The rain thickly dyed the night. As the water brought blackness down with it, the sky also became darker by the minute. The procession hurried along in what seemed like a bottle of black ink. The night had turned such a dense black that a person literally could not see the fingers on his outstretched hand! On such a night even a ghost would stub its nose turning a corner. Cats would wish all their whiskers were like the antennae of insects. The rickshaw pullers all had matches, but only two rickshaws had lamps. Lighting the lamps in the wind and rain was no easy matter. The matches had all become damp. Striking several at once only kindled the fire inside. By then the barren plain resembled the world before the birth of Sui-jen Shih.4
Hung-chien called out hurriedly, “I have a small flashlight.” He pulled it out from the handbag he was carrying and beamed it at the ground, producing a circle of yellow light the size of one’s palm. Countless beads of rain rushed into the circle of light like moths toward a flame. Miss Sun’s large flashlight shone with snowy brightness for more than a foot, digging a tunnel through the heart of the darkness. Hsin-mei then got out of his rickshaw, took the flashlight from Miss Sun and asked Hung-chien to get out also. With one person on either side unevenly illuminating the way, the eight rickshaws followed the lights along the ridges between the fields as though it were a funeral procession. After a long while Li and Ku stepped from their rickshaws to exchange places. Hung-chien returned to the rickshaw and dozed off from exhaustion. He was suddenly roused by a disturbance; gazing out wide-eyed, he saw a white path of light lying on the ground and heard Li screaming. The rickshaws came to a halt. Li had been carrying the parasol in his left hand and the flashlight in his right. After some distance, he said, his arms had grown sore, and while he was changing hands, he had tripped and fallen into the field and couldn’t get out. They helped pull him up from the mud and told him to get in the rickshaw. It was then up to Hung-chien again to guide the way. After walking on for some time, he began to feel as if the rain would never stop and the road would never end. His shoes became heavier and heavier. Exhausted, he merely trudged on mechanically, not daring to stop; for once he did, his legs would never move again. Hsin-mei also relieved Ku.
After a long, long while they arrived at a hamlet, stopped at an inn, and paid the rickshaw pullers. When the four of them removed their shoes, there was enough mud on them to make up for all the land fleeced by corrupt officials. Li looked as though he had taken a mud bath. The back of the pants and the vests of the other three were completely splattered with mud. Everyone’s wearied eyes had turned pink from exposure to the rain. Miss Sun’s lips were a pale purple from the cold. Outside the rain had stopped, but the sound of the wind and rain kept roaring in everyone’s head. Hung-chien had something hot to eat, and at Hsin-mei’s insistence drank a little warm wine, then asked for some hot water to wash his feet. He fell sound asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Hsin-mei was also very tired but was afraid Hung-chien’s snoring would disturb him. Just as he was worrying over this, sleep caught him off guard and like a club suddenly knocked him into its dark bottom, a sleep strained of all dreams, pure and complete.
When they awoke, the sky was clear and bright as if nothing had ever happened. Only the yellow earth, sticky on the surface while hard at the core like toffee half-melted in the summer heat, making it slippery underfoot, showed that there had been a heavy rain. They all agreed that since they were tired out from walking so much the day before and their clothes were still damp, they should rest a day and continue on the next day. Ku Er-chien, whose enthusiasm was like a cork floating on water that even a heavy downpour couldn’t knock over, suggested they take a walk in the Hsüeh-tou Mountains in the afternoon. After they returned from their walk in the mountains, Hsin-mei inquired about the purchase of bus tickets. The innkeeper said that bus tickets were very hard to get. One had to crowd into the bus station before dawn, and even then couldn’t get any unless he was a government employee with an I.D., in which case he could buy tickets early through special arrangement. None of the five had any I.D., since it had never occurred to them that they would need one on the trip. At that time very few people from Shanghai ever went deep into the interior by this route. Most people went to Kunming via Hong Kong. Thus, before setting off they had never heard anyone mention it and were merely following the itinerary drawn up by Kao Sung-nien. Miss Sun had brought her diploma, but that was useless. Li returned to his room, opened his trunk, and took out a box of name cards, saying, “I wonder if this could be considered an I.D.”
They all crowded around for a look. The card had three titles printed on it: “Chairman, National San Lü University,” “Dean, Journalism Research Institute” and one listing him as the former secretary of such-and-such provincial branch of some political party. The cards were of fine quality paper with elegant lettering, clearly the deluxe print of the China Publishing Company. On the back in ornate lettering were the English words: “Professor May Din Lea.” Li explained to them that “The Journalism Research Institute” was in reality a sort of tutorial school he and some friends ran in Shanghai, and the two words “Chinese Department” had been omitted in the first line to make it even in length with the second and third lines. Hung-chien asked why Li hadn’t used the already existing foreign name of Lee. Li Mei-t’ing replied, “I asked a friend of mine who’s well-versed in English to choose a word which is similar in sound and has a meaning. Each word in a Chinese name has its own meaning, but there’s no point in romanizing it because a foreigner won’t be able to remember it easily when he sees it anyway. It’s just like foreign names when they are translated into Chinese. The word for George (Chiao-ch’ih) is not as easy to remember as Tso-ch’ih (help rule). The word for Chicago (Chih-chia-ke) is not as easy to remember as Shih-chia-ku (poet’s valley), because the one has both the sound and a meaning while the other is pure sound.”
Ku nodded his head and sighed in agreement. Hsin-mei furiously bit down on his lips, for it occurred to him that the word “mating’ was also homophonous with “Mei-t’ing” and had a meaning as well.
Hung-chien said, “This card should work. It should really impress the stationmaster. I’ll go with Mr. Li right now.”
Hsin-mei gave Hung-chien a look, and said with a smile, “You can’t go like that. I’d better go with him myself. I’ll go up and change my clothes.”
Hung-chien hadn’t shaved or combed his hair for two days. His hair, after having been thoroughly drenched in the rain the day before, was clumped together here and sticking up there in lofty, towering peaks. His suit had been soaked, so he was wearing one of his father’s old lined Chinese robes which barely covered his knees and showed more than half a foot of trouser leg. Everyone looked at him and laughed.
Li Mei-t’ing said, “Hsin-mei is so conscious of his appearance. The clothes I have on look even worse, but I’ll go anyway.”
Li’s old flannel overcoat, which had undergone a soaking and baking dry, the two disasters of water and fire, was limp, puffed, and in addition “paralyzed.” His trouser legs were thick and perfectly rounded without a single crease, and they could have stood up by themselves like the two hollow pillars of a nation. The imitation wool “wrinkle resistant tie,” shrunk by the water, was thin and twisted like an old man’s pigtail in Manchu times. When Hsin-mei came down after changing his clothes and shoes, Li lamented that it was as unnecessary as wearing brocaded clothes at night.
Ku clicked his tongue in admiration, “You two will have to work hard. We, members of your party, can only enjoy the fruits of your labor. Truly a case of ‘the capable ones are the busiest!’ I wish you immediate success.”
Hsin-mei said mischievously to Hung-chien, “Keep Miss Sun good company.”
Hung-chien found himself momentarily at a loss for words. Miss Sun’s blushing face suddenly reminded him of the cold water on the tables in France for mixing drinks. Since he couldn’t drink, he would just add a little red wine to the water, watching the red liquid diffuse in the whi
te liquid, giving it a foggy appearance. In another instant the whole glass of water had turned a pale red. He thought that perhaps the first time a girl had a boy friend, her state of mind was like red wine mixed with water—not really love, just a kind of lukewarm excitement.
Hsin-mei and Li returned more than an hour later. Li had a long face. Hsin-mei, all smiles, said that the stationmaster had specially reserved two tickets for the following day and three for the day after next. Of the five, who was to leave first? It was finally decided that Li and Ku would go first to Chinhua the next day. Li finally regained his spirit after a few drinks at dinner. It was told that when Hsin-mei and Li arrived at the station and asked for the stationmaster, there was a long wait before the messenger brought the stationmaster to them. His face perspiring from running, the stationmaster rushed right up to Hsin-mei and addressed him as “Mr. Li” and “Dean Li,” completely ignoring the presence of Li Mei-t’ing and even asking Hsin-mei if he weren’t also a newspaper editor. Hsin-mei told him truthfully that he was an editor at the Sino-American News Agency. The stationmaster then said, “That’s a very fine newspaper. I often read it. There’s much room for improvement in the way our station here is run. I hope you will offer me your advice, Mr. Li,” and with that the station-master jotted down his own name and gave it to Hsin-mei, tacitly requesting that Hsin-mei commend him in the paper.
Hsin-mei burst out laughing when he got to this part, explaining that for the sake of the bus tickets, he had no choice but to pose as Mr. Li for a while.
“That snobbish little rascal,” declared Ku indignantly. “He only values the clothes and not the man himself! Of course Mr. Chao is a prominent figure in society too, but Mr. Li had to suffer just because he didn’t have a smart-looking Western suit.”
“It’s not that I haven’t any new clothes,” said Li. “But it’s so dusty and dirty on the road, I don’t think it’s worth getting them soiled.”
Hsin-mei said quickly, “Without Mr. Li’s calling card, it wouldn’t have mattered how new the clothes were. Let’s drink a toast to Mr. Li.”
The next morning they saw Li and Ku off on the bus. Li’s sole concern was for his large metal trunk. Just as the bus was about to depart, he stuck his head from the bus window to ask Hsin-mei and Hung-chien to check if his trunk was on the top of the bus or not. The porter merely shook his head and said that with all the luggage that day, there was no room for that cumbersome piece. It would be sure to arrive the next day, and in any case the baggage-checker would not mishandle it. Miss Sun hurriedly reported this to Li. He frowned and was about to give instructions when the bus, which had been idling noisily for some time, suddenly worked up enough power and started off. Li’s head jerked backward, and his words seemed to have been snatched from his lips and flung into the air. Miss Sun cocked her head to one side, but could hear nothing.
Having seen all the noise and confusion of the passengers, Hung-chien, Hsin-mei, and Miss Sun grew apprehensive about the next day, but said only, “Li and Ku managed to push their way on the bus today. We shouldn’t have any problem.”
The next day when the three of them received their tickets, they generously tipped the porter in charge of the luggage and told him he mustn’t fail to put their large pieces of luggage on that bus. They waited in the crowd for the bus, each with a small case in his hand, and urged themselves constantly not to be pushed back. When the first new bus arrived, the crowd surged forward. This wild burst of energy proved that China did possess a great number of daring storm troopers. They merely weren’t up at the front lines.
Observing that the bus was too crowded for them to squeeze in, Hung-chien and his colleagues decided to rush aboard the second bus, which was just then pulling up; but before they knew it, others had scrambled up ahead of them. The three of them managed to board the bus, secure a foothold, and then catch their breaths, exchanging rueful understanding smiles, at last finding time to perspire. People still kept coming; some were rude and others were polite, pleading with a smile, “Pardon me, could you please squeeze together a little?” Still some others gave instructions based on moral principles, “When away from home or traveling, everyone must accommodate. Let’s squeeze together a little. That’s better! That’s better!” A few bluntly said, “Make way, my friend, there’s plenty of room inside. It’s silly to be blocking the doorway!” And one or two others declared hotly, “I have a ticket. Why can’t I get on the bus? Was this bus reserved for you? Humph!”
Finally, all those with tickets got on board. No one would have guessed that the small bus compartment could have stretched like elastic to hold so many people. The bus was like a sardine can. The people were packed in so tightly that their bodies were flattened out. But sardines’ bones are set deep in their bodies, while these passengers’ knees and elbows were all stuck stiffly into the bodies next to them. Moreover, sardines in a can are all laid out perfectly straight, while these passengers were coiled and twisted and bent at the waist and knee into designated geometric angles. Hsin-mei’s suitcase was too long to place on the horizontal, so he just had to set it upright in the aisle between two rows of seats and sit on top of it. Behind him was a small basket on which the woman who owned it was squatting, smoking a cigarette. Hsin-mei turned his head and asked her to please be careful not to burn his clothes with her cigarette.
This only provoked the woman, who retorted, “You don’t have eyes in your back. My eyes are in fine shape. I wouldn’t smoke up against your pants, but you just be careful you don’t knock your behind into my cigarette.”
The woman’s compatriots all joined her in laughing heartily.
Hung-chien was crowded up in front close to the bus driver, sitting on his small suitcase. Miss Sun had something of a seat on the long wooden bench, but it too was rather uncomfortable. The two men on either side had both shifted their thighs to make a space just big enough to fill in the small section of a monkey’s tail before the monkey had evolved into man.
During travel, man’s horizon becomes limited. After only a few hours on a bus, the passengers seem to be planning to spend the rest of their lives there. Once they have settled themselves, their minds and bodies seem to have found a final resting place, and having at last achieved eternal rest, they read books or newspapers, smoke, snack, and doze. For the time being, anything outside the journey belongs to a world beyond the body and in another time.
The bus driver arranged his private belongings, got into his seat, and started the motor. After a long, hard life on the road, this bus should have been celebrating its golden anniversary, but it obviously could not retire during the War of Resistance.5 A machine has no temperamental idiosyncrasies, but this bus, presuming on its old age, had developed a disposition that was cranky and intractable, eccentric and unfathomable. Sometimes it behaved arrogantly like a powerful official, other times pettishly like a little girl. Don’t think that the bus driver, coarse oaf that he was, understood anything about driving it.
At the time of departure, the engine coughed, then the muffler spewed out fumes, and the bus jerked forward, sending passengers tumbling and knocking about in all directions, screaming in unison. Miss Sun slid from her seat; Hung-chien bumped his head painfully; and Hsin-mei nearly fell backwards into a woman’s lap. With a mighty shake, the bus moved ten or twenty li in one breath, then suddenly tried to stop for a rest, but the driver forced it to continue forward. This happened four or five times until it finally dawned on the bus that it was not to be a leisurely stroll during which it could tarry where it pleased, but it was actually expected to go somewhere, and the road ahead was endless! Infuriated, it refused to move. The driver had no choice but to step down, and after spending a moment trying to clear matters up with the engine, picked up a ball of mud from the side of the road and threw it at the bus. It ambled forward, reeling and swaying as though tipsy from drink. Each time it refused to go, the driver let out a stream of foul abuse, and at this point he cursed it even more soundly. However he cursed, the meani
ng was always the same: The driver wished to enter into carnal relations with the bus’s mother or grandmother. While the cursing lacked variety, its force grew stronger and stronger.
Sitting behind the driver was a uniformed government employee with a fifteen-or sixteen-year-old girl, apparently father and daughter. Though a young girl, her face was made up in colors to rival the rainbow after a rain, sunlight through a prism, or a gaily arrayed flower garden in full bloom. The powder she had on wasn’t imported, but seemed more like what cement masons used to plaster over walls. The bus shook so violently that particles of the powder from her face joined the dust and danced in the sunlight. As she listened to the driver’s increasingly more frank invective, nature won out over artifice and the redness of disgust showed through the applied redness. She whispered something to her father. The government employee then called out to the bus driver, “Please watch your language a little, my friend. There’s a lady present! Hmm?”
The bus driver paled and was about to retort, when the military officer and his wife, who were sharing the bench with the girl and her father, put in, “What’s the use of all that cursing? The bus will break down anyway. That rough language of yours is offending people.”
The bus driver, who had been thinking of throwing up his hands and saying, “I quit!” suddenly remembered that the government employee and the military officer had both been escorted to the garage by the station-master so they could get first choice of seats. Both had brand new attaché cases and were said to be on official assignments for the provincial government. Realizing he could not get the better of them, he stifled his anger and muttered under his breath, “I, your father, just like to cuss. What’s it to you! If you don’t like it, then plug up your ears and go deaf!”
Fortress Besieged Page 23