Big Little Moments

The Muslim Quarter of Xi’an lights up like Christmas at night, and it was with Christmas in mind that I finally found my way into the canopied bazaar, looking for gifts to send my family. It was November, and I’d just travelled from Fujian in Southern China to Shaanxi in the North, where the weather is cold and the people are famously hotheaded.
It was late when I arrived, but even at ten o’ clock, when most of the stalls begin to close, the place was still lively and loud. Flames belched from outdoor ovens, halal meat was frying, roasting or boiling, and peddlers accosted anyone who seemed interested in buying their wares.
Afraid to give any of these aggressive vendors too much attention, lest I commit to a haggling war no laowài can win, I pressed my way through the covered alley scanning for something special. I was near the mouth of this maze when I heard shouts.
Curious, I joined a crowd gathered around a youth in a leather jacket, restrained by two men, hollering at a female merchant. What Mandarin I can speak was no use in understanding his fury, nor why the woman, brandishing a teapot, splashed its boiling contents onto his head. But the clunk sound of the kettle across his brow was universal; he was out.
Two friends rushed to his aid. The woman started throwing trinkets wildly in the direction of her assailants. Statuettes, toys and Mao Zedong watches were all weaponized. The kid in the jacket tried to get up, tripped, and fell again against a glass display case.
There was a communal gasp. We all watched, half in awe, as the tower of mass-produced pottery fell to the ground.
Upon hearing the crash, the crowd went berserk. What had started as a spat between three or four people devolved into a brawl. An old man beat a young man back with his fists. Someone on the woman’s side wrestled an angry stranger to the ground. The initial marketplace clamor became a roar.
It didn’t last long—the mob pushed itself into a wider street, where the fighting died down. The combatants, freed from the confinement of the alleyway, retreated without fanfare. People dispersed. Peace returned.
Clueless and stunned, I ambled past people calmly and dutifully sweeping up the colorful bits of glass and pottery, back to the shops, whose keepers had all but forgotten the skirmish. I made the mistake of glancing at a cheap-looking sword. “This one? You like it?” I smiled, mumbled “bú yào” and moved on.
After all, Christmas was coming, and I still had trinkets to buy.