She Still Lives: A Novel of Tibet PDF
Preview She Still Lives: A Novel of Tibet
She Still Lives SHE STILL LIVES A Novel of Tibet BILL MAGEE Snow Lion Publications Ithaca, New York Boulder, Colorado Snow Lion Publications P.O. Box 6483 Ithaca, NY 14851 USA (607) 273-8519 www.snowlionpub.com Copyright © 2006 by Bill Magee All rights reserved. No portions of this book may be reproduced by any means without prior written permission from the publisher. Printed in U.S.A. on acid-free recycled paper. ISBN-10 1-55939-247-9 ISBN-13 978-1-55939-247-1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in Publication Data Magee, William A. She still lives : a novel of Tibet / Bill Magee. p. cm. ISBN-13: 978-1-55939-247-1 (acid-free paper) ISBN-10: 1-55939-247-9 (acid-free paper) 1. Tibet (China)—Fiction. 2. Liberty—Fiction. 3. Dalai lamas— Fiction. 4. Political fiction. I. Title. PS3613.A3436S54 2006 813’.6--dc22 2006020103 To the Memory of Stella One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being. —May Sarton 1 BEIJING RELEASES FIVE Beijing, January 12, 2114 (Xinhua). Department of Pub- lic Security officials today announced plans to release five persons currently serving prison terms for their roles in the Tibetan nationalist uprising of 2099. Mila Lakpa, Puntsok Denpa, Jamyang Tashi, Basang Uri Garma, and Kunchok Gunru, all of New Tibet City, were convicted of conspiring with Tara Gyatso, the Seventeenth Dalai Lama, to create an independent Lamaist state. “The men will be released during the coming year,” said Chu Si-Chuan, spokesman for the De- partment of Public Security. “However, there is no plan to re- lease the Dalai Lama at this time. She is a long-time stubborn secessionist who has tried to split her Chinese motherland.” The prison doors opened reluctantly with the metallic grinding of a rusted vault. For a few seconds the narrow portal afforded an unsettling glimpse into the darkness of a maximum correc- tional facility. Then the gates clanged shut again—but not before Mila Lakpa stepped across the threshold to stand blinking and befuddled in the hard, bright sun. A burly Tibetan fellow and his black retriever dog were wait- ing just down the hill. Seeing Mila, the man hailed him: “Mila! Ma peh! Down here!” 7 She Still Lives Mila squinted at the owner of the voice. It was a voice to cause avalanches. He saw a big powerful man in mountain buck- skins under a broad leather hat shading a ruddy face. Face and hat alike seemed smeared with grease and smoke. Mila hesitated for a second, his meager, undernourished form blending into the red blockhouse behind him. He looked around with an anxious glance—then stepped out briskly. Away, away at last from the hat- ed walls; trotting pell-mell down the hill; gaining speed, a very little speed, and not without a creaking in the knees. He stumbled once or twice on the steep and rocky incline but managed to bring himself safely down from the prominence. He was enveloped in a vast and odorous bear hug. A big red face filled all of Mila’s vision. It was a rough face with uneven angles, like a deflated soccer ball kicked hard by a disappointed athlete, except that a large, happy, welcoming smile gleamed in the center of it: “Mila, do you still recognize me? I am Kunchok Gunru.” The grip he had on Mila’s arm was like a tourniquet. Mila remembered. “Gunru! I am honored that you have come to greet me.” “Let me be the first to congratulate you on surviving your, um, political eclipse, Mila.” “Thank you, it is good to be free, my old friend.” Mila shad- ed his eyes and gazed up at the cloudless sky, the sun very near the zenith. “And to think it has been shining away up there all this time,” he said. “My, my. No doubt we still have moon, stars, clouds—the whole thing?” “The whole thing. Mila, this is my dog, Gochen.” Gochen was a glossy black hunter with a panting tongue and bright, attentive eyes. “What a winning pup you have here, Gunru!” “You like her?” “Most amazingly.” said Mila. “She looks smart as paint. Is she yours?” 8 Bill Magee “Just temporarily. Gochen and I are heading up into the mountains.” He clapped a friendly arm across Mila’s shoulder. “Come, Su-su packed us both a lunch. We will go down to the village for our tea.” They began walking down a side road to the village, avoid- ing, as did all Tibetans, the main road to the prison. “I did not recognize you at first, Gunru,” admitted Mila. “When last I saw you, you were the aesthetic type. Now you look splendid, like a woodchopper.” “I was in the camps, Mila. Life in the camps is conducive to robust good health, or so we are told there. Take my arm. These rocks are loose footing for a jailbird.” “I am very glad you survived, Gunru. I feared we might nev- er meet again.” “We have both survived, Mila.” Gunru’s sympathetic gaze roamed across his old friend. “But, to be truthful, you look like crap.” Mila knew that Gunru was referring to his shockingly starv- ed condition, to his sparse, graying hair, his missing teeth, his flattened nose, and his stooped, shambling walk. Mila wanted to say something to ease his old friend’s mind, but he could not find any light-hearted way to describe his fifteen years of beatings and deprivation—of maximum correction. How could he tell Gunru what was in his heart? How to express his gratitude that, after so many years of pacing alone around a dimly lit cage, he could now hold hard to Gunru’s rock-steady biceps and proceed in a straight line? He possessed no words for that. “Listen, Mila,” said Gunru suddenly. “Su-su and I want to offer you a few days rest at her place until you are ready to move on again. What do you think?” “I fear it will be dangerous for you.” “The police? I am afraid you are no longer deemed a threat to the State, my friend.” 9
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