who had now stopped running but was still standing on the platform waving, getting smaller and smaller as the train picked up speed. It suddenly dawned on Zhongmei that Zhongqin had been right all along, and there really was no chance for her to be chosen at the Beijing Dance Academy. Yes, this whole thing was a stupid act of selfishness and self-delusion. She felt a pang of shame when she thought of her stubbornness, her hunger strike, her family’s generosity, and the debt they had incurred to put her on this train, which she was thinking now was carrying her to a place she didn’t want to go.
But it was too late for second thoughts. The train was pulling out of the station and picking up speed. It clattered past factories with huge smokestacks, its whistle shrieking to warn pedestrians and bicyclists who waited at intersections behind security gates that flashed red warning lights. Therewere rows of cement apartment blocks with laundry hanging from bamboo poles on their terraces and open-sided shelters crowded with rows of black Flying Pigeon bicycles. Then, as darkness fell, the wide-open landscape of North Manchuria passed by Zhongmei’s window, immense fields bounded by high hills that rose into the sky like the humps of mythological animals. Zhongmei leaned back on her hard seat and readied herself for the long trip.
“Hey, your ice stick is melting!” It was Huping, shaking Zhongmei out of her reverie.
In all the tumult of her mind, she had entirely forgotten to eat the one Zhongqin had thrust through the train window, and it was now dripping syrupy liquid over her hand and onto her blue cotton pants. She licked it, glad to have it, noting that, like this departure for Beijing, it had a distinctly sweet and sour taste.
6
Stranded
Z hongmei and Huping arrived in Harbin after a mostly sleepless night just after dawn the next morning. Harbin was the capital of Heilongjiang, which means “Black Dragon River” and is the northernmost province of China. They had the whole day to wait before their next train, and in the morning they wandered the streets, broader and busier than any Zhongmei had ever seen, but in the afternoon they stayed in the station waiting room, watching the crowds of people surging into the high-ceilinged concourse and out of it again. Outside, through the open station doors, Zhongmei could see a large plaza with groups of people sitting on their bags, lying on the ground and sleeping, taking cigarette after cigarette out of red and white packs labeled DOUBLE HAPPINESS and smoking them while squatting on their haunches. People also smoked in the waiting room, which was filled with an acrid haze. They read newspapers or played cards or Chinese chess, using crinkly plastic sheets for boards and round wooden pieces with theChinese characters for “general,” “major,” “lieutenant,” “foot soldier,” and “commander-in-chief” printed on them. Across from Zhongmei a man in a well-tailored gray tunic, matching pants, and silver-framed glasses sat and read the
People’s Daily
. He had a large metallic watch on his wrist and a black plastic satchel with the characters for Beijing inscribed on it. Zhongmei knew from his refined clothes and watch that he was an official of the government, and she wondered how high up he was.
Finally the time to board their train came. Zhongmei and Huping headed for the hard-seat cars in the rear of the train. Hard seat was the lowest of the three classes of service in China’s supposedly classless socialist society. Hard seat meant that they would sit squeezed in among countless others on straight-backed wooden benches, a little like church pews. Above, the luggage racks were crammed with cloth suitcases and red-and-blue-striped plastic bags. In those days, Chinese trains were crowded, dilapidated, uncomfortable, and usually dirty. The next class above hard seat was hard sleeper, which was better than hard seat because there were plastic-covered
But it was too late for second thoughts. The train was pulling out of the station and picking up speed. It clattered past factories with huge smokestacks, its whistle shrieking to warn pedestrians and bicyclists who waited at intersections behind security gates that flashed red warning lights. Therewere rows of cement apartment blocks with laundry hanging from bamboo poles on their terraces and open-sided shelters crowded with rows of black Flying Pigeon bicycles. Then, as darkness fell, the wide-open landscape of North Manchuria passed by Zhongmei’s window, immense fields bounded by high hills that rose into the sky like the humps of mythological animals. Zhongmei leaned back on her hard seat and readied herself for the long trip.
“Hey, your ice stick is melting!” It was Huping, shaking Zhongmei out of her reverie.
In all the tumult of her mind, she had entirely forgotten to eat the one Zhongqin had thrust through the train window, and it was now dripping syrupy liquid over her hand and onto her blue cotton pants. She licked it, glad to have it, noting that, like this departure for Beijing, it had a distinctly sweet and sour taste.
6
Stranded
Z hongmei and Huping arrived in Harbin after a mostly sleepless night just after dawn the next morning. Harbin was the capital of Heilongjiang, which means “Black Dragon River” and is the northernmost province of China. They had the whole day to wait before their next train, and in the morning they wandered the streets, broader and busier than any Zhongmei had ever seen, but in the afternoon they stayed in the station waiting room, watching the crowds of people surging into the high-ceilinged concourse and out of it again. Outside, through the open station doors, Zhongmei could see a large plaza with groups of people sitting on their bags, lying on the ground and sleeping, taking cigarette after cigarette out of red and white packs labeled DOUBLE HAPPINESS and smoking them while squatting on their haunches. People also smoked in the waiting room, which was filled with an acrid haze. They read newspapers or played cards or Chinese chess, using crinkly plastic sheets for boards and round wooden pieces with theChinese characters for “general,” “major,” “lieutenant,” “foot soldier,” and “commander-in-chief” printed on them. Across from Zhongmei a man in a well-tailored gray tunic, matching pants, and silver-framed glasses sat and read the
People’s Daily
. He had a large metallic watch on his wrist and a black plastic satchel with the characters for Beijing inscribed on it. Zhongmei knew from his refined clothes and watch that he was an official of the government, and she wondered how high up he was.
Finally the time to board their train came. Zhongmei and Huping headed for the hard-seat cars in the rear of the train. Hard seat was the lowest of the three classes of service in China’s supposedly classless socialist society. Hard seat meant that they would sit squeezed in among countless others on straight-backed wooden benches, a little like church pews. Above, the luggage racks were crammed with cloth suitcases and red-and-blue-striped plastic bags. In those days, Chinese trains were crowded, dilapidated, uncomfortable, and usually dirty. The next class above hard seat was hard sleeper, which was better than hard seat because there were plastic-covered
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