The Secret Garden

This is a strange little story for all my girls out there or anyone who hates bugs:

Kristine (KP) and I were informed that we were going to be painting all day directly outside our cozy apartment. Just as we were about to pour the paint, one of the staff members tells us we are now helping a woman move. “Sure, I mean, we are in flip flops, but yeah we can be flexible.” After moving an apartment down three flights of a stairwell even smaller than Euro style, we load the moving truck. Okay, now back to paint.

Oh, wait… she needs help moving into her new place. Sweet, we can do that. There weren’t enough seats for the 4 of us (2 other guys were there… thank God) plus her, so I found myself sitting on a bag of clothes in the back of a Chinese moving van, which was very exciting at the beginning. Then a half hour later the smell of gasoline was overwhelming and I kept thinking (why we think these strange things I have no idea) “What if we get into a crazy accident? or the truck flips? What if I die here in the back of this Chinese moving truck?” Sad, yes. But more pathetic than anything else because it is always disappointing to die so dumbly.

THEN…. we get to the village. I drink some water. Hydrated, check. The lady doesn’t mention that the house she is moving into is secret garden status. AKA abandoned for years. IF ONLY I could express the scene. Try to imagine a gate overgrown with vines and a two story mansion hidden behind the brush in the middle of this ancient village. At first you imagine all the parties and grand entrances. You see the people with champagne glasses laughing and the camera pans out to reveal chandeliers….okay, well maybe there was tea instead of champagne because this is Asia not the roaring 20’s, Christina. Anyway, we step into the house and I have not seen so many spiders in my life. Now picture (and remember you are a girl) an eerie yet beautiful haunted mansion , cobwebs on cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, spiders dancing on the walls and threatening from every side of the room. The dust is thick as we make footsteps through it all. Leaves and vines have found their various corners and a curiosity grips the air. The rooms are many and the patio is open, a tile mural spreads over the wall in the main room where grand pictures used to hang as children played the piano, or at least that’s what I imagined. The stairs were far too foreboding so I took the Chinese woman’s word that the second floor existed.

Kristine and I took each step with caution, tension gripping every muscle as we inched from one infested room to another overwhelmed by the creepy crawlers, but enchanted by the architecture. We began to sweep, grabbing for each others hands whenever possible for encouragement. I continued the constant turning to make sure a rat-sized spider couldn’t sneak up on me. A sudden scream and a cockroach rushes for the hole in the wall. Dingy dust permeates the air and I imagine what the bite of a black widow or brown recluse would do…thankfully the closest hospital is down the street. And then, yep. I feel a slight tickle on my shoulder and as I turn and flail, one of the guys taps my other shoulder. He walks away laughing. Boys think they are so funny sometimes. KP and I are being brave. She has arachnophobia and I’m very seriously grossed out. Anyway, the Chinese lady is cleaning like this is normal and the guys are helping toss rotting wood out of the house. The kicker- a stinging pinch grabs my leg. Mosquitoes!!!!!!! And they never come in less than a clan. I’ve been so stressed, I haven’t noticed the 10 new bites I’ve discovered. In the next 5 minutes I kill several of them on my skin and then the itching comes- breaking point. I’m done. KP and I politely leave the room, drop the brooms and keep staring at our legs and arms in a severely paranoid fashion waiting by the door to leave. The Chinese woman pretends not to understand when we say we have to go, which at that moment made me so angry. She spoke English well. Anyways, we prayed over the house. She felt God told her to fix it up for missionaries and pastors to stay in.

Now, stop. I know what you are thinking, the over- exaggeration of a sheltered American snob. But I don’t think it was the wisest to be in a clearly condemned house, fighting off all kinds of poisonous vermin, inhaling who knows what through the stagnant dust of generations past. We went back to our clean apartment and painted, hung out with a friend in the city, had noodles, McFlurries and everything. It wasn’t until late that night in the “about to fall asleep chat” where we processed our shock and panic. Anyway, it was a strangely funny, yet scary and mysterious experience. No repeats needed.