CHAPTER VIII

It was like being shut inside a gramaphone cabinet, cooped up with the pounding, grinding rhythm. Loud­speakers on the train blared out Liberation songs and Soviet music from morning till night without intermis­sion. No matter how fast the train hurtled on, it could not shake off the envelope of music, could not throw off the strong sweet gummy strands of sound- Loose ends of melodies flapped outside the windows and over the top of the cars. The train sped across the dreary sallow flatness of north and central China in a flash of strident song.
When it was getting dark and the lights were turned on, a girl's high silvery voice called through the loud­speaker, punctuating her speech with rhetorical pauses, "Supper — is now — beginning — to be served. — Supper
is now — beginning — to be served."
Next she rattled off a series of seat numbers. Passen­gers in juan hsi, soft seats — a new term to substitute for the bourgeois-sounding "first class" — were to go to the dining car in shifts according to their seat numbers,
Passengers in ying hsi, hard seats — equivalent to the second or third class of the old days — would eat later.
Chang Li and Liu Ch'uen were in hard seats. They had not had dinner yet when the train stopped at one of the smaller stations and the peddlers walked past the car­riage windows, tempting them with cold donkey meat, mutton jelly, hard-boiled eggs and cartwheels of inch-thick flat-cakes. Not many peddlers were allowed in the stations nowadays and they were made to wear special aprons, for fear there might be enemy agents among them.
"Look," Chang said to Liu, pointing at a "blackboard newspaper" that stood on its wooden stand in the dimly lit station, facing the train. They could, barely make out the chalked bulletins, windblown and faint, on the shiny black-painted board. "It's praising the railway workers," Chang said. Leaning forward he head out with relish, "'In the past few days workers on this line have been clamor­ing for Patriotic Overtime in addition to the old Shock Attack Overtime and Competitive Overtime which have, in themselves, already achieved spectacular results. Our Passenger-Affairs Officers think nothing of working 27 hours at a stretch. Since the beginning of this month there have been three cases who worked over 30 hours at a stretch, and two cases more than 35 hours. There have even been cases of over 39 hours.' Isn't it great?"
"I don't think it's right just to go. after efficiency alone. The workers' health should also be taken into considera­tion," Liu said-
"I dare say the leaders don't approve either. But what can they do about it?" Chang said. "This is just the workers' voluntary, spontaneous passion for work, I tell you- I understand it's like that now in factories all over the country. Isn't it great? You can't imagine what a difference it makes to the worker's morale, to know that he's Liberated now and his own master.
Liu murmured agreement. He wondered how much of this Chang believed. The train started: to pull out of the lighted station. The stationmaster and all the porters and peddlers, white aproned men and women with baskets on their arms, were lined up in a row, standing at attention to salute the departing train. This was another new cus­tom, probably adopted from the Russians. Chang thought it was a rather touching little ceremony. "See how devot­ed they look," he said. "It's right that all workers should learn to respect the machines under their care-"
When they returned from their dinner, the other pas­sengers were either napping or trying to read newspapers under the weak yellow overhead lights. The music was more deafening than ever. Fortunately, Chinese are not too susceptible to noise.
The girl on the loudspeaker suddenly screamed, "The great — Huang Ho — Iron Bridge — is ahead! — is ahead!
— The great — Huang Ho — Iron Bridge — is ahead! —
Let's heighten — our watchfulness! — Let's close — all the windows! — Let's defend- — the Express! — Defend — the Huang Ho — Iron Bridge!"
Everybody stood up and all the windows were banged shut- But Liu's window stuck. Chang, who sat near the aisle, leaned over to help him and when it was no use, shouted for the porter. "Passenger-Affairs Officer! Com­rade Passenger-Affairs Officer!"
The porter was not in sight. But a soldier of the Liberation Army had appeared, shouldering his rifle, pacing slowly down the aisle and back again.
Liu continued to wrestle with the window- The wind was very strong because of the train's speed. The man in the seat ahead spat out into space while attending to the window next to his, and the spittle was blown right back, drops of it sprinkling on Liu's face. He frowned and felt for the handkerchief in his pocket.
His hand froze inside his pocket. He had. noticed that the soldier had stopped by his seat, holding his rifle tense­ly. He dared not take his hand out- The soldier was ob­viously afraid he was reaching for a hand grenade which
 he was going to hurl at the bridge.
The thundering and clattering of the wheels were amplified, now that the solid ground had given way to the bridge. In the blackness outside the window, big diagonal crosses flashed jerkily past in succession — the silhouetted bridge rails. In a moment the last cross had disappeared and the thundering rattle of the wheels subsided back to normal- The soldier, though still watchful, lowered his gun. Liu forgot what he hadn’t wanted the handkerchief for. When he pulled it out of his pocket he just wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"Comrades!" the loudspeaker was again screeching girlishly. "The Express — has now — triumphantly —passed across — the Huang Ho — Iron Bridge! Trium­phantly — passed across — the Huang Ho — Iron Bridge!"
She sounded as if they had just won a battle. Liu be­gan to wonder if there were very many accidents along this line. If the rails were blown up by guerillas or special agents and then repaired again, the newspapers would naturally neglect to mention it. The bridge must be a particularly crucial point.
But Liu did not really believe there was much of this kind of thing going on. More likely, the authorities were jittery because they believe in being perpetually on guard against everyone. The Passenger-Affairs Officer had turned up with a soot-encrusted kettle, adding hot water to everybody's tea, as if in celebration of their safe crossing of the bridge. The man wore a wrinkled dark blue Liberation Suit like everyone else, but with a white armband. He was lanky, young and dull, yawning in people's  faces as he leaned over their tables. Working his way down the aisle he weaved a little with the motion of the train, holding on to the back of seats.
In time he stood sleepily before Liu's table, lifted the cover off Chang's glass with one hand, his other hand holding the big kettle high, to shoot a foot-long arc of water into the glass. But he missed it and watered Chang's leg instead-
"Ai-ya. ai-yo, ai-yo! Tung Rau le! I die of pain!" Chang jumped up shouting, bumping the kettle out of the man's hand, splashing the scalding water all over the feet and ankles of both of them. He yelled louder. The Pas­senger-Affairs Officer was also howling now-
"He's done it on purpose!" Chang's eyes were red with fury and tears- "Ha° chia-huo! Boiling water — and he looks you in the eye and just pours it over you! I'll be darned if he hasn't done it on purpose! I'm going to speak to the comrade responsible for the train. There, are sabo­teurs around!"
The Passenger-Affairs Officer just squatted on the floor moaning and wailing, unable to speak.
"Ma-ti! Must be a spy!" Chang shouted. "Ma-ti! Have you any idea who I am — who your father is? Why, you almost killed me! The Revolution still needs me — you know that?"
"Let it go, Comrade Chang, let .it go! " Liu stood to help hold him up. "Better go to the medical room right now. Get the Hygiene Officer to put on some medicine and bandage it for you. The sooner the better. Delay might be dangerous — really. Let me handle this creature. Just leave him to me- Don't worry, he can't run away. If he jumps off the train it's his funeral."
Still shouting abuse, Chang hobbled toward the medi­cal cubicle at the other end of the train. The two Hygiene Officers were women and not bad looking. After they had applied the medicine and bandaged his leg and both his feet, he stayed to chat and they asked him to be sure to come around again tomorrow to change the bandages- With another cozy chat in the clean-smelling little cubicle to look forward to, he was more or less pacified when he returned to the carriage-
Everybody was already in bed. The backs of the seats had been turned up to make upper berths- Liu had taken the upper to save Chang the trouble of climbing-
Unbuttoning his tunic, Chang sat down on the lower berth, crouching because there wasn't room. The floor under his feet was glistening wet; it had probably been wiped with a mop. The air smelled of the dirty mop.
The railway authorities no longer took pains to segre­gate the sexes in the arrangement of sleeping berths. There weren't any curtains over the berths either. This was one of the very few changes that had been made quietly, without any publicity. While it had occasioned' some whispered complaints, it was perhaps not altogether unpopular- Chang glanced at the girl on the opposite. berth. She had her face to the wall and her long hair fanned out over the pillow. She was muffled up to the neck in a woolen blanket. Spread out over the blanket,. her padded, dark blue Liberation jacket looked enormous. Grey flannel trousers were spread next to it, in the right order. Still, she was not in her jacket and trousers butt underneath them: It made a difference.
It would be still better after he had lain down, when the three-foot gap between their pillows could easily be• bridged by his imagination. But part of his anger return­ed when he remembered that, by going away to have his, leg attended to, he had missed seeing her undress.
"Ma ti, see if I don't give the Railway Bureau a piece of my mind," he said loudly to Liu, partly for the benefit of the other passengers. After what had happened to him, ft would really be face-losing if he were to keep quiet about it. "All this Patriotic Overtime, Competitive Over­. time and what not, extending the working hours on and on and on- Who's to be responsible when there are ac­cidents? The leaders — all they know is to ask for hsiaomieh shih-ku, the extermination of accidents.' How can they avoid accidents when they go at this rate? The pas­senger's life and limbs have no protection at all, I tell you!"
Liu did not answer, pretending to be asleep.
The loudspeaker was. silent at last. The monotonous click of the wheels was soothing in the unaccustomed ,quiet. Travelling light now without the music, the train rushed on, smooth, heavybodied and indifferent, occa­sionally with one of its segments pushed up a little as if shrugging. There were miles and miles of the same black night ahead.