Chapter 39

The Writer’s Academy

I was invited up to Beijing the week after we finished shooting.  Advertisements had already gone out for the film.  There seemed to be real interest.  Dates were set.  A big premiere.  A big film.  Trailers were being downloaded onto social media at a pace that said “viral.”  An apparent success under my belt, I felt more comfortable calling myself a writer.  Truly qualified for something as prestigious as the Writer’s Academy?  No, but less unqualified.  I hoped I would be treated well.

I had never been to Beijing before.  I was impressed.  A car met me at the airport.  I got to gawk at the city as we rode down canyons of skyscrapers, all new, most with interesting architectural embellishments.  Nicely done, I thought.  Not just big, not just tall.  Artistic.

My destination was Tiananmen Square.  I had seen pictures.  I wasn’t prepared for the size.  It is massive.  I recognized the Forbidden City gates to the north.  In a perfect world the meeting would have been held there in one of the ancient rooms.  It wasn’t.  I was taken to the Great Hall of the People on the western edge of the square.  I had brought my Chinese passport, my ID card, and my Academy membership card.  Not needed.  I was asked to stand on an X, and facial recognition software determined I could be admitted.

What do I say about the Great Hall?  A massive rectangle with lots of portraits.  A young woman in a navy-blue pants suit led me up stairs and down halls.  Big place.  Lots of walking.  Oh, by the way, what was I wearing for my debut with the Academy?  Red.  Red silk A-line skirt just past my knees, half sleeves, a neckline high enough for church.  Formal, yet patriotic was my thought.  I had also worn three-inch heels and regretted it by the third flight of stairs.

I was led to a small auditorium.  Seating for seventy or so.  Maybe forty seats were occupied.  Almost all men, average age – ancient.  Not much talking.  Just old men fumbling with papers.  I was led to the front of the room and introduced to the head of the Academy.  I had been warned he was hard of hearing.  We shook hands and I introduced myself.  He announced his name like maybe it would come out of his mouth in bold letters.  Each syllable carefully enunciated.  Each syllable emphasized.  Chinese don’t bow, but he looked at me like I was expected to respond to his greatness in some way.  I nodded.  Not sure if that was enough.

The woman who was leading me around now led me to my seat – in the very last row.  Plenty of empty seats farther forward, but I guess if you are new, you should be grateful just to be in the room.  I sat.  And waited, note pad in hand.  Ready to catch the golden words of China’s best writers.  I spent the next hour waiting for some wisdom to put on paper.  Mostly I scribbled while the room slowly filled.

Today’s program?  New poems from old poets.  Maybe old poems from old poets.  I wouldn’t have known.  Don’t read much poetry.  Can’t say I understood much of what I was hearing.  I caught a word here and there, but my vocabulary had been formed in my kitchen and on a movie set.  I was hearing new words enunciated by old mouths.  Very old mouths.  Mouths that mumbled.  Mouths often interrupted by coughs. 

The afternoon dragged.  Six poets.  Six recitals.  Lots of applause.  I joined in.  That’s what you do if you sit in the back row.  You join in.

My turn came.  I had been warned.  As an initiate I would make a presentation of my writing.  I had prevailed upon the master of electronics to allow me a short video.  I walked to the front of the room.  About half the crowd headed for the exits.  I guess when you are ninety years old you need bathroom breaks.  I handed a thumb drive with my video to a technician and introduced myself.

What did I say?  Not much.  The usual.  So proud… so happy… so delighted…blah, blah, blah.  Then I showed the video.  The five girls sitting together, readying the first girl for her marriage, helping with her hair, her clothes.  Talking.  Just five girls talking about the lives all of them would soon begin.

The segment ran about four minutes.  I watched the old men watch.  They paid attention.  No expression, no sense they liked what they were seeing, but they did watch.  When it was over, I did a quick wrap-up, ready to get to my seat in the back row.

“That is the writing I do.  Are there any questions?”

Nope.  But plenty of corrections.  The costumes were from two different historical periods.  Did I know?  The room was filled with flowers from four different regions of China.  That was not possible.  You get the drift.  They saw the details.  They ignored the essentials.  This went on about fifteen minutes, and then it seemed to be potty break time again.  I returned to my seat in the back.

The afternoon ended with two more poetry readings.  My notebook was still just scribbles. 

As the room emptied, my young guide reappeared.  She had a man in tow.  Sheng Jinhe.  Quick introduction and then my guide seemed to vanish.

“I am an assistant to the director.  I understand this is your first visit to Beijing.  If you would like, I would be happy to show you some of the local sites before you return to your hotel.”

I liked the idea of a local tour guide, and after a long afternoon of ancient men, I appreciated being with someone on my side of ninety.  And, he was good looking.  Mid-thirties, maybe five ten or five eleven, good face, carefully trimmed hair, and a suit that had been tailored to display his chest and shoulders.  The contrast between him and the men now exiting the room was enormous.  Would I like a couple hours seeing Beijing with him?  Yes.

A car was waiting for us at the curb.  We sat in the back.  Traffic was crazy, but that was fine.  It just gave him more time to describe the buildings we passed.  Lots to see.  Lots to say.  We slowly moved through the city.

And then we were out of the city.  An industrial area first, then farm fields.  I was confused about our destination.

“Are we headed to a temple?”

“The Great Wall.”  He hesitated.  “If you wish.  It will take us about an hour to get there.”

The Great Wall!!??  I would have walked. 

“Yes, I would enjoy seeing it.”

I sounded sedate, but I was practically bouncing in my seat.  I was going to see the Great Wall!  Sheng gave me the basics as we drove.  Ming Dynasty, fifteen hundreds, Mongols, watch towers, road, mountain ridges.  I listened, I learned, I waited as patiently as I could.

It was early evening by the time we got there, and the parking lot was emptying out.  Lots of shops selling souvenirs, now closing down.  He and I crossed to a loading area and took what was essentially a ski-lift up to the wall.  What a view.  The higher we went on the ski-lift, the more of the wall we could see.  It went on forever.  It rose or fell and twisted and turned as it rose from mountain peaks.  High atop a ridge.  Steep angles from the base of the ridge, long walking paths to get to the wall.  I appreciated the ski-lift.  We were up in fifteen minutes rather than hours on walking paths.

We did have to do some climbing once we got off the ski-lift.  Not too bad, but not good in heels.  Sheng stayed a step ahead of me, took my hand, and helped me up the path.  Then stairs.  And then – there we were – on the wall!  A brick road about twenty feet wide down the middle, low brick walls on either side.  I walked to the far side, looked down the ridge at the Mongol side - forest and rocks and a steep, steep climb.  I wouldn’t want to be a soldier challenging the wall.

Sheng got me moving.  We walked down the middle of the road, up one hill and down another.  He talked, I looked.  I was on the wall!  Walking along.  Careful with my heels on the bricks, but still able to look, to enjoy, to appreciate.  How far did we walk?  Several kilometers, I think.  It was getting dark, but that just made things more interesting as evening stars appeared and shadows changed our views of the mountains and ridges.  I think I would have walked to Mongolia.

He did have a destination.  A watchtower.  A place for troops to be stationed, ready to take the wall road to wherever needed.  Lots of bricks.  Lots of stairs.  He led me up onto the roof first.  Him a step ahead of me, a hand to steady me as we climbed.  A high point.  Not just the roof, but the mountain top it was built on.  Even in the fading light we could see forever.

The roof was large, and flat, but it had no walls around the edge.  The drop?  Not sure, but it seemed a long ways.  I found myself standing close to Sheng.  I felt his arm come around my waist.  He didn’t hold me, or pull me to him, he just put his arm around my waist.  A presence.  A reassurance.

He talked.  History, the guards, the wall, the region.  But he was also silent for long periods.  And when he did talk, it was quietly.  Almost a whisper.  I liked the silence, and the quiet, and his words.  I turned as I looked at the world below me, and as I turned, I felt myself move closer to him, finally facing him.  I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I looked up at the stars and out at the moon-lit forest.  My other hand went to my skirt.  The wind was blowing it everywhere.

How long were we up there?  I think a long time.  It was now totally dark.  I also recognized that we were alone.  No other tourists had ridden up with us on the chairlift.  No other tourists had been on the wall.  We were alone.  Kilometers from where we had started.  Here’s where a woman gets uncomfortable.  Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t.  I stood with my hand on his shoulder, he encircled my waist.  Our hips touched.

The wind was blowing my hair all over.  He used his free hand to pull it back from my face.  His hand stayed in my hair.  I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for this.”

“I am pleased you enjoy it.”

We had a moment.  Looking into each other’s eyes.  Touching.  Our hands on each other.  I kissed him.  My hand moved to the back of his neck and pulled me up onto my toes.  I held the kiss.  It just seemed like the right time, the right place, the right response.  Moments like that happen, right?  You are with a man and, well, you kiss him.  It just seems the right thing to do.  And him?  I felt his arm tighten around my waist.  His response.  Good.  I didn’t want to feel foolish.  I rested my head on his shoulder and looked off into the night.

We didn’t spend the night on that rooftop.  Eventually he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, and we carefully returned down the brick stairs, my hand never leaving his.  I prepared myself for a return to the car and the city, but he took me inside the watchtower.  Parts of it looked like they were normally closed off, but he made his way through unlocked doors to a small room with a pad on a bench and a picnic basket.

“You are an Academy member.  You are allowed to go some places normally reserved.  I thought you might want to sit and enjoy one of the tower residences.”

“Yes, thank you.”

I sat, he opened the picnic basket and brought out wine and glasses.  His flashlight lit one corner of the room.  We sipped wine while he brought out sandwiches.

“Thank you for doing all this.  It really is special.”

“Thank you for joining the Academy.  We have needed you.  It had become an Academy of old poets.  We love poetry, but there is more to the world.  More ways to express our emotions and share our lives.”

I looked at him again and thought I knew something.

“You are a writer.”

“Yes.  Aspiring.  Attempting.  Not as good as you.  I watched that video you showed.  You know dialog.  You use it to show the truth about people.  Those girls.  In four minutes, I thought I knew them completely.”

“Tell me about your work.”

He did.  We drank our wine (and a second glass), ate our sandwiches, and talked about people.  Sitting in the shadows and talking.  I can’t begin to tell you how good it felt.  How comfortable.  Like we had known each other for years.  Yes, I was alone with a man and completely vulnerable, but I trusted him.  I liked him.  And, yes, I was beginning to feel some urges.

I wondered about the long walk back to the chairlift.  Is that how this ended?  A moonlit walk?  He seemed to read my mind.

“Here, let me show you another room.”

He took my hand and the flashlight and led me into another room.  A large mat covered a platform.  Blankets were piled in the middle.  And, folded on the mat, was a red satin nightgown.  My reaction?  I wanted to thank him.  I was right where I wanted to be, about to do exactly what I wanted to do.  Really.  No hesitation.  No concerns.  It was the perfect seduction.  He had led me exactly where I wanted to go.  The right man, the right moves, an amazing location.  I think I was as excited as I had ever been.

I stood facing him and slowly undressed.  My eyes never left his.  I was careful with every move.  My clothes came off, and then the nightgown slid on.  Next.  Him.  I undressed him.  Coat, tie, pants, down on my knees to take his shoes and socks, then back on my feet to wrap my hand around a very hot and hard cock.  I backed to the bed and pulled him on top of me.

He was marvelous.  All the right moves at just the right pace.  Maybe the best came after the climax.  He wrapped his arms around me and stared down into my eyes.

“I loved this evening with you, Mary.  Thank you for spending it with me.”

He tightened his arms around me, lay on his side, and held me as we slept.  A man I had only known for hours.  A man I let hold me all night.  A man I pressed myself against and kissed whenever I woke during the night.  Too soon?  Yes, too soon, but it certainly felt like love.