Misty Mountain Mystery

Shall I start with the mystery/detective story, or save that for last? Oh, all right, then.......here goes: Emerging from the mountain area in this morning's light drizzle, I met a young, agitated woman hurrying along with a towel-wrapped bundle cradled against her heart. My attention arrested, I looked after her, and saw her peeking furtively into one end of the treasured bundle, and my curiosity was piqued. Was it alive? I lurked where I could watch her go up the steps, but she didn't. Instead she veered off into the bushes, where she crouched down, but seeming aware that she was being watched, she moved farther away and was next sighted (from my new vantage point on the mountain), under some trees, bent down with her back to me. I watched and prayed, and suddenly, as though she sensed eyes on her, she turned and shot a glare straight up at where I stood. After that, I was more discrete; occasional glimpses showed her bowed as though in despairing grief. Then she simply vanished. Descending rapidly, I located the mystery site, where I was sure the mystery bundle could be found; but a careful search revealed nothing at all. Rudimentary detective skills (no use playing Sherlock Holmes!) turned up no treasure, nothing, not a twig out of place. I hated to leave, in case something had been buried alive.... So I picked up a stick, and looked for a place to excavate. I promptly chose one, and as I dug I imagined the site formed an ever-so- slight mound. Shortly the excavation yielded something brownish, which at first I did not recognize as The Towel. THE TOWEL...this was it!! Then as I shakily unearthed the finding, a horror of discovering something sinister gripped me, only to be superceded by the need to proceed. In an instant the mystery was solved, and there in The Towel lay exposed.....the body..... of a large dark bird of the talking variety, and with it all the feeding and watering equipment for the bird to eat, drink, and be merry in its after-life! Aiya! Only this and nothing more! Abrupt end of story.

An intriguing custom of this culture is for older men to carry around their birds in cages (a strictly masculine pastime.) On a nice morning, the woods near where the beloved bird lies buried are full of the delightful music of birds caroling from a multiplicity of cages hung here and there in the trees.

The last couple of days were full. Annelisa baked banana cut-out cookies with her little boy pupils, (who had a great time judging by the looks of the floor), we went to two mountain areas to look at apartments, Christian and Annelisa took their Chinese exam at the university, and we had a feast with friends. At the exam, Christian was seated between a man from South Korea and one from North Korea, the latter bending a look of disapproval on his American passport. The children reported that they were the only English speakers, and that some marveled that "Americans speak Chinese so well" ;). The feast we were invited to was designed to allow us to see a sister we have been prevented from seeing, (though we know her well), who is leaving after being in the city for months. Mysteriously (and if I get to the bottom of this mystery, don't think I'll be telling you).... she was not at the feast, which featured huge spicy drumsticks (goat...with the flavor of Muslim shish kabobs, mmm!). There was opportunity to counsel the daughter, who has fallen away and now attends the official church (not to mention being mixed up in the mystery.) One brother told her about his grandparents going to prison rather than joining the approved church, the grandfather enduring torture during his 25 years of incarceration. There was a special sense of God giving words.

Among our neighbors, there was a wedding and a funeral over the weekend. The former meant that our eardrums and nerves were nearly shattered by the roar of hundreds of firecrackers right below us, while the latter meant that we were awakened at exactly 2:37 this morning by the cacaphony of gongs, cymbals, and a dirge based seemingly on a three-note scale. Wedding decorations are not about a church, but rather a car (or two) which are beautifully adorned with flowers in patterns like a heart. And what the heathen funeral processions are really about, I have never understood-- and Frank declines to enlarge on anything so "demonic". Oh, the hopeless darkness, without our Light and eternal Hope! We are so little aware of the magnitude of our precious blessings.