Tibet
T he storm ends the minute I finish the last sentence from Lewis Carroll’s sister’s diary. Even so, I don’t rise from underneath my coat yet. I’m not sure what I really read. The shock of reading this way outweighs the mystery of the storm.
Is the Chessmaster really Death? Then what does he want to protect himself from? And why does he want me to burn in hell?
And all aside, how can you kill Death?
My coat unfurls by itself, and I feel the sudden chill of cold outside. The world around me is an endless whiteout; I can’t see anything before me. I prop myself up on my knees, and the storm snatches the notes away from my hands and swirls them upward. The notes are swallowed by the thickness of white, but I am not worried. I know what I’ve read, and have memorized it.
So the Chessmaster killed Lewis Carroll? If so, what’s Carolus doing in this world? Why did Carolus even bother to fool me into killing him earlier? So many unanswered questions. The one thing that seems clear to me is that Wonderlanders—and maybe humans—die playing a last chess game against the unbeatable Chessmaster.
Is that really how people die? Does the Grim Reaper give them a last chance in a game of chess? Who’d have thought?
Out of the silence surrounding me, I suddenly hear heavy breathing, but can’t see anything.
“Who’s there?” I inquire.
I wonder if it’s the Dude, that mysterious guardian of mine. Why does he do this, and who is he?
Suddenly a hand slithers out of the thickness of white snow. A gloved hand, covered in blood, stiffening like a predator’s claws.
“Don’t worry. I’m not Freddy Krueger from Nightmare on Elm Street .” The Pillar pants, his head protruding out.
I let out a shattered laugh. “You’re alive!”
“Of course I am alive.” He coughs, crawling toward me on all fours. “In fact, I’m a caterpillar. I may not have turned into a butterfly yet.”
My laugh splinters into tiny sighs when I see his face. What has the giant done to him? The Pillar is scarred on the cheeks and the forehead—the giant certainly pulled out that bald wig as well. There is a wild, thick slash underneath his neck, on his collarbone, which shows because his clothes are cut left and right, all but his white gloves on his hands.
I am speechless, feeling guilty. I should have helped him.
“I could use a hookah right now.” He lays his head on my lap. “I’d smoke the pain away.”
“You killed the giant?” I brush my hand through his hair.
“Ever seen Fight Club ? It was the same down there. But yes, I killed the giant.”
“You should have let me help.”
“You’re more important than me.” He coughs a trail of blood on the white snow. “I’m just a nutty professor; Indiana Jones at best.”
“Severus Snape, I’d say.” I want to laugh but can’t. “And what’s with you and the movies today? I bet the monks never went to New York. It was you who taught them the American slang.”
“You’re too smart, Alice. It may kill you,” he says with beady eyes. “Did you ever notice ignorant and stupid people live happier—longer?”
“I did,” I say. “Only they never live to have such adventurous lives as you and I. And hey, don’t buy into this future thing. I’m not going to kill you, ever!”
“That’s like saying I won’t let Jesus be crucified if I go back in time,” the Pillar says in his most morbidly sarcastic way. Who can blame a man so much in pain now? “I’m not afraid of dying.”
“I won’t kill you.” I shake his head in my hands. “Do you hear me?”
“If you keep shaking my fragile head like that, you’ll actually kill me now.”
“I’m sorry.” I pat him and stop it. “Why didn’t you fight the giant back, Pillar? Why did you let him hit you so many times, for God’s sake?”
“You mean ‘for Todd’s sake.’” He tries to wink, but his eyebrows are stiffened by his wounds. “I had to let the giant hit me so I could win.”
“What kind of logic is that?”
“It’s a known None Fu technique. It’s called ‘He Who Laughs Last.’”
“Never heard of it. And it doesn’t make sense. He could have killed you before you had your last laugh.”
“True, but you see, the idea is that the big troll was too strong, so I’d never have had a chance to fight him like a man, not even choke him with my hookah if I’d had it with me,” he says. “The trick when fighting an unbeatable opponent is not to play their game.”
“I’m not sure I get it.” I use the edge of the coat’s sleeve and dry some of his blood.
“In every war, there is one person reacting to the other, Alice,” he says. “Like when a terrorist blows up a building. Suddenly he becomes the master of the game, because he sets the rules. Most people fall in that trap and play it his way.”
“Which is the normal turn of events.”
“No it’s not. He who makes the rules of the game always wins—like the Chessmaster. So when the enemy enforces their rules, the one way out is not to abide by them.”
“Are you saying you repeatedly told the giant to hit you so you’d become the one who makes the rules?”
“That’s right. Instead of playing his game, I was now playing mine, with my rules.”
“But he could have killed you.”
“Common sense certainly endorses the idea, but no, not when he never knew why I asked him to hit me. Every time he hit me and I laughed at him and asked for more, he was puzzled, wondering what was really going on.”
“And what was really going on, Pillar?”
“I was wearing him out.”
“You must be joking.”
“I’m not. Think of it. Giants like him kill with one stroke. It’s their norm. Like most ruthless villains in this world, they’re not used to a prolonged fight. All I had to do was to make sure I took minimal damage with each hit until he became frustrated with me. Bit by bit, his confidence in himself diminished, his perception of his giant self thinned, and he started to doubt himself just like any of us, because I didn’t die or collapse—and took it to the chin and laughed. I was just a boxing bag with thick skin—or will—hit over and over again and smiling back at him. I was like all of us, any of us, suffering each day to make it through, and he, being a giant, had never seen such strength.”
“But you could have been broken down any moment, before you’d managed to execute your plan.”
“I have to admit the sudden storm helped a little. I think it’s called ‘faith.’ That moment when you count on the universe to lend you a helping hand,” he says. “Once I saw the look of doubt in his eyes, I hit back hard—and low. You know what really knocked him down? Not my physical power, but my taking him by surprise, and his own self-doubt. He couldn’t believe I was still alive.”
“What did you hit him with?”
“This.” He shows me a sharp-edged computer motherboard. “Got it from the Deep Blue machine. It’s pretty lethal at the edges.”
It takes me a minute to let the Pillar’s theory sink in. I guess it’s his thing. I wouldn’t be brave enough to practice it, not in a million years.
“Come on,” I tell him. “It’s time to leave this place.”
“Got a ride?”
“A red hot air balloon somewhere behind the white snow.”
“Whose is it?”
“The Dude—I mean the Red.”
“Your guardian angel?” he says. “I’m starting to like him. I think he is in love with you.”
“Oh, please. Why’d you say that?”
“He saved you twice in a couple of days. A Red is in love with you, Alice. I believe we’ll see him again. Did he write you notes again?”
“Yes. He basically told me who the Chessmaster is.”
The Pillar props himself up, unconcerned with the blood all over him. “I’m curious—who?”
“I’ll tell you on the way to the balloon. Can you walk?”
“Not really. My left leg is numb. I’ll crawl, or you’ll have to carry me.”
“I’ll carry you. I’ll use my left leg. You can use your right, with your arm around my shoulder.”
“A team.” The Pillar’s eyes brighten. “Could we get a McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish with a badass Coke on the way?”
“We’re in Tibet, Cao Pao Wong, so shut up.” I elbow him playfully, while we stand and he puts his arms around me. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“If we didn’t joke we’d die here. Look.” He points at the bloody stripes on his white shirt underneath the torn blue jacket. “Always wanted a white shirt with bloody red stripes when I was a kid. I guess Stephen King’s books really messed up my childhood.”