The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [133]
The leader turned tail and the monkeys ran, downhill this time, and Li Lan scurried up the path to Neal.
Neal waited for her praise and gratitude.
“I perhaps should have told you about the snakes.”
“Snakes?”
“Poisonous snakes, yes.”
“Yes, you perhaps should have told me about them.”
She nodded solemnly. “There are many poisonous snakes in the bamboo forests here.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Shall we continue?”
She started up the switchback. Neal picked up some stones and put them in his pockets in case the monkeys tried to gain the upper hand on them again.
He shouldn’t have worried. No monkey on earth was ambitious enough to tackle the next few switchbacks, which were made up of narrow stone steps that rose at an impossible grade up to the very edge of the mountain. It seemed like some endless torture of running up stadium steps, prescribed by some goofy, sadistic Chinese football coach.
Neal knew that the top of each stairway had to be—had to be—the last, but each time he reached a landing it was only a prelude to the next zigzagging staircase. His thighs and calves strained and ached, and his lungs started to struggle for air.
In addition to the exertion, there was the bonus of fear. They were walking along the edge of the mountain, on the rim of steep cliffs and deep chasms, on stone steps that were a thousand years old. The steps were gullied and chipped, and where water ran down from uphill, they were slippery as well. Most of the trail wasn’t that dangerous, and a fall would have been broken quickly by the thick bamboo, but other spots offered the prospect of a dramatic free fall into jagged rocks, rushing streams, and waterfalls. It was a painter’s dream, no question, but a nightmare for Neal Carey, who was afraid of heights.
So he was exhausted, hungry, aching, and nauseated with fear when the trail finally leveled out before narrowing into an arched stone bridge.
“The Bridge of Deliverance!” Li announced over the roar of a huge waterfall above them.
“Why is it called that?!” Neal shouted, praying that the answer didn’t involve an albino boy and a banjo.
“Here, all fatigue disappears, because the sound of the rushing water is so beautiful! Sit and listen!”
She crossed the bridge to a small level spot and scooped some stones from a pool in the river. She came back and handed the stones to Neal.
“These are stones from the Great Lake above, and they have great medicinal qualities! You boil them in water and drink the water and you will never have a heart attack!”
“You’d better keep them on hand.”
“Are you rested?”
“Why did you have to hide Pendleton on the top of the mountain?!”
“Because it is hard to get there!”
“One more minute.”
He stood up and leaned gingerly on the bridge wall. He had to admit that the sound of the water was lovely, and the panorama was sensational. He could see the peak of the mountain, their goal, shining in the sunlight above him. The waterfall cascaded right beside him, casting a small rainbow where it smashed into the rocks. The bamboo forest was a sea of emerald. And there was always Li to look at. He was sadistically pleased to see sweat on her face.
She frowned. “Now I am afraid perhaps the trail becomes difficult.”
“Oh, now it does?”
“I am afraid perhaps yes.”
Neal had come to understand that the more modifiers a polite Chinese person threw into a sentence, the worse the situation was.
“More steps?” he asked.
“Yes.” Then her face brightened. “But they are not stone!”
“Nails?”
“Wood!”
Wood. Hmmm …
“For how far?”
“Perhaps maybe one thousand feet.”
“Pendleton walked up here?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Let’s do it.”
Yeah, right, let’s do it, he thought about a half hour later as his heart slammed and his chest pounded back. The beauty would have been breathtaking if the climb hadn’t already done the job. But fear is a wonderful motivator. Neal was tired from the climb,