Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

“Alex….” I couldn’t talk, for I was already plunging into sexual oblivion under his relentless advances.

He finally entered me. The thrusting was painfully comforting and strangely therapeutic. All my worries, miseries, loneliness evaporated, leaving a love as deep as the desert valley. Then he came with a long, heaven-shattering howl, shaking the small room like exploding fireworks. I was so touched by the joy and pain embedded in the cry that when he pulled himself out and lay beside me, my cheeks were flooded with tears.

Alex wrapped one arm around me, his other hand wiping my face. “You all right, Lily? Did I hurt you? Am I too rough?”

I looked at his young, concerned face. “No, Alex, you’re a wonderful man and lover. It’s just that I felt so overwhelmed by your love.”

“Then… marry me.”

Feeling too overwhelmed to respond, I nestled my head against his chest.

Hours later when I awoke, Alex was still asleep beside me, his innocent face belying our recent activities. The air was starting to cool as I looked out on the endless sand, thinking reluctantly of my next task: to venture into the Taklamakan Desert and retrieve an item of utmost importance.

Taklamakan means “Go In But Never Come Out,” but if this does not give a clear-enough idea, it is also referred to as “The Ocean of Death.” So I planned to hire a local guide. However, now that Alex and I were reunited, he could accompany me. He was ecstatic when I suggested this, but when he asked why this particular place, the best answer I could come up with was an evasive “I’ve always been fascinated by the desert.” I was sure Alex knew that something unusual was cooking—but by now he had learned that it was wise to just leave it at that.

Alex, despite his age, was careful and detail oriented. As we prepared for the trip, he spent long hours studying maps, reading books, and meticulously noting topography, routes, weather and winds, dangerous animals and insects, even stories of earlier explorations, not all of which ended happily. The day before we left, I cleaned and packed while he went to Urumqi to rent a cross-country truck and shop for camping gear and other necessities.

The morning of our departure, we woke up at four so we could leave before the weather got unbearably hot—sometimes up to 120 degrees at this time of year. Quickly we checked the house and the truck one last time before we set out on this journey of a thousand fears.

As Alex was backing up the truck, I cast a farewell glance at the cottage—just in case I couldn’t make it back “home.” But, I reassured myself, Alex was with me and he was smart and cautious. Besides, I had the amulet hanging from my belt to protect us. Like a wheezy lion, the truck roared and lunged onto the desert highway, shaking in the 30-mile-per-hour wind. On both sides of the highway were squares of scrubby vegetation planted to keep the sand from burying the road.

Although I’d seen the desert so many times by now, I was still amazed at the flat, immense horizon with no foreseeable vanishing point. Surveying the dunes of golden sand, I mentally formed their emptiness into all sorts of images: robust, curvaceous women; sleeping dragons; even ruined cities with long-forgotten names. Above, in the cobalt blue sky, a few clouds swam like shiny white fish, and exotic birds chirped their shamanic chants. Here and there the monotony was relieved by pleasing bits of green—tamarisk, poplar, pomegranate trees, mulberries, and others whose names were unknown, at least to me.

Not a car or truck was in sight. For thousands of years, these same sands, like huge whales, had swallowed caravans entire—merchants, wives, children, camels, goods for sale, everything. Even towns with their settlements, monasteries, fortresses, rivers, and lakes were said to have vanished without a trace. Over the centuries, desert explorers, whether veterans or not, met horrible deaths from thirst, heatstroke, starvation, sandstorms, bandit attacks, poisonous snakes, even demons. It was told that in the Tang dynasty, merchants and adventurers could simply follow the trail of skeletons and other remains of perished travelers to find their way. Now a few of these unlucky travelers again see the light of day—as mummies lying in museums, oblivious to their reincarnation.

But there are more reasons for a person to live than to die, so I brought my thoughts to Alex and turned to appreciate his living face.

“Alex, you like it here?”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes never leaving the road, though I didn’t see how accidents could happen on this highway as straight as an airport runway.

I asked, “Tell me, what do you like about the desert?”

“It’s mysterious—and we are here together.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.”

“We should take a camel ride soon.”

“Yes!”

Alex was driving 70 or 80 miles per hour, but could speed up to 100, if not more.

“Alex, we have a long way to go. Why don’t you step on the pedal and speed up?”

“I would if I were by myself, but not with you.”

I was touched by his concern, but I urged, “See, the road is flat and there’s nothing ahead for miles. You really can go a hundred.”

He shook his head. His voice stubborn, as usual. “No. Not when you’re with me. Also I don’t want to get caught by the police since I don’t have a license to drive in China.”

“What?!” Suddenly I realized Alex was an American citizen driving in China. “Then how did you…”

“I paid them a lot.”

“Oh….”

Just then, a shadow of something like a big dog dashed across the road.

I screamed, “Watch out!”

Alex swerved so sharply to avoid hitting the animal that my head hit the steering wheel hard.

“Oh, my God! We almost hit it. What is it?” I asked, rubbing my poor head.

“A wild hog. I read that they’re all over,” he said, giving me a concerned look. “Your head OK?”

I nodded.

Now his look turned chiding. “See? No speeding. You never know.”

Alex proved himself an excellent driver, which somewhat alleviated the apprehension generated from all the stories I’d heard about horrible accidents in China. Even big, new tourist buses would flip over, the passengers rolling like dice on a crap table. While babies and toddlers would shoot out of the windows like bullets, the adults would bounce against each other like pork chops slapped down upon a sizzling grill….

Since I had never driven a truck, we’d decided that Alex would be the main driver. My job was to read maps and watch out for unusual happenings on the road. Despite wanting to be good company, I kept dozing off, dreaming eerie dreams and leaving Alex to the lonely road by himself.

I woke up to a tap on the shoulder and realized that we were parked by the roadside.

“Wake up, Lily. We’ll take a break.”

I rubbed my eyes and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Still on our way looking for the ruined town.” Alex snatched two bottles of water and handed me one together with a piece of nang bread covered with onions.

I began to eat ravenously.

Alex watched me, and his eyes filled with tenderness. “Don’t eat too much. We’ll have a big meal as soon as we find a restaurant.”

Being on my own for so long, it felt good to have someone plan and take care of things for me.

I closed my eyes to imagine all the delicious food we would find down the road. “I’ll have a big bowl of spicy beef vegetable noodle soup, hot ginger tea, and cake and melon for dessert.”

Alex took a big bite of his bread. “Sounds good. My treat. And I’ll have Caesar salad with generous sprinkles of parmesan cheese, a prime, medium rare sirloin steak, ice-cold Heineken beer, then mango sorbet and tiramisu as dessert.”

We collapsed in laughter.

Feeling invigorated by the onion bread and the fantasy dishes, we relieved ourselves on the sand, then continued our journey.

Miles and miles of saffron sand flew past our car while the sun practically sat on our heads. I thought of the joke that under this sort of scorching heat, if an egg is cracked over a bald head, it’ll be cooked in no time.

I told Alex and he laughed. “An egg? That’s not very ambitious. I’ll grill meat—beef, chicken, and lamb—on one skewer, and seafood with vegetables—scallops, scampi, sandwiched by onions and peppers—on another. Then I’ll let my young lady choose whichever she wants first.”

I patted his wheel-steering arm. “Thanks, Alex. I appreciate that—and everything else.”

The truck continued to roar along the straight highway. Silence was obliterated by the powerful humming of the engine and the crunch of tires hitting sand. The monotony of the unending road was relieved only by remnants of plaster walls, another vehicle emerging from the distance to pass us, or a row of small, blue-walled and red-roofed houses.

“Alex, do you think we’re crazy doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Traveling through this hellish Go-In-But-Never-Come-Out place.”

“Lily, then you’re the one who’s crazy, because it was your idea, not mine.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Hmm, yes and no. I feel OK having you with me, though.”

“How come? God forbid if anything happens, I can’t really protect you.” I made a gesture referring to my slim frame.

“I don’t know, but that’s how I feel. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

An occasional motorcycle swished by like a samurai sword. Sometimes a huge hawk whirled above us, ready to strike its prey.