Riding the Iron Rooster

"I hope it lasts," I said, because the Chinese were known to be rather brisk with foreigners they no longer needed. The philosophy of learning from foreigners was spelled out in the nineteenth century by Feng Gui-fen. Feng was an adviser to statesmen, and a teacher and advocate of reform. He regarded all foreigners as barbarians but said it was necessary to use them to learn various mechanical skills (shipbuilding and gunsmithing in particular). "A few barbarians should be employed," he said, "and Chinese who are good in using their minds should be selected to receive instruction so that in turn they may teach many craftsmen." He went on to say, "We should use the instruments of the barbarians, but not adopt the ways of the barbarians. We should use them so that we can repel them." These are to a large extent the sentiments of the Chinese government today and the reason for the large number of so-called foreign experts in China. A foreign expert is a barbarian with a skill to impart, but he should never make the mistake of believing that he is being invited to stay for an indefinite length of time. The experts are in China to be used, and when they are no longer useful, to be sent home.

I asked Scotty whether he got homesick. He said he had only been in Harbin four months—not long enough.

"My wife misses grocery shopping and she hates her kitchen," he said. "Me? I miss beef. There's no beef here."

I had not noticed that, but then you usually had to be told what was in a Chinese dish. The Chinese had a way of drawing a culinary veil over even the most obvious ingredients.

"How is your steel forge?" I asked.

"Old-fashioned," Scotty said. "So I have to be tough. I'll tell you frankly—I'm cruel. I have to be, to get the quality up. Take today. What did I do? I rejected a whole order. It was worth twenty thousand U.S. Hey, it worried them!"

"Why did you reject the order?"

Scotty became suddenly very enthusiastic about his work, and as he talked about forging steel, I was convinced that he was the perfect man to send to China—a hard hat with a mission. He didn't seem the sort of person who suffered fools gladly. If they called him a barbarian I was sure he would return the compliment.

"Every piece of steel has to have a heat number stamped on it. These didn't have a heat number. I just sent them back and said no." He smiled mischievously and added, "I'll accept the order eventually, when we get the number on it. But they don't know that. That's my secret. Let them stew for a while. Let them think about the foul-up."

"Was it important, this steel?"

"Sure!" he said. "Buncha pipe flanges!"

We talked about pipe flanges for a while. It is true that there's not much about pipe flanges to bewitch the imagination, but we were in one of the downtown hotels where it was warm. When it is minus thirty-eight degrees centigrade outside, it can be counted a pleasant experience to stand in a warm place talking with a fat Canadian about pipe flanges.

All this time in Harbin I was trying to make arrangements to go farther north into the greater desolation of Heilongjiang. I had not known that my destination, Langxiang, was closed to foreigners. But I prevailed upon the Chinese. I said I would behave myself and would not stay long. They said they would consider my request.

While I waited I rummaged in the shops. I bought a pair of gloves, but not a fur hat. Such lovely furs (ermine, sable, fox, mink); such hideous hats and coats. And how awful for a stag to be killed so that its noble forking antlers could be made into buttons for auntie's old coat. I found an ivory object at the Harbin Antiquities Store. "It is an ancient carving," the clerk said. "Of the earth."

"Impossible."

How did I know it could not be an ancient Chinese carving of the round earth? Elementary. Until about 1850 the Chinese believed the earth was flat.

It was a prewar Russian billiard ball, but I bought it just the same.

15: The Slow Train to Langxiang: Number 295

"Is it cold outside?" I asked.

"Very," said Mr. Tian. His eyeglasses were opaque with frost.

It was five-thirty on a Harbin morning, the temperature at minus thirty-five degrees centigrade and a light snow falling—little grains like seed pearls sifting down in the dark. When the flurry stopped, the wind picked up, and the wind was murderous. With it full on my face it was like being slashed with a razor. We were on our way to the railway station.

"And you insist on coming with me?" I asked.

"Langxiang is forbidden," Mr. Tian said. "So I must."

"It is the Chinese way," I said.

"Very much so," he replied.