The week-long gloom finally lifted up as we decided to spend the weekend at Qianling Park which was named after mountains located around the park. The park was not an appeal to me, but I could not help being excited that I was going somewhere. Anywhere but the home.
Long before we came to the city, I heard Mother repeating that she would go to the park again to pray right in front of Buddha. Not being a Buddhist herself, she still believes that the God brings wishes true to whomever supplicates before Him. The park, not too far away from Grandparents', became her number-one tourist site. After acute discussions, Uncle Song and Uncle Tang would accompany us down to the park with their families. Grandparents were left no choice but to stay home because their legs wouldn't carry them when the park was a bit too far for a couple in their early seventies. Three years ago, however, they were able to climb up to the temple on the top of the mountain.
Earlier the sky seemed very reluctant to clear up as drizzles were shoveled down from the gray clouds, but before we gave up the plan the sky became lighter and the rain stopped. We set out at eleven o'clock despite the fact that the weather forecast announced moderate rain would be expected later. We made up our minds to risk it, since the forecast here almost always tells lies.
The forecasted rain hadn't started yet when we and Aunt (Uncle Song headed back home because his son fell asleep on the bus) arrived half an hour later. The weather turned out to be ideal for mountain climbing. The air suddenly turned fresher and cooler when three of us walked into the park, mountains in the three directions. Had it not been for tourists around I would have yelled "Hello, Mountains, we've come to see you again!" It was the yell bursting out from a heart that had been trapped for days in a house that was not my own, away from breezes, away from sunshine, away from nature.
Through the gate we wandered to the right-hand paved path that leads to a historical site where Zhang Xueliang and Yang Hucheng were imprisoned in the 1940s, and to a small zoo. Disappointedly, the old prison wasn't open to the public that day, and the zoo didn't boost animals attractive to us. No sooner the Tang family had joined us from the other entrance of the park, than we left the smelly zoo for an ascending path.
The path is the easiest one, I think. Asphalt paved and no steps, the road goes gently up and down, clinging tightly to the mountain. Over the right-hand shoulder, we had a nice bird's eye view of the Qianling lake. All the way up we talked, laughed, ran, and clicked the "shot" button on Tang's digital camera. Before we realized, a temple group came into our way.
And all of a sudden, Mother's eyes looked as though a bold of lightning were flashing through.
Into the wooden door appeared a quadrangle, smoke rising up in the air so that the yard looked a lot like on fire. We wasted no time in the smoking yard but headed straight in the house where sat a plump, happy man in the middle, all covered with what looked like copper. It is so huge a statue that takes up more than 50% space in the dim room. I took my eyes off to the left side. Against the wall perched smaller copper statues, each with different funny facial expressions. Before I tried to count them over the moving heads, I saw Mother standing up from the cushion she used earlier to kowtow, and turning to me, tears swimming in her eyes. My stomach tightened.
Why on earth the statue was designed to be smiling, I was wondering, with people kneeling down at the foot of it, praying so feverish for what they believe is good fortune, that tears trickle down from their sad faces, the tears intrigued by hopes in which the worshippers have the faith yet uncertainty of whether or not they will all become true.
An hour later we came to the front gate of the temple. What I saw three years ago seemed to repeat itself when Mother, with her eyes closed, was feeling her way to a forty-centimeter-long square board held as high as a stretched arm could reach. In the center there is a big red "Fu," the Chinese character for "fortune," which was so worn-out at touches that the word became unrecognizable. She tried twice. On the first attempt she touched the word before opening her eyes. But on the second try, however, before starting, she turned around thrice as a woman behind suggested and, of course, she would not have missed the word if the board had swollen twice as big as its original size.
It was time to descend. Nearly all the way down the slippery stone steps we had a good time with monkeys that lived around the temple. One even showed us a grin the moment we "shot" it in a photo! Several, however, were not friendly at all. They robbed, teased, and threatened the tourists. One of them even tried to grab the candy from an infant's hand!
A snack sold in a street vendor called Baby Thread drew an end to our trip.****************************************
I wrote this around two weeks ago. I am trying to upload some pictures on the laptop. If failed, I will do that when I get back home.
