A Girl Named Faithful Plum by Richard Bernstein

crowded with small shops sellingready-made clothing, bolts of cotton and woolen cloth, enameled basins, Golden Bridge toothpaste and Bee and Flower soap, along with framed pictures of Chairman Mao, the
People’s Daily
newspaper,
Red Flag
magazine, and coal-dust bricks for cooking. A particularly fascinating shop displayed shelf after shelf of clear glass jars of medicinal roots, curled-up snakes, and the gall bladders and hearts of rabbits, civet cats, and other animals. On a counter were bowls of powdery substances, including (or so the sign proclaimed) tiger bone and rhinoceros horn, and dried mountain herbs and grasses that, steeped in a tea, were believed effective against rheumatism, arthritis, heart disease, cancer, fatigue, anemia, and nightmares.
    Old Drum Tower Street rang to the sound of a million bicycle bells and the occasional clang of a streetcar bell, because old green electrical streetcars still ran there, connecting the Dongcheng District with the center of Beijing. Despite her worries, Zhongmei loved walking down narrow Big Stone Bridge Lane to Old Drum Tower Street and gazing at the passing throngs, more people every hour than you’d see in Baoquanling in a month. After a day, Huping went away to visit his grandparents, whom he hadn’t seen since he’d been sent down to the countryside years before, and that left Zhongmei alone during the day, since both Aiyi and Shu-shu had to work. So every day she took a walk around the neighborhood, thinking about her situation.
    Old Drum Tower Street led to a massive structure called, not surprisingly, the Drum Tower. It was a six-hundred-year-old building that had formed part of the massive wall that surrounded the entire city when the emperors of China’s past livedthere, and Zhongmei thought it was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. It was enormously tall and wide, but it didn’t seem heavy. In fact, it seemed to soar. A set of stone steps led up to a tall red-painted foundation, above which were three sets of curved roofs, one atop each of the tower’s floors, with each floor marked by an ornate latticed railing, and the whole thing surmounted by a roof that curved upward into the sky.
    Lots of people visited the Drum Tower, and Zhongmei could see them standing and looking out at Beijing from behind one or another of the upper railings. She read the information placard at the Drum Tower gate, which informed her that in ancient times the drum had sounded every hour to keep people informed of the time. But the entry ticket cost ten fen, and Zhongmei didn’t feel right about spending the money.
    No, she would have to save every penny of the small sum her parents had given her for the journey. Walking was free and enjoyable, but there could be no paid-for small pleasures, not even a ride on the electric streetcar, which would take her to some of Beijing’s other great monuments. That would have to wait. Zhongmei simply walked around, circling the Drum Tower several times, looking up at it, enjoying its delicate power. She cut a small and lonely figure, her head bent as she contemplated her situation, so far from home and so seemingly hopeless. She was furious at Policeman Li for not having come for her at the train station. She was angry at her father for having chosen so unreliable a person to care for her, somebody who manifestly didn’t want to care for her. She missed her friends, her brothers and sisters, especially Zhongqin, who had always been at Zhongmei’s side and now was so far away.Zhongmei squatted in front of the Drum Tower gate and traced lines in the dust with a twig. People came and went, people she didn’t know, people who paid no attention to her. In Baoquanling, she knew everybody and everybody paid attention to her.
    Dear Da-jie,
    I realize now what I’m going to do. Huping’s family is very nice. I’m going to ask them if I can stay with them for the audition. They can show me how to take the bus to the Beijing Dance