|
My headband completely disappeared, replaced with hope and
possibility, and we then had lengthy, pleasant conversation about
our personal lives. I learned that he had just completed a 2-year
stint with the Peace Corps, and was going to visit some friends in
Ulaan Baatar. Following that, he was going to London via Moscow on
the train, ultimately to a science position at a high school in
Madison, Wisconsin, .
I reciprocated his commentary with my own; I, too, was an
educator on a similar train trip across Russia, but exiting through
St. Petersburg to Helsinki and Scandinavia with my children. He was
most encouraging; “It is outstanding that you are taking your
children on such a mammoth trip, and I hope they have a better
future because of your greathearted effort.” I glowed with his
compliment, and we both retired to our rooms, mutually satisfied
with conversation. I joined Katarena and Enrique in desperately
needed slumber.
That was true for Katarena
and Enrique, but not me. I was still in turmoil concerning our being
able to leave Beijing, and slept uneasily. I rose early, but this
time with a definite plan. Todoso had given me the information I
needed, and I rolled off my bunk, quickly showered, and dressed. I
bounded downstairs and outside for what I felt was the most
important transaction in Beijing—possibly of our entire trip—the
great hope of purchasing departure tickets.
I went straightaway to the
Pacific Center Shopping complex next door, which had several ATMs.
Amazingly, I had remembered Todd telling me, “However, they don't
take cards, only cash.” Even more amazing, I remembered the PIN
number. But perhaps most amazing, was that I was able to get a
staggering 6,000 ¥ ($726USD)! In a trot, I beelined West on the
South side of Stadium Workers Road, passing familiar landmarks, and
seeing one I'd missed before: a sculpture of our Earth.
I knew it was our globe;
having seen similar models before, a disfigured one on display in
Battery Park, Manhattan, New York City and on our tour of the
Vatican Museum a few weeks ago. I stopped briefly to observe it, a
hemisphere of pseudo-water, the other hemisphere solid, rotating on
a liquid-filled base. I memorized the location and pushed on,
passing by a previously unseen garden, before I arrived at the now
familiar Dongsishitiao Qiao Station.
I went through the ritual
of paying 3¥ ($0.36USD), receiving a receipt, showing it to the
guard, and descending to the platform. Few other passengers were
about due to the earliness of the day, I became alarmed that, while
it was Monday, maybe it was a special day (like the EU election day
in Athens!) and all my striving was for naught?
I followed Todd's directions, changing trains at the
JiangGuoMen transfer station, and going one stop East, to Yong An
Li. Nearly racing out of the sparsely packed station, I looked
skyward toward the buildings on the other side of Ring Road Two. I
saw the bright red letters of CANON and knew I was close. It was too
early for much motor traffic, but I couldn't stand still when I saw
a green net bag in the bike lane. I rushed past it, across the
frontage road, onto the sidewalk going under the overpass, and
toward the Canon building. Initially, I couldn't get in; barricades
and motor cars tightly parked around it prevented my entry. As I
walked around the lot, I saw a small gap, intentionally left by the
workers for their own entry, and I furtively snuck through.
At the door, I caught my breath when I saw three
armed guards—had they seen me? Am I going to be so close to a
potential way out that I'm going to locked up? I played it cool,
walking right up to the door as if I owned the place, and, to my
great disbelief, he opened the door for me, with a smile. Then I
realized that he was probably extending the graciousness to a woman
who had quietly followed me.
It made no difference, I was in. I went to the first
clerk, who pointed me to another clerk, who pointed me to a third
clerk in charge of the international trains. The woman who had
followed me was already there, putting lots of money on the counter.
I sidled up alongside her, and began talking with her in a casual,
but mostly in awe of her-adroitness-at-using-me-for-an-escort,
manner.
Her name was Stephanie, from Nice, France, and she
was on her way to visit friends in Ulaan Baatar. “So you were in
Nice thirty years ago. I don't think we would have met―you
are much older than me. But I do thank you for getting me in here. I
wanted those guards to think that we were together so they wouldn't
question me.”
“Since you are going to UB, which is where I want to
go, why don't we go together? After all, the guards think we are
together. What's more, you come with both our offspring, too!” I
told her with a conspiratorial smile.
“Obviously, we've done quite well as a couple so far,
but now it is time for a divorce. Besides, my hosts in UB are close
friends and they would take great offense at not being invited to my
marriage!” as she bought a single one-way ticket, for departure
tomorrow morning. “Please play along with me”, she whispered, then
slapped my bearded face―hard! My quickiewife indignantly
stormed past the bewildered guards, who quickly opened the door for
her. I stood there, mouth agape, rubbing the handprint on my cheek,
in much greater awe of her.
The last time I had been struck by a woman was a
deserved slap by a barfly in Rota, Spain in 1975 or 6. That woman's
hit not only sent my black nylon military-issued glasses across
several tables, but knocked me out of my chair, onto the floor where
I laid for a few minutes recovering. My shipmates were in an uproar,
laughing, taunting me to get up and defend myself while
simultaneously encouraging the waitress to sock me again, put me
down for the count. I did get up, retrieved my glasses, and humbly
sat down, apologizing to her for my rudeness. She accepted it, but
warned me to never, ever, treat a woman as I had her. It was a good
lesson, and I still remember it well to this day―undoubtedly
for the rest of my life.
I had become the center of attention with Stephanie's
display of self-assuredness. Truly, I was a schmuck, and when I
turned my attention to the clerk, she frostily told me that my wife
had gotten the last seat out, and the next train didn't go North for
three more days. She informed me that there was a hard sleeper cabin
available on it, but could not guarantee if our fourth companion was
a non-smoker, though certainly a male.
 Continue... |
