by Tuttle, Dan;
stood mesmerized by how its finish flowed
like frothing monsoon puddles, each crest topped
with hint of whiteness right when it explodes.
Abu looked out upon the ocean as
a sailor unperturbed by what’s beyond.
“I wonder,” she restarted, “what it has
inside.” His pointing finger did respond,
directed at the smoking skewered fish.
But Stella sought an answer past their dish.
66.
All dreams that night were colored by that blue.
Abu’s imagined him in flight among
the stars, past home, past Dar, past Timbuktu,
revitalized the further he was flung.
The unfamiliarity of sleep
in place that wasn’t Stella’s childhood home
left drops of anxiousness that must have seeped
into her cerebellum after gloam,
for while adream she had that nightmare of
an unknown but important world interred
by sidelong rushing waters, skies above
all clear of rainclouds. Faces, objects blurred
when BLING nudged Stella, sensing something sour,
and woke her. Nightmares lengthened nighttime’s hours.
CHAPTER 7
67.
The airport portal’s passport pass-checks proved
both formal and forgettable. The form
of long-hall building Stella thought improved
upon the smallish structures she’d thought norm.
Aluminum machines used magic sight
to peer into their bags and look for knives.
Abu scanned signs of what they would indict
an owner for, if found. “They’re saving lives,
they say, but frankly I don’t know who’d bring
a panga on a journey overseas.”
At jetway tunnel’s end he glimpsed the wing
and wondered how its metal wove through breeze
to lift behemoth tube to cloudlike height
and feign to global villages unite.
68.
To feign a federation’s easy through
mere economic globalism. Trade
brought cheap-bought goods to many. Gains could glue
consumers’ interest. Under that charade
were nation-states each striving for more gold,
like Stel’d seen forest plants wage ruthless fight:
each root, vine throttled neighbors so to hold
place closer to scarce showered golden light.
In that kind spirit richer countries loan
persuasively to poorer ones, enmesh
debts deep in their power structures. From such throne
they bide time till demanding pound of flesh.
It’s feature much as flaw, this global theft
that never stopped when colonizers left.
69.
The Chinese toiled not only in the veldt
of Tanzania—they worked routes worldwide:
from railroads laid connecting Bible Belt
to California, Rockies’ peaks swirled by
a curving vertebrae of wood and steel;
from soccer stadiums and highways for
transporting ore to port past jungle’s seal.
And yet those efforts paled compared to corps
reserved for infrastructure back at home.
They’d built a dam beyond the size that eyes
on standard low-cloud day could see. Syndrome
of water shortage in the north gave rise
to project to reshape a watershed,
diverting thousand miles of river’s thread.
70.
Fermenting in official files were maps,
sketched blueprints filled with figures, sums, and maths,
geology’s formations, heights, and gaps
traced clearly. Bold lines laid down pro tem paths
where ruined roads would need to reconnect,
where rural towns would swell from villages,
where settlements they lacked time to protect
would be submerged in lakebed. Tillages
of centuries would be retired, for the
top mandate from the government was ‘grow’,
and full employment bought stability.
So rural ways would not such progress slow.
A farming basin, million people strong
sat in the site where megadam belonged.
71.
Potential plan was locked in secret, none
were authorized to speak about it yet.
The Party could not risk that mayhem stun
the populace with premature gazette
before the plans for relocation set.
A dressing ’round the window frame would cast
an advantageous light on mortal threat
to livelihoods: recompensation passed
the incomes that they’d earn as farmers. And
the big power-thirsty cities might be slaked
with water flow’s electrons. High demand
for real estate on newly-crafted lake
would surely sell for pretty pennies. Wealth
as land use shifts could be accrued by stealth.
72.
But this was not yet relevant for BLING
or Stella or Abu, who had escaped
their unloved nests ’neath Tanzania’s wing.
They knew not how they’d soon be shaped
by land and custom, tongue and culture, food,
and closeness to a billion comrades whose
decisions inappropriately viewed
without the local context could confuse.
As magic airplane coursed its airy track,
transporting three small bodies – one with fur –
toward hearts of Middle Kingdom, utter lack
of knowledge fate would make them saboteurs
was useful to preserve naïveté
lest Party hastily believe them prey.
73.
At lucky eight past eight their plane flown flew
through airspace of a basin’s ancient town
inhabited since people first subdued
the forest’s greens to farmland’s fecund brown.
Egalitarian in many ways,
its households lent support past garden fence,
embodying ideals from hardship days
when Mao thought communism common sense.
Now motivated by their own fields’ take,
they’d taken best Zedong and best Xiaoping,
the former lauding acts for country’s sake,
the latter letting people purchase things.
This town named Fan would soon take center seat
as X on blueprint’s super-secret sheet.
74.
Flown night wore on, the trio lulled to sleep
in whirring airborne chilled metallic womb—
with BLING curled patiently into a heap
beneath the seat in front where legs had room.
A noodle breakfast came with cabin’s light,
set bright when stewardesses decided dawn
in local time was near enough that rite
of food to welcome day began. The yawns
took over every aisle. “Spaghetti’s new
for mornings,” Stel said, leaned in for a taste,
regretted it. Foreign bienvenue
would be improved if breakfast were replaced.
The window took her focus from the food,
the puzzle being how the sky was hued.
75.
Sky felt like purgatory, piloted.
Air’s in-betweenness straddled beige and oat.
Dark rain seemed imminent, yet quiet did
persist from clouds. She’d learn that sulfur’s mote
tinged skies from exurbs’ growing industry.
The plane touched dow
n. Her body full of dreams
felt blessed nigh to the point of nimbus. She
strode tightrope line between maintaining schemed
identity and ecstasy. Toes’ tread
through jetway tunnel onto surer land,
earned immigration, customs go-ahead.
Arrived! Sharp brain put own fate back in hand.
Soles touching ground of foreign soil in
the Middle Kingdom loosed adrenaline.
76.
Their escort from the baggage claim was man
who held a sign with two kids’ names in script
they recognized. Inscrutable deadpan
mismatched the courtesies his mouth did lip.
Adventurers made way to taxicab.
The speech exchanged between the two front seats
was fluid such that parsed-out words weren’t grabbed
by Abu’s brain. The words’ singsong tones, beats,
were mesmerizing as pentameter.
From backseat Stella frowned, she said, “I think
they’re in an argument.” “I can’t infer
if that’s the case or, if—” their guide glanced, winked,
and smiled as if Abu’s truncated guess
was truth: their high pitch hadn’t meant aggress.
77.
As first impressions go, arrival at
their home was unremarkable. Jet lag
formidable had numbed their senses flat
and made once-steady vision zig and zag.
They made their way through courtesies, and learned
that hosts were wife and husband, girl and dog.
Their spaciness meant meeting soon adjourned
so they could sleep away their mental fog.
As Stella and Abu retired to bed
they split by gender, Abu on his own
and Stella toward a bunk above her head!
She’d never seen two beds stacked. Upper throne
was hers at roommate Ai’s direction. Sleep
came instantly without the mildest peep.
78.
A morning passed with foreigners asleep
in Chinese household, time zones partly crossed.
A few days of adjustment and they’d keep
same time as locals. Day one, though, was lost.
They met the head of house, a Party man
named Long for ‘dragon’, common strong male name.
He had a job that had to do with plans,
constructing things. They found they overcame
such difficulties found when mother tongue
mismatches one another’s: English brought
some useful commonality among
them. Abu hoped he’d turn to polyglot,
be first to translate nuanced thought and need.
Till then, they had one tongue from which to lead.
79.
At breakfast table bowls were full of milk,
and Stella was the first one out to try.
She smiled at Ai and sipped the warm white silk,
its sweetness and the size of spoon surprised.
“My spoon’s too big!” As jester, she stretched arms
to max, as long as elephantine tusk.
Ai laughed a little, understanding. Harm’s
impossible with clown-like gestures. Rusk,
plain bread, or biscuit was more common back
at home to go with morning chai. Stel’s spoon
found different hidden treasure: egg, unpacked,
but still with hardened yolk, no innards strewn.
Defiance of experiences past
made time elongate in this breaking fast.
80.
Abu came out and altogether three
went off to school. It wasn’t lengthy walk
but each sight mesmerized the escapees
from Tanzania. Sidewalk breakfasts hawked,
and scooters zipped through bike and highway lanes,
so numerous that Stella turned and said,
“These roads the last five minutes have contained
more people than I’ve ever met.” Steam fled
from tiny restaurants with lāmiàn bowls
set out atop mold plastic furniture.
An aproned woman filling soups cajoled
them sit and eat she gestured; spurned, spit her
small peace upon the sidewalk. Ai waved off
concern that they’d offended: “Old man cough.”
81.
Ai’s English wasn’t perfect, but was good
enough. Augmented with some mild charades,
it let most simple thoughts be understood.
They came upon the school, saw barricades
in front with guardhouse stopping entrants to
ensure they had credentials well in line.
Beyond security was gent sent who
had perfect ivory tower look refined.
His eighties wireframe spectacles stood front
on nose, his tweed-patch coat sought restitched hem,
his slacks fine cloth showed they’d a purpose: blunt
all doubts his institution was a gem.
“I am Headmaster Yan. Huānyíng. I’ve heard
we’re privileged to have you here, transferred.”
82.
Abu replied, “Your accent’s British, sir,
and sounds like what I’ve heard on BBC.
I hope I’ll form the same,” words skittish, per
direct address from principal. “I see
your school is very nice. I’m lucky to
have such a chance. I thank your country much
for bringing me. I mean, I never flew
before. It’s all so new.” “We’re proud of such
a program, priv’leges are ours. We here
encourage students to make foreign friends,
for whom we save slots in the mix. Sincere
commitment to a global view contends
we bring the brightest here, to China’s heart
to share with their young, local counterparts.”
83.
With that, the eloquent Headmaster Yan
brushed students through the double door, its arch
held fluid writing in a foreign pen
whose ink flowed thick in parts, in others parched
into thin line’s suggestion. Gist unknown,
it still pleased Stella with its comely form.
Ensuing classes were discrete, but thrown
into the snowglobe memory’s ongoing storm
of swirled impressions when there’s far too much
to take in and describe. As newborns, each
phenomenon could drown their eyes, could clutch
and puzzle-freeze their mind. Bell’s day-end screech
brought quartet to the courtyard for repose
and diagnosis of day’s cons and pros.
84.
“The floors are super shiny,” Stella said.
“The blackboards here are white,” piped in Abu.
“The classrooms all have lights set overhead.”
“The windows all have glass. I like Chengdu.”
Then Ai perked up at hearing hometown’s name,
and pointed circularly ’round the yard,
then looked back at the three, thumbs-up, exclaimed,
“The best!” BLING YIPPED! agreement. Something marred
a purely positive review, though. Stel
said, “All through lunch I caught kids pointing at
me, laughing, like they’d some mean girls’ cartel.”
Abu, whose eyes had scanned all day for that
mum type of ostracizing, said, “I saw
nobody making me cause for guffaw.”
85.
“But seeing isn’t everything, Abu.
I knew it, felt it, noticed noticing.”
“You sense things, sure. I’d rather trust my view—
>
it’s more objective.” “Is it? Won’t miss things
when mind’s elsewhere?” “I’ll try. I’ll look around
tomorrow,” offering some mild support.
A group of older boys passed, glanced at hound,
then Stella, Ai. Howls burst out like bloodsport
as they began to point and laugh at clique
that sat there having done naught to provoke.
Stel boiled: she’d hate the teasing and the tricks
of social standing jockeying till croaked.
Would she be victim of their senseless taunt
till placating with offerings they’d want?
86.
The instigator’d been aggrandized by
cruel act overt. Stel hoped that she could smash
that hierarchy by slicing size of guy.
She’d keep lookout for stealthy ways to trash
him. Scene mismatched high standards set in class.
This partial boarding school had English used
in half its courses, much of China’s brass
sent kids there. Still, elite browbeating bruised
as had in Tanzania. Last time she
had felt it, she’d sat on a log and found
her puppy BLING, recovered her esprit
adventuring in forests that surround
home shamba. Withdrawal to her private place
might revive ego bully had debased.
87.
Ai sat as witness, yet lacked words to share
to make it better. So she stood to leave,
escort them home. The sidewalk thoroughfare
was packed, like earlier. Sad Stella breathed
in deeply, trying to move past the thought
of further teasing. Breath was her mistake:
she coughed it out, remaining overwrought,
unaided by the air’s oddly opaque
gray quality. “Is rain coming tonight?”
She asked of Ai. Ai shook her head, confused.
Continued Stella, “Why’s it gray, then?” Height
of clouds – or fog, or smog, or something – cruised
at just four meters overhead, the signs
across the broad-laned street held obscured lines.
88.
“It gray?” asked Ai, incomprehension sheer.
“Yes, gray, the sky here’s different. Lower, thick.”
Ai’s look showed blankness toward the tension clear
to Stella. “Color,” added Ab, who flicked
a finger toward the sky, “no good.” That seemed
to turn Ai’s mental cogs, loose darting eyes
in search of fitting words. Mind clearly teemed.
Mouth opened twice, formed no words in two tries.
Stel felt a pang of pity, waved point off
to Ai. Returned glance of relief showed sign
was mercifully received. Ab’s ill-timed cough
