Rebirth 2004: A lone figure in the literary world

Chapter 308 Chinatown Storm

【Walking through the colorful archway with the words "Chinatown" written on it, it was like entering a different world. The towering Twin Towers of the World Trade Center and even a corner of the Empire State Building were clearly visible not far behind me. Countless high-rise buildings formed a rolling mountain range that surrounded the small depression "Chinatown".

But as long as you step over the dividing line formed by the archway, the diffuse white mist and the hustle and bustle of the city will first cleanse your eyes and ears. After you get used to it, a street that only exists in your imagination will unfold before your eyes.

The box-like low buildings have carved brackets and eaves; the Roman columns of Victorian buildings are covered with Chinese-style door covers; the streets are paved with bluestone slabs, and horse-drawn carriages and cars drive side by side, with wheels creaking on the slabs. Of course, there is also the ubiquitous white smoke, which floats up from the manholes, from the windows of residents, from the steamed bun shops and restaurants on the street, and from the pipes that are wrapped around the buildings like vines...

Looking back at this moment, you will find that those tall buildings are no longer clear, but have turned into heavy black shadows, as if giants are looking at this land and the Chinese people on it with terrifying eyes.

Yes, Chinese. The Chinese population here is way off the charts!
For a hundred years, Chinese people have been crowded on the streets. His long, thin braid under his melon-shaped hat slammed onto her gold-embroidered cheongsam when he turned around, attracting a disdainful glance; the dirty water splashed by her red high-heeled shoes wet his leggings and straw sandals, but he stepped aside timidly, saying "I'm sorry, ma'am"; he was wearing a suit that was obviously too big and holding a briefcase, and bumped into an old man in a hurdle vest who was coming towards him. He said "sorry", but the old man cursed him "scat"; he carefully lifted his bell-bottom pants, fearing that his trouser legs would be stepped on; she was wearing a white Dacron shirt, with two thick braids hanging on her shoulders; he was leaning on a walking stick and had a beard; her denim shorts could hardly cover her buttocks, and she had a metal ring on her exposed belly button; he was wearing shabby jeans and a flowered T-shirt, and fingerless breakdancing gloves...

Gu Feng, who was too clean, was not noticeable here. He glanced at his watch and saw that there were still 27 minutes left. He needed to find Lin Rongsheng—or, Lin Xiaohai—in these 27 minutes. The last failed experience made him realize that he could not use ordinary people's thinking to guess Lin Xiaohai's thoughts. Getting married was not a happy thing for him. In other words, he did not have many happy times during his time as "Lin Xiaohai".

Gu Feng flipped through the summary of Lin Xiaohai's memories captured by the computer in front of the screen and found a fragment of the Chinatown scene that seemed real and illusory, which had an extremely strong emotional reaction. This was a memory fragment of Lin Xiaohai's father's "Lin Rongsheng" personality in his spiritual world, which combined Lin Xiaohai's father's description of his life in the United States when he first came, the history and photos of Chinatown that Lin Xiaohai had read, and the images of Chinatown in different movies and TV series he had watched.

But the problem is that this "Lin Rongsheng" personality has no face; or to be more precise, no fixed face. "Lin Rongsheng" constantly shows different appearances as the needs of his son Lin Xiaohai for his father vary. Gu Feng needs to find the "Lin Rongsheng" in this memory fragment before the countdown ends, and decide whether to permanently fix the relevant fragment as a "good memory".

Gu Feng crossed the crowded main road and turned into the back street. The scene here was completely different, even the sky had turned into a peaceful dusk, with only a few people busy with their own things.

A short and strong man was smoking a cigarette, holding a box of freshly delivered fish in his arms, and the fishy water splashed out soaked most of his leather bag;

A thin man was leaning against the door with the sign "Tangshan Grocery" hanging on it, spreading out a newspaper and reading it intently;

A boy pushed open the door and stuck half his head out from the gap to see an old white man playing the saxophone at the door;
At the end of the street is a building that looks like a traditional Chinese ancestral hall. A funeral is being held there. The door is filled with white mourning couplets and colorful wreaths.
……

Gu Feng noticed that there was another boy about 10 years old sitting on the concrete elephant slide, staring blankly at the orange sky.

The boy looked familiar, so Gu Feng walked to the slide and decided to observe the boy. But the boy quickly noticed him.

"I know you," the 10-year-old boy said. "You were at my wedding yesterday."

This kind of scene is rare. Logically speaking, I am already in the blind spot of the other party, and I will not be seen by the boy - or Lin Xiaohai. And this "Lin Xiaohai" should not know me at all.

What's more, this memory belongs to the personality of "Lin Rongsheng", so "Lin Xiaohai" should not exist.

Even if everything can be explained by "schizophrenia" or "multiple personality", this memory fragment should have begun to collapse when Gu Feng was "noticed" by others.

Gu Feng did not see the scene before him melting and flowing down like a heated oil painting.

"Neither the textbook nor the teacher mentioned this in class..." Gu Feng didn't like the feeling of being out of control, but he was not in a hurry to leave this segment. Because every time he entered, the hippocampal cells storing this segment would be damaged, causing the next time he could stay there to be greatly shortened.

Gu Feng asked: "Who are you waiting for?"

10-year-old Lin Xiaohai said, "Wait for my dad. He's almost off work?" As he spoke, he pointed ahead. Gu Feng looked in the direction of Lin Xiaohai's finger. It was a two-story building with a signboard of "Huang's East Asia Garment Manufacturing Co., Ltd.". A thick chimney was supported on the top of the building, spraying white water vapor into the sky continuously, dyeing most of the sky white, interweaving with the orange glow, like a soft veil.

...]

Zhang Chao, who typed this text, was sitting in a small restaurant called "Sichuan Restaurant" in Chinatown, Manhattan, New York. On his table was a simple meal, fried rice, Kung Pao chicken, kale and a bowl of chicken soup, which tasted just right.

Zhang Chao did not finish his meal, but left some, so he had a reason not to ask the waiter to clear the table and could sit here for a while longer.

Looking at the flow of people outside the window, it is naturally not a gathering of "Chinese people from the past hundred years" as he just wrote, but there are all kinds of people - there are "natives" who can be seen at a glance that they are "born and raised" in Chinatown, their clothes and hairstyles seem to be still in the early 90s; there are also tourists who are peeking around, most of them are young people; and of course there are foreigners who come here to hunt for curiosities, and they look surprised at everything they see.

Zhang Chao wanted to take advantage of his time in the United States to complete the Chinatown section of his novel.

Because "Chinatown" is almost the most important place for the Fuhai people who came to the United States in the early days. Whether they yearn for it, fear it, or despise it, it cannot erase its special status and cultural symbol in the history of Chinese immigration.

It is a "city within a city", a "country within a country", and a "lawless place". Even the US government once had to cede part of its power to allow Chinatown to form a certain tradition of autonomy.

The buildings here are generally shorter and older than those in the surrounding areas. You can even find the only small park in China's Jiangnan gardens here, which has everything you need, including rockery, winding water, pavilions, towers, and corridors.

For Chinese people, especially those from Fuhai, they can live comfortably here without knowing English.

It is the starting point for most Chinese immigrants' dreams, and also the epitome of all prejudices.

It is like nails being driven all the way from San Francisco to New York. The US government has repeatedly tried to "destroy" this cultural landmark of the Chinese people by hard or soft means, but it is like nails or hair. No matter how many times you cut it, it will still grow back.

But now it is 2007, and "Chinatown" has lost much of its former charm and is becoming more and more like a tourist attraction that deliberately retains its old appearance.

Looking out the window of the restaurant, Zhang Chao can also see "Café de Coral", "Fu Hai Marriage Agency", "Authentic Peking Roast Duck", "Kinmen Pancake Banquet", "Da Cheng He Gold Shop"...

The signs are hung in rows on the doors of various stores, most of which have begun to fade, gray and listless. The grandeur of the past century seems to have faded along with these signs. "Chinatown" eventually could not resist the erosion of time and became a dim and blurred coin, and no matter how exquisite the pattern was, it was gradually worn away.

Maybe Chinatown, conceived by an American-born Chinese and built by white architects to look like a stage set for China, doesn’t really exist?
Zhang Chao fell into some confusion.

"Little brother, come and travel." A voice sounded beside Zhang Chao. Zhang Chao looked up and saw that it was the owner of this "Sichuan Restaurant", an old man with white hair. Just now he saw him greeting customers in the store, but now he was the only one left.

Zhang Chao forgot about time as soon as he started writing the novel. When he looked up, he found it was already 3 o'clock.

Zhang Chao nodded a little embarrassedly and said, "Yes." Then he closed his notebook, "Are you going to close for a break? Then I'll leave." He prepared to write somewhere else.

The old man quickly stopped Zhang Chao and said, "No hurry. You don't want to eat these, right?" Then he waved his hand, and the waiter in the store came over swiftly, took away the dishes in front of Zhang Chao, and wiped the table for him.

The old man asked with a smile: "Are you a writer?"

Zhang Chao was a little embarrassed when his identity was "exposed", but he still answered truthfully, "Yes." He didn't know if the old man had watched TV. After all, he seemed to be quite "famous" in the United States recently.

The old man slapped his thigh and said happily: "I knew it at the first glance. You writers like it this way!" Then he instructed the waiter to serve them both a cup of tea.

Zhang Chao was no longer thinking about the novel at the moment, but asked with interest: "Can you tell at a glance? What does the writer like?" It seems that the old man did not know him through watching TV, so there was something to talk about.

The old man said, "Look at you, you are dressed in shabby clothes, look arrogant, and type clacking...Looking out the window from time to time, your eyes are wandering, like a white guy who smokes too much cigarettes with added ingredients...

You can tell at first glance that you are a writer! Sorry, I am not belittling you. It is mainly because all you writers here are like this. If you don’t believe me, look—” He pointed to the wall.

Zhang Chao: "..." Following the direction the old man pointed, he saw a wall with many photos of the boss and different people, ranging from black and white to color. However, the old man in the black and white photos was a young man, often holding a large iron spoon; in the color photos, he became a middle-aged man.

The boss in front of him was obviously in his octogenarian years and could no longer swing the iron spoon, so he could only greet customers in the hall.

Many of the Chinese faces looked familiar. Finally, Zhang Chao's eyes fell on the largest photo, and after a closer look, he asked uncertainly, "Is this... Zhang Ailing?"

The old man became proud, stood up and stood next to the photo, saying: "This was in 1971, when Ms. Eileen Chang came here to dine. She was very satisfied with the Shanghainese food I cooked, and took a photo with me."

Zhang Chao wondered, "Shanghainese food? Isn't this a Sichuan restaurant?"

The old man returned to his seat and said to Zhang Chao, "For a restaurant to survive, it's natural to cook whatever dishes are popular. I'm from Guangdong. I went to Hong Kong in 1953 and came to New York in 1960. I first learned Cantonese cuisine, then Shanghainese cuisine, then Fujian cuisine, and in recent years, Sichuan cuisine..."

But no matter what dish I cook, the locals here all recognize my signature dish, “Kuang Rongrong.” They don’t even use a menu to order, and everyone knows what I’m good at.

Zhang Chao said: "Boss Kuang is really... experienced. Why did he specifically call me?"

Boss Kuang was stunned: "Didn't you come here specially?"

Zhang Chao was confused and said, "Come here specially? No, I just wandered here and felt hungry. I saw your restaurant was well decorated, so I came in. No one introduced me."

Boss Kuang obviously scratched his head and said, "Since Miss Eileen Chang, I don't know whether it's because of her promotion or for some other reason, writers have come to dine here from time to time in the past few decades.

Sometimes they come to chat with me, and sometimes they write here. So as soon as you start typing, I recognize you are a writer! But it is rare these years. "

Zhang Chao suddenly realized and said with a smile: "That's fate."

Boss Kuang glanced at Zhang Chao's notebook and asked, "How is it? What's your impression of Chinatown?"

Zhang Chao thought about it for a moment and decided to tell the truth, saying, "It's better to meet in person than to hear about someone famous."

Boss Kuang laughed twice, then said, "Young man, you are late. Chinatown is no longer what it used to be. If you were a few years later, you might not even see the scene like today."

Zhang Chao asked: "Are Chinese people no longer coming here to settle down?"

Boss Kuang nodded and said, "Yes. In the past, when we Chinese came to the United States, we could only do the lowest-level jobs. In order to survive, everyone would first transition in Chinatown. Some people would leave here soon; some people, like me, would stay here forever.

It’s different now. Those who come to the United States are all very rich or are international students. They go to Silicon Valley, Hollywood, and MIT. Why would they come here? They come as tourists, just like visiting a zoo. "At the end, he even became a little indignant.

Zhang Chao was a little confused, as if he had lost track of the thread of his novel because of what the old man in front of him said.

However, Boss Kuang soon showed his signature smile again and said to Zhang Chao: "But, Chinatown will always be the pride of the Chinese. I think there is a soul here that will never disappear.

I hope that some Chinese writer will record it, so that even if Chinatown disappears one day, future generations will not forget it. "

(End of this chapter)