HOME DEPARTURES

CHINESE MUSHROOMS

The world seems smaller in China, as if it were being compressed to fit more people in. I find myself walking faster, swerving the venders, ignoring the stares and pushing my way through the colourful thoroughfare of Fenghuang towards the river, the idea of space thumping incessantly through my mind.

The river offers little respite. For centuries it’s wide banks have offered life to this deeply vibrant mountain town, and over that time it has also suffered the consequences.
Thousands of people depend on its ebb and flow, I watch the bright greens, reds and browns that reflect the lush mountain trees, the hanging lanterns and the wooden miao-styled stilted houses and arched-roofed boats blending ceremoniously on the oily, trash-laden surface. A golden haze permeates everything and the air is heavy with the burden of its beauty.

People line the edges, washing, laughing, living. A mother wearing an unsympathetic yellow, discreetly colour coordinated with her wash basket and sponge, leans forward to scrub her naked son. Boys gather on the edge of the stone bridge, wet skin glistening; they add some thrill to their daily bath. The air vibrates with the sound of their energy. They so unreservedly partake in this antiquated ritual that for a moment I forget the filth and feel only envy for my foreignness and not being in the middle of it all.

Trying still to find some breathing space, I swing to the side of the bridge and sit on a ledge, and for a moment at least I’m free to relax with the thick smell of fish and a thousand footsteps pounding overhead. The rushing water lulls my mind, burnt corn and grimy flirtatious children mixed with the harmonious racket of peddlers fade into the stickiness of mid-afternoon. With eyes closed the cold stone hums with a sense of purpose – and with a start I realize I’m not alone.
Solitude: China’s one big impossibility.

A weathered dark face peers at me from the moist water-soaked darkness. Pants rolled to his thighs and knee deep in water, he stares at me with curiosity like he just unwrapped a present but can’t quite work out what it is. On impulse, I slide off my shoes and join him under the bridge. Ice cold, the strength of the water takes me by surprise. Gently, he takes my arm to steady me and with care I thought beyond a man he quietly opens his hand to place three straggly mushrooms on the concrete.

I nod, he smiles and the silence settles comfortably around us. Knee deep in water I carefully reach upward into the dank concrete crevasse above me. One mushroom at a time, I make this small part of China my own.