Winter Sun, Childhood Years, the Camel Caravan
Lin Haiyin

The camel caravan came, stopping outside our front gate.
The camels stood there in a long line, silently waiting to do man's bidding. The weather was cold and dry. The herdsman pulled off his felt cap and a white cloud of steam rose from his bald pate, slowly merging into the cold air.
Papa was bargaining with him. Over the twin humps of each camel were two sacks of coal. I wondered if they were full of "South Mountain" coal or the kind they refer to as "Dark Gold Black Jade"? I often saw these names written in large black characters on the white wall of the coal shop on Shun-ch'eng Street. But the herdsman said they and the camels had brought it all the way from Men-t'ou-kou, step by step.
Another herdsman was feeding the camels. Bending their forelegs, they knelt on the ground, their rear ends jutting straight up behind them.
Papa had finished bargaining with them. The herdsmen unloaded the coal, the camels ate.
I stood right in front of the camels, watching them munch straw. They had such ugly faces, such long teeth, and they munched so slowly and calmly. As they chewed, their upper teeth interlocked with their lower ones, grinding back and forth as clouds of warm vapor spewed from their huge nostrils and white foam covered their beards. I stared at them, mesmerized, and my own mouth also began to move.
My teacher had told me that I should learn from the camels' impassive forbearance. They were never in a hurry, walking and chewing slowly, they would always arrive at their destination, always eat until they were full. Maybe they were by nature slow, for whenever they had to run a few steps to avoid passing vehicles, their movements were most ungainly.
One would know whenever the camel caravan was approaching, for the lead camel would always have a bell tied around his long neck. With each step he took, it would ring out with a "tang … tang … tang."
"Why do they have to have a bell?" I always questioned anything I did not understand.
Papa told me that camels were afraid of wolves because they were often bitten by them. The herdsmen tied the bell on so that when the wolves heard it tinkling, they would know that they were men around to protect the camels and would not dare attack.
However, my child's mind perceived things differently from the grown-ups. I said to Papa.
"That's not so, Papa! As they walk over the shifting sand on their soft padded feet, there is not a single sound. Didn't you said that they can walk for three nights without drinking any water, only silently chewing on the cud that was regurgitated from their stomachs? It must be that the camel herdsmen can't stand the loneliness of those long treks so they tie the bells on so as to make the journey a little more cheerful."
Papa thought a while, then laughed as he said,
"Maybe your way of thinking is more appealing."
Winter was almost over, spring was near, and the sun was especially warm; warm enough for people to take off their cotton-padded jackets. Had not the camels also begun taking off their old camel-hair coats? Clots of hair were falling off their bodies, hanging loosely under their bellies. I really wanted to take a pair of scissors and cut them off. They were indeed messy-looking. The herdsmen had also taken off their furry sheepskin coats, slinging them over the smaller hump on the camels' backs. The sacks were all empty since all the "Dark Gold Black Jade" had been sold, and as they walked with lighter steps, the sound of the bells was crisper than before.
Summer came and not even the shadow of a camel could be seen. I asked Mama.
"Where do they go in summer?"
"Who?"
"The camels!"
Mama could not answer the question, so she exclaimed, "Always questions, questions! What a child!"
Summer had gone, autumn was over, winter had arrived and the camel caravan was back again; but childhood had passed away, never to return. And I would never again be so silly as to imitate the camels' chewing under the winter sun.
But how I miss the people and places of those childhood years spent in the south side of the city of Peking! I said to myself, go ahead and write it all down. Let the reality of childhood days pass away, but keep the spirit of childhood forever alive.
Thus I have written this collection, Memories of Peking: South Side Stories.
Silently I reminisce, slowly I begin to write. I see the caravan of camels approaching under the winter sun, I hear the pleasing tinkle of the bells, and childhood days return once again into my heart.