North Suburb Area -- Su Tong Works Series

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 north gathers all industrial smoke, and the particles of carbon black and cement fall drop by drop in the hot July wind. The windows of the families on Xiangchun Street are covered 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 surrounds the cylindrical chimneys, spreading like smoke. People passing by the entrance of the chemical plant occasionally look up at the chimneys. Even if they understand the production process of phthalic anhydride, camphor, or laundry detergent, they can't help but feel a childish illusion. They think it's a strange, fragrant, and pungent chimney that mixes all the air components.
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 side 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 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 napping.
It is half past one in the afternoon. Li's dual cat-brand alarm clock rings on time, and Li Xiuyè's brief sleep is suddenly interrupted. He jumps off the bed and quickly pulls on the gray vinylon pants. His hand instinctively reaches into his pocket for the bicycle keys, but they aren't there. He must have forgotten to lock the bike, Li Xiuyè thinks. He puts the lunchbox in his bag and prepares to push his bicycle to the doorframe, but the bicycle is gone. The straw hat hanging on the handlebar has been taken off and thrown on the ground. Li Xiuyè steps on the hat and curses, "Where is my bicycle? Damn it, who stole my bicycle?"
Dashing isn't home. He has his white sweatshirt and blue track pants soaking in a basin. Li Xiuyè steps outside and looks to 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, "Dashing, Dashing." It seems no one is home at the Shen family, and Dashing doesn't seem to be there either. Li Xiuyè curses again, "Damn it, you stubborn bastard, would you dare to ride my bicycle out?"
That day, Li Xiuyè borrowed a bicycle from an old man on the west side of the street. It was a dilapidated, old 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. When riding, the handlebar has to lean slightly to the left." Li Xiuyè was just in a hurry to go to the cast iron factory in the west of the city. "Leaning to the left," I'll remember, he said hastily as he hopped onto the bike and waved his hand behind him, "Old man, come to my house tomorrow morning to play chess and beat you into a pulp."
Someone saw Li Xiuyè riding his bicycle furiously over the railway bridge that day, muttering as if cursing. At the time, no one knew it was Dashing who had secretly ridden his father's bicycle, but those familiar with Li Xiuyè's temperament didn't find his curses and anger unusual.
The distance from the railway bridge to the North Gate Bridge is about 500 meters. Li Xiuyè sped through this section, calculating the time. If he kept up the speed, he might not be late. Therefore, Li Xiuyè's dilapidated bicycle almost frantically screeched as it climbed the bridge slope.
When Li Xiuyè was going downhill, the wind filled his ears, and apart from that, he also heard the horn of a cement delivery truck. He wanted to brake, but the brakes were as good as broken iron wires. Li Xiuyè felt himself rushing toward the truck in a flash of white light, like a dive of a train or a bird. The last thing he saw was his son Dashing's playful face, his buttocks swaying left and right on the bicycle frame. He seemed to see his son struggling and happily riding the bicycle he desperately needed.