entire body was crying. This experience of making love in the desert deepened my love, not only for Alex but for the whole universe and its cosmic energy to which I now felt so deeply connected.
Under heaven and above earth, amidst the singing sands and chirping birds, we had no one but each other. I thanked God for granting me this moment during which I felt so privileged to embrace the deepest mysteries and profoundest connection between a man and a woman from the beginning of time.
Finally, my young lover came with a howl. I truly believed that heaven could hear his love, this selfless passion and compassion of a man for a woman. So simple and innocent in the desert, yet so complicated and scheming in the civilized world. The sand responded by trembling beneath us, the dunes by echoing his “Ahhh . . . ahhh . . . ahhh . . .” like an undying mantra.
While Alex was still thrusting on top of me, I stifled an emotional cry and let out an animal one, followed by another, yet another. The feminine hollow between the dunes seemingly approved of our love through the sand’s continued singing and shifting as if in a cosmic dance.
After lovemaking, we relaxed on the sand, quietly holding each other and silently staring at the gradually illuminating mysteries above.
I remembered one time when I saw a picture of a naked woman lying in a meadow on clumps of blossoms. I thought no bed—even one with gold pillars and covered with the most expensive, hand-embroidered sheets—could compare with this bed of nature. Only the green grass, pink blossoms, and blue sky could bring out such unfathomable beauty, primitive femininity, and erotic spirituality of a woman. Now in the desert, the singing golden sand, the pink blushing of the waking sun, and the smoke-pale sky, what would that bring out in me?

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