TheBanyanTree: Transition 18, Part 1

[Pat M]

Transition 18, Part 1
January 24, 2008



      I'd be making the long-awaited trip to Xian—finally. The snow had
stopped and the main highways were clear. In five days, I'd leave the
wretched cold of central China behind for Sanya, China's most southern city,
on Hainan Island.

Hainan was once a place of exile for banished government officials, and it
is said that in the entire Song, Yuan and Ming dynasties (almost 700 years)
only 18 tourists visited the island. Yet, it is a tropical paradise with
swaying palm trees and golden beaches, and the South China Sea surrounding
it is rich with the fruits of the sea. Today, some 80% of the island's
economy is tourism-based.

I still hadn't received the funds from Hong Kong, and the Lintong branch of
the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China had told Amy we needed to talk
to their main branch in downtown Xian.

"Can Amy come with me?" I asked Alice. "I need her help at the bank."

      Alice, relaxing by the woodstove, said "Yes, okay."

      My cell phone rang.

     "Hi Pat, it's Jackie. I called the Zhangs and they'll meet us at the
hospital at noon. They've been staying with relatives near there; they can't
get home because the roads are closed." (Zhang Kang had been released from
hospital two days earlier.)

     "Okay. I'm catching a ride with my boss so hope I can make it. I still
don't have the money from Hong Kong so I have to go to the bank in Xian
first to find out why. If I'm going to be late, I'll let you know."
       To Alice, I said, "I'm going back to my apartment to get the money.
See you shortly." (I'd already withdrawn 5,000 yuan from my own bank account
for the Zhangs and had locked it in my spare room for safe keeping.)

      I donned my full-length goose-down coat, thrust my hands deep into its
pockets and stepped outside into the frigid air. The side-road the college
was located on was a patchwork of ice, and eyes to the ground, I slowly
picked my way to the corner. Because of the slippery conditions, there had
been many traffic and pedestrian accidents, and I didn't want to end up with
any broken bones that would prevent my migration to the south.

            When I returned to the college, Alice lingered near the stove
sipping tea and appeared oblivious to my growing agitation as the minutes
passed. I wanted to be punctual, but it was out of my hands. Finally, I grew
so frustrated with her that I said, "Would it be more convenient for you if
we took the bus?"

            "No," she said, "I'm just going to finish my tea."

            I rolled my eyes at Amy and picked up my cell phone.

            "Hi Jackie. I'm sorry but I'm going to be late. I'm still in
Lintong."

            A few minutes later, we were on the road and a half hour after
that, while still en route, my cell phone rang.

            "The Zhangs and I are at the hospital waiting for you. We're in
the office on the eighth floor. Where are you?"

            "Where are we?" I echoed to Alice and Amy.

     Alice said something in Chinese that I repeated to him. My Chinese
pronunciation was spot on and both Alice and Amy gasped.

"That was perfect!" Amy exclaimed.

"I guess I'm a good parrot," I acknowledged, having no idea what I'd told
Jackie.

       Alice said, "Let me talk to him," and took my cell phone. A flow of
rapid Chinese ensued.
      Fifteen minutes later, Alice dropped Amy and I off near the Bell
Tower, and we made our way through the surging masses crowding the subway
for several minutes before ascending the escalator to the street and the
bank. It was, of course, busy and we took a numbered ticket and waited for
our turn. I grew increasingly anxious thinking about Jackie and the Zhangs
waiting for us and tried to console myself thinking that the Zhangs
shouldn't mind waiting since they were soon to come into a large sum of
money.
    "I don't think a teller will be able to help us," I told Amy. "I think
we need to go to the counter at the back of the bank."
    "Okay," she said. "Let's try."
     The woman behind the counter there listened to Amy explain about the
missing money, and I presented her with a printout of the transaction from
the Hong Kong bank. She rummaged through some paperwork on her desk and then
she, like the bank employees in Lintong, said there was nothing she could
do.

    I was already very late for my meeting and frustrated that I wasn't
having any success sorting out the problem. I'd be out about CDN$650 unless
it could be resolved. It wasn't going to break me, but it would be hard to
swallow, nevertheless.

"Tell her I'm not leaving and I want to speak to the manager," I muttered.

Amy translated and the woman left, soon returning with another woman. Amy
spoke with the manager at length, and I knew she was trying her best for me.
In the end, all the manger could do was write down my phone number and
promise to call if the money arrived. I left feeling very annoyed. "Why is
everything so hard in China?" I grumbled.

Outside we hopped into a taxi and twenty minutes later arrived at Xijing
Hospital. This time, we knew where we were going and hurried through the
crowds in the main entrance foyer to the cardiology building. The elevator
took us as far as the 7th floor and we climbed the stairs to the eighth.
Zhang Kang popped his head out of a door at the top.

"There he is," I said and felt a warm smile spread across my face.

"Hello. Ni hao," I said cheerfully as I entered the board room. "Sorry I'm
late."

The Zhangs stood up and greeted Amy and I. Immediately, I noticed the change
in Zhang Kang; it was remarkable. Although he moved stiffly and it was
apparent he was in pain, his eyes had come to life. There was strength in
them that hadn't been there before. For the first time in his fourteen
years, Zhang Kang was well and strong, and it wouldn't be long before he
could run and play with others his age. Because of the generosity of many,
he had been given the gift of a normal life, and I felt satisfaction knowing
that my efforts had helped it come about.

Jackie was speaking with a woman and a little boy I didn't know who were
also in the room. When they left, Jackie said, "That little boy went to
America for his heart operation but there is a problem, the heart is
leaking. It is the first time something like that has happened."

"Oh, that's a shame," I said, and then added, "Zhang Kang looks great,
though. I see a huge difference in him."

"His operation was a complete success."  (Jackie acted as interpreter so I
could communicate with the Zhangs.)

"I'm so happy for you," I said to Zhang Kang. "You just need to rest awhile
longer and then you'll be able to play with the other kids and go to school
again."

He smiled, and I again marveled at how much he had changed since the
operation.

"There is a family in Hong Kong with two little boys who sent some money to
help pay for your operation, and the boys would like to be friends with you.
Maybe they will write you a letter sometime. I have some pictures of them
for you," I said and handed him four photos.

Zhang Kang's eyes lit up as he looked at the photos. He turned to his mother
and spoke to her excitedly.

To Jackie, I said, "I have 5,000 yuan of my own money with me. The bank says
they can't do anything to help find the money sent from Hong Kong, so I hope
it arrives before I leave on Tuesday. Please tell the Zhangs that this money
is to help pay off the money they borrowed for Zhang Kang's operation. If
they provide a receipt from the money lender, the Hong Kong family will
continue to help them pay off more of their debts in the future."

Because the Zhangs live so far away, Jackie suggested they fax the receipt
to him and he would scan it and email it to the Hong Kong family. Finding a
fax machine in the wilderness of northern Shaanxi province wasn't going to
be easy for the Zhangs though and likely would entail a trip to the closest
city, but it was the best we could suggest.

I took a thick wad of cash from my purse and recounted it—fifty one-hundred
yuan notes—then handed it to Mr. Zhang while Jackie took some photos for the
donors.

"Tell them to be careful with it and put it in the bank. It's a lot of money
to carry around," I said, knowing that it was a year's wages for many in
China.

"What are the names of the people who sent this money, and what is their
address?" Mr. Zhang asked.

I wrote down their names. "Sorry, I don't have their address. Can you please
give me yours so they can write to you first?"

Mr. Zhang wrote out his address in Chinese on a scrap of paper and I tucked
it into my wallet for safe-keeping.

"They'd like your address, too," Jackie translated.

"In China?"

"No, in Canada."

As I spoke with Mr. Zhang, I saw Zhang Kang looking through the photos again
with wonder in his eyes.

The Zhangs placed a large plastic bag on the conference room table. It was
full of dried fruit, a type I'd never seen before.

"They want you to have this. It is from their village."

"Oh, thank you!"

The fruit was silver-dollar sized, circular and flat; a white powder-like
substance covered it.

I took a bite out of one.

"You should wash it first," Jackie said, and then he spoke with the Zhangs.

"They say the white color occurs naturally and it's fine to eat them. You
don't need to wash them."

I passed the bag to Amy and Jackie who also took one to sample.

The fruit was tasty and reminded me of figs.

I nodded and said, "Haochi, (delicious)" Later, I found out the fruit was
dried persimmons.
It was getting late and I had to accomplish many more things before the end
of the day. We all left together and took the elevator to the main floor.
There, we said goodbye to the Zhangs and Jackie led Amy and I to a very
elegant restaurant on the ground floor where we enjoyed a very late but
delicious lunch.

***


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