Forbidden City Read Online Free PDF Page A

Yanan — more than a year after the retreat had begun — there were only about ten thousand of them left.
    “Many of the men who run China now, the men high up in the Communist Party, are men who were on the Long March,” Lao Xu told me. “They are getting pretty old now, some in their eighties. But they refuse to retire.”
    Lao Xu practically worships the PLA , the People’s Liberation Army, which is what the Red Army has been called since Liberation in 1949. He calls them “a true people’s army” and says that whenever there is a flood or other natural disaster the PLA will be there, helping the people. They don’t wear a lot of fancy ribbons and braids and stuff on their uniforms. The only way you can tell an officer is tocount the number of pockets on his coat. Officers have four, enlisted men two.
    By the time we got back to the hotel it was late afternoon, so Lao Xu said goodbye to me in the parking lot and went to get his bike in the bicycle parking area. There were hundreds of bikes there, and how he found his among all those Flying Pigeons and Phoenixes, almost all of them black, I don’t know.
    I wished in a way that his dad was still alive so I could talk to him about the Long March. What an adventure!
    Dad and Eddie were sitting in the office talking when I got in.
    “How’s the Foreign Devil tourist?” Eddie asked around the stem of his pipe. He was watering his flowers carefully, caressing the leaves as he worked his way along the windowsill.
    “Tired,” I answered as I tossed my pack onto the couch and opened the little fridge, hoping to find a bottle of orange pop there. I was beginning to like the stuff.
    “Have a good day?” Dad asked. “Get some good shots?”
    I swear my dad sees the entire world through a lens. I plopped down on the couch, heaved a big sigh, and took a long drink. The sweet icy pop numbed my throat as it went down.
    “Yeah, I think so, Dad. The wall was great. Fantastic. Unbelievable.”
    Dad laughed. “So, what are you saying? Did you like it or not? How about the Ping Tombs?”
    “
Ming
, Dad. The tomb was okay, if you like cold dark tunnels and stairs and crowds and piles of dishes and stuff. You should have come with us.”
    His blue eyes darted a look at Eddie. “Oh, well, I was too busy. Lots to do.”
    “Did Lao Xu go home?” Eddie asked, lowering himself into a chair. “I wanted him to do something for me before he left.”
    “He’s gone, Eddie. Dad, does he ever know his history! He makes Mr. Bronowski look like an amateur.”
    “Really?” Dad said. “What’s his background, Eddie?”
    “Lao Xu? He’s a Master of Arts. Went to Beijing University, I think. Wrote a few books, too.”
    “Then what’s he doing working for you?” I cut in, realizing after I asked that my question probably wasn’t too polite.
    “Because in China you don’t choose where you’re going to work, Alex. When Lao Xu graduated he was assigned to the Foreign Ministry. A few years ago, when China opened up to foreigners, they put him to work with correspondents because he speaks excellent English and pretty good French.”
    “But that doesn’t make any sense.” I thought of my school again. “He should be teaching history.”
    Eddie nodded. “I agree. I’m sure he does, too. But things don’t work that way here.”
    “Why doesn’t he quit this job and apply for something he wants?”
    “Because you can’t do that here, Alex. Chinese don’t have the right to choose where they work. Even if he arranged a job teaching at a high school or university, his present work unit would only have to say no and that would be it.”
    I took another swig of the pop, emptying the bottle. “Okay, why can’t he just tell them to go to — why doesn’t he just leave.”
    “Do you know about
hu kou?”
Eddie asked as he sat down.
    I shook my head.
    Dad said, “Never heard of it.”
    Eddie sat back in his armchair and relit his pipe. “
Hu kou
is a sort of census and