North of the city

Author: Su Tong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-08-01
Features: Excerpt from the book: Three large chimneys are the symbol of the northern city. The sky in the northern city gathers all industrial smoke. The particles of soot and cement fall drop by drop in the hot July wind, covering the windowsills of the families on Xiangchun Street with black and white dust. If not cleaned for a few days, the dust can accumulate to half an inch thick, and children often mistake it for flour. The chimneys of the chemical plant are a beautiful orange-red. The pungent smell of phthalic anhydride swirls around the cylindrical chimneys, diffusing from the entrance of the chemical plant. People passing by occasionally look up at the chimneys of the chemical plant. Even if they understand the production processes of phthalic anhydride, camphor, or laundry detergent, they can't help but feel a childish illusion, thinking that it is a strange, fragrant, and pungent chimney that mixes all the components of the air.
The rainy season has just passed, and the sun penetrates the thin clouds, baking the green tiles on the roofs and the narrow, long cobblestone road. The two yellow dogs of the blacksmith family have wisely retreated to the inside of the doorframe, watching the molten-like, scorching white light floating on the road. July in the south is already a hot season, and the streets under the scorching sun in the daytime are often deserted. Only the irritating sound of tapping metal from the tin shop breaks the silence, while the buzzing noise of flies circling around the garbage bins and toilets is already a faint lullaby for those taking a nap.
It is half past one in the afternoon. Li's double cat-brand alarm clock rings on time, and Li Xiuyè's brief sleep is suddenly interrupted. He jumps off the bed and quickly puts on his gray vinylon pants. His hand instinctively reaches into his pocket for the bicycle keys, but he doesn't find them—perhaps he forgot to lock the bike. Thinking this, Li Xiuyè puts the lunch box in his bag and prepares to push his bicycle to the doorframe. But the bicycle is gone, and the straw hat hanging on the handlebar has been taken off and thrown on the ground. Li Xiuyè steps on his hat and curses, "Where is my bicycle? Fucking bastard, who stole my bicycle?"
Dasheng is not at home; his white sweatshirt and blue track pants are soaking in a basin. Li Xiuyè walks to the outside and glances at both sides of the street, but there is no trace of his son. He shouts a few times at the Shen family across the street, "Dasheng, Dasheng." It seems that no one is at the Shen family, and Dasheng is not there either. Li Xiuyè curses again, "Fucking bastard, you wouldn't dare to ride my bicycle out?"
That day, Li Xiuyè borrowed a bicycle from an old man in the west of the street. It was an old, dilapidated, broken-down bike. The old man said, "I don't know how skilled you are at riding. Only I can ride this bike. It has no brakes or bells, and the handlebar has to be tilted slightly to the left when riding." Li Xiuyè was in a hurry to go to the cast iron factory in the west of the city for work. "Tilted to the left," he remembers. He quickly mounts the bike and waves his hand behind him, saying, "Old man, come to my house tomorrow morning to play chess and beat you into a pulp."
Someone saw Li Xiuyè riding his bike furiously over the railway bridge that day, muttering as if cursing. At the time, no one knew that it was Dasheng who had secretly ridden his father's bicycle, but those familiar with Li Xiuyè's temperament were not surprised by his curses and anger.
From the railway bridge to the North Gate Bridge is about 500 meters away. Li Xiuyè rides past this distance at high speed. He calculates the time and thinks that if he maintains high speed, he might not be late. Therefore, Li Xiuyè's dilapidated bicycle almost frantically screeches as it climbs the slope of the North Gate Bridge.
When Li Xiuyè is going downhill, he hears the wind filling his ears. Besides that, he also hears the horn of a cement truck. He wants to grab the brake, but it is as good as broken iron wire. Li Xiuyè feels as if he is rushing toward the cement truck in a white light, like the dive of a train or a bird. The last thing he sees is his son Dasheng's playful face, his buttocks swaying left and right on the bicycle frame. He seems to see his son struggling and happily riding the bicycle he urgently needs.