|Mausoleum in Tiananmen Square|
|Chinese honor guard. It's all business with these guys.|
|What the hell was that?|
We joined a human river that flowed steadily into a vast, dim hall. A red curtain obscured the southern wall. The high ceiling was lost in shadow.
Two streams of humanity flowed across the marbled floor, never pausing, past a glass case. Within it was a strange sight. A figure lay horizontally on a platform, as if in sleep. A bright red flag, adorned with yellow hammer-and-sickle covered the figure from mid-chest down. A yellow glow seemed to emanate from within the head. The experience had a dream-like quality that makes my recollection uncertain, but I do remember catching a whiff of recognition in the shape of the head, the soft flesh under the chin, the round face, crowned by the high forehead and the crescent of dark hair. Yes, that's what I remember from the photographs. My God! Is it real?
|Modern Chinese artist's interpretation|
But it was a strange sight. A very strange sight, indeed.
Chairman Mao. I'll be damned. That was Chairman Mao.
|That guy in the portrait looks familiar...|