Suopo was the most popular of the village's young people, and he'd also held the post of platoon leader in the village's People's Militia division for some time now.
"If I change my mind about prison and run away," Dorje continued, "he can shoot me and save the government the trouble. Of course, I'm not going to run away. If I did, there would be no one left to take the rap when the next pasture gets too overgrown. After all, someone has to administer the fire."
This unrestrained display of arrogance from the wizard brought a swift shadow over Suopo's face. Dorje was in good spirits, despite the cold prison cell door that he could already feel gaping, waiting for him. He was king for the day, and he felt fine. He turned to address stony-faced Suopo:
"Don't be angry, young man; I only get to make jokes on days like this one. I won't run away. I'm actually saying all this out of consideration for you, you know. When the police come to arrest me and find that you already have me in your custody, won't it look good on you, if you're the one to hand me over? When that's done, you can take my donkey with you and look after him while I'm gone. That works out pretty nicely, don't you think?"
"You want me to do what?!" Suopo burst out, an ugly scowl on his face. "You would be doing well for yourself already if I agreed to just take the donkey home for you, and you're saying you want me to house and feed it, too?!"
There were two opinions in the village about Dorje's behaviour on the mountain.
In the view of the first camp, Dorje had no right to put on airs like that just because he'd cleared a pasture for regrowth, since he'd been committing a felony in the process.
The opposing, and more popular camp believed that Suopo was jealous; he'd achieved success thanks to his involvement with the Chinese Communist Party and had been immensely pleased with himself all year. He didn't like that someone like Dorje could be as pleased with themselves as he was with himself, even if just for one day. But this is just a side note.
On the twilight mountainside, the other men were not happy about Suopo's outburst. A swell of disgruntled muttering rose from the crowd, like a strong wind that hugs the ground when it brushes through thick forest.
But Suopo did anything but acknowledge this vague voicing of opinions. He stuck up his nose, sat down on the ground, and stared up at the sky, ignoring everyone.
"Oooh" —the noise of resentment stirred in the dark forest once more.
Dorje knew that he'd lingered too long in his mystic position of command—the spirits had been summoned, and the fire had burned out along with the excitement that accompanied and fuelled it. The whole scorched, blackened mountainside stood stark under the blue sky and white sun, clear evidence of his crime. Here and there, wisps of blue smoke on the very verge of dissolution were still curling up. Dorje finally understood—though there was no difference between the procedure of starting the fire, and that fire's end purpose, in this new era, what he had done was undeniably criminal.
Heaving a sigh, Dorje took his duffel bag down from his donkey's back. Throwing it over his shoulder, he bowed to the other men, and headed down the mountain alone.
After a while, the men on the mountain saw flashing police lights entering the village. They also saw Dorje, who was far off in the distance already, waving to the several police officers who got out of the jeep. They heard him shouting down to them that he was coming to turn himself in, and that they should save themselves the trouble of coming up the mountain to get him. The officers must have taken him at his word—they leaned against the side of their car and watched him come down the path.
When he arrived in front of the officers, they put him in handcuffs, loaded him and his duffel bag into the jeep, and drove off.
Kelsang Wangdu, the leader of the production team, was the first to speak:
"I'll write a letter vouching for him tonight. I'll need everyone to sign their names to help get him out."
"Fuck," he said, as an afterthought: "they're not going to send a car, are they; I'll have to go on foot when I present the testimonial."
One of the younger men saw an opportunity for a joke: "Why don't you just ride Dorje's donkey?"
For his effort, he got a heavy clip round the ears from his father.
The young man normally spent his days in the county town, where he attended the agricultural middle school, but school was currently on holiday, so that the teachers could use the building for criticism study sessions. The children, meanwhile, were sent back to the countryside with instructions to take part in agricultural production.
The young man opened his mouth to protest, but he stopped himself when he saw how many of the men were looking disapprovingly in his direction.
Dusk fell silently, while the wind flurried black ash and sprinkled it over the burnt, darkening landscape.
The dark sky made it much easier to see if there were any residual pockets of fire still burning out there—there weren't. In fact, the burned earth was even blacker than the night sky, so dark, it looked like a bottomless abyss from some other world—any sparks or embers, had there been any, would have been very easy to see among all the illusory absence of space. The stars jumped one by one out from behind the sky's curtain, while the moon ascended. Under the celestial light, the snow lining the peaks and mountain ridges cut beautiful lines in the landscape. Tonight, even the edges of the deep, light-swallowing forest were sparkling.
The men observed how the lightless, roasted earth had already given up all of its heat to the harsh winter-night cold. Satisfied that there was no chance of a stray spark coming back to life and turning the forest to ash, they made their way home, untroubled by worrisome thoughts. All they had to do now was wait for next year's spring to turn the reclaimed pasture land verdant with new grass.
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