Lisa See - The Interior

But this wasn't the biggest surprise. In another few blocks the bus driver stopped at a toll booth, paid a fare, then entered a brand-new, four-lane expressway. What had once taken hours of start-and-stop driving accompanied by honking at the pedestrians and animals that crowded the roadway now zipped along. Within minutes the bus passed the turnoff for the Jinci Temple, renowned for its Song Dynasty Mother Temple and for its Three Everlasting Springs. Another few miles and the bus was flanked by undulating oceans of millet and vast areas planted with corn and sorghum.

The bus made quick stops in Xian Dian, Liu Jia Bu, and Qing Shu before arriving at the crossroads for Da Shui Village. Alone, Hulan stepped off the bus. After it pulled away, she took a moment to orient herself. Behind her, the expressway led back to Taiyuan. Before her, if she was recalling correctly, lay the village of Chao Jia and town of Ping Yao. About three miles down the road to her right-and this she would never forget- was where the Red Soil Farm had once had its compound of dormitories, storage buildings, work sheds, and kitchens. The land all around her for as far as she could see had been a part of that commune. Undoubtedly this land had been redistributed in 1984, when China 's entire collective system was dismantled and individual plots were given to peasant families.

It was now about seven o'clock. Da Shui lay about two miles to her left, but she wouldn't have to walk that far. If Suchee's directions were correct, Hulan would have to go only about one li, or a third of a mile, to reach the farm. The evening couldn't be described as cool, but the air felt fresh and clean compared to that on the train, in Taiyuan, or on the bus. As Hulan began to walk, she took her time, enjoying the gentle bombardment of the country on her senses. The moisture-laden air hung heavily over the fields, creating a pale haze. The humidity gathered on her skin in a fine, damp, vaguely soothing film. One of the fields had just been irrigated, and the smell of the wet red soil and the fragrance coming off the plants was heady. She heard no sounds of technology, only the crunch of gravel under her shoes and the thrumming of cicadas in their evensong.

At last Hulan left the road to walk along a raised pathway that led left through the fields. Now that she was among the plants, she saw things a little more clearly. From afar the fields had looked green and lush, but these crops weren't thriving. They were barely hanging on. This was the height of the growing season, yet the green leaves were stunted. If this was happening aboveground, it was surely happening below, repressing and deforming the growth of the edible tubers. How odd, Hulan thought. The climate here was no worse for growing than in other parts of China. Irrigation had never been a problem, for this entire region was known for its springs and wells. Water had always been so abundant in this particular area that the village had honored the fact. Da Shui meant Big Water. But from what Hulan saw around her, these plants were starved for that very substance.

When the next two fields seemed far more healthy, Hulan allowed her optimism to rise, but this was deflated when Suchee's home came into view. These days one way to gauge a peasant family's prosperity was if the old mud-brick house had been torn down and replaced with one made from fired brick. On the train Hulan had seen many fired-brick houses. Then, on seeing the changes in Taiyuan, she'd supposed that some of that city's prosperity was a reflection of greater prosperity in the surrounding countryside, but her hopes and guesses had been wrong. Only three hundred miles from Beijing, this was the primitive interior.

Suchee's small compound had been built according to old customs, based on practical and political considerations. The building faced south toward the warmth of the sun and away from the north from which invaders had always come. There was a small walled-in courtyard of ten by ten feet, which protected a well. Other than this, the hard-packed m land that nestled between these walls was devoid of buckets, potted plants, a bicycle, or any of those items that spelled a life lived above a subsistence level. This side of the house had a door with a window opening on each side. There was no glass, which was fine at this time of year, but cruel during the winter when Suchee would have to stuff the openings with dried grass. If she were feeling particularly prosperous, she might even seal the window further with newspaper held in place with glue made from flour and water.

"Ling Suchee!" Hulan called out. "I am here! It is Liu Hulan!"

From inside the house Hulan heard a squeal, then her own name called out. A moment later an old woman stood in the doorway. "I didn't think you would come," the old woman said. "But you have."

"Suchee?"

Seeing Hulan's uncertainty, the woman came forward and took her arm. "It is I, Suchee, your friend. Come in. I will make tea. Have you eaten?"

Hulan stepped over the high threshold, which was designed to keep flood waters out. Except for the single bare lightbulb that hung from a rafter in the center of the room, she could have been stepping back in time a hundred, even a thousand years. The room held two kangs, beds made from wooden platforms. Once again memories rushed back. Hulan remembered her shock as a twelve-year-old on learning that people slept on these platforms instead of in soft beds. How the bones of Hulan and her young comrades had ached until the peasants had shown them how to make mattresses out of straw. Later that year, when freezing winds had come down from the north, the peasants had taught them to make quilts from raw cotton and to set braziers filled with hot coal under the platforms for warmth.

"Sit, Hulan. You must be tired."

Hulan did as she was told, perching on a stool made from a crate turned on end. She glanced around. There was so little here. The table, the upturned crates, the two beds. A shelf held two cups, four bowls- two large for noodles, two small for rice-three serving dishes, and an old soy sauce container filled with cooking utensils and chopsticks. To the right of the door was a small cabinet where Hulan supposed Suchee kept clothes and linens. On top Suchee had put together a simple altar with some sticks of incense, three oranges, a crudely carved Buddha, and two photographs. These would be of Suchee's husband and daughter.

Once the water was on, Suchee joined Hulan at the table. Too many things had happened in the last twenty-five years for these women to go straight to the reason Hulan had come. They needed to reconnect, to reestablish a rapport, to build again the trust that had once bound them almost as blood relatives. Yes, there would be time to talk about Miao-shan, but for now the two women spoke of Hulan's trip, of the changes she'd seen in Taiyuan, of life in Beijing, of Hulan's coming baby; of Suchee's crops of millet, corn, and beans, of the water shortage, of the oppressive heat.

Years ago they had been girls together, but since then they'd traveled very different roads. Except for those two years on the Red Soil Farm, Hulan had lived the sheltered and privileged life of a Red Princess. She had never wanted for clothes or food. Her position had allowed her considerable freedom to travel not only across China but also to the United States. She was not afraid of the government or of nature. All this showed in Hulan's clothes, in her smooth, pale skin, in the way she held herself as she sat on the upended crate, whereas, if she had seen Suchee on the street in Beijing, she would have taken her for someone sixty or seventy years old.

As twilight faded into darkness, Hulan began to see her girlhood friend hiding behind the old woman's face. Under the flickering light of a kerosene lantern-electricity was too expensive to use on a daily basis- Hulan saw how a lifetime of backbreaking work under an unforgiving sun had taken its toll. As a twelve-year-old Suchee had been stronger and far more robust than Hulan. But Hulan had spent the rest of her teenage years in America, eating meat at almost every meal, so now she was perhaps four inches taller than Suchee. Beyond this, Suchee's back was already curving into a dowager's hump due to years of carrying water and produce on a pole slung across her shoulders. Suchee's face pained Hulan most of all. As a girl Suchee had been beautiful. Her face had been round and full of life. Her cheeks had glowed pink. Now her skin was wrinkled and stained dark brown from the sun.