There is a sudden hint of movement and the soldiers begin to chat. The soldier who tapped my shoulders
yesterday comes over. ‘You kept your promise! I’m really grateful that you’ve agreed to help us,’ he says.
‘
Of course I did. By the way, you haven’t told me your name yet. What’s your name?’ I look at him
curiously. He never told me about himself before, which is kind of weird…
‘
I don’t have a name.’ He stares down at the floor as I hand him his shovel.
‘
What? Are you serious?’ I laugh, unraveling the sachet of cement I bought from the grocery shop this
morning.
‘
We belong to his Majesty; most people refer to us as the affiliated objects of QinShiHuang only. We’re
used to it.’ He replies, handing the shovels and trowels to the others.
‘
What about Joseph? It’s a nice name,’ I ask, cracking a smile.
‘
I guess I can get used to it,’ he says.
Midnight is closing in when we decided to make our way to the Great Wall. Joseph pokes his head outside
the door to make sure no one can see us, his face furrows with worry. Two soldiers ride on one horse and we
make our way out of the museum with Joseph at the lead and me last. A long contour of dark figures is half-lit
under the pale street light. The sound of the horse grooves are the only noise in the night. It only took half an
hour for us to reach the Great Wall on horseback.
As stairs are the only way to go up the Great Wall, we leave our horses at the entrance. I survey the damage as
we climb up the steep stairs. It is so much worse than I originally thought. Bricks are scattered everywhere, the
iron canons are covered in a layer of rust and moss. The dragon that once protected China from the intrusions of
Mongolians is now lifeless. We gasp at the scene we are looking at and tears fill up our eyes.
‘
Shall we start?’ someone finally says.
‘
Sure.’ I reply in a choked voice, grieving for the slow disappearance of one of the most famous sites of
Chinese heritage.
It doesn’t take long for us to finish picking up rocks and bricks and putting them in a pile. So we’re ready
to restore the Great Wall to its original look. I am picking up my shovel when Joseph walks over. ‘Hey, did you
buy the lime and sticky rice?’ he asks.
‘
No. Why would I buy that?’
‘
The workers used to mix lime with sticky rice as the mortar to fill the gaps between the bricks. This is
how the Great Wall was being constructed!’ he exclaimed.
‘
Well, that’s also the reason why it’s so vulnerable! We are living in the 21st century and no one uses
sticky rice as construction material. This is what we use nowadays.’ I hand him the bucket of cement- sand and
start smearing a layer of cement on the wall.
‘
Wow! In my times, the workers would use the most primitive method in building the Great Wall. There
was no cement, no bricks, nor any carts to transport the rocks. The bricks you are holding now are made from a
solid slab of tamped earth. It’s astounding for them to build a fortress from scratch!’ he says, while instructing
the soldiers to daub cement onto the wall.
I look out from the small holes on the wall. The shadow of natural defensive barriers, hills and rivers
shines through my eyes. It’s not difficult to envision a nomadic warrior guarding the Great Wall at one of the
watchtowers where the sound of war was the lullaby that tucked him into bed. We have to admit that although
the construction of the Great Wall was harsh, it stands as an accolade to the remarkable creativity and ingenuity
of the Chinese. I shiver at the thought and pull my head back to continue with my work.
When dawn finally arrives, we have almost finished stacking eight rows of bricks.
‘
It’s nearly five o’clock in the morning; we better pack things up and get back to the museum before anyone
goes back to work.’ I yawn.
Upon hearing my words, Joseph starts wadding his tools inside the canvas bag and says ‘See you
tomorrow then?’
‘
Yeah. Tomorrow,’ I beam.
There is a reason why my dad never wanted me to become an archaeologist. He was always mumbling
that history is brutal when you learn about the injustice, racism and violence that has long exist in the society.
He believed that being an archaeologist meant having to deal with the callous fact of war and the horrors of
death. Unlike art, you can always paint something that shocks the world. But after all these years and
experiences, I have never really felt that way; instead, I discovered joy in my career. One tip for rookies is that it
is always nice to feel connected to history. And yet, interaction with an artifact is a brand new experience to me
and I’m still adapting to it.
The Terracotta Army and I have been repairing the Great Wall for almost two weeks. Every night is a
routine of every other day. I often fall asleep during the night due to the tedious work in the daytime though.
The work is tough but I have never felt so content in my life. We are half-way through to the finish of the repair