The Henan Museum is one of the oldest museums in China. In June 1927, General Feng Yuxiang proposed that a museum be built, and it was completed the next year. In 1961, along with the move of the provincial capital, Henan Museum moved from Kaifeng to Zhengzhou.
It currently holds about 130,000 individual pieces, more of which are mostly cultural relics, bronze vessels of the Shang and Zhou Dynasties, and pottery and porcelain wares of the various dynasties.
Eventually, we arrive at the museum and get off the bus adjacent to a scooter track and despite the efforts of the guide, there’s no stopping them from nearly running us over.
We arrive to find the museum has been moved to a different and somewhat smaller building nearby as the existing, and rather distinctively designed, building is being renovated.
While we are waiting for the tickets to enter, we are given another view of industrial life in that there is nothing that resembles proper health and safety on worksites in this country, and the workers are basically standing on what looks to be a flimsy bamboo ladder with nothing to stop them from falling off.
The museum itself has exhibits dating back a few thousand years and consist of bronze and ceramic items. One of the highlights was a tortoiseshell with reportedly the oldest know writing ever found.
Other than that it was a series of cooking utensils, a table, and ceramic pots, some in very good condition considering their age.
Perhaps it should be a time to reflect on what has just happened to him; after all, it is an eight-hour fight across the Atlantic, and there’s a lot of water under them proverbially and in reality.
Why did he leave his country and go and live in New York?
It could be said that he was the youngest of the boys and that there was never any possibility he would become the King. Why stay home and have your three older brothers make your life hell just because they could?
Perhaps.
But explain this: why did he not go home every year, or at any chance he had? Wouldn’t he get homesick?
And by the time you get to the end of the list of questions and that part of the story you will find out.
There are very valid reasons for his absence, but it was not just to get away. He spent the last fifteen years studying, learning, and observing, with a view that one day he would return with all this accumulated knowledge. Preferably when his father had passed away.
It was one of those relationships, he hated him and yet he loved him and would mourn his loss.
And on the other hand, would be extremely grateful he didn’t have to see him.
That would have been an interesting moment in time.
Writing exercise – about “She didn’t know what he wanted” with the reveal in the last line.
…
It always amused me that everyone in the office thought I was the fountain of all knowledge, the one person who knew all the answers to everyone’s dating problems and what they should do to win over a particular boy or girl.
I had my own aspirations, but no one seemed interested, and because of this, I had made up my mind not to help another person.
Except when it came to Daisy Withers, how could I not?
We started out a few ears back on very rocky ground. We both arrived full of hopes and dreams, and wanted to do the best to achieve our hopes and aspirations, and we were both very competitive.
That competitiveness brought us to a showdown when a particular role was up for grabs; we both went for it and ended up getting overlooked simply because of our actions.
That day, we forged a new alliance, where we would help each other rather than try to sabotage our best efforts, and in my case, I started seeing her in a different light. The problem was, she did not feel the same way about me, and simply saw me as a friend.
It was difficult to watch her dating other men and more difficult when those relationships crashed and burned, but I was always there to pick up the pieces.
It was an ago old story, and I had finally decided, when the previous Christmas, when she had finally agreed to come home with me, for no other reason other than to be somewhere else, she had found a new man, and I went home alone, finally realizing that it was never to be.
…
When Daisy didn’t return after that Christmas break, I discovered she had requested a transfer to the West Coast office for a few months. I figured that her new romance had moved up a notch, the man coming from San Francisco, and she wanted to be with him.
It gave me a chance to exorcise her from my mind and get back to my work. The enthusiasm level had been flagging a little, and being passed over for a promotion, I thought I had given me pause to wonder just exactly what it is I wanted.
Daisy wasn’t the distraction, so I couldn’t blame her. I think I had made another realization in those few months: that my heart was no longer in what I was doing. It was time for a change, a complete change, and I had all but decided to hand in my resignation and spend a year in Europe just looking at old stuff.
That resolve just hardened when I saw Herb MacKenzie coming up the passage towards my office. Only yesterday, I discovered the man who had taken the role I had wanted was a relation on one of the directors, his identity disguised by the fact he was using his mother’s maiden surname, a ploy to have the office believe it was not blatant nepotism.
It was. He was very inexperienced, and sadly, when his father came to see me and ask that I helped him as much as I could. Until today. That was now off the table.
He knocked, came in, and sat down. He never waited to be asked and had that air of arrogance that ran through the father as well. We were minions and to be treated as such.
I sighed. “What’s today’s crisis?”
“None. I need a little advice, and I’m told you’re the expert.”
“Who in this office thinks I’m an expert?”
“Everyone. This place wouldn’t run without you.”
It’s odd that he was telling me that. Last I heard, last Friday in fact, over celebratory drinks in the board room, that he was the one the place couldn’t run without.
“I doubt that’s true, Herb.”
He shrugged. Maybe flattery wasn’t working today.
“One of the senior staffers is coming back from the West Coast office next week, and I was thinking of flying over to lay some groundwork.”
The moment he mentioned groundwork, I knew it was not work he was referring to. He was rich and entitled and had no trouble dating socialites. His photo in the papers told me as much.
And if I was to make a guess…
“She was here for a few years. Seems you two were always in the running for the same promotion. and I’m guessing a little more on the side.”
Why not tell him the truth? I was over her, and it wouldn’t matter. My resignation letter had been written for months; all I had to do was sign it.
“There wasn’t. We were not each other’s type. Competitors, not lovers. Sorry.”
“But you know what makes her tick.”
Enough to know she was not his type, but given all her previous choices, maybe it would work. After all, he was the boss’s son, and that might count for something.
I shrugged. “Why am I not with her if I did?”
That seemed to confuse him, but then it wasn’t hard to do that, either.
And as usual, when I tried to tell him what he didn’t want to hear, he ignored it. “Any words of wisdom, what she likes, or wants.”
I thought about it. I had over the years, tried to work out that exact answer and had never quite succeeded. Flowers, no; fine dining, no; a night in an expensive hotel, no; a week away at an exotic resort, no; going to see my home and family who could win over the most reticent of people, didn’t get the chance.
And then I realised, what did it matter. My window had closed, that ship had sailed, call it what you like. “You want to know what I think. She would want to know what you want, because most of the time most girls just don’t know what you want. And that would have to be very special. So, for what it’s worth, tell her it would mean everything to you if she would take the time to go home to where you live and meet your family. They will more than you ever could help her realise the sort of person you are and want to be. Girls like that stuff.”
If nothing else, that would turn her off so quickly she’d probably resign too.
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” He leapt out of the chair. “Gotta go.”
…
By the time he reached the end of the corridor, I had retrieved the resignation letter, signed it, attached it to the email saved in drafts and sent it to his father.
I had never been more sure of anything in my life. The future of the company belonged in his hands. Resignation sent, I went to the stationery storeroom and got a moving box. I was halfway throwing the accoutriments of four years into it when I saw his father coming up the passage.
I looked at the timer on my watch.
Five minutes and twenty-three seconds.
He didn’t knock.
“Unaccepted. You can’t leave. I’ll double your salary. Tell me what you want, and you can have it. within reason, that is.”
I looked at him. Serious but afraid. I don’t think it could occur to him that someone like me might want to leave. Minions needed their jobs and would do anything to keep them. I believed that for a long time.
“Daisy’s coming back. She’s better at this than I am. And Herb will schmooze her. He has a way with women I could only dream about.”
The expression on his face told me a different story. Why was Daisy coming back if she was doing everything right? The word was she had been told that if she reorganised and revitalised the office, which had seen revenues and prestige begin to decline under the previous manager’s auspices, why would she leave?
A question I was no longer interested in.
I tossed the last forgettable item into the box.
His phone rang, and he looked at the screen and frowned. Another crisis. He looked up. “I have to take this. “Take a week’s vacation. Anywhere. Think about it. Tell the travel office you have my authority.”
A week’s vacation wasn’t going to change my mind. But it was wrong of me to give Herb what I believed was the secret to winning her heart.
I called her.
Disconnected. She had changed her phone number. Well, if that wasn’t a sign from the Gods!
…
A week’s vacation wasn’t in the stars. I picked up the box, took a last look at what it was I thought I wanted, and walked out.
I rang home and told them I was coming in a few days and to dust off my old room; I’d be staying for a while. It was superfluous; Mom had my room ready for me to come back. She always knew, one day…
Ticket booked and apartment sorted, there was only one thing left to do; go to the bar I went every Friday night and tell anyone who cared I was going. For the last three months, it had been without Daisy, but that didn’t matter. I had to get used to her not being around.
At the fourth drink, the hands of the clock about to reach my home time, I heard rather than saw someone sitting in the seat next to me. Daisy’s seat.
“Do you come here often?”
Daisy.
“Too often. It’s a habit I’m breaking after tonight.”
“Any particular reason?”
“It’s not the same anymore.”
I looked sideways, and sucked in a breath, maybe two. I had forgotten how beautiful she looked. It just made the parting all that much harder.
“That’s because I’m not here. Pity I’m not staying.”
“That’s a shame. Why?”
“A friend of mine quit his job, quite out of left field actually, and, well, it won’t be the same.”
“That is a shame.”
The bartender came over, and she ordered what I was having and another drink for me. It was going to be the last, but the apartment could wait.
We didn’t speak again until the drinks came, and she had taken a few sips of hers. Perhaps she needed time to think about what she was going to say.
“Funny thing, life. Three days ago, I was sitting in a posh restaurant opposite this guy, Herb – I mean, who calls their kid Herb, or Herbert. Anyway, he’s prattling on like the try-hard he is, and all I’m thinking of is this guy I know back in New York. He used to listen to all my woes, gave me this annoyingly right advice, never telling me how he really feels, never chastising me, as he should have, for being the fool that I was.”
“That’s being a bit harsh on yourself. I’m sure he wouldn’t agree.”
“No. He wouldn’t. And that was what was annoying about him. I mean, he went out of his way to ask me if I wanted to home home with him, not because he had to, but because I had nowhere else to go and he didn’t want me to be alone.”
“Maybe he thought if he left you behind, you might do something foolish. Again.”
“I did do something foolish, again. And when that broke up as it inevitably does, I had a long think about it. I needed time away. Walter gave me a chance at running the West Coast office, but it was never going to work. That was always going to be Herb’s domain, and it didn’t take long to realise that his desire for us to be more than friends translated into, I would do the work and he would take the credit.”
“Just like his grades and university qualifications. They were too good to be true.”
“Wendy told me you’d left. Double the salary and a week’s vacation in the Maldives. When you took your box, I knew that was off the cards. That’s when she told me that Herb was coming over, and we guessed it was to see me.”
I think I would have paid money to see her deal with Herb.
“Anyway, there I am, sitting there with a seventy-five dollar plate of soup in front of me, and he tells me the plan. Yes, he had a plan. I seriously hope he doesn’t approach all the girls with this. He says something like, ‘it would mean everything to him if I would take the time to go home to where he lived and met his family. They could more than he ever could help her realise the sort of person he is and wants to be.’ I mean, you couldn’t make that stuff up – well, he certainly couldn’t, but I knew who did. Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
I shrugged. “You weren’t ready to hear that or wanted to hear it. I figured if you wanted to go, you would, but that if something better came along, then I’d finally get the message.”
“That I was taking you for granted. Staring into the bowl of soup, hearing those words, I finally got the message. Not from him, but from you. I doubt whether he’s ever had an original thought in his life. The thing is, I ate the food, made all the right noises, assiduously avoided being closer than a yard, thanked him for his kindness and said I would think about it. Then I went back to the office, signed the resignation letter and sent it to Wally, packed my backpack with everything I wanted, not that it amounted to much, and sat at the airport until the first plane flew to New York.”
“And now you’re here.”
“And now I’m here. When did you fall in love with me?”
Was this a conversation worth pursuing? Probably not, but again, I had nothing better to do.
“The first moment I saw you. I knew then I was going to have my heart broken, but I still did it anyway. You were always the impossible dream.”
“You were just impossible. I wanted to hate you, tried to hate you, pretended to hate you, and then just gave up. You were there, I liked you being there, and then, when you weren’t, I missed you. So, I tried to forget you, and it didn’t work. I started thinking about why you would ask the one person who drove you nuts to go home with you. It just didn’t occur to me that I might just discover why you were the person you are, and that I just might come to my senses and see what I had always been looked for standing right in front of me. Maybe it just wasn’t about you, but inadvertently, you told me what it was you wanted. Nothing special. Just the girl that you fell madly in love with and just wished, even for a second, she would love him back. Well, here I am, here to tell you I love you back. And I have since the day I met you. It’s why nothing else works. it’s why I’m happiest when I’m with you. It’s why I’m never afraid to be me when I’m with you. And it’s why I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
And then she let out a huge sigh of relief. “Now, we just have one problem…”
I pulled out an envelope from my coat pocket and handed it to her. I had bought her a ticket just in case she came.
She pulled out the piece of paper and read it. “You were that sure?”
“No. Like I said, you are, or were, the impossible dream.”
“And yet…”
“I read my horoscope this morning. It’s the first time ever. It said quite specifically that my impossible dream would come true.”
H is for — Help is on the way. Only it isn’t; it’s a betrayal of trust
…
It comes down to who you trust.
Me, I didn’t trust anyone, and it served me well. Over the years, the very people you thought you could trust were mostly the people you couldn’t.
A brother who screwed me over with our inheritance.
A wife who cleaned out the bank accounts and left with my best friend.
Naturally, my best friend.
A business partner who spent all the working capital on business trips and women, sending the company broke and the blame for it on me.
It left me with nothing and more or less a hermit, living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, reliant on np one else but myself.
But, like every idyllic haven and so-called peace of mind, it was never going to last.
I bought my little slice of heaven, about a hundred or so acres of forest, and built a log cabin in the middle of it. The conservationists would be proud of me. There was nothing detrimental to the environment in it.
It kept me busy, hunting, fishing, and surviving.
It’s why when someone turned up at my doorstep, they were either lost or found one of the tracks I’d made and followed, again because they were lost.
Or, it was someone looking for me, and there were a few. People people who didn’t realise it was not me who screwed them over but others I worked with. I’d been lucky so far, but that luck was always going to eventually run out.
My last visitors had been several hikers looking for the caves, about thirty miles to the west. I pointed them in the right direction and sent them on their way the next morning.
It’d been a month or two since then, and with the advent of summer, I was expecting more.
Or so the forest ranger had said last time he came. Apparently, the caves, thirty miles away, were supposed to have gold nuggets in the walls.
No sooner had he left, a pair of hikers, a man and a woman ,come out of the woods via the eastern trail. I was cutting wood when they appeared.
I waited until they’d crossed the clearing before letting them know I was there, just out of their sight.
My voice startled them, so I came out of the hollow, axe in hand, trying not to look threatening.
“We heard someone was hiding in the woods. That would be you?”
He had that smart Alec look about him, the sort who knew everything but knew nothing. A city boy dressed up to look like a country boy.
The girl looked like she would be more at home on a catwalk, with designer everything.
These two were no more hikers than the man in the moon was, if there was one.
“Not hiding, just keeping away from people. I don’t get along with people. What are you doing here?”
He stopped a short distance from me and put his pack down. It looked heavy. The girl did likewise and sat on hers. She said, to no one in particular, “I’ve done enough walking for today.”
I could see she was tired and angry. I had heard raised voices earlier and wondered if it was them.
The man, or boy, looked at me. “We’re heading towards the caves. I guess we still have a ways to go.”
I pointed with my hand, “Thirty miles that away.”
The girl groaned.
“Any chance we can stay for the night?”
“If you don’t mind the floor.”
“We have sleeping bags and food.”
I shrugged. “If you want. There’re no showers, but there is a river about half a mile away.”
“Fair enough.” He sat too, and I could see they both had equipment that was new, including the boots.
“Phones don’t work out here,” the girl said, holding up her cell phone and moving it around.
“No. Just satellite phones. It’s one of the reasons I’m off-grid. No longer attached to a phone or anything, really. I’ll finish cutting the wood, and I’ll be back.”
They didn’t look like they were going anywhere for a while.
When I came back with a bundle of wood, I let them into the cabin and showed them where they could stay.
At one end was my room; the rest of the cabin was given over to kichen, lounge and fireplace where I had the fire. It was down to embers waiting for my return with wood for tonight.
They put out their sleeping blankets and took off their boots, which may have been a mistake because I thought I saw blood on their socks while I stoked the fire into life. The girl made strange faces as she removed her boots.
There was a pot over the flames and they said they could use it to make their dinner.
While it was heating, I said, “I take it you don’t hike much.”
“It’s a recent thing,” the girl said. “Fresh air and countryside. A bit different to walking in the park.”
“Are you here just for the fresh air?”
The girl looked at the boy, and I could see a slight shake of the head.
He spoke, “Just taking a hike as far as the caves to check them out. You know them?”
“Never been there. The last people passing through were headed there, too. I don’t think they made it.”
Last I heard from the ranger, they’d rescued two people from the forest, one of whom had fallen down the side of the mountain and had been badly injured.
“I’m guessing the trail is difficult?”
“To an inexperienced hiker, yes, but you guys look like you’ve done this before.”
“A little. But what we lack in experience, we make up for with enthusiasm.” He looked at the girl. “Don’t we?”
Her look at him, then me, said anything but.
“Then you should be fine.”
I was up and about before they woke, making sure there was hot water for coffee.
They could also cook something if they wanted to, but after the evening effort, I got the impression they were yet to shake off the trappings of a fast food diet.
When I came back from the river with water, they were up and about, hardly enthusiastic, the toll of the previous day’s trek plain to see in their pained expressions.
“Good morning,” I greeted them cheerfully, hoping it would improve their demeanour.
Both muttered a greeting on return. The girl added, “Which way is the river?”
I pointed in the direction where the trail began at the tree line. “Ten minutes that way. The water is cold but refreshing. Stick to the pool. You’ll see it.”
“Thanks.”
I noticed that she started off by herself.
The man gathered his bathroom bag and started to follow her, then stopped.
“How long will it take to reach the caves?”
“Two days if you keep an even pace and head in the right direction, north west. I’m assuming you have a map?”
“Yes. I have a GPS that should help. But, we were wondering, have you been to the caves at all?”
Odd question to ask. “No. It’s a long way just to see some bat droppings. You’re not the first people to pass through and ask me the same question.”
“We were hoping you would guide us. I’m wise enough to know that we are too inexperienced to do it on our own. You can see how we ended up when we arrived.”
“Then you should go home. It’s not for the faint hearted.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t. I made a bet, and it’s not one I can afford to lose. I can pay you, if that will change your mind. Think about it.”
Just what I didn’t need. I came to this place to get away from people and responsibility. I shouldn’t really care what happened to fools, and this fellow was a prize fool.
I didn’t need money, but if he was willing to pay, I’d put a high price on it. After I let him stew for a few hours.
I had been taught to take people at face value, but there would always be people who would slip past the usual scrutiny.
People were good at pretending to be something else and telling you in the most sincere of tones everything you want to hear.
My record on judging people was not the best.
Still, as my mother always said, the majority of people will be fine, there’s only a few scumbags that ruin it for everyone else.
My two visitors and upcoming intrepid adventurers were too good to be true. And we all knew the saying, if it’s too good to be true, it generally is.
Call me cynical.
Years of being taken advantage of had forced me off the grid, and I had hoped that I’d got far enough away that only the forest ranger could find me.
It was good to learn that both rangers who worked this part of the forest were the same as me, escaping from a wretched life borne out of trusting all the wrong people.
Dave was the closest, and while down by the river and far enough away from my visitors, I called him. I had a satellite phone, not for general use, but to call the ranger station if there was a fire or other calamity. This was the second time I’d called.
“Ethan.”
“Dave.”
“How is it out there in Shangrila?”
“Almost perfect. I had two hikers turn up yesterday telling me they were heading towards the caves.”
“Gold miners?”
“They don’t look as if they have ever hiked anywhere in their lives. Everything they have is just off the shelf, minus the price tag.”
When I first arrived at the ranger station, there was a long discussion about setting up a camp and staying. Of course, it was not allowed unless I worked as a fire spotter. There was no pay and a good chance of being burned to death, but it offered the solitude I was looking for.
They said people had to report to the ranger station before venturing into the unknown, and if anyone was coming my way, they would tell me.
“They did not report to the office. We have only one registered group out there but in a different quadrant.”
“Is it possible they didn’t know about the regulations?”
“If they’re proper hikers, no. Have they told you why they’re out there?”
“Not in as many words. Is there something out here that I don’t know about?
“Only that some guy found a fifty-ounce nugget in one of the caves. Since then, it’s been proved that he had stolen it from a private collection, but news of that has been suppressed because of who it was stolen from. But to stop people from going there, a bulletin was released telling everyone the nugget didn’t come from the caves. We don’t want a mini gold rush sending thousands of people into impenetrable parts of the forest, getting lost, injured, or worse. Perhaps they didn’t get the memo.”
“Or they’re up to something else.”
“You going with them?”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I can offer you a small guide’s fee, a couple of hundred dollars a day, because it will cost tens of thousands to get them out when, not if they get lost.”
“OK. You should be able to track us. If anything else is in play, I’ll call you.”
“No problems.”
I felt better knowing the forestry rangers were monitoring us. Just in case.
When I got back to the cabin, they were sitting outside, all packed up and ready to go. I thought it was a little strange that the girl looked more like a fashion model with perfect makeup; the last thing she needed in the forest.
There was also an air of tension between the two, the sort that was often said it was so think you could cut in with a knife. An argument?
The boy sounded happier than he looked. “Have you considered the offer?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
“A round thousand, five hundred each way.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the notes.” New, and crisp. “Half now, the rest when we get back.”
I came over and took the money. “I’ll be five minutes. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. And thank you.”
I looked at the girl and had a sudden flash of memory. I’d seen her before, somewhere, but where? It certainly wasn’t in hiking gear, and she certainly wasn’t as miserable as she looked then.
I shook my head. It would come back, only by then it would be the wrong time and definitely the wrong place.
The first mile was the hardest. Not necessarily in terms of terrain; it was nearly flat country before we started up the first mountain, the first of five or six.
Firstly, they had to get over the previous day, and after seeing their feet, the initial struggle just getting the boots back on would have been interesting.
Secondly, it was the time of the year for the first snow of the season, so it was cold. Very cold. Fortunately, they had dressed for the weather.
Thirdly, the animals were active, and both of them were easily startled. I wasn’t expecting to see any bears, but there might be one of two skulking. Generally, they left people alone.
We stopped twice in clearings for a break, and at first, I told them that at the rate we were going, it might take three or four days to get there.
Note: they were not in a hurry.
I tried to engage them in small talk, but I got the impression there was little to talk about. The girl wanted to, but a glance from the boy stopped her.
Note: They did not want me to know who they were. My guess is that the first names were not their real names.
By the time we had traversed the first mountain and had reached a tributary that ran into the main river, some distance away, we stopped for lunch.
They had wisely brought energy bars and drinks. I suspected the girl was a gym freak because she seemed more at home with the physical exercise. The boy wasn’t and was sweating profusely, the sort who avoided exercise and fitness. His definition of exercise would be running for the train to avoid being later than late.
I led, the girl followed, and the boy was the rearguard. More than once, I saw him looking around.
Note: Was he expecting someone, or did he believe someone was following us?
With the rustling sounds in the undergrowth, it wasn’t hard to be worried about what could suddenly appear. I had seen the odd wild pig and several bears over the last year.
By the time we made it over three of the five hills or mountains, we were making a good pace, and by the time light was fading, we had traversed about sixteen miles.
This was going to take two full days, perhaps a little longer. Darkness fell quickly, and rest beckoned. Out in the forest, the notion of sleep was a luxury. Although I didn’t tell them, I rarely slept when on a trek it was never that safe.
Something else I may have failed to mention is that sound travels on the cold night air. They had moved to a position at the bottom of a rocky escarpment, where they thought they were far enough away not to be heard.
“Tell me again why I let you talk me into this ridiculous odyssey?” The petulance and contempt were plain to hear in her tone.
“You wanted a life of luxury. It wasn’t my fault that your parents cut you off. I can’t see why they don’t like me, other than I’m not one of their self-entitled fools they were throwing at you.”
There was no mistaking the contempt in his tone either. It still didn’t identify who she was other than she was from a wealthy background. It explained the attitude and the equipment.
“You told me that money wasn’t an issue.”
“It isn’t. Once we find a chunk of gold, everything will be fine.”
” I hope you’re not expecting to find it just lying around waiting for you to simply pick it up. The guy who told you about it would have taken everything he could see.”
“He couldn’t carry it all.”
“So he chose you above everybody else he could tell where this El Derado is? If it was me, I wouldn’t tell a soul. Or I would tell people to go somewhere entirely different.”
She had made some very valid points, and if I had been the original discoverer, I would not tell anyone where the gold was. Not unless I was selling bogus treasure maps. And the caves were not exactly unknown. Intrepid hikers who wanted a challenge set it as the hardest trek that could be had in the area.
If there was gold in the caves, it would have long been discovered before this.
“Well, he didn’t. Just accept that I know what I’m doing.”
That next statement should have been, ‘You’ve been scammed’, but instead, she didn’t say another word. My only thought was that anything was possible, but I remembered the rangers saying that the geological structures were not conducive to finding any sort of mineral.
In the beginning, we tend to write ourselves into the stories we write, and also, the various other characters are a collection of traits of people we have known in the past and present.
The trick is with those other people not to make them too much like their real-life counterparts, or you may spend the rest of your life in litigation.
I know there are parts of me in my characters because people I know who have read my stories tell me how much they are like me. The problem with that is I didn’t realise I was doing it.
But, to emphasise, the story is not about you.
Unless it is an autobiography.
I have thought about it, writing the story of my life, but it’s so boring, the best use of my book would be to read it just before going to bed.
What is probably more interesting would be the story of my family, traced back to the mid-1700s, and they are a very interesting bunch. To me, it seems that people who lived a hundred years ago had far more interesting lives than we do these days.
All the while we are talking about the nuts and bolts of the story, words are being put on paper more or less at the rate of 1,666 a day.
Of course, chapters don’t magically write themselves into 1,666 words; I wish they did.
That means after 10 days, we should be a third of the way through the story, and we almost are.
I am having fun imagining what it would be like to live in a draughty and cold castle, not for the first time, I have been here before, and what it’s like for the prince who tried so hard to escape the inevitability of his life.
Perhaps a few banquets with dancing might make him see differently.
Maybe waiting for his mother to return to sanity after she couldn’t cope after losing her husband.
Or perhaps discover things about his mother that he would prefer not to know.
Perhaps discovering how far his older brother was going to throw his country under the bus because he didn’t care, might motivate him to institute a few changes.
After another exhausting walk, by now the heat was beginning to take its toll on everyone, we arrived at the pagoda forest.
A little history first:
The pagoda forest is located west of the Shaolin Temple and the foot of a hill. As the largest pagoda forest in China, it covers approximately 20,000 square meters and has about 230 pagodas build from the Tang Dynasty (618-907) to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).
Each pagoda is the tomb of an eminent monk from the Shaolin Temple. Graceful and exquisite, they belong to different eras and constructed in different styles. The first pagoda was thought to be built in 791.
It is now a world heritage site.
No, it’s not a forest with trees it’s a collection of over 200 pagodas, each a tribute to a head monk at the temple and it goes back a long time. The tribute can have one, three, five, or a maximum of seven layers. The ashes of the individual are buried under the base of the pagoda.
The size, height, and story of the pagoda indicate its accomplishments, prestige, merits, and virtues. Each pagoda was carved with the exact date of construction and brief inscriptions and has its own style with various shapes such as a polygonal, cylindrical, vase, conical and monolithic.
This is one of the more recently constructed pagodas
There are pagodas for eminent foreign monks also in the forest.
From there we get a ride back on the back of a large electric wagon
to the front entrance courtyard where drinks and ice creams can be bought, and a visit to the all-important happy place.
In the beginning, we tend to write ourselves into the stories we write, and also, the various other characters are a collection of traits of people we have known in the past and present.
The trick is with those other people not to make them too much like their real-life counterparts, or you may spend the rest of your life in litigation.
I know there are parts of me in my characters because people I know who have read my stories tell me how much they are like me. The problem with that is I didn’t realise I was doing it.
But, to emphasise, the story is not about you.
Unless it is an autobiography.
I have thought about it, writing the story of my life, but it’s so boring, the best use of my book would be to read it just before going to bed.
What is probably more interesting would be the story of my family, traced back to the mid-1700s, and they are a very interesting bunch. To me, it seems that people who lived a hundred years ago had far more interesting lives than we do these days.
Jake had made his usual stop on the way from his office to the front door, on his way home for the day.
It was ritual if he and I were in the office and depending on who was leaving first.
I looked up. Jack was a man without a care in the world, happily married for twenty-two years to the most adorable and kind woman.
He was lucky, in love, in a career, in everything. The rest of us had to battle over what was left.
I, on the other hand, thought I had been happily married for twenty years to an equally adorable and kind woman, was reasonably lucky in my career, and worked hard to get where I was.
Except…
Everything I thought I knew about marriage, career, life, was about to be completely undone by a single video clip sent anonymously to me, five minutes before Jack put his head in the door.
“It’s nothing. I’m just looking at new headlines again, and I shouldn’t. The world is going to hell in a handbasket, and I think I’d rather not know.”
I switched the phone off and put it face down on the desk. Even when not looking at it, the scene still played in my head.
“Ellie’s got her track meet this weekend, and I’m counting on you and Jacquie to be in the cheer squad.”
“Of course. If I remember, if she wins this, it’s the state titles, right?”
“And then nationals, and then… well, I’ll try not to get too wrapped up in the possibilities.”
“She’ll win, don’t worry.”
His eldest daughter was a sprinter at school, the same school both our children attended. She had shown an early aptitude for running and won everything the school had to throw at her. Now, she was about to conquer Regionals, then state.
Neither of my two had any aptitude for sports of any sort. Neither had I, so I guess they got that from me, much to Jaquie’s dismay as she had been a champion swimmer, just shy of competing at the Olympics.
That four one-hundredths of a second would always be, for her, the difference between success and failure. From her point of view, not mine.
I could see he was going to ask another question, perhaps about Jacquie, but he thought better of it. He knew something was amiss, but it had happened before and sorted itself out.
“Just make sure you’re there.”
“Promise.”
Another concerned glance, and then he left.
I looked at the phone and went to pick it up, but I could not unsee what I’d just seen. Jacquie, looking ten years younger, dressed in clothes that, while barely there, would cost more than our house, in a passionate embrace with a devastatingly handsome man who was instantly recognisable as a very well known, very visible, billionaire.
But…
It couldn’t be, because she was at a sales conference in Seattle, verifiable by the location of the calls I received over the last five days, ending with one from her an hour before telling she was on her way home from the airport.
The only explanation was that she had a doppelganger, and someone I knew, or didn’t know, had sent it thinking it was her.
Except…
Jacquie had a small scar in a place that would not normally be seen, and in that clip, in that scanty outfit, it was the first thing I noticed. Anyone else would miss it because you had to know about it and know where it was.
Which made it all the more confusing because that clip was of the couple in Monaco, Monte Carlo, two days ago, a long, long way from the rural parts of Kansas where we lived, and Seattle where she was supposed to be.
I sat back in my chair and looked at the ceiling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, perhaps a sign that this was all a case of mistaken identity. I stayed there in the silence after everyone had gone home and the cleaners had moved in.
Enough.
She would be home by now, though I had not received the usual message. Perhaps she had forgotten and was overtired from the flight and drive and had fallen asleep in her favourite chair.
It would not be the first time.
But, for just a moment…
There had always been this thing between us, a moment in the relationship before it became a relationship. Our eyes had met across a crowded room, and suddenly, there was no one else in it.
I blinked, and she had disappeared.
For the next hour I looked for her, trying to look like I was not looking for her, and just as I was about to give up, thinking my imagination had simply conjured up an apparition, she was standing behind me.
A tap on the shoulder sent a shock wave through me, right after scaring me half to death.
I turned, and she was standing there, head slightly tilted, a smile that could and did light up the room. It certainly made me feel in a way I had not for a long time.
“Who are you?” I asked. Not the question, not the blunt manner, not the girl to be trifling with.
“Mimi.”
“I’m…”
“William, yes, I know. You fascinate me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Not as well as I’d like. What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
It was a trick question. I was working. I debated whether to tell her I had a job to go to, and then didn’t. “Where and when?”
She smiled. “Do you like playing games?”
I did not. Normally, this sort of behaviour would have ended this conversation, but I was intrigued. Someone was playing with me, and I wanted to know who.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll send you a text message.”
There was a commotion behind me, and I turned. When I turned back, she was gone.
Fun over. I believed then I would not see her again. There were only two people who could pull this off. I’d wait, and when she didn’t call, I would give them a piece of my mind.
I was wrong.
It was the beginning of an odyssey, one that was going to take an emotional and physical toll, one that took me on what she eventually called a journey of discovery.
It did not require me to get her approval. It would tell me if I considered myself worthy.
Worthy of what?
I danced to her tune for three months. There were highs, there were disappointments, and in the end, I got on a plane and went home.
That last meeting was meant to be in the foyer of a plush hotel in Hong Kong, a place I’d always wanted to visit, but with someone special, she had not turned up.
Three months after that, after no contact, no explanation, nothing, she arrived on my doorstep.
I had spent those three months honing the speech I would give her, a speech that had been through many drafts, a speech that was fed by an ever-increasing anger.
And then, there she was.
Her appearance was that of someone who looked as though they had been held captive in a dusty, odorous basement, tied to a chair, and beaten.
She collapsed in my arms, the faintest of a smile, or was it simply utter relief, and the two words that I didn’t quite hear, but what I thought was, “I’m safe.”
She never told me what had happened, other than she had been on her way to the hotel to meet me, and the next thing she knew, she was in a prison cell. From there, it was as if she had stepped through a portal into hell.
She could not remember how she got to my doorstep, just that it was the only place she could remember when asked by a rather alarmed cabbie.
I had a thousand questions, and in the end, I didn’t ask. She said she had no memory of where she came from or who she was, other than a name on a passport in her pocket, Jacquie Wilson.
I put her name and address into Google, and it came back with a house belonging to James and Anna Wilson on the other side of town.
Beyond that, there was very little.
Three months after that, we were married, I got the job I spent the next seventeen years in, and we had our ups and downs.
She became a writer, produced several novels of moderate success, went off to writing conferences every year, some I went with her, more recently not, and before her latest conference, in Seattle, we had an argument which I still didn’t understand what precipitated it, and now had the added bonus of a receiving a certain video.
And wondering why, in the car, that whole encapsulated life decided to pop back into my mind after I’d so determinedly tried to forget it.
I was approaching the last intersection before turning into my street, and in the semi-darkness of late evening, it was ablaze with flashing lights when my phone buzzed.
Police, ambulance, fire trucks. A major incident. Then I could see a car, or what was left of it after being hit very hard by a truck, which a heavy tow truck was in the process of dragging away.
There was something familiar about the car, but there wasn’t time to keep looking. An incoming message flashed up on my phone screen.
“Don’t go home. Mimi!”
I hit the brake, and the car skewed towards the side of the road in a half slide.
Mimi.
OMG.
Ordinarily, it would mean nothing. I’d only heard that name used once.
A name belonging to the mysterious girl who had turned up on my doorstep.
Another message appeared. “Appearances are deceptive. Girls are safe. See you in heaven!”
Then, a few more seconds, while the confusion danced in my head before another message, clearly being sent in real time by someone nearby.
“Now!!!”
I could see ahead a man in a suit peering in my direction, then talking into his phone as he started walking towards my car.
Damn.
No time or way to leave quietly. Screaming tyres, fish tailing turn, but I was out of there, leaving a running man fast outpaced by the car.
I had just enough time before turning a corner to see a car pull up beside the running man.
Write a piece and then edit it by reducing its size by 20 percent.
…
First draft:
Growing up I did not believe l had one of those lovable faces.
My brother, known in school as the best looking boy of his graduating class, said it was a face only a mother could love.
He was mean.
Simone, a girl who was a friend, not a girlfriend, said my face had character.
She was charming and polite.
Looking now, in the mirror, l decided I’d aged gracefully.
I could truthfully say my brother had not, but that was as far as the comparison went.
My overachieving brother was the epitome of success in business, a veritable god zillionaire. Everything he touched turned to gold.
My ultra successful sister, Penelope, had married into the right family perhaps by chance, but she was also a very learned scholar whose life was divided between her chair and the university and her social life with the rich and famous.
Then there was me.
I gave up on my chance at university because l was not the scholarly sort and didn’t last long. Sadly l was the first of my family to be sent down from Oxford.
Instead, l took on a series of professions such as seasonal laborer, farmhand, factory worker, and lastly, night watchman. At least now I had a uniform and looked like I’d made something of myself.
It would not be enough for my parents who every year didn’t say it out loud but the disappointment was always there in their expressions.
My brother in his usual blunt manner said l was a loser and would never change.
My sister was not quite so blunt. She simply said it was disappointing so much potential was going to waste. I only asked her once what she meant and lost me after the first four-syllable word.
Finally, I’d taken their comments to heart and decided l would not be going home to the family Christmas holiday reunion.
I told my boss l was available to work the night shift over the holidays, the shift no one else wanted.
It was he said the time for reflection. He hated his family as much as I did so we would be able to lament our bad luck though the long cold hours from dusk till dawn.
It was 3 a.m. and it was like standing on the exact epicenter of the North Pole. I’d just stepped from the warehouse into the car park.
The car was covered in snow. The weather was clear now, but more snow was coming.
It was going to be a white Christmas, all I needed. I hoped I remembered to put the antifreeze in my radiator this time.
As I approached my car, the light went on in an SUV parked next to my car. The door opened and what looked to be a woman was climbing down from the driver’s seat.
She closed the door and leaned against the side of the car. “Graham?”
It was a voice I was familiar with, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time, my ultra-successful sister, Penelope. From what I could see, she didn’t look too well.
“What do you want?”
“Help.”
My help, I was the last person to help her or anyone for that matter. But curiosity got the better of me. “Why?”
“Because my husband is trying to kill me.”
The instant the last word left her lips I saw her jerk back into the car, and then start sliding down to the ground. There was no mistaking the red streak following her as she fell.
She’d been shot from what could be a sniper rifle, which meant …
602 words long
…
After editing:
My parents were very wealthy, with an Upper Westside Apartment in Manhattan and a holiday house in Martha’s Vineyard. My sister had a successful medical career and married a most eligible bachelor, as expected, and my brother he was a politician.
I’d not seen any of them in at least five years, and they hadn’t called me.
You see, I was the black sheep of the family. I dropped out of college when it all became too much and drifted. Seasonal labourer, farmhand, factory worker, add job man, and night watchman.
At least now I had a uniform and a gun and looked like I’d made something of myself.
It was hard to say why, but just before I was about to head out of the factory to end my shift, those thoughts about them came into my mind. They might be gone, but I guess I will never forget them. I wondered briefly if any of them thought about me.
It was 3 a.m., and it was like standing on the exact epicentre of the South Pole. I’d just stepped from the factory warehouse into the car park.
The car was covered in snow. The weather was clear now, but I could feel more snow coming. A white Christmas? That’s all I needed. I hoped I remembered to put the antifreeze in my radiator this time.
As I approached my car, the light went on inside an SUV parked next to my car. The door opened and what looked to be a woman was getting out of the car.
“Graham?”
It was a voice I was familiar with, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time.
I looked again and was shocked to see my ultra-successful sister, Penelope. She was leaning against the front fender, and from what I could see, she didn’t look too well.
How on earth did she find me, after all the years that had passed? Perhaps that sparked my un-conciliatory question, “What do you want?”
I could see the surprise and then the hurt in her expression. Perhaps I had been a little harsh. Whatever she felt, it passed, and she said, “Help.”
My help? Help with what? I was the last person who could help her, or anyone for that matter, with anything. But curiosity got the better of me. “Why?”
“I think my husband is trying to kill me.”
Then, with that said, she slid down the side of the car, and I could see, in the arc lamps lighting the car park, a trail of blood.
My first thought was that she needed the help of a doctor, not a stupid brother, then a second thought, call 911, which I did, and hoped like hell they got here in time.
And, yes, there was a third thought that crossed my mind. Whether or not I would be blamed for this event.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 