Chinese on the Beach
2
Chinese on the Beach The next morning the sky was clear. We had been waiting for a clear sky since leaving Beijing two days ago. On a whim we had come out to this seaside town, after talking vaguely about "gettin g out" - out of Beijing's colossal, traffic-jammed arteries, that is, where a gr ey slosh plugged the sky shut. Someone needs to drain this place, Noel said, and that was when we first thought of Minglao and the possibility of catching a gli mpse of blue sky out here by the shore. It seemed sensible enough, and we booked tickets for the ten-hour train ride that same evening. What are you going to do in Minglao? Lian Li inquired, when I dropped by hi s basement apartment in a tiny alley behind Beijing's Nr. 6 Hospital. He declare d it was a ridiculous idea. He couldn't understand why I wanted to leave the cap ital to spend New Year's Eve in a second-rate resort town. We were looking for t he sky, I explained. He shook his head. Ten hours each way? To look for the sky? He said he would call me there, so that I could talk to someone civilized. We'r e just looking for a breath of fresh air, I said, and he nodded and then walked me back to the hospital, so I wouldn't get lost in the maze of lanes. But we didn't find much clarity out at the seaside, Noel and I, on the contrary. Everything grew hazier, cloudier. It started already in the taxi, the smell of it so bestial that we sat hunched in the backseat, thick scarves pressed to our faces. Noel's girlfriend rang and he talked intently for several minutes, contor ting his long upper body this way and that to keep the reception from dropping. They chatted about the trip, as if there was nothing strange about leaving Beiji ng to celebrate New Year's Eve with another woman, but he made it sound innocuou s and perfectly sensible, like a school outing. After he finished we sat in silence, knocked about the back seat as the tax i swerved into the concrete square of the train station, nearly crashing into a van. The giant station buzzed and throbbed, despite the late hour, and Noel went hunting for a seat in the people-littered waiting hall. He snatched two spots a t the far end of a packed row, opposite the electronic information panel, its bl ack canvas bleeding red and yellow characters. I stared at it, huddled beneath m y bags for warmth, trying to extract meaning, but the characters slid off my unr eceptive brain. I drifted into unpleasant sleep when a gnarled Ayi beside me eru pted into burps. Noel, on my left, sat awake and aloof, surveying the stacks of bandaged luggage scattered about the floor like shards of glass. I could feel hi s finely honed sense of order recoil instinctively, and a sudden bolt of insight made me understand that, perhaps, that was the quality I most coveted about Noe l - his capacity for order.
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Transcript of Chinese on the Beach
Chinese on the Beach
The next morning the sky was clear.
We had been waiting for a clear sky since leaving Beijing two days ago. Ona whim we had come out to this seaside town, after talking vaguely about "getting out" - out of Beijing's colossal, traffic-jammed arteries, that is, where a grey slosh plugged the sky shut. Someone needs to drain this place, Noel said, and that was when we first thought of Minglao and the possibility of catching a glimpse of blue sky out here by the shore. It seemed sensible enough, and we booked tickets for the ten-hour train ride that same evening.
What are you going to do in Minglao? Lian Li inquired, when I dropped by his basement apartment in a tiny alley behind Beijing's Nr. 6 Hospital. He declared it was a ridiculous idea. He couldn't understand why I wanted to leave the capital to spend New Year's Eve in a second-rate resort town. We were looking for the sky, I explained. He shook his head. Ten hours each way? To look for the sky? He said he would call me there, so that I could talk to someone civilized. We're just looking for a breath of fresh air, I said, and he nodded and then walkedme back to the hospital, so I wouldn't get lost in the maze of lanes.
But we didn't find much clarity out at the seaside, Noel and I, on the contrary. Everything grew hazier, cloudier. It started already in the taxi, the smell ofit so bestial that we sat hunched in the backseat, thick scarves pressed to ourfaces. Noel's girlfriend rang and he talked intently for several minutes, contorting his long upper body this way and that to keep the reception from dropping.They chatted about the trip, as if there was nothing strange about leaving Beijing to celebrate New Year's Eve with another woman, but he made it sound innocuous and perfectly sensible, like a school outing.
After he finished we sat in silence, knocked about the back seat as the taxi swerved into the concrete square of the train station, nearly crashing into avan. The giant station buzzed and throbbed, despite the late hour, and Noel went hunting for a seat in the people-littered waiting hall. He snatched two spots at the far end of a packed row, opposite the electronic information panel, its black canvas bleeding red and yellow characters. I stared at it, huddled beneath my bags for warmth, trying to extract meaning, but the characters slid off my unreceptive brain. I drifted into unpleasant sleep when a gnarled Ayi beside me erupted into burps. Noel, on my left, sat awake and aloof, surveying the stacks ofbandaged luggage scattered about the floor like shards of glass. I could feel his finely honed sense of order recoil instinctively, and a sudden bolt of insight made me understand that, perhaps, that was the quality I most coveted about Noel - his capacity for order.
