Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [27]
The time at the dormitory allows us to meet the other students. Four are from the countryside, the others from the city. There is something different about the city students. They seem more worldly than us country kids. There is also a man wearing a military uniform. He is called “the political head.” And there’s one of the teachers who auditioned us. They have come to Qingdao to bring us to Beijing. I have trouble understanding some of their talk because they all speak in the Mandarin dialect.
Before bed, my brother peels me an apple, since I still haven’t eaten since breakfast. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a whole apple to myself. I feel so lucky and special. We settle down for the night. My only real comfort is my big brother, sleeping on a small bed next to mine.
Early next morning, we take a bus to the train station, an old building crammed with hundreds of people. I have never been to a train station before. I’ve only seen trains from a distance. Our teachers push their way through the crowds onto the train, and we pass our luggage through the windows.
I leave my brother standing on the platform and find my seat on the train. Five minutes before departure, the loudspeakers announce that all family members and friends are to leave the platform. This is my last chance to say good-bye to my brother. He extends his hand through the window. As I grasp it I feel him give me something. It is a two-yuan note, his cigarette money. He will have to go without them for the next few months. I know how precious his cigarettes are to him. I hold the money in my hand, tears streaming down my face, and watch Cuncia disappear.
With a sudden jolt, a massive puff of steam swallows our carriage and Qingdao Station slowly slips away. With the click-clack sound of each passing section of the track, I know I am moving farther and farther away from my parents. My heart races along with the gathering speed of the train. I don’t know how I am going to survive the next twelve months before seeing my niang again.
At first, the trees and fields flashing by are familiar sights, but then the landscape changes and the trees, crops, even the smell of the air, become different. Although it’s winter, the windows are open to allow the fresh air in.
At almost the halfway point in the journey, the train stops at Jinan, the capital of Shandong Province. Here the station is grander than Qingdao’s, and well lit. Our teachers tell us that we can go and stretch our legs. There are peasants selling smoked chicken, steamed bread, roasted peanuts, sunflower seeds, and sweets. Most of the students from the city buy something but the country students like me just watch.
Later, back on the train, the political head and the teacher lead us to the dining car. Normally only government officials are allowed in this car, but we are Madame Mao’s special students! There are two cold dishes on each table, pickled peanuts and some marinated beef. We quickly demolish the cold dishes and then three steaming hot courses arrive: a whole fish, stir-fried pork with green chives, and a mixed vegetable dish. We each have a bowl of rice. The rich and delicious smells take my breath away. Every dish is shining with oil! I have never seen so much meat in my whole life! We devour the food like hungry tigers.
I hardly sleep for the entire twenty-four hours of the train journey. Just before we pull into Beijing Station, our teachers warn us that it will be very crowded. Stay very close, or we will get lost, they say.
I am stunned by the sea of people at the station. Instead of hundreds of people, I see hundreds of thousands, all pushing and shoving in a huge open space. Even the passageways are chock-a-block with people, sleeping on the floor while they wait for their train. The sound is deafening. And the smell is indescribably strange—virtually everyone carries some kind of hometown delicacy. I have my apples, pears, sorghum sweets, snakeskin, and dried shrimps, but who knows