The old walls

Four old ladies sat on plastic seats next to the entrance gate. We’d found the right place. The walls of Kat Hing Wai were built during the Ming Dynasty back in the 1400’s. Inside is mostly new. As we leaned into the gate to see for ourselves the aging guards chanted Cantonese from their chairs.

We tossed coins into the hat and were permitted in. The walls that had held to British Invasion are now crumbling in the battle against time. The homes of some four hundred of the clan inside have all been renewed and replaced. We peaked inside their windows and saw black and whites of dead relatives and New Years gifts to the gods.

Peering in on their wet laundry and turned off TVs I inserted stories into their domestic lives. Cats skipped by as I conjured dramas to take place inside the family homes. A blue bicycle lay against the wall, a butcher’s knife in its basket. I picked it up and pointed it at Joyce, leaning in incase the residents could hear.

“Strangest. Tourist attraction. Ever.”