Report of a Broken Wall

We live in a building that is 25 stories tall. 25 stories. 1 entrance. 2 doormen. Endless stories.

Today, I was talking with Charles, our daytime doorman, about Eric's trip to China and the arrival of Chris. Charles is a very nice elderly Chinese gentleman who used to work as an international currency trader at a local Hong Kong bank. Now, he is retired, and we works 12 hour days at his post guarding the Greenville Building.

Charles met Eric first when Eric signed the apartment lease and made all the arrangements on the apartment before I arrived. He knows and likes Eric a great deal, always referring to him as Mr. Eric, which is not uncommon here. I don't think Charles knows my name, unless he thinks my name is sir.

This was Eric's first trip into Beijing and his first opportunity to see the Great Wall, which he has been talking about seeing as long as I have known him. He was excited.

Charles and I began our conversation as we always do, with our eyes. When you pass by someone between 2 and 6 times in a given day, it is important to come to an understanding of when you are going to engage in conversation and when comfort allows for silence. We are still ironing out our understanding, but we are learning to read each other better. Now, don't get me wrong, I am a Midwesterner, and I always say hi. It's what comes after "good morning" or "hello" that is variable. Our conversations have gone on for up to 10 minutes before.

This particular afternoon, I was carrying a bouquet of flowers, beautiful lilies which I had just picked up at a local market. A conversation was struck. The flowers. Their name in English. Their name in Chinese. Cantonese specifically. My brother coming to visit. The age of my brother. The height of my brother. Mr. Eric. The Great Wall.

"Ah, it's broken." Charles smiled and repeated, "It's broken."

It's a funny thing when you are able to communicate with someone but not really sure if you are able to communicate with someone. Charles and I know enough of a common language to discuss the weather, visitors, and misc., but was I really understanding him correctly? Was his real thought about the Great Wall that it's not whole anymore? While I think this might have been a joke that I didn't quite get, and thus, ruined his timing, this got me to thinking.

I have spent the last six weeks or so living in a city and a culture which I am not familiar with. I have spent a lot of that time seeing things that I believe to be important to the people here. Most of the time that I go to these things, I see only tourists. What if the local people don't actually care about these things? What if all they really think is "it's broken." Certainly there is a sense of taking for granted that any people can have who have been around something all their life, but how could that be true about the Great Wall.

Our conversation ended as it almost always does. The elevator door closed. Charles is left to wonder about that strange American who sometimes talks with him, to think of lilies and broken walls. I am left to stare at myself in the mirrors of the elevator and climb upwards. Thoughts run in my mind. A blog entry is formed.