Chapter 14: Trotter

'Qingkuang yang yanzhong ma?'

'Bu hen yanzhong. Tou zhuang le yi xia.'

Water splashing.

'He says it's nothing serious. Bit of concussion.'

I think I said that's good or something.

The Chinese went on squeezing the sponge over the side of my scalp, water splashing into the bowl. It didn't hurt, couldn't feel anything, water very cold that was all.

'Are there any snakes?'

'What was that?'

'Snakes?' Then I said, 'No, don't worry.'

'Feel all right, my dear fellow?'

He was a big man, bright teeth in a black beard, very good sheepskin coat, jeep full of rocks, rocks and picks and a spade, rope, things like that, told me he'd been getting samples from the high plateau, told me his name was Trotter, taught Oriental languages at Oxford.

'Feel fine,' I said.

He'd brought me to a street clinic, Chinese scrolls hanging all over the place, pictures of roots, leaves, herbs, the front part, where he'd brought me inside, Trotter, front part rather like the apothecary's place, that was why I'd asked about the snakes, can't stand those bloody things.

'… coming through next week, overland from Kathmandu, although I don't think she was terribly keen,' another quick laugh from deep in the chest, talking, now I thought back a bit, about his wife. 'She doesn't trust the CAAC, even though I told her it's the safest airline in the world, never flies in bad weather. This man's extremely good, don't worry, best in Lhasa, none of your Western medicine here…'

Tuned him out, had to think, but not easy, kept seeing the flash.

I would say he'd fired so as to light up the little chamber and see where I was. I'd got a glimpse of him, his eyes very wide, not afraid, very alert, needing to know things, just as I did, then he'd brought the gun up and I'd gone for him.

Dark again, totally dark after the flash, place stinking of cordite, I found his right arm by feeling for it, you can say feeling for it but I mean we were spinning together trying to find the killing point, or at least I was, he seemed more interested in breaking clear so that he could threaten me from a distance with the gun and of course I.didn't want that.

Strong smell of sweat from both of us: the adrenaline was pouring into our systems and the muscles were charged, I found his gun hand and extended ki and tried for a kotegaeshi but he was very strong and I felt the gun turning toward me, into me, and that was frightening because he'd be selective, shooting to maim, to incapacitate, to put me out but keep me alive and get me to an interrogation cell and ask me where Xingyu Baibing was.

I didn't want that either. We draw the capsule but we're not going to use it if we can make a killing first, it's not just a gesture, you know, we're not a league of bloody gentlemen, fired again and the sound crashed and I wasn't certain if he'd made a hit, you don't always feel a bullet going in when the organism's functioning at this pitch because the endorphins move in immediately on the pain, fired again and I couldn't afford this so I used the flash and saw his throat exposed and made a half-fist and drove deep and he fell and dragged me down with him and my head hit the edge of the open door.

He didn't move again. I got his parka off and put mine on him and took his papers, shut the door after me, hit the wall once or twice before I found the steps and went down them, the sky reeling overhead.

There'd been a horse and cart and I was trying to get the driver to take me on board when the jeep had come past and Trotter had seen the blood on my head and put his brakes on.

The stuff was stinging, whatever he was putting on the wound.

All right, my dear fellow?'

He was watching me attentively. I said fine, yes, the stuff smelled like alcohol, suppose it was some kind of anaesthetic.

'Ta shuo ta fuede tinghao, li zhun me renwei?'

'Ta buhui you da wenti. Haiba zheme gao, tou shou shang douhui yunde. Ta shibushi shuaile yi xia?'

'If you feel,' Trotter said cheerfully, 'sort of ga-ga, don't worry about it. The altitude makes things worse than they really are. What happened, did you fall?'

'Yes. Fell on my head. Time is it?'

'I'm sorry?'

'What time is it?' My watch had got smashed.

The man, the doctor man, helped me sit up and the whole place spun, the scrolls whirling around, 'Steady as you go,' Trotter was saying, 'steady as you go, my dear fellow.'

Their hands on me, felt grateful, good of them.

'Time?'

'What?' Trotter took out a heavy gold pocket watch. 'It's twenty past eleven.'

'I need a taxi.'

I stood up and Trotter's huge hands were supporting me again, he was like an amiable black-bearded bear, 'Look, you mustn't-'

'Taxi,' I said, and managed to find my wallet. 'Ask him how much I owe, will you?' My head was clearing now, by necessity: I had to reach Xingyu Baibing by noon and we were running it close because I couldn't take the taxi all the way, I'd have to get him to drop me off half a mile short at a different monastery, the hills were full of them, some where tourists could go. I got out a Y 100 note. 'Is this enough?'

'Look, you can't go anywhere on your own like this. You need-'

'Appointment,' I said, 'extremely important, I've got an appointment.'

He studied me, worried. 'He doesn't need money; he's a friend of mine. Now let me take you to your hotel — which one, the Lhasa?'

'Several places,' I said, 'I've got several places to go. I can't keep you hanging about.' I put the Y100 note away. 'Will you thank him for me, then? I'm most grateful to you.'

He followed me out and said, 'Hop on board, then. There's a taxi up by the post office.'

It was a broken-down Austin smothered in dust, and Trotter helped me into it. 'I don't know whether you're intrepid,' he said, 'or foolhardy.' Laugh booming, gave me his card. 'If ever you need a friend… in the meantime for God's sake look after yourself.'

Thanked him for everything and slammed the door and slumped back against the torn vinyl seat.

'Where go?'

'Telephone.'

He twisted around to look at me, a wizened face wrapped in scarves. 'Number One Guest House?'

'No. I want to make a telephone call.'

'Rei. Telephone at Number One Guest House, not far.'

'Good.'

The light kept flashing so I shut my eyes but it went on doing it. He drove on the horn, this man, and one of the rear tires kept hitting the crumpled wing, what shall I say, how shall I tell it, the light fluttering on and off, it wasn't, probably, so much the actual concussion but the stress of things in the temple, you don't imagine, I hope, that we operate like bloody robots, do you, with no feelings?

He answered on the second ring.

'Yes?'

I spoke in French; it's less understood here than English. 'There's a body," I said, 'in one of the abandoned temples at the edge of the town. One of the opposition, but I put my coat on him and took his papers. If you can get someone to go along there and bury it, there won't be so much of a fuss.' I gave him the directions. 'How long will it take you to make the call?'

Some people came into the guest house, dropping baggage.

'Sixty seconds.'

'I'll call you back.'

I leaned with one finger on the contact: there were three hikers, round-eyes, crowding me, one with dark glasses on and his face peeled raw by the ultraviolet.

Then I got the operator again and asked for the Barkhor Hotel.

At first they said there was no one of that name there and I told them I'd just been talking to him and they wanted me to spell it and we were running it so very close to the noon deadline.

'Yes?'

'Can they do it?' I asked Pepperidge.