What the Chinese Don't Eat by Xinran Read Free Book Online Page B

Ze-Dong, you won’t be in pain (no more than the past); think of Deng Xiao-Ping, you won’t lose money (get what you can get from opportunitiescoming your way); think of your parents, you won’t be alone (in your family); think of love, you won’t be a child (grow up for the future); think of me, you have someone to send this message to you at the new year …’
    I learn a lot from my mobile when I am in China, about what young Chinese think, what they need and what they can do, from those short sentences on its tiny screen.
    I flew back to London on January 2. There were so many Chinese in their late teens and early 20s in first class; they must come from rich or powerful families. How many of them can there be in China where 78% of the population are still peasants, half of whom have no education? I remember a student who came to Britain on a scholarship telling me his mother said to him on the phone from her small village: ‘Take care, my son. Don’t open the window when the plane is flying. It could be too windy.’
    I really miss those Chinese mothers in today’s China.

23rd January 2004
    Shanghai has a new skyline but why does the woman who used to clean my ears have a new face?
    I feel overcome by dizziness since my trip to China. I had felt dizzy a lot while I was there over the new year. I was made dizzy by the time difference, the busy schedule, parents’ questions, brother’s suggestions, friends calling; and the view of Shanghai, magically changed by the hundreds of new buildings erected in the last six months; the restaurant menus, now full of dishes I had never heard of; people’s conversations in the street and on the radio, which sound so much more relaxed and free – pointing out some governor’s corruption, judging a love affair, talking about sex, things I never dared talk about on the radio before 1997. I feel dizzy.
    I almost fell over one morning when I took my son PanPan to Shanghai railway station for his short trip to Nanjing where my parents live. Every year I arrange some train trips to help PanPan’s understanding of Chinese daily life. I don’t believe PanPan will see China well enough if he always travels by plane.
    Anyway, someone called my name as I dropped PanPan off and was heading out of the railway station. I looked around and couldn’t find anyone I knew in the crowd. Then I heard a very loud voice in my right ear. ‘Hi, Xinran, it’s me, Li-Ping. Wait!’
    There were groups of people all around: some peasants with huge amounts of luggage (they no longer seem to carry their belongings in dirty rolls) were eating some Chinese
baozi
(a steamed dumpling with meat inside); two country businessmen, in their suits, were talking about a factory dealthrough a cloud of smoke; a young western-looking woman with a red suitcase and green handbag was talking on her mobile phone; one city couple were helping an old man with his luggage. They must have just bought a lot of gifts for his trip. I couldn’t see anyone among them that I knew. But it was without question my name.
    ‘It is me, Xinran. I am glad that even
you
can’t recognise me … ha … ha-ha …’ The western woman was laughing at me. ‘Are you sure you know me?’ What a stupid question! I deeply regretted it.
    ‘I am your friend, Li-Ping! We worked together more than four years in that old broadcasting house before we moved to the new building. Oh, I can’t believe my face change has been so successful.’
    The voice sounded familiar, but I really couldn’t remember who she was. I have a friend called Li-Ping, who has a beautiful Chinese traditional face. But this woman had a typical western nose and golden brown hair. Something must be wrong. ‘Oh, my dear, I haven’t got time to play games with you. I have to catch my train. Let me give you some context … You must remember me, with my habit of “digging out people’s ears”.’
    ‘Oh.
Oh
…
my God
, Li-Ping, it is
you
!’ Of course I knew Li-Ping. She