The Visitor (4 page)

Read The Visitor Online

Authors: Brent Ayscough

BOOK: The Visitor
13.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

CHAPTER 3

The Dalai Lama concluded His speech at the University of California at Long Beach with:

“For as long as space endures,

And for as long as living beings remain,

Until then, may I too abide,

To dispel the misery of the world.”

“How perfect!” a beautiful East Indian woman in the audience blurted out, although not very loud.

She produced a handkerchief from her purse and touched the underside of her eyes, which were moistened by the experience.

The young man sitting next to her glanced her way. “Yes, He’s fantastic. This is my first experience.”

Feeling comfortable with this man who shared a common interest, she asked, “Would you be like to come to our conference group meeting in an hour, the Followers of His Holiness? It’s being held in conjunction with a chapter of the Students for a Free Tibet.”

“Could I?” the young man asked, uncomfortable at intruding.

“Anyone interested may come. You may come with me as my guest, if you feel uncomfortable going alone. There will be several speakers who are very knowledgeable about His teachings.”

“Great! Is it nearby?”

“Yes, it is right here on this campus. You may follow me if you like. It’s only a ten minute walk.”

The two of them worked their way through the crowd of seven hundred leaving the meeting hall. Just outside, the noise of the jabbering throng subsided, so she looked at him and introduced herself. “I’m Shanta Laxshimi.”

He was able to better see her attire outside. It was foreign to him and so exotic. She looked East Indian, early thirties, and extraordinarily attractive. Her beauty was enhanced by a magnificent sari which she wore so very well. It was of maroon and gold material. Her mid-section was left bare in the traditional sari fashion, and she was without stomach fat. She wore a thin gold chain around her bare waist and another on her ankle.

She looked at him, waiting for his name and, finally, he realized that he was staring at her without talking. “Oh, sorry--I’m Andrew Saunders.” He paused, clumsily, and then added, “Ah--actually, if you would rather ride than walk, my car is here.”

“Why, yes. But there’s no parking here or near the next place. We have to walk.”

He looked up toward the street, a signal to his driver. In the dark, people were walking to their cars, some a considerable distance away. Double parked, with an attendant driver, was a shiny black Mercedes sedan. And, seeing Andrew, the driver turned on the lights and drove forward. A chauffeur in black exited smartly and opened a door.

“Wow!” Shanta was awestruck. “Is this yours?”

“It’s either a company car or Roger rented it,” Andrew said, gesturing at the driver. “Just tell Roger where.”

The meeting of the Followers was held at a smaller conference room on the university campus. The group’s volunteer organizer was Warren McLaughlin, who had been instrumental in inviting His Holiness to UCLA Long Beach and had sent a newsletter to the Followers as well as the Students for a Free Tibet, who now congregated at the meeting, following His Holiness’s speech. Andrew was handed a newsletter at the door, which contained words of wisdom imparted by His Holiness, along with news of current events in Tibet. Within a short while, over two hundred people had come in, chatting and discussing what they had heard.

McLaughlin took the podium, which brought about a respectful silence as people stopped talking. “For those of you who are newcomers, I usually give a short update on what is happening in the land where His Holiness belongs and from which he has been exiled. In Tibet, atrocities continue. World news ignores this. More than six thousand monasteries and their contents, irreplaceable jewels of Tibetan culture, have been destroyed by the demonic communist Chinese government. Tibetans are routinely imprisoned and tortured for non-violently expressing their views, which includes support of His Holiness. They are detained indefinitely without public trial, tortured, and often killed. One million two hundred thousand Tibetans have died from torture, starvation, and execution. Nuns are brutally raped in Chinese prisons.

“Why is it that Tibet is the only area of The People’s Republic of China where foreign journalists are not allowed? The tortures that we have documented include severe beatings, whippings, use of electric batons on mouth, body, and genitals, being kept in irons continuously, suspended by their arms, deprived of sleep or food, and exposed to intense cold.

“Tibetan women are forced to have abortions. They are given the option of paying a fine of seven thousand Yuan, usually the equivalent of five years annual income, unless they terminate their pregnancies by abortion. Mandarin had replaced Tibetan as the official language.”

McLaughlin began to work himself up. “The Chinese government offers tax breaks and military promotions to those Chinese who will move to Tibet as part of a population transfer to destroy Tibet’s culture. Huge numbers of Chinese, an estimated seven and a half million, have been sent there to dilute the Tibetan population, which is estimated at six million. The Chinese exploit the natural resources; ease over-population of China by expanding their territory; obtain strategic military locations over Asia, especially to station missiles directed toward India; and promote their racist, imperialist policies. The Chinese are destroying the environment by constructing pipelines; wholesale clear cutting of forests on an unbelievable scale; and dumping toxic waste, including spent nuclear fuel, on Tibetan soil.”

He paused to calm down and then continued. “His Holiness proposed a five-point plan for the restoration of peace and human rights in Tibet. First, the transformation of Tibet into a zone of Ahimsa, a demilitarized zone of peace and non-violence. Second, abandonment of China’s population transfer policy. Third, respect for the Tibetan people’s fundamental human rights and democratic freedoms. Fourth, restoration and protection of Tibet’s natural environment and abandonment of China’s use of Tibet for the production of nuclear weapons and dumping of nuclear waste. And fifth, commencement of earnest negotiations on the future status of Tibet and relations between the Tibetan and Chinese people.”

McLaughlin opened his arms as though in despair. “And what does the mighty American government, the policeman of the world, do? It normalizes relations with China, completely ignoring the atrocities and the ruination of Tibet. When the oil of America was threatened by Iraq entering Kuwait, America and her allies went to war. This was not to save the anti-American Emir or the Kuwaiti people who believe Americans are Satanic infidels, but for oil. Yet for Tibetans, they remain crushed by no less villainous behavior. Now Americans and their allies have attempted to police Iraq and Afghanistan, all because of oil, but in the name of addressing terrorism. But what of the terror in Tibet?”

The speech continued for an hour and a half, after which Roger took Andrew and Shanti to a place he had located while they were at the meeting, an after-hours pizza/Italian café, just off campus. The tables were candle lit and the best little round table next to a window had just become available. The young maître’d put Andrew and Shanta at that table ahead of two other parties, deciding they had a reserved seat there, his decision motivated by Roger passing him a hundred dollar bill.

At the table, the candle light gave radiance to Shanta’s brown skin, glowing with the rich oils she rubbed on her skin, memorizing her onlooker.

“Do you like my sari?” she asked to give him license to continue staring at her body.

“I’ve never known an East Indian girl before. I’m from the south and there were no East Indians there when I grew up. I think your outfit is beautiful. What do you call it?”

“It’s just a sari. I got this one in Jaipur. Have you been in India?”

“No.”

“This is my first trip to the United States. I’ll not be able to go to the south, but I have heard it is very nice.”

“Please tell me about yourself,” Andrew asked.

“I must tell you that I’m married.”

Andrew went into shock. “Married?”

“Well, it is not exactly what you might think, but still I’m married.”

“What do you mean?”

“My family moved from India to Singapore, where I grew up. My parents made an arranged marriage for me with a Singaporean, an Indian doctor, who had by then moved to New York to practice. I had no say in the matter. The doctor did not want an arranged marriage and refused for a long time. Finally, his mother told him that if he did not come back to Singapore to marry me that she would commit suicide--and she convinced him that she meant it.

“And she probably did. So he agreed and came back for a traditional Indian wedding. But he never consummated our marriage and left the next day to return to New York. I was left no longer eligible to marry another, even though the marriage was not considered valid since it was not consummated. But I had nowhere to go, and I was no longer eligible under Indian tradition, like used goods. I was very hurt and left to go to an ashram in India.”

Andrew could hardly believe the story. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes, quite seriously. I had been following Hindu religious teachings all my life until I discovered the truths of the Dalai Lama. I’m fascinated with Him. I find no conflict in His words and my Hindu upbringing. It is very harmonious.”

Andrew was fixated on the sexual aspect of her story. “You never consummated your marriage?”

“I’m still a virgin.”

CHAPTER 4

Tak approached a small sign alongside the road that had the number “4” on it. A passing car slowed to a stop just ahead of her. It was a small blue car, with only the driver, who reached over and cranked down the window on the passenger side. He said something that made no sense to her. She let the sound reverberate in her mind to detect what it was. He repeated it.

Was he asking her name, she wondered? “Tak,” she told him.

He leaned over and opened the car door, obviously offering a ride. She climbed into the car and off they went. He began to speak to her, but she could not understand him.

“I only speak English.”

“Ah,” the driver said, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. “No speak.”

They rode along, not speaking, the spring green color of the countryside a delight. Before long, a sign appeared: WIELICZKA. The driver turned and looked at her as though to ask if that was where she was going.

She assumed this town or place, whatever it was, would be as good as any, since she had missed Kansas. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

The driver slowed his car and turned into a parking area. A number of vehicles were parked there, including several small busses. The car stopped and Tak pulled on the silver crank to open the door. When the door did not open, she pulled harder. Hadn’t he pulled on this when he initially opened the door for her? She’d thought for sure that he had. The chrome handle came off in her hand. She looked over sheepishly at the driver, who took it from her and set it down between the seats. He then leaned over her and opened the door for her. She got out of the car, closed the door, then leaned through the window, and said with a smile, “Thank you.”

The young man nodded and drove away. Tak saw some kind of travel office. In front of the congregation of people, a young lady stood behind a ticket counter. Off to the left was a metal-framed glass door to a shop.

Tak headed for the shop. Inside several clerks were standing about, assisting customers. Tak went up to a table with picture books on it and noticed that the books came in a number of languages. She picked up one in English, and read the cover:
WIELICZKA SALT MINE
.

It showed a map of where the town was and gave the name of the country,
Poland.

A salt mine! A place where salt came from on this planet! Best to go inside to learn how that was done. But how could she do that?

Outside the shop, people were lining up line next to a structure containing an elevator down to the salt mine. A group of tourists, speaking English, exited a tour bus in the parking lot. Some went inside the gift shop to use the water closet, and the tour leader went up to the ticket window to get them admission. They then gathered at the request of their tour leader near the elevator. Tak sheepishly melted into this group.

An official guide approached the tour leader and took over. His uniform was all black, the top a tunic with gold and red epaulets with polished brass buttons and his head was adorned with a distinctive cap. He went to the ticket office, where he was handed a slip with the tally of visitors, and then beckoned for them to come to the elevator door. There were twenty-four of them, twice as many as could fit into the elevator at one time. The guide then motioned to the group to collect in a queue at the elevator. The tour leader repeated his request to be sure that his group knew who their guide was.

“Come with me to the elevator,” the guide said. “There will have to be two groups, as the elevator only holds twelve.”

Tak walked with them toward the elevator as though she was one of them, mixing in toward the middle of what would be the first group going down. The elevator consisted of a metal cage with unpainted, metal sides with quarter-inch holes close together. The guide motioned the group to get in and crowd together, while he would follow, taking the second half of the group down. The door closed. The elevator descended so fast and it was so dark that many in the group were scared to the point of shrieking.

The landing area was dimly lit, but the frightened crowd welcomed it. The light came only from a few exposed bubs on the low ceiling. The temperature was considerably cooler than above, and the high moisture content in the air was very noticeable. The dampness of the mine produced a salt-water brine that gave off an unusual odor, although it was not unpleasant. The walls and floor were slightly damp, but not enough that they were muddy.

The second half of the group soon arrived, accompanied by the guide, who then started to count the number in his group.

Tak moved out of that group and over near another one speaking a different language until the other guide had counted the number of heads to see if all were there. Then she returned.

“Well, here we are,” the guide began. “I bet a number of you have used the expression, ‘I’ll be at the salt mines’. Now you can say you have actually been to a real salt mine!” His joke was followed by a big smile, showing crooked teeth.

“This mine has been in continuous operation for over seven hundred years. The mine ranges from sixty-four to three-hundred-twenty-five meters below ground. It’s a labyrinth of over two-hundred kilometers of corridors and two-thousand-forty chambers, which are the excavated areas where salt was taken from. But don’t worry. I’m only going to take you on a short bit of it.”

Tak was led along square mine shaft tunnels six feet wide, and not much taller in spots, then into a chamber filled with life-sized carvings of people in the gray-green color of the natural salt, where the guide amassed the group again.

“The Wieliczka rock-salt deposit formed fifteen million years ago, in the Miocene epoch, Cainozoic era. In later times, the deposit underwent being folded in the uplifting process of the Carpathian Mountains. Before people reached the deposit in this mine, salt was obtained by evaporation from the water of brine springs on the surface, going back as early as 3500 BC. As surface supplies ran out, people started looking for the salt in the depths of the Earth. At one time, over a third of the world’s salt came from this very mine. Now, it is only mined to keep the water from overtaking it, as it is no longer economically profitable to mine salt here.” He beckoned to the group. “Please follow me.”

In the next chamber, he continued. “This is the Nicholas Copernicus Chamber. This mine is noted for its many carvings of salt. In a number of the salt chambers, the miners left about two meters of salt around the walls for artists to make carvings, and you will see a number of those chambers on the tour. This is--” He gestured at the life-sized statue of the dark gray-green salt next to him. “--a statue of Nicolaus Copernicus. It was created here on the five-hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great Polish astronomer, who once visited the mine. Many heads of state have visited the mine when they come to Poland.” He beckoned again. “This way please.”

Fascinating, Tak thought. What a stroke of luck! She had not heard of this place in her studies of the planet. She was led into an enormous hall that resembled an elaborate palace ballroom. The entrance was from a balcony in the rear of the magnificent chamber, with steps leading down to the floor. The gray-green salt walls were carved in elaborate, life-sized scenes of people and places, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

The guide led the group down the long stairs to the floor of the huge room, which floor had been carved into hexagonal tiles of salt, to resemble a stone-tiled floor. He stopped to wait for the group to gather around him and then began again. “This is the Chapel of Saint Kinga. You will see various religious carvings on all of the walls, including one of The Last Supper to your left. Everything in the room is carved out of salt--the railings, the alter, even the chandeliers, which were carved from salt crystals and, of course, lighted with electricity that we have brought in. Excavation of the room was started in 1896, and the carvings were done in stages in the following years. The chamber is fifty-four meters long, eighteen meters wide, and fifteen meters high. The floor is one-hundred-and-one meters below the surface. This chapel is still used on special occasions and can be reserved for weddings. It is the only place where underground worship exists.”

Tak was amazed. Underground worship of the Earthlings’ concept of a creator in a big chamber, 330 feet below surface, in a cathedral carved out of salt!

Another group of adults entered the chamber and milled about, looking at the carvings as her group did. The guide for Tak’s group stood over by the steps leading out, waiting for her group to complete their examination of the carvings and press on with the tour. Once the group had gathered around the guide, he began to count heads to see if all were there.

Oh, oh
!
Another head count
! Tak moved toward the other group so as not to be counted. The guide then collected the group and escorted them back up the steps to the exit, taking care that the number in his group was complete, making it impossible for Tak to remain in that group without being detected.

She realized that she was left where she was and wandered over to the other group that was forming about their guide. He began to speak, but the language was not English.

Not English
! Tak was on her own. She went up the steps alone to the tunnel to follow the tour group. She caught up and joined in the back. Another chamber appeared and the group went in, Tak in the rear. It was a very tall room, without carvings, and had a walk-bridge over an inland pond. The upper part was unlit. Off to the left were wooden steps leading behind a rock in one direction, and another set led up a steep incline toward an opening somewhere near the top. Tak decided it was obviously not part of tour, due to the narrowness of the steps.

The guide gathered the group on the bridge over the middle of the pond and began. “There is much water in the Earth here. It has always been, and remains, a threat to the mine shafts’ integrity. As you can imagine, the water is so extremely concentrated with salt that it’s a brine. It’s concentrated to the maximum amount of salt that water will hold. The climates of these salt mines are especially favorable to humans as they do not contain most allergens and micro-organisms, such as bacteria, viruses, and fungi that exist on the surface. On level five, which is not part of the tour, there is an allergologic sanatorium where patients come to stay for their health. Patients inhale the air, rich in sodium, calcium, and magnesium chlorides, which cures diseases of the upper respiratory tract. That level is one-hundred-thirty-five meters below ground, in the Wessel Lake Chamber, and there is excellent medical care there. Appointments can be made for treatment there, and if you have asthma, allergies, and respiratory ailments, you might find it beneficial.”

The tour guide motioned for his group to continue and let them pass along beside him, again counting to be sure he had everyone.

Oh, oh
!
Not another counting
! To the left was the narrow wooden bridge, leading somewhere, its direction obscured from the main path by a large rock six feet high and three times as long.
Behind this rock will do
.

When the guide turned his head, she quickly went over the wooden bridge and hid behind the huge rock.

Well
, she thought,
I’m on my own now
! She could wait for another English speaking group. That was probably the best plan--to hide out here for a while.
Time for a rest
.

Tak sat down behind the huge rock, contemplating the day. She had, after all, left the starship, entered this planet’s atmosphere, gotten detected by a warship, gone back into space, and managed to land safely in a place called Poland. A short rest seemed well deserved.

The group that was in the big chamber behind her original group, the one with another language, came along. Tak remained behind the rock. The group leader stopped on the bridge over the brine lake, and the guide explained something to them. That group moved on, and no other groups followed for nearly half an hour. Then she heard voices in the brine lake chamber. Tak stood up and carefully peaked around the rock. It was not a group, but instead only two people. One was a guide in a black uniform, the other a tall, good-looking man, who appeared to be nearing forty years of age, with blond hair and very well dressed as compared to all of the other tourists. Why was there only one in this tour? Maybe he was an important person.

Tak quickly crouched back down so as not to be seen. The two men walked to the bridge, to the widened part over the lake, where her guide had stopped the group to speak. The guide began speaking to him in English. ‘This is the Weimar Chamber.”

Other books

More of Me by Samantha Chase
Breathless by Chambers, V. J.
Too Close for Comfort by La Jill Hunt
Riding Bitch by Melinda Barron
Everyone but You by Sandra Novack
Killing Halfbreed by Mason, Zack
To Summon a Demon by Alder, Lisa