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August
16, 2000
Wednesday, HNU
Today I go for my first evening meal at the "canteen." It is a restaurant just
next door the the "guest house." Large circular tables filled with students fill
most of the building as I enter. I am seated a square table that seats 4. The waitress
approaches me, starts to speak to me in Chinese, becomes embarrassed, and leaves to return
with a list of foods with English in one column and Chinese in the other. I point at
"chicken with cashews", she shakes her head no. I point at another dish, she
again shakes her head no. I wave my hand over the menu, shrug my shoulders, and say,
" Show me what you have." She understands and points at "sour and sweet
chicken." I nod my head yes and said, "chee."
I've brought a book with me to read. A People's History of the United States, by Howard
Zinn. I've decided it would be a good resource for my public lectures. I've had the book
on my reading list for a long time, and since I've read about the history of China for the
last year, I thought it would be good to refresh my mind on my own countries history from
Zinn's perspective.
An elderly Chinese man, carrying a briefcase, joins me at my table. We nod. I recognize
him from my walk yesterday with Dr. Guo, Dean of the Science and Mathematics College. He¡¦d
passed us on our walk, and although Dr. Guo had not introduced us, he had nodded to him
and told me he was a very distinguished retired professor. I am, honestly, a little
irritated by his joining me. He speaks no English, and I no Chinese. But I feel it would
be rude to continue reading so I put my book down. He takes a bottle of liquor out of his
briefcase and offers me some. I accept. It was strong but pleasant. A little like Tequila.
My food arrives, a huge plate of chicken and rice in a separate bowl. The chicken is a
shock. The entire chicken had been chopped into small pieces, bones and all, then cooked
with sauce spread over it. I decide it's gonna be a rice kind of night.
The man and I study one another as we sip our drinks. He is small, even by Chinese
standards. He peers through thick glasses. His hair is black with no trace of gray, and it
is disheveled. I relax, drink more of the liquor, and enjoy the cultural differences. My
plate has little piles of partially eaten chicken on it. It is quite disgusting looking. I
don't know whether the Chinese eat the bones or not; I just don't know yet how to deal
with this type of food.
My table mates' food arrives-a rich-looking tofu and turnip soup and a plate of stir-fried
bean sprouts, peppers and green onions. He offers me some. I accept. It is excellent. We
eat and drink companionably. He refused my offer of my selected food. A smart man. We
toast one another often.
After we finish eating he offers me a cigarette. I accept, puzzling over my action. I
haven't smoked a cigarette in over 20 years. He lights both our cigarettes and inhales
deeply. I draw the smoke into my mouth but, like Clinton, I don't inhale. It tastes awful,
and I wonder how I ever smoked. He holds his daintily between his thumb and forefinger,
puffing in short, quick bursts. We toast with the last of the liquor, tipping our glasses
to drain them, arise and leave the restaurant together. He bends slightly at the waist and
smiles at me as we step from the restaurant. I return the gesture, and we walk our
separate ways.
I return to my room and brush my teeth vigorously, twice. I eat two breath mints. My mouth
still tastes terrible. It actually takes 24 hours for the taste of the cigarette to leave
the lining of my mouth.
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