The New Year brought Elvis English nothing but Internet problems. If you had been wondering where I'd gone, the answer is nowhere; I've been here all the while, trying to connect to my site. And trying, and trying. Below is a post written over a month ago. Beneath the worn circus of everyday life, beneath the hyperreality of the relentless advertising media, where the bright clowns and smiling idiots try to render you senseless enough to buy their products, and just under the thick veil of the constant shaming culture--always seeking to scold you back into line, is the real China, a daily surprise, a guise, a mirror, disfigured and wretched and delightful, stark, stubborn, ancient and wise, a smiling calligraphic mystery that feels so close to grasping yet is forever floating away as if you were awakening from the blurred fog of yet another, dissolving morning dream. It is these dreams that become the bones of memory. I was on my way to spend New Year's Eve with some expats in Baoji, some seven hours away by train, and after having shown my passport and ticket, run my luggage through the X-ray belt, been security-wanded and pronounced harmless, on approaching the escalator an image of the duality of modern China presented itself. At the base of the escalator a woman, carrying a baby, stood frozen in fear. Around her, people flowed as if she were a stone in a river, unconcerned, as is the public habit in China. Her clothes betrayed her rural background, and it was obvious she was facing the collapsing and rising, steel-toothed terror of an escalator for the first time. I wanted her to have the opportunity to conquer her fear before I intervened, but after a few false starts, she became even more terrified. I shouldered my pack, placed my spread palm squarely in the center of her back, and, cooing soothing sounds, ushered her forward. She balked at first, but the momentum forced her to take that one gigantic leap, and then she was on the step and rising. I grabbed her arm, with my hand still spread in her back, one step below, all the while reassuring her. We rose up, her trembling, the baby laughing, enjoying it all. For her, it must have seemed like an eternity. For the baby and me, it ended all too soon. Strangely, when we reached the top, her husband was waiting to collect her, and they walked away without a word. I wondered if perhaps they were embarrassed? I wondered why the husband had deserted her and rode up by himself? I wondered how I could get back to the baby's initial mind state--how we all came to this planet prepackaged with joy and subsequently surrendered it to fear. Then I drifted back and tried to remember my first escalator ride. Soon, I was on the train, smoothly flowing towards Baoji. Here, I would like to share a tip about riding Chinese trains. For trips of four hours or more, buy a ticket for the lower bunk in the hard sleeper. (By the way, the difference between the hard sleeper and the soft sleeper is minimal; so don't waste your money.) This entitles you to a bottom berth, where you can sit and look out the window, have a table to eat on, and while passengers of the upper berths have the right to sit on your bed during the daytime, most don't and it is a lot more comfortable than purchasing a hard seat and the cost is not significantly more. The car was not crowded, my bunk mates were pleasant, and a good-natured, naughty child, engaged in constantly tormenting her parents, entertained me. That they were so tolerant and never became upset made my trip all the more enjoyable. Out the window, coal smoke hovered like mist over sleepy villages, winter-brick buildings sang to the sunset, ancient frozen hills mourned, the whiz and whirl of the train was sweeping everything along towards the new year, and I watched, feeling blessed, windborne, alien, alive and free. The journey became a poem to the nameless towns and nameless names and nameless lives gathering and fading along the Chinese railroad tracks, that then blinked back out and surrendered into the dark of another nameless, timeless, earthly night, so far away from my everything, yet so perfect, and knowing, and conscious, with the patience of gravestones beckoning into forever . . . Part 2 of New Year's Eve in Baoji, China, will follow.
2 Comments
Mary
2/10/2015 06:23:14 am
EE ...so great to have you back!!!! I missed reading your posts which are always so interesting and informative. The lady you helped get on the escalator reminds me of your post when you were climbing the Marijishan Cliff-face Grotto afraid of heights and then with the force of a stranger's (Wendy) energy moving you forward you overcame the fear. Your energy moved the escalator lady forward who was frozen in fear. I am sure she didn't know what to say or do as she was terrified probably for the rest of the day or life but will never forget you for your kindness. Looking forward to part 2!!
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andymonaco
3/1/2015 11:51:12 pm
my beautiful friend who writes so clearly and creates smiles behind his readers eyes; one can feel the pavement and stair treads, endure the disappointment of lateness and uninformed servings of slab meats and smile again at the twists in your journey. Yes, it is good to have you back....
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