10,000 Miles From Home
By Nathalia Li
()
About this ebook
In July, 1984, Nick travels by train from eastern China to the city of Xian to visit his former student, Li Xiuli. But he has not realized that Xiao Zhou, her fiance, is suspicious and jealous. Xiuli and Xiao Zhou, show Nick the city over the course of a week. Nicks sees the friction in the relationship between Xiao Zhou and Xiuli, and he discovers that his feelings for her run deeper than he anticipated. But he has already booked his flight backto the US for later in the month. He struggles with his conflicted feelings about Xiuli, his decision to return home, and his experience in China.
Nathalia Li
Ms. Li enjoys basketball, tennis, dance, and running. Her compelling interests include movies, art, philosophy, politics, photography, literature, and music. She has traveled widely in western Europe, North America, and China. She has worked as a teacher, journalist, prison guard, driver, cook, dishwasher, retail clerk, and booking agent for bands. She holds degrees in English, literature, and philosophy. She plays piano and guitar, jazz and blues. She is fundamentally committed to freedom of speech, thought, and belief. She often reflects on the friction between the way women see their lives and the way they live them. You may contact Ms. Li at: nli704115@gmail.com Books: Lolita; Crime and Punishment; On the Road. Movies: The Passenger; Lawrence of Arabia; Manhattan Musicians: Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Wynton Kelly, Gene Harris, Otis Spann, Muddy Waters, Cornell Dupree, Chuck Berry, Robert Johnson Artists: Rembrandt, Gustave Courbet, Picasso, Marcel Duchamp, Mark Rothko, Joseph Turner, Georgia O'Keefe, Salvador Dali, El Greco, Rodin.
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10,000 Miles From Home - Nathalia Li
10,000 Miles From Home
Nathalia Li
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition
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July 5, 1984: Thursday
The train lurched to a steely screeching halt. Nick Durand had rolled sixteen hours from Xuzhou near the eastern coast to Xian in the center of China. He stared out the window to the concrete platform where the crowd swirled.
He had traveled almost a thousand miles. He couldn’t put into words exactly why. He had told her he would come. It wasn’t as if he were in love. But he knew that if he didn’t come, he would never see her again. Whatever his feelings, he couldn’t choose to turn away from her forever when simply by crossing the country he could keep alive the possibility. He had no illusions about certainty, but insofar as it was within his control, he wanted to protect the possibility. For reasons he couldn’t explain. For reasons he didn’t understand.
He descended the cast iron steps of the first class car one by one. The gray elevated platform was thick with rushing, bustling, impatient Chinese travelers. He surveyed the contesting currents. He had hoped it would be easy, that as he stepped off the train she would be waiting. But if she hadn’t received his telegram, she wouldn’t be here. If she weren’t here, he had no idea how to find her. In this crowd, with all the commotion and confusion, she could be inches away without his seeing her. Hoisting his backpack on his shoulder and lifting his suitcase, he joined the stream.
All around him Chinese hustled urgently to get on or get away from the train. A few stared at him, as people often did in Xuzhou. Xian is a larger, more cosmopolitan city, so its people are more accustomed to foreigners. He aimed for the exit thinking, hoping, she might be there. Passengers impatiently crowded the Way Out to hand their tickets to the railway workers in dark blue military-style uniforms. Then they filed one by one through tall wooden turnstiles.
On the far side of the gate speaking to a female worker, he saw her. As she spoke her eyes anxiously searched the scurrying multitude. He lunged forward, as if in the next instant she might disappear, lost to him. Startled, the Chinese separated, not wanting to obstruct the foreign devil’s passage. Hurriedly Nick extended his ticket stub at the worker and squeezed his luggage and himself through the prongs of the turnstile. He was five feet from her when she turned and walked away. He called, waved, but in the noisy swarm he failed to catch her attention. Struggling with his awkward, thumping suitcase, he hobbled forward doing his best to avoid colliding with the shorter, smaller bodies single-mindedly and unpredictably crisscrossing his path. He closed the distance, reached, stretched his arm. His fingertips grazed her shoulder.
Li Xiuli.
She wheeled, irate. Instantly her expression resolved into beatific pleasure.
You come. I am so happy.
She smiled radiantly, eyes shining. Clapping her hands, she bounced on her feet with excitement and delight. Her arms rose to embrace him, but she caught herself, withdrew. I look everywhere. I am afraid not find you. Think maybe you no come.
Yes, me too. How are you?
He faced her, relieved and pleased. He wanted to hold her, embrace her. As a kindness she might allow it, but he knew that here such intimacy was beyond the conventions of public propriety. She would feel embarrassed and scandalously conspicuous.
I am fine. Please.
She grabbed at his suitcase. She was small and slight, barely five feet tall, less than ninety pounds.
No, no. I’ll carry it. It’s heavy.
He wrestled with her for control of the bag.
No, you are guest. I will be shame,
she insisted, tugging stubbornly at the handle. I must. You guest. You teacher. I am respect.
He wrested the suitcase from her. It’s okay.
The bag wasn’t that heavy, but allowing her to carry it contradicted his conception of courtesy. In such small gestures, mere good manners at home, even though paradoxical insults here, he found comfort.
She fought to pry the suitcase from his grasp. Her eyes expressed such painful desperation that finally he had to relent.
This way. Come. We find my boyfriend, Xiao Zhou.
Gripping the suitcase with both hands, dragging it with tense effort, she led him through the cavernous station toward the high, wide-open doors into open air and blue sky. The late morning sunshine of early July glazed the world with a painful brilliance.
On the gray plaza in front of the ponderous Soviet-style depot Xiao Zhou stood in the sun nervous and impatient. He was tall, thin, with glasses, but handsome and healthy. He wore indigo cotton slacks and a white short-sleeve shirt over a jersey t-shirt. He was six years younger than Li Xiuli. In Chinese boyfriend
denotes fiance
. They had been engaged for a year and planned to marry the following February during Spring Festival, the celebration of the Chinese New Year. Li Xiuli was near thirty, and at her age to have found a