Semi-Autonomous Region, SW China DAY EIGHT

SUNDAY, JULY 18, 2004

DAY 8 ...the unspeakable

The meeting with the elders left us more burdened for this people than ever. They listened attentively, but told us to be careful what 'magic' we perform on the villagers, and that the forest spirits would kill us if we ask too many questions, including questioning the traditions passed on by the ancestors. 



We returned to our tents, and prepared to search for the jailed lady once the sun had set and the village turned in for the night. With fresh batteries in our night vision goggles, we waited. 



Sun finally set, and we quietly and quickly made our way to the small trail which they carried out their last prisoner on. Dressed in black, we were virtually invisible, except for a dull, green glow coming from our night vision goggles, which made the night as bright as day to us. 



We followed the path, seeing a few animals along the way. The going got more and more difficult. Insects, razor sharp grass, and thicker weeds with sharper thorns the further we got. Just as we were about to give up and turn around, we came to a small clearing. And there it was. 



A graveyard. Only none of the bodies had been buried.

What stench! The clearing gave way to a larger mud field surrounded by large clay cliffs on every side. The narrow way by which we came was the only way in and out. 



There they were, HUNDREDS OF THOSE BOXES, some stacked on top of each other. Bodies inside. Some skeletons, some with clothes and long hair, some looked fresh. Our translator rushed ahead of us, searching for the bean-seller. I tried hard not to throw up. 



What was happening here? What crimes were worthy of such a slow execution? Scratches on the bamboo poles and the contorted shape of some bodies revealed what frantic and persistant (yet unsuccessful) escape attempts had been made. 



Xing-ye, our translator, waived his arms to get my attention. Still trying to catch my breath and think straight, I mutterred, "WHAT?" 



Then it happened. 



He was kneeling by our lady who was left for dead. She was clutching the lapel of his shirt through the bars of her cage, no emotion left on her pale face. I staggered to him and movement illuminated the viewfinder of my goggles. 



We had been nearly invisible until I foolishly responded to Xing-ye. The sound of my voice alerted every spirit to our presence in this caged camp of death. 



All around, skin-and-bones figures erected their torsos in their cages. Some were still alive! We ripped off our goggles and pointed our searchlights in every direction. Thirty or so heads were lifted and pointing at us. Thirty or so faces resigned to the inevitability of death that they already looked more dead than alive. Sunburned, dehydrated, dried beyond repair, not even a glimmer of hope shining in one of the watery eyes. 



"Get these people out of here," I cried to our team, "hurry!"

We opened their cages, but most were too weak to walk out by themselves. Their tendons were frozen. Only God knows how long leach had been locked in a cage that was too short to stand up in, and too narrow to sit or kneel. 



We carried them out one by one -- they weighed no more than children. 



A few died as we tried to help them out. We saved as many as we could, but it still didn't seem like enough. We poured water from our canteens into their mouths, and moved their pasty lips to help them swallow it and keep it down. 



Xing-ye was frantically trying to communicate in the village dialect with Bean-seller. After a few minutes, he pounded his fists on the ground, shook his head, and came back to us.

"What did she say? What is this place?" 



He replied in his soft, Chinese-accented English, "She say, this place is for old people. No one in village society can be burden to rest of society. She say, it too bad to watch family get old, get feeble. So it better to take them here only at the beginning of old age, so family can know when and how..." Xing-ye's voice cracked as he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, turning his head to the sky. He swallowed, turned his head to me, "They leave their old people here so they know when and how they die..." He turned his face back to heaven. 



"How can they do this? How can they do this????" He wept bitterly. 



This explained the strange absence of the elderly in the village, and the paranoia of the village elders (who themselves escaped the caged death but feared it should they lose their political position). The bone shavings and chips near a pile of skulls also explained the abundance of meat in the stew that we were so vigorously offered. No sense in thinking about that now. 



We saved who we could, making rafts from the crates and using old clothes from the skeletons to bind them together. We put the fifteen that survived on the crate-rafts, got on with them, and floated in what seemed like supernaturally calm waters downstream for hours. Until the sun came up.

We left behind a nightmare. But we saved fifteen people. 



That's fifteen people who will now have the chance to grow old. Fifteen who saw the gospel in action as they were rescued, and will hear the of the hope found only in Christ. 



Thanks to all who have been lifting us up in prayer. We return to the jungle early next month.