Fat Years - Chan Koonchung [51]
“The last couple of years the elites of Taiwan and Hong Kong have all been obediently learning from the mainland,” I said.
“It is not easy for outsiders to understand Chinese affairs,” he responded.
We must have been speeding, because just then a traffic cop pulled us over. I was thinking that this cop didn’t know what was good for him. I watched He Dongsheng bring the car to a stop while talking into his cell phone. “I’m at Gongti East Road, almost at Xindong Road—okay.”
Then he just hung up his cell phone while a very fat traffic cop asked him for his driving licence. He didn’t respond, and when the cop asked him again he simply said, “Wait a minute,” without even giving him a glance. I could see that the traffic cop was about to lose his temper, but fortunately just then he received a phone call. As the cop answered his phone, He Dongsheng started his engine and drove off. “My secretary will handle it,” he said.
I thought his secretary must have received many late-night calls like this one—then he has to clean up the mess. Being a big shot’s secretary is a hell of a hard job.
After all that, He Dongsheng didn’t say another word. I was a little bit sorry because I was enjoying his lectures. To tell the truth, I rather liked this insomniac Party and national leader.
Wudaokoupengyou
One morning after May 1, when I turned on my computer, I saw I had an e-mail from wudaokoupengyou, “Wudaokou friend.” I always used to delete any e-mails from unknown addresses straight away so I wouldn’t get a computer virus, but recently I’d been opening all of them to see who they were from. As I expected, wudaokoupengyou was Little Xi.
She was asking me to wait for her in front of the open-air farmers’ market near Gongti South Gate.
I always like to browse around these farmers’ markets. The north China seasons are quite distinct and have different fruits and vegetables. You can see this most clearly in the farmers’ markets—not to mention that the produce is far fresher than in the supermarkets. Farmers’ markets make me feel more like I’m making contact with the common people. You can’t avoid making contact with them when people crowd around you, pushing and shoving. If you block their path, those big Aunties and Uncles will push you right out of the way with their bags full of vegetables.
That day, as I waited, I was getting a little worried. Little Xi was already over half an hour late. The Beijing administrative authorities are not especially reasonable and would allow this farmers’ market to stay open only until ten a.m. It was almost that already when I heard Little Xi call me. “Lao Chen!”
I turned around to see her smiling and looking quite happy. “You made it!” I said.
“I’m here!” she answered.
She was carrying a canvas bag. “Wait here while I go in and buy some vegetables.”
“No, I’ll go with you.”
At ten minutes to closing time, the market was extremely crowded. I followed behind Little Xi. When she moved I moved, and when she stopped I stopped. I felt like I was always rubbing against her and I was conscious of her scent. But she was absorbed in haggling over prices, making her selections, paying and receiving change, and then shouldering her way through the crush of people on to the next stall. The ten minutes flew by quickly in this way and I felt a kind of unself-consciousness that I had not felt in a very long time.
In the e-mail Little Xi had said that she wanted to come to my place and cook me a meal, and that was something I was very much looking forward to.
“All we can eat today are vegetables and fruit,” Little Xi said as we left the market.
“That’s fine by me,” I said.
“You have rice at home, don’t you?” she asked.
I told her that I did.
I actually hadn’t had any when I received her e-mail, but then I’d rushed over to Carrefour’s and bought rice, cooking oil, spices, chicken, beef, and lamb. I even bought some kitchen utensils. I guessed that Little Xi would want to get some vegetables at the farmers’ market.