Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

donkeys
slowly moving up this trackless valley to arrive at this oasis with its
glacier-fed running water, so incongruous in the midst of the heat and sun and
desert. In her imagination she could hear the tinkle of camel bells and voices
calling to one another in the exotic languages of the Silk
Road . If they were leaving China, they would be heading for
Persia, India, Russian Turkestan, the camels laden with silk, furs, ceramics,
jade, iron, lacquer, and bronze; if entering China they would be bringing gold
and precious stones, asbestos and glass, wool and linens, and— perhaps most
significant of all—the religion of Buddhism.
    ”Yes,” she whispered, ”this is it, this is what I came to see,
what I hoped to feel.” And she stood lost in the magic of it until Mr. Li’s
call to her broke the spell.
    They lunched back at Turfan in the small hot room with its
malfunctioning fans, with George again seizing the one promising spot for air.
Mrs. Pollifax’s returning cheerfulness was not altogether shared by the others,
however,- subtly they had now formed themselves into two camps. Although there
was not the slightest acknowledgment of it by gesture, glance, or word, Mrs.
Pollifax and Malcolm had tacitly united to protect Iris, and Peter along with
her. The others, thought Mrs. Pollifax dryly, were being far more obvious in
their allegiances, and in the case of Jenny even strident. Jenny had come into
her own: she now had George and Joe Forbes in attendance, and although her
voice was shrill all of her elfin charm had returned. Like a Lady Bountiful she
offered everyone the raisins she’d bought in the bazaar the day before, not
even affronted when Mrs. Pollifax and Peter refused them. George’s baseball cap
had taken on a more cocky angle, but his face remained a mask of tight-lipped
coldness: he seethed with anger. Joe Forbes appeared to observe Jenny as if she
were a precocious child, but Mrs. Pollifax thought that he was enjoying very
much being in the center of things for a change.
    After lunch they were off again to see the ruins of the city of Jiaohe,
but they were growing accustomed now to the desert, to its tawny shades of
cream and beige, to the far horizons and to the hints of Turkish influence as
they passed through Turfan: the boots, the occasional sash around the waist,
the kerchiefs worn around the head by the women, the higher slant of
cheekbones, and rounder eyes.
    ”The city of Jiaohe,” explained Mr. Kan ,
taking up the small hand microphone in the bus and looking very serious, ”was
once the location of the royal court of Che-shi. It is sixteen hundred years
old, having flourished in the year a . d . 200. This
was very important communication center on the ancient Silk
Road . Of much strategy—and importance, too, as you will see by its
locale.”
    ”What do you mean by that?” asked Jenny.
    ”It is built on steep cliff with ravines all around.”
    ”What happened to it?” asked Malcolm.
    ”It was destroyed by roving bands in fourteenth century.”
    ”Roving bands?”
    ”Muslims. Genghis Khan maybe. Nobody knows. It died.” He snapped
his fingers and smiled.
    ”More ruins,” sniffed George, looking very warm and flushed from the
heat.
    ”Looks like some sort of dried-out maze,” Joe Forbes said, as they swung
past the solitary caretaker’s house and headed up the dusty road to the top of
a broad mesa.
    ”But a child’s maze,” said Iris eagerly, her head craned to look.
”People lived where, Mr. Kan ?”
    ”You will see,” he told her. ”In small rooms—oh very dark, very
small—inside walls.”
    The bus came to a stop, the doors opened, and they met with desert heat
again. Iris at once strolled off with Mr. Kan , who talked earnestly to her,
delighted by her questions and her interest, but Mrs. Pollifax wondered if Iris
didn’t attach herself to him to avoid the others. Peter lingered to ask
directions of Mr. Li, and George and Jenny moved off together. It was Malcolm
who caught up with Mrs. Pollifax as they approached the walls that opened into
a vista of lanes and alleys.
    ”Hot,” she said, turning to smile at him.
    ”Very. Your towel dried out already?”
    ”I’ve timed it,” she said. ”It turns damp inside of ten minutes and dry
in half an hour. Yes, it’s now dry. You’ve been very thoughtful about Iris, by
the way.”
    ”Not at all,” said Malcolm calmly. ”I have plans for Iris—I intend to
marry her, except I do rather hope she won’t