Although there was a more westernized section of the city and a green belt of parklands along the river, there were only a few modern buildings, such as the huge sports centre and the underground shopping mall in the main square outside the towering walls of ancient Xian.
The streets beyond were crowded with rows of small stores with narrow, deep alleyways leading to scruffy old homes. The stores varied from clean and basic to filthy and piled with junk. Like Beijing, bikes were everywhere, but older and well-used. With the exception of the government-built complexes, this was a shabby town on the edge of the frontier. The fine brown dust blowing off the Gobi desert miles away covered everything.
Their hotel was on the edge of the city. "Be more careful here," Quin warned. "Don't go out alone. Many poor people live here. Xian was the beginning of the great silk route that wound its way across the Gobi, the southern steppes of Russia, and on through Persia to Europe, a distance of some five thousand miles."
"So Marco Polo probably came here," Petra said.
"He said he did, but I understand many scholars believe that wasn't the case."
"What? Hey, I learned that in grade five. I always wanted to be like Marco Polo and spend twenty years travelling through distant lands."
"Sorry, but he probably lied. Oh, he and his family certainly travelled, but it's doubtful they made it to the East. Most likely, he heard stories from the caravan camel drivers he met along the silk route. His diaries just don't add up."
"How so?"
"Think about it. According to Marco Polo, he makes his way to China and the Emperor is so impressed with him that he makes him a governor of one of his districts, even though there's no indication that Marco Polo could read or speak a word of Chinese. Would you hand over the management of a huge tract of your empire to a foreigner you couldn't even communicate with? It doesn't ring true. Besides, his diaries are inconsistent in what he talks about. According to Marco Polo, he lived here for almost twenty years, and yet nowhere in his diaries does he mention foot binding, even though it was a common practice. Nor does he mention tea. How could you have been to the Far East and not mention tea?"
"I hope you realize that you've really shattered my faith in my childhood teacher and mentor," Petra said.
"It's possible he did travel some distance along the silk route and recorded the stories he heard. I imagine the jewels he brought back, however, were likely gotten in less than honourable ways, rather than as a reward for his services in China."
They had lunch at the hotel and settled in. Quin drove I'etru back to the walled fortification that was the old Xian. Huge stone walls towered over a moat. At one end, a three-story archer's tower protected the walls from attack. They walked around the ramparts and Quin explained in her matter-of-fact way how the archers with crossbows would lie on the ramparts and shoot through narrow slits near the base of the walkway so as not to be exposed to the enemy.
They were in luck, for below in the fort's courtyard, a red carpet had been laid and bright flags flapped. Actors in traditional costumes of bright silks played the roles of the ruling Emperor, his family, and court, and gave a traditional welcome to some arriving dignitaries to the city. Petra snapped pictures of some of the beautiful traditional costumes while Quin watched from a distance.
That evening, they went to a restaurant that specialized in Mongolian cuisine. Their waitress arrived with a towering stack of round wicker baskets used for steaming. Inside each were three or four different types of bite-sized dumplings.
They ate their meal slowly. Each dumpling was coloured and moulded to reflect the stuffing inside. For example, the yellow dumpling shaped like a bird was filled with spicy chicken, and the brown one, shaped exactly like a walnut, contained a mix of walnut meat and herbs. Petra tried pigeon, mango, bean paste, shrimp, pork, chicken, white fungi, vegetables, almonds, mushrooms, and sharks' fin.
To finish the meal, the waitress lit a big brass brazier in the centre of their table. Flames shot up and heated a clear stock into which pea-sized dry dumplings and a few dried vegetables were added. They softened and swelled as the soup cooked. The soup was the traditional meal of the cavalry of the Mongolian armies, led by the famous military leaders Genghis Khan and later Kublai Khan, that swept across Asia and Europe.
Stuffed, they made their way back to the hotel and worked quietly in their connected rooms. Petra wrote out postcards to friends, and Quin phoned her field managers to see how things were going at the construction site. Much later, long after Petra had turned off her light and gone to bed, Quin still sat in her room.
Unable to stand the confinement of the room a minute longer, Quin took the elevator down to the lobby and covered several blocks in long strides. She hadn't gone a quarter of a mile when the attack came. Two men jumped her. One, still a boy, was easily
handled by a kick to the face that sent him to his knees, blood gushing out of his nose and mouth.
The other attacker, a weedy man, was fast and mean. He got a few good blows in before Quin took him down with a brutal kick to the kidneys. With a snarl, the man whipped out a knife and slashed at her. Just in time, Quin twisted away and kicked again, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Winded and shaking with shock, she made her way back to the hotel. When the night manager rushed to her, she realized she was leaving a trail of blood across the lobby.
The manager called for a doctor, and Quin received a number of stitches and a shot against infection. The cut wasn't very deep except where the knife initially dug in, but it was six inches long. Her hip and stomach were turning a nasty shade of blue from the blows she had taken. She filled in a police report, and in the early hours of the morning, Quin staggered into bed. How could I have been so stupid?
Chapter 9
The next morning, Petra was surprised to find Quin's door still closed and her room in darkness. As quietly as she could, she made her way downstairs for breakfast. She was on her second cup of coffee when she saw Quin, limping slightly as she walked to the main desk and talked to the hotel's manager.
A few minutes later, she joined Petra. "What happened to you?"
Quin sat down slowly. "I slipped and pulled a muscle. Nothing to be concerned about. A few days walking, and it will loosen up. You've had your breakfast? I'll be as quick as I can."
Petra put her hand on Quin's to stop her from getting up. "I'll get it," Petra said, and trotted off before Quin could protest. Petra made up a plate of a croissant and fruit, which she knew was Quin's usual breakfast, and brought it back to the table with a coffee. She was worried. Quin looked pale and in pain, and the manager with whom she had stopped to talk looked upset.
There was more to the story, she suspected, than Quin had told her. Quin was saving face. There was no point trying to sway Quin from any plans she had made for the day, but she meant to keep a close eye on her. If Quin started to look worse, she would insist that they come back to the hotel and call a doctor.
Petra offered to drive, but Quin insisted she was fine. They drove towards Qin, first stopping at the Banpo archaeological site. Inside a large building was a six-thousand-year-old village that had once existed along the Yellow River. A genetic comparison of the skeletons found there suggested the people had been matriarchal in their clan structure.
Next, they stopped at the Mausoleum of Emperor Qin. Quin talked enthusiastically about the warrior king and his achievements. "It was Emperor Qin who first conquered all of China and made it a united country. But he wasn't just a military leader. In the twelve years he reigned before his death, he introduced a standardized
currency, built roads across China, established irrigation channels, built the Great Wall of China, and gave his name to the country. He was a leader in the Machiavellian tradition. Nothing stopped him from doing what he thought was best for China."
"Let me guess, the individual doesn't matter, only the greater good."
"It's the way of China."
"Is it your way?" Petra asked Quin as they stood at the doors of the mausoleum.
"Fortunately, I'll never be in a position of leadership that puts me in a situation where I have to decide who lives and who dies, and thank God for that." Quin brought the subject back to Qin. "Probably his most amazing achievement is the site just five miles from his burial mound. Qin had buried with him his entire army reproduced in terra-cotta statues. All six thousand of them. Ready to go see it?"
Quin was limping more noticeably, and there was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip that Petra had never noticed before no matter how hot it had been.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Sure, I'm fine," Quin said with a confident smile. "You know how a pulled muscle takes a few days to come around." Quin started the car and concentrated on backing up.
Petra was awestruck by the site to which Quin took her. First, they went into a room with a circular screen to see a history of Emperor Qin. Then, they stepped through into a room the size of a football field, and there, staring back at them, was Qin's army. Row after row of military men, each body type and uniform individualized and each face different.
"My God, Quin. It's wonderful. And don't you dare tell me that it's an interesting engineering feat. It's a work of power and faith, and craftsmanship on a scale that is truly amazing."
Quin leaned on the railing. "It was a relief to get some of the weight off this leg," she said. "It's almost giving me a headache." She grinned weakly. "Actually, it was just a twist of fate that the figures survived. They weren't fired, and should have deteriorated over time. But as you saw in the movie, after Qin's death, an invading army found the tomb and set it on fire. The dirt walls and the hardwood logs that had been used to reinforce the roof acted like an oven, curing the figures. Probably, the army wiped out many of
the local people, too, for there were no legends about the terra-cottn army at all, so they were never disturbed by grave robbers."
"Then how was it found?" Petra asked, as they slowly started to walk around the massive site.
"A local farmer was digging a well and came up with a terracotta helmet. At first, he kept it to worship at his family altar. Then he realized he should notify the authorities. It's been a huge international effort to save these figures, because China, at the time, had neither the money nor the skills to save such a massive archaeological find."
They spent several hours looking around. Petra was particularly interested in a site off to the side of the army, where a group of clay officers made sacrifices to the gods for victory in battle. Quin showed Petra how the shape of each soldier's hair bun indicated rank. Common soldiers' hair was knotted on the left. The officers had a solid central ridge of hair, and the generals had the same ridge, but it was indented in the middle.
Petra noted the amazing detail in the hair braiding, armour, weapons, and individualized facial expressions. She could see there were young soldiers, looking arrogant and nervous, experienced soldiers who were tough, hard men, and the occasional confident generals.
She was so caught up in observing the figures that she didn't immediately notice that Quin had gone to sit on a bench. When she did, she went over right away.
"Quin, should we go back to the hotel?"
"I seem to have a bit of a fever, but I'm fine. As I said, I've got a headache, that's all. Are you ready to leave? We'll have a late lunch at the Xian Museum. It is an amazing place with examples of craftsmanship from the Neolithic period right through to the end of the last dynasty."
Petra bit her lip and considered. She was worried about Quin. She seemed pale and shaky. "I think we should call it a day."
"No way," Quin protested.
"Okay, let's compromise. We'll eat here, and I'll give you some pain killers. If you're feeling better, then we'll do the museum."
They went outside and bought some water and fruit at a stall in a small open market nearby. They ate sitting on a bench in the shade. When they finished, Quin declared that the pills Petra had given her had done the trick, and they went on to the museum.
It was everything that Quin had promised, and more. There were examples of coins, pottery, copperware, and bronze. In one display, there was even Roman glass traded in from the West. Quin showed Petra how the first currency had actually been shaped in the form of knives, and for a long time, they stood and looked at the wagon and horse that had come from another dig not far from Qin. The bronze horse, harnessing, and detail in the wagon were stunning.
Petra kept an eye on Quin. The pain that laced her face when she thought Petra wasn't looking and the way she was favouring one leg more and more told Petra that the pills she'd given Quin hadn't been effective.
"Did you enjoy the museum?" Quin asked. "If you've seen all you need to see, we have one more stop before we head back to the hotel."
"Yes, I did enjoy the museum and no, we're not making one more stop," Petra said.
"No?"
"I'm taking you back to the hotel. You're sick." Petra reached up to feel Quin's feverish brow.
"You can't take me anywhere. I'm the driver and tour guide."
"Watch me," Petra said. "I'm going to drive, and I'm taking you back to the hotel, putting you to bed, and taking care of you until you're well."
Quin allowed Petra to wrap her arm around her and help her back to the car.
She did protest when Petra insisted on driving without a Chinese licence. Petra stood her ground, arguing that Quin was in no condition to drive and that the driving was mostly on a straight highway to the hotel on the outskirts of the city. Quin was forced to relent.
Quin gave Petra some basic directions, then she sat quietly and downed a bottle of water Petra had bought for her at a stand.
"Okay, I want the truth," Petra said. "And none of this 'I pulled a muscle' stuff. A pulled muscle doesn't result in a high fever."
Quin grimaced. Petra's hands tightened on the steering wheel. They were scheduled to fly on to Chongqing on the Yangtze River tomorrow, and although she might have risked Quin driving, Petra knew she couldn't fly in the condition she was in. "Talk. Now," she ordered.
"I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a walk. I got jumped by two guys," Quin said. "I beat them off, but the bigger one got in a few good kicks and knifed me in the leg."
"What!"
"It's not bad. I saw a doctor and he put in nine stitches in the deep part. The rest is just a nasty scratch. He gave me a shot against infection, but I don't think it worked."
Petra drove on without comment. Quin wiggled uncomfortably until she finally asked, "Aren't you going to say anything?"
"Not without losing my temper, and you don't need that at the moment. Try to sleep. I'll have us back at the hotel as soon as possible," Petra said.
Quin closed her eyes and leaned her head back. For a second, Petra's anger was replaced with sympathy. This tour with the boss's daughter had been a disaster for her from the beginning. She must feel like she might as well have met Petra at the airport with a sign around her neck that read: Fire me.
"What did he say? And tell me the truth," Petra said as she sat down in a chair beside Quin's bed after showing the doctor out. By the time Petra had pulled into the parking lot, Quin was in deep pain and very feverish. She willingly leaned on Petra on the way into the hotel, and when the manager came over, Petra insisted that he call the doctor.
She had gotten Quin back to the room and had helped her get out of her jeans and top. Petra got a damp facecloth and sponge-bathed Quin. Then she eased her into her pyjamas before tucking her into bed.
The doctor had come and examined Quin's leg as Petra looked on. He didn't speak English, so she'd had to wait to find out what he had said. "Well?"
"He said I shouldn't have walked around so much today. I've popped a few stitches. He said I have a fever, but the wound looks good. He prescribed some antibiotics for me to take, and he also recommended some Chinese tea for flushing out my system. He's going to have the local pharmacy send the stuff over," Quin said.
"Is that all?" Petra asked.
"He did ask if you dyed your hair, or if it was naturally the colour of chestnuts." Quin smiled thorough her pain.
"It's natural, and you made that up." Petra tucked the sheet around Quin. "Can I get you anything?"
"No. Sorry to be so much trouble. I'll be fine as soon as the fever breaks," Quin said.
"I'll sit here with you".
"Double bed. Lie down. I promised to be good. Need to sleep..." Quin muttered as she drifted off.
Chapter 10
Petra sat by Quin's bed until her fever broke in the early hours of the morning. It gave her plenty of time to think. Since Val's death, she hadn't felt any sexual excitement. She thought that those needs had been buried with her partner. But she had to admit that Quin Venizelos attracted her. First, the woman was gorgeous. Second, she found that Quin's complex and temperamental personality was not only intriguing, but seemed to be in harmony with her own. They got on well together.
If she allowed herself to, she could fantasize about what it would be like to be with Quin. But she wasn't going to. She and Val had something very special, and she wasn't going to let her baser feelings ruin that. Yes, she had feelings for Quin, but was it real, or just a desperate need to replace the friendship and love that she'd had with Val? Part of her wanted to reach out to Quin and the other part was horrified that she could consider loving someone else after Val.
She mulled it over, feeling guilty and depressed, until she touched Quin's forehead and realized her temperature had dropped. Then, tired and drained, she lay down beside Quin and drifted off to sleep.
Petra woke to daylight. Turning carefully, she found Quin asleep next to her. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight, showing highlights of gold, and her face had softened into innocence. What would it be like to wake each morning to someone you could love and cherish above all others again?
Petra certainly wasn't ever going to find out. She'd made a real mess of things with Quin by losing her objectivity. Not only did she not have a chance to win Quin's heart, she'd be lucky if she didn't get her own heart broken. Wait a minute! What am I thinking? When did I start wanting to win Quin's heart? That \s not what I wanted. I
wanted to learn what I could about my father's regional manager and develop a working relationship with her.
Wouldn't it be ironic if, after guarding her heart so carefully, she had been stupid enough to fall in love with someone she couldn't have? That thought depressed her. A lump formed in her throat and tears threatened. She needed to get a grip. What she was feeling was not who she was. She loved Val and wanted to be true to her memory.
Petra knew Quin well. Quin was focussed, driven, and a loner. Relationships came and went in her life. People like Quin didn't fall in love. Love wasn't an efficient use of time, and it made demands on her life that she'd see as reducing her productivity, or so Petra suspected.
She recalled the few scraps of information she'd obtained from Quin about her parents. Quin had told her she remembered there was always laughter and a feeling of belonging. But her stepmother had told her often that her mother used to say her marriage wasn't made in heaven, but was heavenly.
Petra reflected on that thought. Quin's parents must have found a very special love—like the love she and Val had. From her own research, she knew Quin's father had been a merchant sailor, tough and adventurous. Her mother had been a Christian missionary working in the Far East. No, not a marriage made in heaven at all. Yet it seemed they were very happy together.
She looked at the woman who slept beside her. It could be disastrous for her career to get involved in a public gay relationship. There were those in the conservative academic community of North America who would ostracize her if they knew her orientation. She doubted that it would do much good for Quin's career, either.
Petra slipped from the bed. How stupid to even think about all this. I'm not falling in love with Quin. Why would I? As for Quin, she doesn 't know what love is.
Petra went to shower and dress. She'd have to keep Quin off her leg today without the impatient and energetic woman getting antsy on her.
Her first priority this morning was to help Quin without embarrassing her. She was troubled that this was one of the first mornings in the last three years when her first thoughts hadn't been memories of Val.
They spent the morning sitting near to one another in front of Quin's laptop, going over the contracts, projections, and operation
of the Eastern division. Quin answered Petra's questions and went through her charts and graphs as if she was presenting the material to all the members of the board of directors. The long-range goals Quin presented blew Petra away.
As much as she was impressed with Quin's efforts, she still had doubts as to why Quin was staying with her father's company. Only one way to find out.
"What you showed me is all very impressive," Petra said over their lunch in the hotel's dining room. "I have to wonder why you've remained with the company. You must have had offers to move to larger companies, or thought about forming your own."
Quin took her time before answering. "I find the company an ideal size for my present needs. Your father allows me the freedom to do my job to the best of my abilities."
"But you will move on?" Petra asked.
"If the situation changes in a manner that impacts my career or interests negatively, of course."
The waiter came to take away dishes. It was enough to break the steady gaze in which they held each other.
That afternoon, Quin insisted on taking Petra to see the Wild Goose Pagoda. "It is, to the Chinese who follow Buddhism, a very sacred place. The legend goes that a Buddhist priest from here walked to India and brought back the sacred scrolls of the faith from which others could learn," Quin said as they walked towards the cream-coloured pagoda with its seven stories. "The famous myths of the Monkey King are based around this monk's adventures."
They walked up the steps to where a patio housed a wrought iron stand on which people placed red candles in a huge incense burner, the base of which was filled with sand. Quin took a thick, red candle from her bag and stepped forward to light it from one of the many candles that burnt on the rack. She reverently placed the candle on one of the prongs to hold it in place, and then stepped back and bowed, with her hands held in prayer in front of her.
Petra moved farther back into the shade of a huge tree, allowing Quin privacy. Quin walked over to a small table and bought a large bunch of incense sticks. She lit all of the sticks from the flame of the candle she'd lighted. She stood in front of the entrance to the Wild Goose Pagoda and held the burning incense sticks up in front of her. Petra wasn't sure if it was proper, but she impulsively lifted her camera and took a picture of Quin standing in
prayer as she held the smoldering sticks. Before her, seeming to float on the smoke of the incense, was the sacred pagoda. After a few minutes, Quin took the sticks and dropped them into the brazier and then looked around for Petra.
Petra walked forward to meet her. "I didn't know you were a Buddhist," she said.
"I'm not. If anything, I'm Christian. But I grew up in a Buddhist community, and to me, the faiths aren't that different. I pray to show respect. I prayed that Buddha will help me achieve a higher awareness so that I won't feel the pain of this life."
"There are times in life that can be incredibly painful." Petra sighed. "I'd like to think, however, that life itself isn't pain."
"Surely, as a sociologist, you must be aware of human suffering. The Buddha, who as a child was called Siddhartha, saw three things when he first left the safety and beauty of his rich father's palace. First, he saw an old man and learned that all people must grow old. Next, he saw a sick person and learned that illness and suffering are part of the human lot. Then, he saw a corpse and realized that death is the end of all human life. Siddhartha was greatly troubled, but lastly, he saw a wandering ascetic and decided that he must follow this path to seek truth." Petra walked with Quin into the building and stood respectfully aside as the faithful came to kneel and pray in front of the huge golden statue of a sitting Buddha.
"It took Buddha a long time to find the way. It's said that after learning from many religious leaders, he sat beneath a pipal tree and meditated until he understood. A Buddhist monk follows the Dharma, or teachings, which are based around the Ten Precepts. They are: do not take a life, do not steal, be chaste, do not lie, do not drink intoxicants, eat moderately and not after the noon hour, avoid spectacles such as singing and dancing, do not adorn yourself with flowers, perfumes or jewellery, your bed should be humble, and you should accept no gold or silver."
"What about the regular followers of the faith?" Petra asked as they walked through the meditation gardens.
"Both men and women may become monks." Quin said. "Lay people also follow the Sangha practices, but they aren't expected to be celibate, and may participate in business. The principal concept behind the faith is to achieve an awareness that will release you from the cycle of rebirths and move you to a better existence without human suffering."
"The cycle of rebirths? Reincarnation, you mean?" Petra looked at the tall stone urns in which the ashes of famous monks were interred. "You come back as a cockroach if you aren't good?"
"No. Buddha believed you're reborn as another human. He taught that one needed to accept the Four Noble Truths. All life is suffering. The cause of suffering is craving. The end of suffering is to stop craving and grasping. And the way to do this is through the Eightfold Path."
"This is getting complicated."
Quin took Petra's arm and led her through the gardens to a teahouse and store. "And the concepts of the Holy Trinity and communion are easy to understand? The Eightfold Path is easy. It simply states that you must have the right view, aspirations, speech, actions, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and concentration to achieve jhana."
"Paradise?" Petra accepted a cup of tea from Quin.
"No, the first level of meditation on the way to achieving release from human suffering."
Petra considered before replying. "One cannot get through life without pain. Yet, I don't think I can accept that life is pain. I was raised a Lutheran, and I think I'd sum up faith as something that gives you the courage to go on until better times come your way."
Petra looked back at the pagoda. "What you've told me gives me a better grasp of Buddhist thought, but I still have a lot to learn about China."
"One can never know all the facets of China. She's a dragon: powerful, magical, and mysterious," Quin said.
The same description could be applied to you, Quin. She said nothing, and when they finished their tea, they returned to the hotel.
Petra sat on the edge of Quin's bed. She insisted on changing Quin's bandage so she could make sure the wound was healing. She had to admit it was looking much better.
As she cleaned the wound, she listened to Quin going on in rapid Mandarin to someone on the phone. They had missed their boat because of the unexpected delay in Xian, and Quin was trying to get them on another. It was not proving to be easy. Many people wanted to sail through the three gorges of the Yangtze River before they were flooded by the new dam construction. At last, Quin hung up the phone. "It was a battle, but I managed to get the last suite on a ship leaving Chongqung tomorrow afternoon."
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