The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [134]
The path finally flattened out on a level shelf that skirted yet another promontory. A sharp cliff dropped off on Neal’s right. To his left, a dramatic complex of balconies and terraces had been built into the steep hillside. Under different circumstances he would have wanted to stop and explore the buildings, but the sun was dropping along with his energy and morale, and the morning’s adventure had become the afternoon’s grim march.
The path dropped steeply downhill, which Neal found almost as wearing as the uphill struggles, through a stretch of sparse scrub pine, across another narrow stream, and then uphill again. He and Li passed a few monks here and there, but otherwise the mountain seemed empty. Where, Neal wondered, were all these pilgrims trying to find enlightenment? He hadn’t seen one stinking pilgrim. He made a mental note to ask Li, when they stopped. If they stopped.
They would have to stop soon, he thought as he forced his legs up another steep stretch of stone stairs. It would be impossible to hike this trail at night, even with lanterns. He was nervous walking along it even in daylight, afraid a tired misstep would send him hurtling to his own enlightenment in the canyons below.
And they would have to sleep. He was exhausted and numb. She must be tired, also. And whoever was chasing them had to be beat, as well. He figured he and Li had at least a four-hour jump on them, and their pursuers wouldn’t be able to move at night either.
He was about to share this analysis with Li Lan, when he heard her chanting.
“Yi, ar, yi, ar, yi, ar, yi… ”
“What are you doing?”
“Counting. One, two, one, two, one, two …”
“Why?”
“It takes mind away from the pain in your legs. Try it.”
“What I had more in mind was a hot bath, a bed, and a bottle of scotch.”
“Try it.”
He tried it. He chanted along with her, matching his steps to the beat. He felt stupid at first, but then it began to work. It was so silly and so childish that he began to laugh. Then they laughed together, taking turns at counting off the cadence, and the game took them across more stone bridges, through more thick bamboo forests, up an incredibly vicious series of switchbacks, past three more monasteries and temples, and along the edge of a terrifying cliff.
“Yi, ar, yi, ar, yi, ar, yi…”
“Yi, ar, yi, ar, yi, ar, yi…”
They were heading up some stairs when he fell.
It was stupid, really. He simply missed the switch in the switchback and walked straight off the edge of the trail. One second he was mindlessly chanting, the next second he was in midair.
A fir tree broke his fall and cracked at least one of his ribs.
His shriek echoed through the canyon, so he had the rare opportunity of listening several times to the sound of his own pain. The jolt of agony sped like an express train from his chest to his brain. His brain told him to shut the fuck up, so he clamped his jaws together and whimpered. He wanted to roll around on the ground, but he was afraid to move because his position—feet jammed against a tree on the side of a cliff—was somewhat precarious. When he looked up he saw that he had fallen about fifteen feet. When he looked down he was quite content with his broken ribs; he had another thousand or so feet to fall if he wanted to throw back this card and draw another one.
He rolled over gently on his stomach so that he was facing uphill, and began to claw his way back up to the path. Li stretched her walking stick out. He grabbed it and she pulled him up. Back on the relative safety of the path, he rolled around on the ground in agony.
“Is anything broken?” she asked.
“I think a rib or two.”
“That is too bad.”
She was a bit too cool for his taste. He would have liked her to be a little more upset. A few tears would have been okay.
“Does it hurt much?”
“No. I’m just cleaning the steps with the back of my shirt.”
“Yes. It would be better if you would be still.