Da Chen - Sounds of the River: A Memoir

Sounds of the River

A Young Mans University Days in Beijing

Da Chen

to Sunni

On the wooden door of the old Chen mansion, my grandpa had painted, with powerful strokes, a nostalgic couplet:

Colors of the mountain will never leave our door
Sounds of the river will linger forever in our ears

Throughout Grandpas life, Ching Mountain, with its ever-changing colors, was his hope, and the Dong Jing River, with its whispers, thunderous shouts, orsometimesjust its silence, was his inspiration.

Contents

Most of the names in the book have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Also, the name of Beijing Languages Institute has since been changed to Beijing Languages and Culture University.

The Beijing-Fujian Express! I had dreamed about the train, not once but dozens of times, in color. Each time it was different. Once, it had wings. Another time, it had the formidable head of a golden bear, the curling tail of a lion, and flew off to an outlandish place where strange headless animals danced and welcomed me with slimy arms. I had awoken in a sweat. But this was reality. The express loomed large before me as I stood on the platform with my brother, shaking hands.

Dont forget where you come from, little brother, my quiet brother Jin said, sucking in a large mouthful of smoke. His hands were a little shaky. And watch your luggage closely. There are bad guys out there. Even when youre asleep, try to wake up once in a while to check on your things.

I nodded, all choked up, looking at my toes. From now on, it was just me against the worldan exciting but dangerous place. The three-day journey on this monster would take me to the capital of China. Soon Yellow Stone, the small village that had nurtured me for the last sixteen years, my family, and my grandparents tombs would be far away. The blue Pacific would be but a memory.

I hugged Jin. With tears in his eyes, he held me in his sweaty arms. The train whistled long and sharp, echoing against the mountains. Jin pushed me away and bit his lip. Go, brother. Write us as soon as you get there, and then one letter a month like we promised Mom and Dad, okay? Dont let us worry.

I nodded and jumped onto the train. The mixed odor of sweat and some unnameable smell attacked me as I studied the route to my seat. The overhead luggage racks reminded me of a butchers store. Bags big and small were packed right up to the ceiling. Lots of other objects hung from the rack, swinging overhead. Old farmers were squatting, lying, and sitting against their large sacks of farm produce, jammed in the aisle. They smoked pipes and chattered away. I wished I had wings to carry me through this throng to my seat in the middle of the compartment. It looked like I might even have to step on the old mens heads and shoulders to get to my destination. I bent down, found a tiny space on the floor to set my feet, and moved slowly along, murmuring to the old farmers, Grandpa, please let me through.

I was six feet deep into the crowd when one funny-looking old man smiled at me with his yellow teeth. First time on the train, young man? he asked in heavily accented Mandarin.

I confessed with a nod.

You might wanna go back and empty your pot before coming through again.

It made a hell of a lot of sense, so I shoved my way back to the beginning of the compartment again, visited the windy loo, and slowly made my way back with an empty bladder as the old man suggested. I picked my way to my seat, stepped on a couple of toes, and received a few slaps on my leg for punishment. I sighed as I stood before what I believed to be my seat. An old lady was sitting in the spot matching my ticket number, looking out the window with a smirk on her face.

What should I do? If I followed the tradition of Yellow Stone, I should bow to her since she was my elder, and beg with politeness for her to let me use my seat. As I weighed my opening line, six pairs of eyes stared at me. The old lady winked, held her head high, and looked out the window again. She was playing it cool.

Grandma, if I am not mistaken, you are actually sitting in my seat, I said, forcing a small smile. My other seatmates looked on with jaded curiosity.

There was no response from the lady, not even the slightest movement of her proud head.

Excuse me, you are sitting in my seat, old comrade! I said in a firmer voice.

Me, in your seat? She turned and sneered at me, wrinkling her already wrinkled nose. The whole crowd turned their heads.

Yes, here is my ticket.

It dont do you no good. I was here first. She shook her head and crossed her chubby arms over her big chest.

No, no, you are wrong again. I was here first, way before you were. See the luggage up there? I pointed at my pathetic two pieces, now buried under the heavy pressure of some huge sacks of dried goods. And these people saw me here also. I looked to the four men and one woman around me, begging for support. Their expressions remained blank. What a lame crowd.

No, Im not moving. You, young man, can stand till we reach my stop. Then you can sit.

Finally a bespectacled seatmate spoke up in a weak but precise voice. This young man was here first, and he has the ticket. You ought to move.

A few of the other people nodded their agreement. High time! See? Please move. I have a very long journey.

How long? she asked.

To the last stop, Beijing.

Then theres no hurry for you to sit. You will have plenty of time to sit. My stop is only the first from now.

Where is that?

Hangzhou.

I wasnt too sure, but it sounded very far away. I hesitated.

Young man, the bespectacled man said, you dont need to think about it. Its twenty-four hours away from here.

Another man joined in. Old lady, you ought to get out of here.

She sat there stubbornly.

Im going to call the conductor, I said firmly, deciding to leave the sticky old lady to the hands of authority.

Dont call the conductor, please. Im moving right now. The old lady suddenly stood up and quickly collected her things. She ducked her head under the hanging luggage rack and stared angrily at all of us.

Whats this world coming to? No one gives seats to older folks anymore, she murmured and sniffed as she disappeared into another compartment.

I sat down, and the man with the glasses said, She looks like a train bum, someone without a ticket. You know, if you sit in a seat, the conductor doesnt even check your ticket. He only checks the ones in the aisle.

I see. Thank you for your help. It was not exactly a smooth start, but I forgot about it as soon as I sat down and waited for the train to pull out. I had been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. The train, the crowd, the cheering, the good-byesI had rehearsed it in my mind many times and had even practiced wiping my tears of excitement as I waved good-bye to my loving family on the platform. I had imagined waves of emotions choking my heart, lungs, then throat until tears poured out. As the train departed, I would reach my arms out the window as my family chased the train along the platform until the train left them behind. Then it would be just me and the world ahead of me. But, as I came to realize, things often didnt turn out the way I imagined. The only similarity was the last part. I was a village boy, heading for the biggest city in this country, thousands of miles away, all alone, with fifteen yuan pinned to the inside pocket of my newly tailored trousers.

The train whistled for the last time and gave three short coughs and an enormous puff of dark smoke. I strained my neck, looking for my brother, knowing very well that he had had to run back to catch his bus home to Putien. From there he would have to ride on the backseat of a bicycle from Putien to Yellow Stone. He wouldnt be home till midnight. If he missed the bus, he would have to wander the large city of Fuzhou looking for a cheap place to stay for the night and go home tomorrow. I worried about him not having enough money.