September 12th – Beijing
I didn’t get very far yesterday after all because the heat hit me as soon as I stepped out of the hotel and there was a KFC beckoning me from across the road. I’d made up my mind to eat only local food. That’s all very noble in the comfort of your own country but being tired and hungry at 4pm in a strange city isn’t a very pleasant state to be in, so I caved. It was all so bloody easy. I just pointed at what I wanted, paid (after struggling a bit with my wad of yuan) and ate. What an amazing world we live in! Not only was the food exactly the same as in the UK but I was able to order it with no knowledge of Mandarin. It was strangely soothing to sit in the window and watch people go past, especially as I didn’t see a single western face. I thought that might unnerve me but I found it oddly comforting. There really is no-one here that I know or who knows me. I want to feel nervous – that’s what I expected – but all I feel is anonymous and safe. I can feel some of my old confidence coming back because I have the luxury of time in which to reinvent myself. I don’t have to be the person I’d become at home. I can be a different version of myself, I can live my own life in my own way and, if that means eating junk food and watching the world go by then so be it. There’s nobody but me to give a shit.
I got up early today as I’d collapsed pretty soon after KFC last night. I hadn’t even been able to find enough energy to look round the corner. I feel a bit less tired but I’ve still got that ‘fuzzy round the edges’ feeling. It seemed like a good idea to try and walk it off so I headed for Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Luckily I found an excellent bakery on the way, so that was breakfast sorted. The cakes in the window looked like something out of a Hans Christian Andersen story (or the Brothers Grimm by the time they get to my hips!) and the smell inside was amazing. I could almost lick my lips and taste the sugar. I stocked up on chocolate cake and some strange Chinese version of pizza, after eventually working out the system. I had to collect a tray, place my purchases on it, present them to one of the shop assistants and wait for her to put them in a bag and announce the price… in Mandarin. I can’t even count to ten yet so I had to rely on finger-counting and guess what? Even that’s different. Six looks like some sort of rapper’s gesture. I gave the smiling assistant a fifty yuan note and had to count my change to work out how much I’d spent. She must have thought I was mad. Still, the food was as good as it looked.
The weather was better this morning, it was less humid and the sky was blue instead of that oppressive, bruised-looking grey that greeted me yesterday. The walk to Tiananmen Square wasn’t as long as I’d anticipated and it took me down a wide street lined with trees which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting of Beijing. I’d imagined grimy concrete tenements and factories, all the greenery pulled up to fuel some great national drive. I wanted people in blue, Chairman Mao suits, riding rickety bicycles or walking in huge crowds, surging forward with a sense of purpose. That’s the idea of Chinese communism that I’d grown up with. Quite a few people stared at me as I strolled along. I wondered if my bewilderment and slight sense of disappointment were visible to strangers so I tried smiling and discovered it can elicit fantastic responses. Some people smile back, others look embarrassed, one old man nearly tripped over the battered bicycle he was wheeling along the pavement.
God, the bicycles! I knew that bikes were popular in China but nothing I’ve read prepared me for the reality of trying to get across a street in Beijing. The traffic isn’t much different from any big city but to get to it you have to cross the bicycle lanes which are at least half as wide as the roads and look twice as dangerous. I found a gap in the bikes as I tried to cross from the hotel this morning but I made the mistake of stopping halfway across the cycle lane. All I could see was a wall of people on bikes heading towards me. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry, all sitting up tall and looking straight ahead. I just knew that only about one in twenty would have serviceable brakes so I ran.
Tiananmen Square is one of those names that’s really evocative in the west and, after the leafy green streets and western-looking shops and banks, I wasn’t sure what the square would be like. My only image of it is that footage of the student dancing with the tank in 1989. I suppose that’s what most people remember. I didn’t have much idea what to expect but I was surprised to find myself close to tears. It’s just a big open space for God’s sake but I was seriously moved. All I could think about was the people who’d been slaughtered for no better reason than that they wanted the freedom which I was seeing all around me. How times seem to have changed! In the West those students would be martyrs – I bet here most people can hardly remember their names. Perhaps all records of those events have been erased like in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. Now I’m sounding paranoid. It’s probably culture shock and the strange experience of seeing something so familiar yet so strange for the first time.
Mao’s Mausoleum stands at one end of the square. I’d been kind of tempted to pay him a visit but I was put off by the signs instructing me to leave my bag and camera behind. Instead I watched the people coming out. I find it quite difficult to read Asian faces, probably lack of experience, but nobody seemed especially moved or disturbed by their visit. Perhaps it was the prospect of having to run the gauntlet of hawkers on the steps on the way out. The spirit of free enterprise seems to be alive and well all around the mausoleum. There were people selling snacks, water, souvenirs, postcards and maps. I was even offered a copy of Mao’s Little Red Book ‘very cheap’. I think most people must pay their money to see Mao turning in his coffin!
By the time I’d taken a few photos of the square and the mausoleum, the memory card in my camera was full and, after rummaging in my bag frantically, much to the amusement of passers-by, I discovered that the spare one that I’d brought was still in my rucksack in the hotel. I had two choices: go back and get it or buy a new one from a shop. The bakery experience must have given me some confidence because I opted for the latter.
The shop I chose turned out to be more like a supermarket – it sold everything and I immediately knew that I was out of my depth. Even at home I’m still a bit intimidated by, of all things, shopping for myself and making small, everyday decisions. I step inside a shop and it’s like my confidence has been undermined so far that I don’t trust my own judgement any more. I know that’s ridiculous. I’m in China on my own for God’s sake, but it was weird how I was more than a little unnerved by the vastness of the store and the frenzy of shopping that greeted me.
I studied my trusty phrase book trying to memorise the phrase, ‘I’d like a memory card for my camera’, approached the photographic counter… and completely bottled it. I found myself pointing pathetically to the item that I wanted and nodding eagerly when the young woman placed it on the glass-topped counter in front of me. I picked it up to take it to the till I’d spotted on my way in and felt a firm hand on my wrist. I flinched and pulled away, puzzled. I’d read somewhere that the Chinese rarely use the word ‘no’ but that’s what I read in the brown eyes that were studying my face.
Frustrated I put the card down and tried to look helpless. I saw a smile flicker across the lips of the girl serving me. She held up a hand for me to wait while she scrawled something on a slip of paper. She then gave me this and gestured towards the till. I dutifully followed her mute instruction and took the paper to the till where I was charged fifty-five yuan for the privilege. My slip was stamped and then I was inspired. I returned the stamped slip to the original woman and she gave me my memory card. Simple. It seemed a long-winded way to buy something but I suppose in a country of over a billion people a system like this keeps the unemployment figures down.
Armed with my new card and a sense of achievement, I headed for the Forbidden City. The size of the place is phenomenal. At first I found it strange that its inhabitants would have lived most of their lives in such seclusion but, as the vastness became clear, it didn’t seem so claustrophobic and by the time I’d been lost twice I r
ealised that perhaps a life of privileged seclusion would have its advantages. Don’t we all want to escape from the ‘real world’ at times?
As I explored I found myself wondering how in hell the place had survived. China is well known for having destroyed its history and tradition with enthusiasm, so why is the Forbidden City and all it symbolised still such a big draw? It’s fairly obvious now that it’s a big tourist attraction but what about the last fifty years or so? Perhaps it’s one of those famous paradoxes that the Chinese do so well. Whatever the reasons, it was well worth preserving and restoring. The central areas are obviously polished for tourists and even at that early hour (about ten o’clock but it felt early for me!) there were plenty of people around. I bought some postcards on the way in. They clearly date from the seventies because all the people are in blue suits and caps. The contrast with today is striking – most people wear clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in central London, although they’re a shade smarter than your average cross section of the British public. The men tend to wear trousers and shirts and the women are nearly all in skirts and blouses. I saw one young guy on the street yesterday in bleached jeans and a rock T-shirt. He’d even bleached his hair to go with the jeans – he was getting nearly as many stares as I was!
I was more interested in studying the architecture than the people, and trying to keep my bearings. It’s funny, ‘disorientated’ means not being able to locate the east but I’d found it with a vengeance. I couldn’t think of an appropriate word for my feelings of being in someone else’s life. Except it’s now my life. I might be in unfamiliar territory both emotionally and physically but it’s all mine. I’m in control. The buildings around me reinforced this feeling of being on a new planet with their gently sloping roofs, imperial yellow tiles and mythical guardians. It was almost a relief to be accosted by an art student who wanted me to have a look at the work done by her class at college. She led me through the suffocating heat, down a flight of steps into a blissfully fan-cooled room where she made a big show of making sure I was comfortable. Her work was wonderful, all done in traditional styles, and she took the time to explain the classical background to each piece. She had a collection of four coloured paintings, done on silk, which represented the seasons. If I’d had room in my rucksack I’d have bought them like a shot. Then it hit me that I don’t actually have anywhere to hang them at home, I don’t even have a home. That part of my life, the security, is gone. Biting down hard on my self-pity, I moved the student on to the next piece. Instantly I saw the disappointment in her eyes, she had probably read my hesitation as an indication that I was interested. I felt a little guilty but I can’t spend months buying things I don’t need from people I feel sorry for, especially as I only need the slightest opportunity to feel so sorry for myself. I can’t believe it’s only my second day and I’ve been tempted to sink into self-indulgent misery. That’s not what this trip is about. Christ! It’s not what the past few months have been about either. I gave myself a good mental slapping as I stepped back into the sun.
One funny thing happened in the garden in the Forbidden City. It’s one of the most famous tourist destinations in the world and a young woman wanted a photo with me!! She was very polite about it, making a big thing of asking where I was from and how I liked China. She was probably in her early twenties but she was dressed like a child in a pink dress, white socks and clunky black shoes. Her short haircut looked like a mother’s special and her whole manner was one of a shy child showing off to her parents. Her father took the picture and tried to communicate with me. His face looked tired and old but he moved like someone in his thirties – probably all that Tai Chi in the park!
I’d planned to climb up Tiananmen Gate on my way out but, after four hours of exploring I was shattered and I’d seen enough bridges, roofs, doorways, gateways and concubines’ rooms to last a life time. It was interesting to take a roundabout route to the exit which took me down some backstreets. The paint work wasn’t as fresh and the brickwork was crumbling in places. At one point I saw a cleaner’s cart propped against the entrance to one of the buildings. The lopsided cart looked so old and disused that it gave the whole courtyard a sense of being abandoned. Good photo opportunity. Another good picture would have been the view from the exit looking back over Tiananmen Square. Looking through Tiananmen Gate the view is bisected by a flagpole flying the Chinese Flag, this cuts through the ‘Monument to the People’s Heroes’ which, in turn divides Mao’s Mausoleum in two. I’m sure there’s some profound symbolism in this but I was too tired to work it out. Instead I just pointed and snapped knowing the final result wouldn’t really reflect what I could see.
I’m now sitting on my bed after a quick pizza in the Pizza Hut clone across the street. I know what I said about local food but I think I was being hopelessly optimistic. I ordered only pizza and this seemed to cause some amusement among the other diners. I think I must have offended some law of etiquette which states that, in a restaurant, a person has to order more than one type of food per course. I looked around to confirm my suspicions and every table seemed to contain plates of pizza, salads, pasta and ice-cream. It still seems a bit harsh to be smirked at by people who order and eat dessert before the main course and struggle with a knife and fork. Still haven’t aired my skills with chopsticks – that should cause a few real laughs.
I need to stop thinking of my room as some sort of safety net, I can’t measure my days by how far I’ve managed to venture from the hotel. If I carry on thinking like that I might as well never have left the hospital. My room is just somewhere to sleep and there’s a huge country out there waiting to be explored.
I’m going to be really adventurous tomorrow and get some jobs done. It’s important for me to work out for myself how to do things, no more being told how to behave and what to do. I need to find a post office and I must book a train ticket to my next stop. I think I’ll go to Xi’an the long way, via Datong and the mountains.
III
It made no sense. Why was she writing about the hospital? How could she have known about the hospital before she ended up here? Who the hell was she, some sort of psychic? Kai tried to steady her breathing, taking deep even breaths and sighing ‘shit!’ on every exhalation. What the hell was going on here? She had hoped that the journal would answer some of her questions but it just made things worse, and it was bloody spooky.
Unless.
Unless the hospital she referred to was in the past. This might not be the first time she’d ended up in hospital. It might just be some wild coincidence. That would make sense, in a way, but was such a coincidence likely?
She wanted to read on, to try to solve the mystery not only of her own identity but of the confusion about the hospital. Kai squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples. The incipient headache was a welcome excuse to back away from the rising panic she felt from having lost so much of her life and from the bewilderment the journal had sparked. Coincidence was the only plausible explanation. There was nothing supernatural about the diary, but there was so much detail locked inside: places she should know, a friend who she should be able to turn to now, when she really needed help. Instead she had the security of a room in a hospital in a strange country, a concerned doctor and an account of a journey that she could remember nothing about.
And she knew self-pity was pointless. She had to focus on getting well, moving forward and finding herself. If only she had a better idea of who she really was.
Kai. It was a pleasant sounding name. She said it aloud a few times, trying it on for size. It felt okay. It was not her name but it would do for now.
‘Okay, Kai it is,’ she breathed. ‘Just wish I knew who the fuck Kai is.’
She glanced at the clock somebody had placed thoughtfully on her bedside table. It was mid-morning. Another day stretched ahead of her like the blank pages at the back of the journal. She scanned the room looking for something to focus her thoughts, to give her a point of contact with the
present but there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to cling to. It could have been a room in any hospital in any city in the world. The expanse of grey walls was only broken by the two doors, one to the bathroom and one to the great unknown – the corridor. The single window was partially covered by a plain white roller blind which, she’d discovered two days ago, hid a view of very little. Her chair, she noticed that she thought of everything in the room as hers, was green vinyl over foam cushions and pale wood – intended to be more practical than comfortable. How had her world become so small?
Kai glanced down at the open diary. She’d only been reading for half an hour but she felt exhausted by the effort. Tired and struggling with a depression that threatened to shift easily from a vague cloudiness to a black void, she dragged the pillow out from behind her back and pulled it behind her head as she slid down the bed.
Even her sleep was free from memories.
***
She sensed a presence in the room even before she was fully awake. The doctor smiled down at her as he pulled the chair closer to the bed.
‘Sleeping again? We will have to make sure we find you some entertainment.’
‘Just get me out of here, I’ll find my own. I can do without the type of entertainment you left me last time.’
He looked at her, his head cocked on one side, expecting an explanation without having to ask for one.
Kai leaned over to her bedside cabinet, grabbed the book and threw it down on the covers. ‘What the hell was this supposed to do?’ As soon as she spoke she could hear the accusation in her voice. What exactly did she think the doctor had done? It wasn’t his fault, Kai knew that, but she had trouble reining in her anger, wanting it to spill over and swamp the room in fiery, lava-like spite. With a huge effort she managed to calm her erratic thoughts and face Ekachai with some semblance of composure.
Forgotten: a truly gripping psychological thriller Page 2
