Rewriting Stella
Page 17
looked edible, like cabbage, and man-made.
Impression struck immediately that all
these pieces had their usefulness. The sprawl
183.
of city long behind them, Stella breathed.
The greenness of the draft was hefty, wild,
organically fulfilling. She had sheathed
her diaphragm in shallow draw of child
perforce to cope with urban smog. But here
the air seemed almost pushy in its urge
to permeate the pilgrims. Last frontier
where verdurous assault had thus converged
was in the massive wood where she, Abu
and BLING had found Miss Gumi’s ring. “Nǐ hǎo,”
said Shushu, then “huānyíng.” Ai’s mother moved
toward both with grin and wide embrace. The plow
at rest against the farmhouse showed fresh wear,
a tool to harvest fest’s vowed fresh feast fare.
184.
“Wǒ hěn gāoxìng,” Stel made out from Ayi’s
quick speech, excitement in the tone belied
stiff bodies. Ai traced their plot’s boundaries
in back of house, and Stel joined her astride.
Abu came too, the first to ask their host
and sister what the giant, round brick stove
was used for—far too large to cook or roast
the common foods, resembling treasure trove
with smokestack. “Time ago, the Great Leap for
the Forward,” Ai replied, “ask country all
to metal tool and pot melt, give up. War
to fast make industry. Did not work. Stalled.”
“The rulers broke the country and you still
wed your fate to fulfilling their state will?
185.
Since independence, we have never had
regimes’ directives forcefully policed
in households,” Stel said, hinting at ironclad
power held by PSB’s enforcement beast.
Ai understood more than she could express,
and pulled the essence out of what Stel spoke.
Ai’d hoped to fuller rationale profess,
for Stel’s slight had conditioning evoked:
“Past problem, okay now. I know from Dad.”
“Upheaval every decade recently
scarred people, my books mentioned,” Ab did add.
“The Party line that old folks, seasoned, see
is that you must give up control to be
a part,” said Stel, “of this society.”
186.
“Not right,” Ai’s icy look showed that her pride
was under fire. “That past, where China been.
Today the problems harder. And inside
the government is better peoples. Men
try always building better China. We
must do best for one billion every day.”
Ab pondered difference in immensity
compared to forty million in the fray
in Tanzania. Twenty-five countries
equivalent in single bundle tied
together by bureaucracy. Bluntly,
he saw how they had near-beatified
past leadership. Distracted from the scene
by nature, Stella turned from Ai’s smoke screen.
187.
The kids strolled past Jurassic furnace. Light
was fading slightly, heatless sun sank, peeked
one streak through dip in hills of hematite,
whose long spine ridge made circular physique
of valley bowl. Skies clearer than Chengdu’s,
where crisp, bright orb was bled diffuse by smog.
Its amber rays reflected down, clung to
diagonal small panel, metal log,
and box atop the roof. Stel pointed, asked
what the contraption was as subject change.
It gathered all the sun in which it basked,
she learned, and put it through some heat exchange,
and made hot water at a zero cost
to cook or bathe through harshest heat or frost.
188.
Ai used Stel’s curiosity to pick
back up the reason government was good—
in gesture thoughtful, real, and politic
they’d subsidized these heaters over wood,
decreasing smoke, deforestation, and
allowing homes without access to grid
some benefit before the network spanned
so far to reach them. Farms lost out amid
the electricity demand that towns
and cities showed. Since farmers couldn’t pay
as much, priority for them went down
and richer peers in cities took away
those scarce electrons. “How’d you know all this?”
asked Stella of impressive foster sis.
189.
“My dad work all it out. He tell me so.”
This little bomb took Stella and Abu
off-guard: they realized they hadn’t known
what their host parents every day did do
when they walked off to school. Small wonder Ai
held such a Party line, though young. Her mom
had counterbalanced stiff perspectives plied
by father. She sat right in eye of calm
in household storm of pro- and anti-state.
Amazement was then interrupted by
their auntie’s call to dinner. Heading straight
back in, the scene seemed full of stimuli:
a mind refreshed with inquiry constructs
new truths, sheds what quotidian obstructs.
CHAPTER 12
190.
With gānbiān sìjì dòu and nánguā plates
for vegetables, plus rice, plus river snails,
each chosen thus to reinvigorate
the health and luck, as per tradition’s tales,
the feast was hearty. Duck and dumplings too
graced table, and each setting had one cup
for tea and one for spirits. Shushu drew
a bottle from the back room, “Bottoms up!”
in rough translation drew some adult cheer.
To see the dish::rice ratio so big
still went against the wallet-strapped austere
upbringing Stella’d had. She thanked the pig
in quiet word for giving them its life,
as she was taught by Grandmum. Shushu’s wife
191.
explained in local dialect each dish
had meaning in the feast, and Jiang Long turned
the tales to English. “It is Ayi’s wish
to know what you both think,” he said, “you’ve learned
so much about this country now. How does
it look and feel compared to yours?” “I can’t
find where to start,” Stel said, “I guess because
my mind keeps changing, as I learn. Tell Aunt
Ayi I like her place, and China too.
They’re really different to the naked eye
from what I know from home. Here you’ve pursued
fast growth, fast change. I’m trying to figure why.
I see it even here: your farm’s got lights,
a step above our kerosene at night.”
192.
Translation gave her time to think. “I’ll add,
I’m struck how peaceful, calm it feels out here.
The city by comparison is mad.”
The aunt’s reply near whisper, “What appears
so calm can hide so much you cannot see,
the controversies farmers always stew.”
Translating this accommodatingly
was mother, stepping in. “Recall when you
read ‘Wind’ by Xue Tao at the end is line,
At night a path among the pines is des-
olate and sad. Out here you’re not confined
by space, but by the view you’re somewhat less
than people in the cities.” Jiang’s look pierced,
wife’s eyes conspiratorially fierce.
193.
Manila ultimatum folder stared
back at the Secretary from his desk.
It asked a comprehensive view prepared
reporting on to what degree grotesque
environmental consequences would
result from building this new dam. To flood
such drastic tracts in every likelihood
would alter sediment deposits, mud
distributed in patterns not seen for
millennia. The Chair sought all details.
The Secretary’s stakes on planned lakeshore
were not to be this easily derailed.
The trick would be to find the line where truth
could blur to all but master bloodhound sleuth.
194.
A blend just right, he thought, will make it sound
as if a couple species take a hit.
That hurts but shouldn’t run into the ground
approvals. And I’ll need some counterfeit
assessment of the anaerobic rot,
perhaps based on assumptions that we’ll clear
organic residue from farmers’ plots
before submerging them in water. Queer
accounting for the carbon wouldn’t prove
incriminating. Hopefully none pose
the methane question, since he had removed
its mention in the press. The only foes
were Agriculture and Interior;
their chance of winning ever drearier.
195.
Quite long ago as child he’d been Red Guard,
the middle school patrols enforcing Mao.
His puissant silver tongue left him disbarred
by boss who’d felt his power was threatened. Vow
to someday rehabilitate his brand
had fueled resolve when he was forced to toil
as peasant in decrepit hinterland,
the punishment for all accused turmoil.
He’d seen the land denuded, clumped soil turned
from loam to dustbowl, powderized like souls
of those he worked with, sum of Party’s spurned.
Though loving nature, overriding goal
became to rise past trauma and regain
his dignity before that false arraign.
196.
Back in the time before the Red Guard, he
like other boys delighted in the Earth,
watched firs and tallows sway absorbingly
in partridge-laden winds. His childhood mirth
was artless, effervescing through his play
with toys in dioramas nature made
ostensibly for his amusement. Sway
from early light naïveté to shade
occurred when vengeance overtook his mind:
to be deprived of rights put all else last.
No conifer outweighed his years maligned,
so nature’d take another blow if asked.
As Secretary, now that pile of gold
was his to take to heal the wounds of old.
197.
Across a labyrinthine set of halls
in bureaucratic fortress, sat the Chair,
with deputy of PSB on call
to snoop into his colleague’s cloaked affairs.
“The Secretary, I’ve come to suspect,
has vested interests in this dam. I want
you to identify what indirect
investments he might hold. He oughtn’t vaunt
this project quite as fervently if he
were holding true to what his Ministry
is tasked with. I suspect complicity
with someone. Be discreet. When finished, please
report to me directly. I’ll be back
next week to bust this kleptomaniac.”
198.
Jiang switched the subject swiftly. “What’s the news?”
he asked of gracious hosts. The following
exchange occurred in flurry, words like ‘lose’
and ‘fear’ and ‘fair’ flew ’round, with swallowing
of caustic accusations. Kids confused,
they waited patiently and ate their food.
The bickering increased as adults boozed,
yet seemed to not cause any souring mood.
Ten minutes in, the mother turned to kids
to share what Ayi’d laboringly told:
the province once decided to get rid
of half a million family farm households
because they lived in valley ringed in by
some overlapping mountain ranges high
199.
enough to make a floodplain quarter-mile
in depth. That height made electricity
from hydro economic and worthwhile.
Her cousin led a life simplicity
would envy, didn’t know a trade besides
the age-old art of cultivation. When
forced into town, he soon began to slide:
unwittingly they’d fashioned mice from men
by robbing them of dignity of work.
No money in the pocketbook could quell
the scathing goblins that within him lurked.
Ripped off, away from purposed life in dell
it wasn’t long before he chose to part
this world, fatigue at leeching in his heart.
200.
Details of Ayi’s story further grim,
accentuated how it must have felt
to cede career on governmental whim.
The payment to offset where they had dwelt
came late, and less than promised. Wealth was used
as selling point persuading folks to leave,
then claims for those amounts were all refused
once families relocated. “These days, we’ve
chance of like crisis here. The rumor mill
round Fan says Party’s putting plan in pen
to dam and flood this valley too. None will
confirm it, but one local councilman
whose opposition tendencies are clear
has hinted possibility is near.”
201.
Abu looked sullen, dragged by bygone world.
This type of story seldom had effect
on him, Stel thought. His story she unfurled:
“From Syria to Turkey family trekked,
then Tanzania next to reinvent
themselves, for loyalty. They bought a farm
at uncle’s urging. That was what kin meant.
They wanted to be close to him. The charm
of farming was corrupted as rains notched
a drought, and parents tilled the soil to dust.
Their midlife change of jobs, completely botched,
left hungry mouths. It takes time to adjust.”
The dignity effects of daily work
seemed unconfined by any culture’s quirk.
202.
Jiang Long had set down chopsticks and tuned in
to narrative that Stel shared. Too engrossed
by learning of the demons lodged within
that boy from past detailed, he played poor host
and failed to translate back for in-laws. Toasts
decelerated, teacups took their place.
To turn productive elderly to ghosts
in culture that cast work as sign of grace
brought worry to his mind. The old endured
so much upheaval, many decades missed.
To hear from son who saw dad thus unmoored
was hauntingly a future, reminisced.
His heart would break to himself be denied
his livelihood and watch it impact Ai.
203.
“
Good Uncle, pray tell me which councilman
you heard in opposition,” said Jiang Long,
“you know discussion’s classified. Till Fan
and others in this farmland basin prong
hear Party proclamation on what’s best,
that rumormonger’d best to still his tongue.
The last thing China needs is false distress
to spring from mouth upon whose station’s strung
authority of our officialdom.
Maintaining order means maintaining minds
in tranquil form of beneficial mum
until the spokesman shares what Party finds
is best for those affected. Proffer trust
to cadres duty-bound to do what’s just.”
204.
“So tell me, Secretary, just how much
displacement you’re envisioning.” “Well, sir,
we forecast that the water’s set to touch
the land of near a million.” “I’d prefer
to know the demographics. Are they young
and able to relocate? Capital
from relocation payment could be flung
productively in ways compatible
with training them and integration. But
if they’re all old, our challenge changes in
its very definition. Old folks cut
off from support are left estranged. It’s grim.”
“Since youth have moved to cities, sir, the share
of elderly’s two-thirds of those left there.”
205.
Back at the dinner, chopsticks’ plastic ticks
and jostling arms for reach made background noise
layered in a dissonant yet rhythmic mix,
with punctuating lines in filtered voice,
mouths full. The guttural provided bass
and click of polymers on melamines
like maladjusted metronome whose pace
had self-doubt, like a tango Argentine.
The sonic texture mimicked what they’d heard
in restaurants: the pandemonium
of eating they had culturally concurred
was diamond loud; when soft, zirconium.
Why mumly masticate and feel contrite
when body’s sounds express the tongue’s delight?
206.
Above the munching, crunching overheard
and Lazy Susan click-spin ’round and ’round,
Abu let fly a question he’d deferred
about the bountied grub that did surround:
“This pork that’s red—it’s sauce, not blood, that’s right?”
Not tasting pork back home caused innocent
yet pointed questioning to follow tight
behind each unfamiliar dish. Slow went
his progress picking up the words for foods.
“Dāngrán,” said Ai, (‘of course’ in mother tongue)
“it called the hóngshāo ròu.” “The name alludes