Geistergrab einer buddhistischen Pagode

Kapitel 27

He turned to look at the interviewer and quickly nodded to indicate that he had given a full explanation.

The interviewer then spoke in Mandarin: "Even the children were deeply attracted and asked their parents to bring them to Shizhong Mountain."

She gestured to the photographer, and the camera immediately turned to Esme. Esme was strolling in the courtyard, which was planted with peach trees and potted plants. At the far end of the courtyard, a woman sat on a chair, holding a baby; she was the courtyard caretaker. Beside her was a very dirty white Shih Tzu, old, toothless, and deaf, which reminded Esme of the little dog at the hotel.

"Little girl!" the interviewer called out, "Please come here, we want to ask your parents why they brought you here."

Esmi looked at her mother with a puzzled expression, and Jumarin nodded to her. The interviewer stepped forward, standing between Esmi, Berhali, and Jumarin, and asked, "You and your parents have come all this way to Stone Bell Hill. You must be very happy, right?"

"He is not my father."

Esme said stubbornly. She scratched her eyebrow; the mosquito bites were itchy and swollen.

"Excuse me, could you please say it again?"

I said: She is my mother; but he is not my father.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The female reporter was a little nervous. These Americans are always so frank; you can never guess what strange things they'll say. They openly admit to having extramarital affairs and that their children are bastards.

The Curse of Stone Bell Mountain (4)

She composed herself and continued the interview in English: "You just saw the beautiful Bai ethnic folk song duet between men and women, a tradition that has continued for thousands of years. Is it true that your home country, the United States, also sings Christmas carols to celebrate?"

Marlene had never thought about Christmas like that before. "It's true," she answered honestly.

"Since you've already heard the traditional folk songs here, could you let us hear your singing too?" the interviewer said.

The camera was pointed at Jumaline, Esme, and Berhali, and the sound recorder was lowered slightly.

“What should we do?” Berhali asked.

“I think she wants us to sing,” Marlene muttered.

"Are you kidding me!"

The female reporter laughed: "That's right, let's sing now." She even clapped her hands.

Berhali stepped back. "Oh, no." He raised his hands. "No, no. No way."

He pointed to his throat: "Oh no, you know? My throat hurts, it's inflamed, I can't sing. It hurts a lot. It might be contagious. I'm sorry. I can't sing here." He stood aside.

The female reporter took Zhu Malin's arm, which was bitten by mosquitoes: "Would you please sing a traditional Christmas carol? Sing whatever you like!"

"Jingle Bells?" Esme asked.

The microphone was moved toward Esme. “Yes, ‘Jingle Bells,’” the reporter repeated, “it’s a very good folk song. It would be wonderful to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ on Stone Bell Mountain. Please, begin!”