On a pleasant part of the Great Wall of China, outside of Beijing, stands a large complex, a chilly breeze crossing the top of the wall, its massive stone faade, stretches on both sides of me, a long dazzling length. Most recently it has become winter, and the people from all over the world, in particular young females from Japan, are notable and fashionable people on this wall; a half century ago, they were at war with each other, but everyone seems to speak a bit of English, more than I had expected.
My hotel and its modern tan skyscraper appearance are new looking compared to some of the buildings around it. In the early morning, the distant image of China, the city, hotel, and its old fortifications, called the Great Wall, that separated China from its enemies, filled my head with many thoughts on this chilly loud breathing morning. I stood on the wall, a minute to catch my breath, we had two hours here, and I wanted to climb the left section of it.
There was a fading prettiness, and isolatingness to the wall, but nothing was quite for the two hours being here. People crawled along on the solid stone up and down the wall like ants, while our buses waited in the lot area. A dew, mist like dew was in the air; trees in the far off distance swayed; horns I could her, people trying to park, several busses were now lined up in the parking lots, it was 1996, and the snaking, twisting wall was to me China itself.
The ladys face that passed me, vanishing quickly, pretty, ran past me, she said, quick like: Slowpoke, her expression was both serene and alert in the pleasant way. However, my eyes moved so quickly to get a glance of her, who had a delightful pink and rosy face, in particular, her cheeks, lit to a lovely glow, whom gave me a stimulating flush, yet a cold slap in the face (I had heart surgery a few months ago, and couldnt climb any faster, and it annoyed me to be called slowpoke, when I had been in the Army eleven yea rs and done every exercise under the sun in keeping fit, and here comes a slim trim woman, running past me like the Roadrunner, and slams me). I didnt appreciate it in the least.
Her fine and smooth looking forehead sloped smoothly upward where her brownish hair bordered; her hair waved backwardsnot real long, more blondish golden brown I should say. Her eyes were dull blue, not too big, not clear either, wet, and her color to her skin lilywhite, with a little used up tan in a few places; strong and young looking, but not too young, I was 38-years old, she was 30. Her body hovered delicately on the edge of perfect, no excessive fat, likened to eighteen year olds, complete, but with small breasts. She was perhaps three inches smaller than I; about five foot five inches tall Id say. Thin with a hot look.
The wall wound up to a mountain peek, a summit of sorts, and there by one of its gates, was a camel of all things, I stopped, took a look, and climbed on top of i t, got my picture taken, my hand in the air now, waving, waving as if I was the victor. And I suppose I was in a way, I made it to China. The camel also looked proud, perhaps to have a gringo between his two humps.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
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