Chapter 18
Finally he had a seat, so blessed, so much craved for by the passionate travellers. Sitting upon the flat, barely cushioned surface, he was gratified, his legs and shoulders were able to stretch and relax, and he was one of the six supercilious ‘train-citizens’ in the compartment.
A seat was indeed an ancient invention of mankind in his learning the comfort of sitting, and going a step further to make such a structure. Animals such as cat, dog, monkey or cattle, know also the goodness of sitting, or sprawling, though they simply sat on their haunches and not smart enough to create a seat. Then how about birds? Well, they rarely sit, because they fly more in the air than stay on the land. However, when they are in their nest, they must still in a way bend their feet to take their rest. Then how about ants? Does an ant sit at all? A sudden idea was crossing his mind. Oh, no, an ant never sits; it stands and walks all its life. Ah! What a queer little creature!
On the greatest discovery, his eyelids were twitching.
So most animals, heavier and clumsier than the ant of course, have a need to sit, at some places, at certain intervals, by one method or another, to let the parts of a body rotate their labour in opposing gravity.
However, in this tightly packed train, the basic animal right of sitting for some passengers was denied. To imagine one stands fifteen hours and not able to sit, not able to move or stretch a bit, and worse, in a very likely scenario, not able to pee or shit anywhere but into your own pants! Wouldn’t even a cat, a cow, or a bird, if restricted and confined this insufferable way, be distressed to death, or commit suicide had it ever developed such a desperate notion?
So, very lucky, he had a seat, at last and at least; and lucky too, he was not mad, still free to think; and even luckier, he hadn’t felt so much a need to go to the toilet during all those appalling hours.
After running his seat-related fancies, his train of thoughts passed on to the watch in his pocket. Since his father gave it to him he had not had a chance to take a closer look at it. And if his memory was right, it must have been the first watch he had ever touched in his life. It was true that his dad had worn one for many years, but it was also true that it had been too precious, too enviable as a treasure in the eyes of villagers for him to play with it. Nowadays, more people had their wrists ringed with such a precious item, which had somehow become a kind of material to be proudly shown off. Indeed, there was such a watch wearer sitting opposite, who had his hand arranged wide on the desk, rolling his tatty sleeves high up in his arm, effecting a live and conspicuous watch-display.
But his father’s watch looked even better than his. It was silvery, thick and heavy, the scales on the winding crown so delicate. He touched the crown to feel its tiny teeth, and raised it close to his ear to hear its ticking. The sound was not very strong, but steady and resolute like a living heart. Its hands indicated 5:14, well, of course, it was in the afternoon, judging from the light outside the window.
After putting the watch back in his pocket, he was idle again, and then felt hungry. He expected the food cart to come. He knew, even if it was beyond anyone’s imagination of passing a cart in such a condition, it would eventually arrive. The human body could be unbelievably supple and foldable under the extreme circumstances.
So the cart came, and he got a box of rice with a drumstick, and finished it with a few strokes of the chopsticks that came with it. He had been a farmer, and was still a farmer, who had to put food before other preferences. Once finished, he inserted the empty box into the mess on the crowded little desk. It was first time he had used the desk; he had a right to do so, because it was supposed to be shared by the six sitters in the compartment.
This done, he sat back, and closed his eyes, and let another white day drift away, with more stations passing with or without his consciousness.
Then, he heard an announcement, a sweet and sleepy womanish voice from the speaker, ‘Dear passengers, Xi’an station is coming, those who need to get off at Xi’an station, please pack your luggage, and be ready to get off the train.’
It was then repeated again, again, and again.
To his little knowledge, Xi’an was roughly in the middle of his trip to Shanghai. But now that he had secured a seat, the rest of the journey would be much more endurable, that was, pray, only if he wouldn’t have to pee or shit.
Some time later, the train pulled to a stop at Xi’an station. He opened and then closed his eyes again, commanding the commotion to bypass his mind. In the meantime he must have a little nap, for when he opened his eyes again, the train had already left Xi’an station, rattling on. The light outside the window was soft and tired. It was evening. Some peasants, with hoes on their shoulders, were trudging along the narrow ridges of the fields. They were just farmers, so low and common, as ancient as the earth.
Really he was very tired, he was longing for sleep. He felt his face was very dirty, and the soreness in his neck never went away. But by managing his slumber like a cat, opening and closing his eyes as if some danger would close upon him at any of his unwary moment, he achieved very little rest.
The outside world was growing darker, and the human noise on top of the monotonous jogging of the train was weaker. Then, after how long he didn’t know, the train stopped at a station where the tumult seemed to be exceptionally disturbing. Someone was screaming on the platform. And in the carriage, the standing passengers beside him began to move, shove, and fold over to the little desk in the sitter’s sacred territory. But strange enough, he heard no cursing or swearing from these people, despite the enormous resentment and distress etched in their face.
In another second, Bing saw a head, and two hands emerging from within the window frame. At first, he thought they perhaps belonged to a person with a platform-ticket, coming to see off his relatives or friends. But no, this guy, of which face was contorted, and turned purplish by his uttermost excitement, was jerking his head further into the train, his hands gripping the window sill, his body squirming in. The passengers at the window were hurrying to remove their teacups and other things from the desk, lest the intruder knock them over.
‘Get down, get down, go away, go away,’ they scowled, attempting to thwart his penetration.
But the man dogged his own way, pulling and dragging his one leg and then another into the space. Then immediately he turned to the window, grabbing one and then two bags from outside, and oblivious to the protesting stares and grunts, throwing them onto the floor full of feet. This done, he again turned to window and shouted, ‘Hurry up!’
Now another set of head and hands began to struggle through the window, and with the assistance of an ally already on the train, the second fellow was able to invade even faster but no less fiercely into the space. The two passengers sitting at he window, who had previously said some angry words, now looked helplessly submissive, yielding to the united force of the formidable intruders. From their victory chattering, they were recognised to be the senior university students of Tongji University in Shanghai. Oh, they must have had a lot of experience of climbing into a train in many of their seasonal travels.
The little space, now with two more people landed from the window, and with those standing in the aisle everlastingly pushing in, was seamless. Many arms, seeking the support from the backrest, were well over Bing’s head, and the legs and bellies were pressing hard against his knees and chest. But, soon enough, the train was moving again, showing no difficulty in rolling its mighty wheels.
During the hours that followed, Bing scarcely paid attention to what was stirring around him. He had a seat; he was able to sit tight in his little solace. He kept his eyes shut, and persuaded his ears not to hear, and his nose not to smell, so that he could imagine himself to be in his own little world, fanciful and childish. It was like a dream, a precious indulgent reverie, where he was on the hills, picking the black fruits, eating the azalea flowers, or in the singing streams, catching the minnows, or in the pools swimming, naked, dog-paddling, choking, in the midst of many long-tailed tadpoles …
Then a cry, a loud wailing, reached and broke his wall of resistance. He thought he had heard it before, but not as close as this. He opened his eyes to see four men standing or perching in the compartment. The two university students were not present any more. He turned and noticed beside him a boy of six or seven, crying with running tears on his cheeks, and another boy of similar age clung behind, and then a woman, with one hand caressing the head of the crying boy, the other gripping a big floppy sack.
‘Xiao Qin, it is okay, now, stop crying,’ she calmed the boy down.
‘Mum, my foot hurt, someone stepped on me,’ the boy said incoherently.
‘I know, it will be all right when we get off the train.’
The mother didn’t look like an ordinary peasant. Her complexion was tanned, but not as dark as most women he had seen who had to toil day and night in his village. She returned a glance at Bing, as if conveying a hint of apology for her child’s crying so close to him.
Gradually the boy’s voice was lowered, his sobs ebbing into the intermittent hiccups.
Bing decided to shut his senses again. However, needing a sort of distraction, he took his watch out of his pocket, fiddled with it and felt the smoothness of the metal, the glass, and the chain.
But his mind couldn’t get away from the boy standing beside him, who continued his strong hiccups even if he was not loudly crying as before. For a moment, Bing was thinking whether or not he should let the boy take his seat. After all, he was a child of six and his foot was hurt by some big man. But how would other people on the train look at him if he expressed the kindness? He was, by nature, a shy and self-conscious person. If he did a good deed like Lei Feng - the model of Chinese who had unselfishly served the people, he would inevitably attract too much attention from the people around. And, on the train, who could possibly give up a hard-earned seat to others? Wasn’t it even more precious than many ounces of gold under the circumstances?
He was hesitating, denying and affirming, denying and affirming again the little deed of virtue. His uneasy moments were divided between his shyness and his conscience.
But the boy! Ah! How could he blot out the little, teary face?
At last, he stood up as if to shake a burden away from his heart, and making a smile that must be awkward, he spoke to the boy.
‘Come, sit here.’
The boy looked up at him, accompanied by a big hiccup that shook hard his body. He turned to his mother, obviously for her permission.
‘You can sit there a while, thank big brother,’ said his mother, and then smiled at Bing. ‘Thank you, he will be fine after a while.’
‘Hehe…’ Bing smiled bashfully, treading his feet cautiously for a standing place. In the meantime, he said to another boy: ‘You can also sit there, there should be enough room for both of you.’
So with two other adult sitters also moving a bit inside, the two settled in nicely. Bing moved aside to allow their mother stand closer to her children. She laid down her bag on the floor, and managed to inspect the child’s foot. The boy’s two smaller toes were red and swollen. She touched them, the boy flinched.
‘It is okay, will be okay, don’t cry,’ she said. But the boy didn’t cry, merely releasing the series of hiccups he couldn’t control.
Rising, she was smiling again at Bing, with humbleness and sweetness in equal measure. Her eyes were full of gratitude, amounting to what Bing had expressed to the good man two days before.
The train was rumbling on. The deed was completed, and even better, he didn’t seem to have drawn too many eyes of other people. For a moment, he was really happy. Yes, Lei Feng was right, you will feel happy when you help people; but, well, only if other people don’t notice and stare at you!
From then on, the mother, now standing before him, closely, actually seamlessly to all passengers who stood around her in such a packed condition, would always give him a grateful smile whenever her eyes caught his, which was not infrequent in the following hours of journey. Her hair was rich, done up into a nice bun, which was so close to him that he couldn’t but smell its subtle scent. And the warmth and softness of her body, and her…
Well, something was not right, but the fact was, ever since he cracked out of his boyhood into adulthood, he had never snuggled so close to a woman. He was unable to keep a decent distance from her, for the men around him were forever pushing him to her with a force he found it impossible to fight back. Therefore an honourable gap between her back and his front couldn’t be maintained no matter how much he had been willing. And frankly, her body seemed to also have a power to attract him. The intimacy was indeed perversely but sweetly comfortable.
So, all he could do as a good boy was to move away his head, endeavouring to fix his eyes outside the window. But it was dark, nothing to see. Yet just the same, he looked and looked, stifling the strange feeling that was curiously creeping inside him. It didn’t take long before he realized that his body was seething with a shameless potency.
Then, suddenly the train skidded, staggering in great strides. Everyone was frantically seeking whatever support their hands could grasp. Bing grabbed her arm in the sudden forward lurching, and she must also have grabbed someone else. And in another instant, she was throwing her whole body into his…
After the train had returned to its smooth running, she turned her head, smiling at him, apologetically. But he thought it was him who should be sorry for his unintended rudeness.
Nonetheless, she was still so painfully close to him. Her back and her soft buttocks brushed him on or off with the train’s unsteady movement. Her hair was emitting that peculiar scent. His aroused body and conscientious mind were in a fitful struggle in darkness. Then at one ecstatic point, he lost himself, and the world was halting still…
Thank sky, the surface of the world didn’t seem to have changed. His face must have been contorted with ugly crimson. But, as his sense recovered, he felt the loss was almost imitating one of those lustful but uncontrollable ones during his sleep. Only the dirt feeling in his pants was never so intense and disgusting.
It should have been a crime, but he had not been punished. They stood together until the next day, in the early morning, at Kai’feng station, where she and her two boys got off the train. She cooed her two boys to mind their steps, and asked them repeatedly to say thanks to the ‘big brother’. He saw them, through the window, walking on the platform. Turning back to look at him, she raised her hand, and mouthed ‘bye, bye’. But her smile, for that instance, was more like mocking than anything else.
The rest of trip was mechanical, with the dulled weariness and dirtiness. The people around him were mere puppets, like the sick, half-dead chickens who, though dying, were still jerking their necks and legs.
Another white day had passed.
Then in the morning or noon, after the supposed three days if he could still remember, the mighty train gasped its last exhausted howling, stopping at the final station.
A young man, a University Student in New China, in a pair of pants that had turned so dirty and hideous, and with his skin plagued by acnes and his eyes thickly greased, and with his young moustache and beard as dark and sparse as a shade of ruffled grasses, pressed himself forward in the mass of passengers, stamping on the first piece of land of great Shanghai.
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