The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [109]
“There are no statues to the Gang of Four,” Peng said. “They betrayed Chairman Mao.”
“Yeah, by carrying out his orders.”
Neal turned around to look at the river, which was dotted with fishing boats. Fishermen, balanced precariously on the back ends of their small boats, maneuvered in the swirling currents with large poles that were both oar and rudder. Larger boats had crews of oarsmen to struggle with the fast-moving water. The Min River was deceptive. From a distance it had looked lazy and muddy. Up close it looked dangerous, almost evil, and it was small wonder that the local people had built a large Buddha to watch over them on a large river.
“Would you like to see Buddha’s head?” Wu asked.
They climbed up a white wooden staircase beside Buddha’s right arm. A wide railed landing wrapped around Buddha’s head, and Neal stood about twenty feet away from Buddha’s left eye, which was about the size of a small boat, and contemplated Buddha’s face. It was certainly serene, he had to admit. Of course, anything that big, made of rock, and almost one thousand years old had pretty good reasons for being serene. And Buddha had a nice view. The wide river and its valley stretched out directly below, and if Buddha shifted his eyes to the right or left, he’d be treated to the sight of dramatic red cliffs topped with lush green vegetation.
The scenery hadn’t changed much for Buddha over the millennium, except for the big smokestacks that poked up from Leshan’s gray walls and the smaller smokestacks on the few power boats that plied the river.
Buddha had seen a lot change in China in a thousand years, but he’d seen a lot stay the same, too.
“It’s beautiful!” Wu said.
“Haven’t you been here before?” Neal asked.
Wu whispered, “I’d never been out of Chengdu until yesterday.”
It was funny, Neal thought, standing around a gigantic head, gazing at the huge, unblinking eyes. Sort of ludicrous and awesome at the same time. He wondered about the depth of faith it would take to carve something this large on a dangerous cliff above a dangerous river.
“How did this Buddha make out during the Cultural Revolution?” Neal asked. He saw Peng’s jaw get tight.
“The Buddha itself was not damaged. But the temple and the monastery behind us,” Peng said, pointing into a manicured forest, “suffered significant damage, which is still being repaired.”
“Why didn’t the Red Guard vandalize the Buddha?”
“Afraid to,” Wu said.
I’d sure as hell be afraid to, Neal thought. One look from those stone eyes would stop me in my tracks. Not to mention the thought of hurtling two hundred feet down into those currents. Old Buddha didn’t last here a thousand years by being an easy mark.
“So they didn’t have the balls to put a dunce cap on old Buddha here, huh?”
Peng’s glare cut short Wu’s nervous laughter.
“We should get you settled in your room,” Peng said. “The driver took the car there directly.”
“I’m staying in a garage?”
“You are staying in the monastery’s guesthouse. It is back behind the temple, through those trees.”
“Where are you boys staying?”
“The guesthouse is for foreign guests, but Mr. Wu will stay there to serve as your translator. I will stay at a Party facility nearby.” “I’ll miss you.”
Peng smiled. “It is only for the night. This afternoon we will escort you on a walk, and take you to dinner.”
Swell.
“Then tomorrow you may start your journey home.”
Well, you slipped that little tidbit in, didn’t you? Well, well, well … you’ve found out whatever it was you wanted to find out. Now what could that be? I saw Li Lan, and I kept my mouth shut, and I didn’t start screaming about her or Dr. Robert Pendleton … and that’s what you needed to know. That I’m beat… that I don’t want any more trouble … that I’m going to be a good boy … that you could snatch Pendleton and get away with it