Chapters (27)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Also by Eliot Pattison
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“I only went the one time,” Ko said. “They had an altar made out of an old carton and they had made clever cardboard cutouts that by themselves looked like nothing more than the remnants of cardboard men stuff in their clothing for insulation. But when fitted together they made the images of gods and deity protectors. They spoke of the timelessness of who we are. At first I didn’t understand, but by the end I grasped that they were saying that the difficulties of our existence don’t really matter, that what mattered was the chain of compassion and truth that had connected humans for thousands of years, and that was more important than any physical chains that may encumber us.”
Ko hesitated, seeing the surprised looks of both Shan and Yara. They were not used to him waxing philosophically. He flushed. “Any of those momos left?”
As he ate the last dumpling, Ko recalled an odd story he had heard from two different prisoners in the barracks of the Larung Gar men. “There was one who didn’t seem to belong with them at first. It was almost like they didn’t know him, and one of my friends said at night they gave him extra blessings and thanked him for his sacrifice, like he was enduring a greater hardship than the others. And during those early days there were times when he seemed not to respond to his name, though most dismissed that because everyone knows how the shock of arriving here plays games with your mind.”
“What was his name?” Shan asked.
“Lin. Lin Fochow.”
Shan weighed the news a moment. “Tell me, son, the day those prisoners arrived, when their convoy came with the two dead soldiers, were the prisoners all wearing robes?”
Ko thought a moment then nodded. “Seven men, all but one in robes, yes. All wearing wool caps pulled low over their heads. No one would have seen except like I said they came in as we were unloading from the work crew trucks.”
“Seven? I thought there were six prisoners.”
“Six in robes for the 404th. Another Tibetan man who was pounded by a Public Security officer with his baton and immediately shoved into one of the knob cars after being pulled from a truck. The officer drove away with him.”