by Jeff Stone
The airplane began to bank gently to one side, and I lowered my window shade, blocking out the blinding morning sun. I needed a break from thinking about all the things that had happened over the past few days, and what I might encounter in the coming week. I turned on the overhead reading light and grabbed one of the adventure novels I’d brought, then eased my seat back and settled in for the thirteen-and-a-half-hour flight to Beijing International Airport.
Thanks to minimal headwinds, I landed in Beijing half an hour ahead of schedule. Between the thirteen-hour flight and the twelve-hour time difference, I arrived twenty-five hours after I’d left. It was ten a.m. in Beijing, but my body thought it was ten p.m. the previous night. I sort of wished I’d gotten a few hours of sleep on the plane. The book I’d been reading had been too good to put down.
We taxied up to the terminal, and I stepped out into a different world. While the airports in the United States had been crowded, this place was pure mayhem. Thousands of arriving passengers were being corralled like cattle and funneled through mazes of roped partitions leading into the customs area. Everyone was in a hurry, and nearly everyone was smoking. The humid air stank of cigarettes, and a yellow fog hung near the ceiling, obscuring many of the signs. The signs were in Chinese and English, but I still had no idea which line I was supposed to get into. This place was insane. There was no way PawPaw was going to find me.
As I stood trying to get my bearings in the nicotine haze, someone with a heavy Chinese accent made an announcement in English over the airport’s loudspeakers, but I didn’t catch what it was. The man behind me motioned to a lane that was opening up. “This way, mate,” he said in a cool Australian accent. “Aussies, Americans, and Canadians. I reckon you’re one of the above, like me.”
“Right,” I replied. “Thanks. You go first. I’ve never done this before.”
The man nodded and stepped around me. I followed him toward a series of tall booths fronted with thick glass. There were lanes between the booths, and standing just inside the newly opened lane was an old Chinese woman with thinning white hair offset by shockingly clear eyes that seemed to peer into my very essence. She wore a jogging suit and bright white Converse high-tops with pink laces tied all the way up her ankles. While I didn’t recognize her face, I remembered those eyes. I also remembered that Grandfather often sent PawPaw American clothing. It had to be her.
I waved, and PawPaw smiled, waving back. I felt a flood of relief. I waited for my turn; then I stepped up to a booth and pulled out my passport and other documents. The official flipped through my papers with hands clad in blue surgical gloves. He stamped my passport and handed everything back, then waved me off.
I slipped through the lane and headed for PawPaw. She greeted me in English.
“Phoenix!” she said. “It is such a pleasure to see you again! You’ve grown so much. And you’re so handsome! It is fortunate that you look little like your grandfather. He is a wonderful man, but his face is too long and he always looks as though he just swallowed something sour.”
I smiled. “It’s great to see you again, too, PawPaw. I should call you that, right?”
“Of course,” she replied, her smile broadening. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “People have been calling me that for generations.” She winked.
I nodded. Judging from the extraordinarily deep laugh lines in her face, it was easy to believe that she had been around a few hundred years, grinning the entire time.
PawPaw began to walk, her voice returning to normal volume. “We have one more customs checkpoint to go through; then we can collect your baggage and get out of here. We might even be able to get you onto an earlier coach.”
“Coach?” I asked, following her through the throngs of travelers.
“A bus,” she replied. “You’re going to the city of Kaifeng.”
Before I could ask more, she stopped at a long row of low tables. Behind each table was another customs official. I saw travelers opening their carry-on bags for the officials. Some travelers were told to dump the entire contents onto the tables. I waited for my turn, stepped up to a table, and unzipped my duffel bag. The official looked at me, then at PawPaw, and waved us on without bothering to go through the bag. PawPaw seemed pleased. She began to weave her way through the crowds again.
“That was quick,” she said. “This is good. By catching the earlier bus, you will arrive in Kaifeng before dark. That will make me feel better. There are worse places you could be in China than Kaifeng after dark, but not many.”
I was confused. “I thought I was going to spend at least one night in Beijing with you.”
“Heavens, no! You have work to do. Your body is probably telling you that it is time to go to sleep, but you can sleep on the ride south. Your bus trip will take nine or ten hours, depending on how many farm animals you encounter wandering across the roads. You could be delayed by flocks of sheep or whole herds of cattle. Outside the big cities, China is quite rural.”
I felt a pang of nervousness in my gut.
“Don’t worry,” PawPaw said in a cheery voice. “I would never send you out alone without ammunition.” She patted one of her pockets. “I will show you this later. For now, let us talk of other things. Do you have any questions?”
“Tons,” I said. “Where do I go after Kaifeng?”
“You will ultimately travel about sixty miles farther, deep into Henan Province.”
“That’s south, right?”
“Yes, and it is going to be hot. Beijing is about the same latitude as your home near Indianapolis, so you can expect roughly the same weather here. Where you are headed will be even hotter.”
I gave her a quizzical look.
“I am addicted to Internet satellite map software,” PawPaw admitted with a chuckle. “I love researching medicinal herbs and the places they grow around the world.”
“I see,” I said. Grandfather didn’t even know how to turn on a computer.
We reached baggage claim, and I couldn’t believe how many luggage carousels were snaking in and out of the walls. PawPaw scanned a series of information monitors and pointed across the expansive area. “This way.”
We reached the conveyor belt assigned for my flight, and I grabbed the medium-sized camping backpack that Grandfather had bought for me. It was gliding between an expensive-looking black leather suitcase and a torn cardboard box bound with twine and duct tape. I found it funny that everyone’s luggage traveled the same way, regardless of how much a person had spent on it. I grabbed my pack and shoved my duffel into it. Then I slung the pack onto my shoulders and headed for the exit with PawPaw.
Once we were outside, I felt a warm breeze hit my face. I inhaled deeply, which sent me into a coughing fit. The smog outside was nearly as bad as the cigarette smoke inside.
“The air quality is much better beyond the city,” PawPaw said. “Fewer people can afford cars out there. Excessive vehicle exhaust is the price we pay in the cities for a booming economy.”
My coughing subsided, and I followed her to a line of taxicabs. We climbed into one, and she began to haggle with the driver. Part of the conversation concerned payment, but I had no idea what the rest was about.
We pulled away from the curb, and PawPaw turned to me. “Did you understand that?”
“A little,” I replied. “Something about the cab fare.”
“That’s right. You’ll get the hang of it. Just ask people to speak slowly, and don’t be afraid to ask them to repeat themselves. Whenever you are about to purchase something, regardless of the situation or store, always push for a lower price, especially in the small towns and villages.”
My eyebrows rose. “Villages?”
“Beyond Kaifeng, you will have to travel on foot. You will pass through a few villages. You can buy food there, along with any other supplies you might need.”
“How am I supposed to find my way around? I don’t think my Chinese is good enough to ask directions.”
PawPaw removed a
palm-sized electronic device from her jacket pocket. She handed it to me.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Your ammunition,” she replied. “A GPS unit. I’ve programmed the route I think you should take.”
I glanced at the cab driver. He didn’t appear to be following our conversation in English, but I lowered my voice, just in case. “You have the GPS coordinates of a long-forgotten temple?”
“Not exactly,” PawPaw said, “but the destination I have input is certainly close. You will find it in the ‘trails’ section. I’ve also downloaded city maps and transportation schedules into the unit so you will know where to go once you get off the bus. There is even a lodging function where you can find hotels.”
I suddenly felt a lot better. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe you did all of this.”
“Why, because I’m old? Ha! I love technology, especially the Internet. Purchasing that GPS unit was the best thing I’ve done in years. It gave me an excuse to buy a new notebook computer. My old one didn’t have the right ports to connect to the GPS. You can return the GPS to me when you’re through. I would have gotten you a pay-as-you-go cell phone, but there is no service where you are going.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Phoenix. We are nearly there, anyway. Look.”
I glanced through the windshield and saw that we were coming up to a gigantic bus terminal.
“I realize that traveling alone at your age must seem strange to you,” PawPaw said, “but do not fear. You will see many young people your age and even younger getting on these long-distance buses without adult companions. Some of them are traveling to stay with distant family members, while others have completed the eighth grade and have quit school in their villages to find work in the cities to help support their parents and siblings. This has been going on for thousands of years.”
“I understand,” I said. “Grandfather told me all about it.”
“Very good.”
We reached the bus terminal drop-off point, and the taxi pulled over. PawPaw leaned forward to pay the driver, and for the first time since leaving the smoke-filled airport, I noticed the unmistakable scent hovering around her. She smelled just like Grandfather.
PawPaw climbed out of the cab and began to push her way toward a busy counter protruding from the side of the building. I grabbed my pack and followed. Five minutes later, I was holding a round-trip bus ticket to Kaifeng.
“The return voucher is valid for one week,” PawPaw said. “That should be plenty of time. Find a nice hotel in Kaifeng before the sun sets tonight, and stay off the streets. People will want to talk with you because of your unique appearance, but do not indulge them, regardless of the time of day. Most strangers will be harmless, but there are some questionable characters out there, especially in Kaifeng. Sometime I will have to tell you about an inn called the Jade Phoenix that used to be there. I imagine your grandfather has never mentioned it.”
“No, he hasn’t,” I said. “Is that where my name comes from?”
PawPaw thought a moment. “You know, that’s a very good question. I never made the connection. I’ll have to remember to ask your grandfather, though only the heavens know if he’ll give me an answer.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Go to bed early tonight, and wake with the rising sun. You have to make haste, for your stubborn, secretive grandfather’s sake.”
I began to thank her, but PawPaw gave me a shove in the direction of a nearby bus idling in the street. People were boarding it.
“There is no need for thank-yous and no time for goodbyes,” she said. “That is your bus and it is about to leave. I will call your grandfather to let him know that you arrived safely.” She threw a granola bar at me, and I caught it. “Sorry I don’t have any more food for you. I will cook you a huge meal the next time we meet. You will see me again soon enough.”
I nodded and hurried toward the bus, unaware of just how wrong PawPaw was.
An hour outside Beijing’s high-rises and crowded streets, the road beyond my bus window looked strangely familiar. Soybean farms dotted the landscape, and cows, sheep, and chickens milled about fenced fields. If it weren’t for the farmers sporting large straw hats instead of John Deere baseball caps, I would have sworn I was back home in the American Midwest.
Even the bus itself felt American. I’d once taken a Greyhound bus to Chicago’s Chinatown with Grandfather, and this one looked exactly the same, right down to the worn seats. As I had on my flight over, I cranked my seat back, only this time the steady hum of the road and the bus’s gentle rocking motion eventually coaxed me to sleep.
I woke with a start hours later to find that we’d reached the end of the line. I checked my watch. I’d slept almost the entire day. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked over my pack. It appeared to be just as I’d left it. Nobody’s fingers had found their way in. Even the GPS unit was still in the side pocket. I was good to go.
I scarfed down the granola bar PawPaw had given me and climbed off the bus with the other passengers—all of them Chinese. I saw that we were inside some kind of garage, surrounded by more buses. The air was thick with exhaust, and the ground was slick with oil. I noticed a door with daylight beyond and headed for it.
I stepped outside, into the evening sun. It wouldn’t be dark for a couple more hours, but I decided to take PawPaw’s advice and find a hotel right away. I also needed to find some more food.
I headed down the main street outside the bus terminal, looking for a restaurant, and quickly lost my appetite. The city, or at least this section of it, looked like a war zone. The buildings here were crumbling, and the streets were overflowing with trash. I imagined shady individuals watching my every move from the numerous dark alleyways. I wanted to pull out the GPS unit and try to find a nicer section of town, but I was worried that someone would dart out from the shadows and steal the GPS.
I decided to head back to the bus terminal, when I heard a noise behind me. I tried to turn around, but couldn’t. Someone had grabbed my backpack.
I lunged forward, trying to break out of the person’s grip, and the pack’s straps slipped from my shoulders. I bent my elbows, barely catching the straps in time. I continued driving my body away from the thief, but it was no use. Whoever it was was too strong. In fact, he was slowly pulling me toward him.
I heard a high-pitched laugh, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a Chinese kid about sixteen years old. His face was lean, and he had wild, beady eyes. His feet were set roughly shoulder-width apart, and his knees were bent in a deep Horse Stance, anchoring him solidly to the ground. He felt stronger than I was and based on that stance, there was a good chance he knew kung fu. Which meant that if I wanted to keep my pack, I was going to have to either be quicker than he was, or fight dirty.
Or both.
I lunged backward, shifting my hips closer to his. At the same time, I swept my right leg up and back in a powerful arc, like a scorpion raising its stinger. The bottom of my hiking boot connected with the kid’s groin, and he let out a piercing shriek. He let go of my pack, and I felt his hands grab at the hair on the back of my head.
I pivoted to my right and released my left arm from my pack sling. I swung the pack around, batting away his hands, but he rushed toward me. My left arm was already cocked behind me, and as he closed the gap, I swung an overhand left fist at his face. He saw it coming and turned his head, and my punch clipped him behind the ear.
He stopped short, his legs turning to Jell-O. I saw a fog settle over his eyes. However, he managed to stay on his feet. He was tough.
He also wasn’t stupid. He knew when to quit. He turned and ran off in an odd, loping stride.
I glanced around, but saw no one else coming at me.
I looked down at my hands and realized that they were trembling, probably from the adrenaline burst that had fueled my Scorpion Kick. While I’d been studying kung fu forever, that was the first time I’d ever had to use it
in real life. It was nothing like I’d imagined. I didn’t like it. The knuckles on my left hand were sore, and my ears were ringing, also because of the adrenaline.
I took another look around, trying to calm my jittery nerves before heading back to the bus terminal, and a sign jutting out from the side of a dilapidated building farther down the road caught my attention. I couldn’t decipher all the Chinese characters, but I did recognize one. It said BICYCLE.
It occurred to me that a few minutes inside a bike shop might help push the attack out of my mind. Besides, I’d never been inside a Chinese bike shop. It could be interesting.
I headed for the storefront, if it could be called that. The two-story building was in bad shape, its bricks crumbling into the cracked sidewalk. Large windows were boarded over with sheets of plywood. If it weren’t for a second small sign, this one on the heavy metal front door, I would have headed back to the bus terminal without giving the building another thought. The small sign contained only one Chinese character, but I could read it. It said OPEN.
I gave the battered door a gentle tug, and to my surprise it swung outward smoothly on well-oiled hinges. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Looking around, I had to blink several times to make sure I wasn’t imagining what I was seeing. It was one of the most amazing sights I’d ever encountered.