"Walter Jon Williams - Prayers On The Wind (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

Copyright й 1991 by Walter Jon Williams, All rights reserved. First appeared in When the Music's Over. For the personal use of those who have purchased the ESF 1993 Award anthology only.

PRAYERS ON THE WIND

Walter Jon Williams


Hard is the appearance of a Buddha.
--Dhammapada

Bold color slashed bright slices out of Vajra's violet sky. The stiff spring breeze off the Tingsum glacier made the yellow prayer flags snap with sounds like gunshots. Sun gleamed from baroque tracework adorning silver antennae and receiver dishes. Atop the dark red walls of the Diamond Library Palace, saffron-robed monks stood like sentries, some of them grouped in threes around ragdongs, trumpets so huge they required two men to hold them aloft while a third blew puff-cheeked into the mouthpiece. Over the deep, grating moan of the trumpets, other monks chanted their litany.

Salutation to the Buddha.
In the language of the gods and in that of the Lus,
In the language of the demons and in that of the men,
In all the languages which exist,
I proclaim the Doctrine.

Jigme Dzasa stood at the foot of the long granite stair leading to the great library, the spectacle filling his senses, the litany dancing in his soul. He turned to his guest. "Are you ready, Ambassador?"
The face of !urq was placid. "Lus?" she asked.
"Mythical beings," said Jigme. "Serpentine divinities who live in bodies of water."
"Ah," !urq said. "I'm glad we got that cleared up." Jigme looked at the alien, decided to say nothing.
"Let us begin," said the Ambassador. Jigme hitched up his zen and began the long climb to the Palace, his bare feet slapping at the stones. A line of Gelugspa monks followed in respectful silence. Ambassador Colonel !urq climbed beside Jigme at a slow trot, her four boot heels rapping. Behind her was a line of Sangs, their centauroid bodies cased neatly in blue-and-gray uniforms, decorations flashing in the bright sun. Next to each was a feathery Masker servant carrying a ceremonial parasol.
Jigme was out of breath by the time he mounted the long stairway, and his head whirled as he entered the tsokhang, the giant assembly hall. Several thousand members of religious orders sat rigid at their stations, long lines of men and women: Dominicans and Sufis in white, Red Hats and Yellow Hats in their saffron zens, Jesuits in black, Gyudpas in complicated aprons made of carved, interwoven human bones .... Each sat in the lotus posture in front of a solid gold data terminal decorated with religious symbols, some meditating, some chanting sutras, others accessing the Library.
Jigme, !urq, and their parties passed through the vast hall that hummed with the distant, echoing sutras of those trying to achieve unity with the Diamond Mountain. At the far side of the room were huge double doors of solid jade, carved with figures illustrating the life of the first twelve incarnaнtions of the Gyalpo Rinpoche, the Treasured King. The doors opened on silent hinges at the touch of equerries' fingertips. Jigme looked at the equerries as he passed--lovely young novices, he thought, beautiful boys really. The shaven nape of that dark one showed an extraordinary curve.
Beyond was the audience chamber. The Masker servants remained outнside, holding their parasols at rigid attention, while their masters trotted into the audience chamber alongside the line of monks.
Holographic murals filled the walls, illustrating the life of the Compassionнate One. The ceiling was of transparent polymer, the floor of clear crystal that went down to the solid core of the planet. The crystal refracted sunlight in interesting ways, and as he walked across the room Jigme seemed to walk on rainbows.
At the far end of the room, flanked by officials, was the platform that served as a throne. Overhead was an arching canopy of massive gold, the words AUM MANI PADME HUM worked into the design in turquoise. The platform was covered in a large carpet decorated with figures of the lotus, the Wheel, the swastika, the two fish, the eternal knot, and other holy symbols. Upon the carpet sat the Gyalpo Rinpoche himself, a small man with a sunken chest and bony shoulders, the Forty-First Incarnation of the Bodhisattva Bob Miller, the Great Librarian, himself an emanation of Avalokitesvara.
The Incarnation was dressed simply in a yellow zen, being the only person in the holy precincts permitted to wear the color. Around his waist was a rosary composed of 108 strung bone disks cut from the forty skulls of his previous incarnations. His body was motionless but his arms rose and fell as the fingers moved in a series of symbolic hand gestures, one mudra after another, their pattern set by the flow of data through the Diamond Mountain.
Jigme approached and dropped to his knees before the platform. He pressed the palms of his hands together, brought the hands to his forehead, mouth, and heart, then touched his forehead to the floor. Behind him he heard thuds as some of his delegation slammed their heads against the crystal surface in a display of piety--indeed, there were depressions in the floor worn by the countless pilgrims who had done this--but Jigme, knowing he would need his wits, only touched his forehead lightly and held the posture until he heard the Incarnation speak.
"Jigme Dzasa. I am pleased to see you again. Please get to your feet and introduce me to your friends."
The old man's voice was light and dry, full of good humor. In the seventythird year of his incarnation, the Treasured King enjoyed good health.
Jigme straightened. Rainbows rose from the floor and danced before his eyes. He climbed slowly to his feet as his knees made popping sounds нtwenty years younger than the Incarnation, he was a good deal stiffer of limb--and moved toward the platform in an attitude of reverence. He reached to the rosary at his waist and took from it a white silk scarf embroiнdered with a religious text. He unfolded the khata and, sticking out his tongue in respect, handed it to the Incarnation with a bow.
The Gyalpo Rinpoche took the khata and draped it around his own neck with a smile. He reached out a hand, and Jigme dropped his head for the blessing. He felt dry fingertips touch his shaven scalp, and then a sense of harmony seemed to hum through his being. Everything, he knew, was correct. The interview would go well.
Jigme straightened and the Incarnation handed him a khata in exchange, one with the mystic three knots tied by the Incarnation himself. Jigme bowed again, stuck out his tongue, and moved to the side of the platform with the other officials. Beside him was Dr. Kay O'Neill, the Minister of Science. Jigme could feel O'Neill's body vibrating like a taut cord, but the minister's overwrought state could not dispel Jigme's feeling of bliss.
"Omniscient," Jigme said, "I would like to present Colonel !urq, Ambassaнdor of the Sang."
!urq was holding her upper arms in a Sang attitude of respect. Neither she nor her followers had prostrated themselves, but had stood politely by while their human escort had done so. !urq's boots rang against the floor as she trotted to the dais, her lower arms offering a khata. She had no tongue to stick out--her upper and lower palates were flexible, permitting a wide variety of sounds, but they weren't as flexible as all that. Still she thrust out her lower lip in a polite approximation.
"I am honored to be presented at last, Omniscient," !urq said. Dr. O'Neill gave a snort of anger.
The Treasured King draped a knotted khata around the Ambassador's neck. "We of the Diamond Mountain are pleased to welcome you. I hope you will find our hospitality to your liking."
The old man reached forward for the blessing. !urq's instructions did not permit her to bow her head before an alien presence, so the Incarnation simply reached forward and placed his hand over her face for a moment. They remained frozen in that attitude, and then !urq backed carefully to one side of the platform, standing near Jigme. She and Jigme then presented their respective parties to the Incarnation. By the end of the audience the head of the Gyalpo Rinpoche looked like a tiny red jewel in a flowery lotus of white silk khatas.
"I thank you all for coming all these light-years to see me," said the Incarnation, and Jigme led the visitors from the audience chamber, chanting the sutra Aum vajra guru Padma siddhi hum, Aura the diamond powerful guru Padma, as he walked.
!urq came to a halt as soon as her party had filed from the room. Her lower arms formed an expression of bewilderment. "Is that all?"
Jigme looked at the alien. "That is the conclusion of the audience, yes. We may tour the holy places in the Library, if you wish."
"We had no opportunity to discuss the matter of Gyangtse."
"You may apply to the Ministry for another interview."
"It took me twelve years to obtain this one." Her upper arms took a stance that Jigme recognized as martial. "The patience of my government is not unlimited," she said.
Jigme bowed. "I shall communicate this to the Ministry, Ambassador."
"Delay in the Gyangtse matter will only result in more hardship for the inhabitants when they are removed."
"It is out of my hands, Ambassador."
!urq held her stance for a long moment in order to emphasize her protest, then relaxed her arms. Her upper set of hands caressed the white silk khata. "Odd to think," she said, amused, "that I journeyed twelve years just to stick out my lip at a human and have him touch my face in return."