Xiaolu Guo - A Concise Chinese English Dictionary for Lovers

“I see. I am from East Germany.” He stops. Then he says, “Your English is very good.”

Very good . Is that true? If it is, he doesn’t know how mad I have studied English every day, and even now, on the trip.

So, on this train, this new person, Klaus. He is a stranger to me. Train is really a place for films and books to set up the story. And I can feel me and this man we both want to talk, to talk about whatever.

He says he was born in Berlin, east of Berlin. He says he knows everything about East Berlin, every corner, every street. How lucky, this train is leading to his home, his love.

The night train is moving slowly. It is certainly not a fast train. Only non-important passengers would take this train, or holiday maker.

We lie down opposite each other on the couches in the tiny carriage of the train. A strange position, lying there, he and me. We talk more about Berlin.

He says that he is training in Diplomatic Department in Berlin. Before that he was a lawyer. He wanted to change his career and to live in abroad. He says he used to have for eight years a girlfriend who lives in B-a-v-a-r-i-a (B-a-v-a-r-i-a, he spells slowly to me). He explains it is in the south of Germany, but of course I don’t have any idea where is this B-a-v-a-r-i-a. He tells me his girlfriend one day came to Berlin and knocked his door. She told him she wanted to finish this relationship. So he finished it in pain, as she decided. And he decided to change his life and go to work in other countries. I understand Klaus’s story, I understand that feeling want to be far away from the past. I tell him I understand him.

Also I tell him about you, the man who I love so much, and the man who makes sculptures in London. I tell him my feeling about you-and how you tell me I have to travel alone.

We talk, then sometimes no words, and just listen.

Eventually the sun comes outside of the window.

“We are getting there,” Klaus says.

Berlin has a heavy colour, big square buildings. Like Beijing.

“So where you will stay in Berlin?” he asks.

“Don’t know. Maybe YMCA youth hotel, because I can have discount from my Europe train pass.” I show him my pass.

“I can take you to a YMCA near my flat, if you want.”

“That’s very kind of you. Please. I don’t know anywhere.”

“No problem,” he says, and pulls down his luggages from on our head.

I take my rocksack and follow him, just like a blind person.

The early morning air feels cold, like autumn coming. Occasionally, one or two old mans in a long coats walk aimlessly in the street, with the cigarettes in their lips. Under the highway there is bridge. By the bridge there is a sausage shop, lots of large mans queue there to get hot sausages. They eat purely sausage in the morning! Even worse than English Breakfast. The morning wind is washing my brain, and my small body. This is a city with something really heavy and serious in its soul. This is a city which had big wars in the history. And, I feel, this is a city made for mans, and politics, and disciplines. Like Beijing.

Then I see the flag, drifting on top of a massive building on a big square. Three bars: black, red, and yellow.

I ask Klaus: “Is that your country’s flag?”

He is surprised: “You know nothing about politics?”

I admit: “Yes, I am sorry. I never know it. So many different flags, they confuse me.”

He laughs: “But you’re from China. Everything in China is about politics.”

Maybe he is right. This is a man must know this world very well.

“So it is the German flag?” I guess.

“Yes. It is.”

I stare at the flag, stare at this black red yellow bars.

“Why the black bar on top of the flag?” I ask. “It looks so dangerous!”

He laughs again, but then stop. He raises his head and looks up the flag as well. Maybe he thinks I am not so stupid.

Black bar of flag is powerful and heavy blowing on top, and I feel a little bit scared. In a reasonable designing, the black bar should be at the bottom, other wise…it might cause bad luck. It might cause the whole country’s unfortunate.

As I remember, there is another country also has black bar on national flag, which is Afghanistan. But even Afghanistan put the black bar on the bottom instead of top.

I look up the sun through the flag, and the flag seems like a dark spot of the sun.

Through Alexanderplatz station, we are heading to east Berlin. I follow him, like a blind man following a stick. It is seven in the morning. We stand in front the YMCA Hotel. The door is not opened yet. We ring the bell. A man comes opening the door with his sleepy eyes, and he tells us that there is no vacancy until this afternoon.

So we leave YMCA, with our luggages. Standing in the middle of the street, Klaus says I could come to his flat if I want. Is very close to here.

“OK,” I say.

Klaus flat is very tidy. White plain wall, double bed with blue colour bedding, bare wooden floor without carpet, white-tile-pasted bathroom, small tidy kitchen with everything there, writing table with a leather chair, wooden wardrobe and a book shelf. That’s all.

No woman’s make up or perfumes in the bathroom. No any sign of woman anyway.

He makes a pot of coffee in his small kitchen. No milk, he opens the fridge and says. We drink the coffee, and he puts some sugar in. I don’t want any sugar. I can see there are only a piece of sad butter and two boring eggs in his fridge. He says he will leave Berlin next year, then start his diplomatic job. He grabs a pen and writes down address of flat and nearby tube station. And he gives it to me. Don’t get lost he says.

Then he opens the wardrobe and changes his tops. There are at least twenty different colour’s shirt and ten different ties hanging inside. And it seems they are all being ironed by someone properly . Who ironed his clothes? He puts on a grey-silver-colour-suit, and a dark-red-tie.

“You can leave your bags here, so you can walk around in Berlin. I’ll be back this evening from work.”

So I say yes, yes, yes to him, to Klaus. He seems nice man, no harm, only warmth. I can trust him. We walk to bus stop where goes to his office. Several office man and woman in suits and with black leather bags also waiting. Then the bus immediately coming. He kisses on my cheek and says see you tonight at home. It is so naturally, just like in a Western TV, a husband says goodbye to his wife every morning when he leaves to work. I see him disappear with the bus. And I have a strange feeling towards him.

Now I am alone, wandering around in the city of Berlin. I feel really naked. I care about nothing of this city. I have no love or hate whatsoever towards this city.

What I should know about Germany? The Wall? The Socialism? Or the Second World War? The Fascist? Why they hated Jews? Why Auschwitz is not set in their own country? The history text book in China told us a little about Germany, but very confusing.

I only know they have sausages, different taste sausages sold under the bridge. And people eat the sausage with a wooden stick in the street. I remember this morning a very noble-looking man in front of sausage shop, and was eating tomato-sauce-covered-sausage with his office files under his arm. That’s my understanding of Berlin.

It remind me so much of Beijing. The city is in square shape. Straight long street, right, left, no wandering. And some more bigly square building blocks. It must need a dictator like Chairman Mao to make a city like this. But of course this city look much more older than Beijing. Big buildings in Beijing came out from last fifteen years-or I would rather say: last fifteen days. Most of trees standing in Beijing streets are new trees, which being planted maybe no more than five years. History in Beijing doesn’t exist anymore, only empty Forbidden City for tourists taking photos.