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Following her, wondering at her reply, I passed through this outer garden without noticing my surroundings, my eyes locked on the shen-i leading me on.. In the main foyer, Huilang stopped, turned, looked at me, her face a question mark, her stand patience embodied, her hands resting at her waist as if content to do nothing till something required doing.
I stumbled in after her, not drunk stumbling or crazy stumbling, simply disoriented, confused, unable to find any purchase for my thoughts.
"You are not uneducated, hey you. You know the answers to all your questions; you seem to not want to produce them."
Oh, that helped a lot! I was just some stubborn little boy refusing to acknowledge his lessons. Unable to cope with that thought, my eyes wandered around the room, the same room where we had first met yesterday, my mind racing for that so elusive purchase it so desperately required. This time, in addition to the wicker chairs, I found a dais situated between them against the wall. On the dais, a bottle gourd, decorated. She noted my gaze, went to the dais. "It is very beautiful, is it not?" Again, frustration filled me as she apparently dropped our conversation to the distraction of this knick knack.
I didn't want to handle the gourd but Huilang insisted, lifting it from its stand and presenting it to me. Gingerly, with both hands, I accepted the gourd and then took the time the time to enjoy the art. The base section I estimated some 6 inches in diameter and the upper section about 4 inches. Every bit of the surface held some form of art, either arabesque plants or the roses. The arabesque appeared to have been inscribed and then filled with ink, the tung-oil-soot that presents a blue-black luster. Everywhere I turned the gourd, I found the arabesque. Wound about the gourd, running from the base where the stems began to the upper bulb where the blooms burst forth, two roses sat atop the arabesques, stems brilliantly green shades between stem and leaf, the flowers neon red. The bloom of one rose sat directly above the beginning of the stem of the other.
"Two roses on an arabesque," Huilang murmured as if her lowered voice would not distract me from appreciation of the gourd, "yin and yang, of course, but this artist expresses his hope that ‘Spring may last ten thousand generations,' a charming way of wishing the recipient family might last forever."
"The recipient family?" I asked without looking up from the artwork.
"The residents of this place," Huilang said.
"And who might they be?" I asked,. now looking up and into her eyes. She returned my gaze with no hint of embarrassment. "At this instant, you and I are the only residents."
"The gourd is very beautiful," I said, placing the object back on its stand. "Fortunately, for us, the artist intended his sentiment for another family."
Her only comment was: "Indeed."
"Okay, enough is enough, Huilang." I took a seat in one chair directing with hand gesture to occupy the other. "I get the notion that this place is out of time, a island above the storms, perhaps even the Island of the Immortals.