Mountain Girl River Girl (16 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Fifteen minutes later, after saying goodbye to the cranky map-seller, Pan-pan and Shui-lian reached Changan Avenue, the Avenue of Eternal Peace, the widest road either of them had ever clapped eyes on. Pan-pan peered in both directions, wondering how on earth a road could be so long and flat—and so straight, without a single turn or twist as far as her eyes could see. Standing on tiptoe, Shui-lian, too, craned her neck, gazing up and down the spacious boulevard that was broader than some of the rivers in Sichuan. Yet all six lanes were jam-packed with moving vehicles, all zipping past like blowing wind, all in a great hurry.

But nothing was as strange or scary as the discovery that there was no means to cross the thoroughfare. Each corner of the sidewalk was fenced off by metal bars. If it hadn’t been for a kind old man who directed them to an underground passage, Pan-pan and Shui-lian would have been stranded there for a long time. When they re-emerged on the north side of the boulevard, Pan-pan stopped to check the map and realized that the famous Tiananmen Square was only blocks away. So was the Forbidden City, the residence of the Chinese emperors and their families that her mother had talked about so often when Pan-pan was a child. Thinking about her mother, Pan-pan was engulfed by an aching homesickness. After almost three months of living in a walled compound, Beijing’s busy streets, the towering buildings, and the throngs of people made her yearn for her village and her home in Guizhou, for Ah-Po’s cooking, even Xin-Ma’s chirpiness, and the shrieks of little Gui-yang. In the past three months she had written home twice and received one letter from Xin-Ma, which she had kept from Shui-lian, as her friend had heard nothing from her family in Sichuan. Pan-pan planned to write again as soon as she located Sun Ming. The last time she heard from them, her half-brother was learning to talk. By now he had probably become a chatterbox like his mother. The rising heat and constant din that wrapped around her like a thick blanket also stirred memories of cool mountain air, even in the midst of summer, and tranquility. The twisting trails and footpaths she had disliked for as long as she could remember seemed enchanting now.

As she and Shui-lian plodded wordlessly along the hot pavement, Pan-pan didn’t want to think about where they would spend the night if they failed to find Sun Ming. Nevertheless, the worry hung in her mind and refused to leave.

Beside her, Shui-lian paused to loosen the shoulder straps of her bedroll. It was getting heavier, leaving a large soggy patch on her back. As she trudged along beside Pan-pan, she didn’t understand how Beijing—Northern Capital—could be this hot. She wished there was a river nearby, even a pond, that she could jump into to cool herself, as she had often done as a child. And she was thirsty and hungry. The throbbing pain from her wound and the insistent buzzing of cicadas in the trees made her head spin. She wished time would stop. If she were alone, she would plunk herself down right in the middle of the sidewalk, stretch out, close her eyes, and try to ignore the heat, the noise, and the endless flow of people.

Following the map, Pan-pan led Shui-lian onto Inner Chaoyangmen Avenue. A few blocks farther west they crossed the road onto North Chaoyangmen Road. Immediately they found themselves facing a field of ruins. It looked as though an earthquake had struck, with the piles of debris, mounds of broken bricks and clay roof tiles, heaps of severed wooden posts and beams. Like battered curbs, the wall foundations mapped a whole neighbourhood of single-storey houses, courtyards, and
hu-tongs
that had once existed. Two giant yellow machines were working in the distance, growling and puffing black smoke. Each was armed with a long steel claw, slowly yet determinedly clearing the ground. A mere touch of the claw, it appeared, and everything standing in its way was toppled, as though the clay and brick structures as well as the concrete walls were all made of toy blocks. Clouds of dust rose and mingled with the quivering heat, tangling and dancing together. It was a scene of desolation and despair, a ghost town under a bright sunny sky, a sharp contrast with what they’d just witnessed: the vast tree-lined boulevards, the glittering glass and steel high-rises and apartment buildings.

As she looked about, Pan-pan felt anxious and confused. How could a neighbourhood vanish? The area was, by the look of it, at least several times larger than her village, and had been home to so many people, including Sun Ming. Where were they? They couldn’t have just disappeared like the swirling dust. Even dust, Pan-pan thought, would eventually have to settle somewhere.

Pan-pan felt overcome by desperation. Where would she start her search for Sun Ming? She had failed Shui-lian again, dragged her all the way north to this wasteland. Another futile mission, like fetching water in a bamboo basket. First the factory, now this. By the look of it, Sun Ming could be anywhere, maybe not even in the city anymore. Pan-pan didn’t have a clue where to go from here, nor enough money to go home even if she and Shui-lian wanted to.

“Everything’s gone,” she said. “It’s hopeless!”

“Look, Pan-pan,” said Shui-lian, pointing into the sun. “What about that house?”

As a hot breeze parted the dust, a low wall, then the house behind it, came into view. The house’s black clay tile roof was still intact. Shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand, Pan-pan squinted harder and saw a chimney.

“Good,” she said with relief. “It looks like people still live there. Let’s go and see.”

Gingerly, they picked their way forward, circling heaps of splintered wood and shards of plaster and mortar, passing dismantled furniture and broken household items, skipping over puddles of black water and ditches filled with soiled red and green plastic bags. The whole place smelled of manure and urine and seemed to have become a haven for rats, stray dogs and cats, and swarms of redheaded flies.

As they got closer, Shui-lian realized she was looking at a damaged courtyard. Two side walls had been reduced to mounds of bricks. Half of the doorway and the back wall remained standing like defiant warriors on a battlefield. On the left, a dwelling stood almost intact, though its wooden door and window frames were all askew, vibrating and trembling in rhythm with the digging and demolition going on nearby. It must take a will of steel to live here in the midst of such chaos, thought Shui-lian. No wonder all the windows and doors were tightly shut and the curtains pulled closed despite the high temperature. From the corner of her eye she saw the curtain twitch.

“Someone’s in the house,” she whispered into Pan-pan’s ear so that Pan-pan could hear her above the din. “Maybe they know where Sun Ming is.”

“I don’t think so. We’re already too far away from Sun Ming’s street,” Pan-pan snapped, fingering the map, irritated by the heat and noise. “We’re in the wrong place. Remember, she should be in an apartment building, on the third floor, not a one-storey house like this.”

“It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go and ask,” Shui-lian lashed back. “Besides, what’s the right place in such a wasteland? You tell me!”

“You’re right, let’s try anyway.”

They headed to the door. As they got nearer, they could hear the hum of an air conditioner. Before they had a chance to knock, the crooked door opened with a sharp squeak, letting out a gust of cool, damp air and revealing a sliver of black cloth and half an unshaved face.

“What do you want?” a man croaked, clearing his throat coarsely. “Go away!”

Behind him someone was talking.

“We, we’re looking for … for a relative,” Pan-pan answered, using the word the map-seller had applied to Sun Ming. “She used to live here, or very near. I wonder if you know her and can tell us where she is now.”

The man, who had been about to shut the door, burst out laughing. “What do you think this is? A bloody police station?” He coughed again, spat on the ground, and smeared the gob with his shoe before shutting the door in Pan-pan’s face.

Pan-pan and Shui-lian stared at each other, then slowly turned and walked out of the courtyard. By now the sun had climbed higher, and the pounding and smashing had stopped. The site was strangely quiet. The crew must be having their morning break. Hot, thirsty, hungry, and utterly discouraged, Pan-pan and Shui-lian found a pool of shade behind the wall and sat down. Leaning against their bedrolls, they ate some leftover dry bread, each immersed in her own thoughts, then they both fell asleep.

When they awoke, the sun had shifted and was now baking them in its fading glory. The machines had moved to the other side of the ruins, and sounds from the streets floated in: the shouts of Popsicle-sellers, the ringing of bicycle bells, and the constantly beeping horns of cars and trucks.

Shui-lian yawned and stretched her arms. “I need to go to the toilet,” she said, standing up.

“Me too. I wonder if there’s one nearby.”

To their surprise, they found one just around the corner, and it was open. And open was all it was. Where the door and windows had once been, holes gaped in the decrepit walls. Even before they walked in, the stench made their eyes water. According to the blue-and-white plate hanging above the entrance, the facility had been set up for the use of local residents who didn’t have indoor plumbing. It was simply a large room, with low partitions between each hole that served as a toilet. The place must have seen much better days, and smelled better, Shui-lian thought, holding her breath as she ducked her head low to avoid the clouds of buzzing flies that protested her intrusion.

Once outside again, they spotted a water tap on a pipe sticking out of the ground. Taking turns, they bent down, splashing cold water on their faces and drinking from their scooped palms.

“Are you tired of living?” a voice demanded. “Some folks won’t even let their dogs drink that.”

The same man they had encountered earlier stood behind them, holding two plastic pails.

“We’re thirsty,” Pan-pan grumbled.

“Then go buy some bottled water like everyone else does nowadays,” the man scolded, setting one pail under the tap.

“If we could afford to buy bottled water, we wouldn’t be here, wandering in this stinky dump,” Shui-lian muttered.

“I’m not in the mood for a sad story, okay? Save it for another day, or for someone else,” he shot back, yet his voice had softened a bit. Turning off the tap, he asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Guizhou,” Pan-pan replied.

“I’m from Sichuan,” added Shui-lian. A sense of rightness filled her heart as soon as she heard herself say those words loud and clear after three months of pretence and hiding.

“You’ve both travelled a long way,” the man replied. Now clean-shaven and wearing a white T-shirt, he seemed to be a different person altogether. In the natural light, he looked younger, even though he was going bald. “I spent six years of my youth in Sichuan. Unwillingly, mind you.” He paused, giving Shui-lian a faint smile. “If I try really hard, I might still be able to speak with your accent.”

Lao Feng, as he asked them to call him, lived with his widowed mother. Six months ago she had suffered a stroke, which had paralyzed her left side. “She fell ill just two days after we were given the notice of eviction,” he said.

From Lao Feng, Pan-pan and Shui-lian learned that the family compound, or
si-he-yuan—
four-walled courtyard—was typical Beijing housing. It normally contained three houses, thus three families. Each house was built against one of three walls, with the fourth wall, facing the alleyway and equipped with a double door, serving as the entrance. The enclosed yard was where the three families did their washing and cooking and relaxing. “Our lane is called Horseshoe Hu-tong. Most of the houses were constructed during the Qing Dynasty, more than a hundred years ago,” Lao Feng explained as the three of them walked, heading slowly in the direction of his courtyard.

“These
si-he-yuan
neighbourhoods are a Beijing specialty. They reflect our history, culture, and heritage,” Lao Feng continued, his voice betraying a hint of anger. “Three years ago, a wealthy Hong Kong developer purchased the whole area. His plan was to demolish every old building to make room for fancy hotels and shopping malls. And the government agreed. As a result, every resident has been ordered to leave and live somewhere else.”

“But why do you want to live in an old house when you’ve been offered a new one?” Shui-lian asked when she finally had a chance, recalling the tall and stylish apartment blocks lining the streets that she had seen earlier. “Even I can tell they’re a hundred times better than your place.”

Lao Feng halted and gave Shui-lian a look that had become familiar to her since she had left home, then smiled. “You really don’t know how the whole thing works, do you?” He emptied the pails of water into the cistern beside his damaged house. “As soon as we agree to leave, sign our names on the piece of paper, we say goodbye to the place. I don’t mean just our house, but downtown Beijing. We’ll end up living in a faraway suburb. Most of us who used to have homes here can’t afford the kind of apartments you’ve seen. The money we were offered as compensation can’t even buy a hallway or section of staircase in the high-rises you’ve mentioned. Only the super-rich can afford them.”