In a pleasant part of the Great Wall of China, outside of Beijing, there is a large complex, a cold breeze crossing the top of the wall, its huge stone facade, stretching on both sides of me, a dazzling length . More recently it has become winter, and people from all over the world, particularly young women from Japan, are notable and fashionable people on this wall; Half a century ago, they were at war with each other, but they all seem to speak a little English, more than I bargained for.
My hotel and its modern tan skyscraper look are new compared to some of the surrounding buildings. Early in the morning, the distant image of China, the city, the hotel and its ancient fortifications, called the Great Wall, which separated China from its enemies, filled my head with many thoughts about this cold morning of noisy breathing. I stood on the wall, a minute to catch my breath, we had two hours here and wanted to climb the left section.
There was a fading beauty and insulation in the wall, but nothing was quite at all during the two hours I was here. People crawled on the solid stone up and down the wall like ants, while our buses waited in the parking lot. There was a dew in the air, a mist like dew; the trees in the far distance swayed; I could see horns, people were trying to park, several buses were now lined up in the parking lots, it was 1996, and the meandering and twisting wall was China itself for me.
The face of the lady who passed me, disappearing quickly, pretty, ran past me, said, fast as: “Slowpoke”, her expression was both serene and alert in a pleasant way. However, my eyes moved so fast to see her, that she had a luscious pink face, in particular, her cheeks, lit up with a lovely glow, which gave me an exhilarating blush, but a cold slap across the face (I had surgery heart a few months ago and couldn’t climb any faster, and it bothered me that they called me ‘slow’, when I had been in the army for eleven years and had done all the exercises in the sun to stay in shape, and here comes a woman slim and slender, who runs past me like the Roadrunner and hits me). I didn’t appreciate it in the least.
Her fine, smooth-looking forehead sloped gently up where it fringed her brown hair; her hair was blowing back, not very long, more golden blonde, I would say. Her eyes were a dull blue, not too large, not clear, wet, and her skin color was lily white, with a little faded tan in places; strong and young-looking, but not too young, I was 38 years old, she was 30. Her body floated delicately on the edge of perfection, not excessively fat, compared to eighteen, full, but with small breasts. Maybe she was three inches shorter than me; about five feet five inches tall I would say. Slim with a hot look.
The wall ended in a mountain lookout, a kind of summit, and there, next to one of its doors, there was a camel of all things, I stopped, took a look and climbed to the top, they took a photo of me, my hand now in the air, waving, waving as if I were the victor. And I guess somehow I made it to China. The camel also looked proud, perhaps because it had a gringo between its two humps.