Free Mountain Girl River Girl by Ye Ting-Xing Page A

vendors’ voices. Some of the sellers ran alongside the train. Others stood next to carts piled high with cigarettes, drinks, fruit, and buns. Each tried to top the other, to attract buyers.
    “Get your hot ‘dog-won’t-leave-them-alone’ meat buns,” an old man bellowed, pushing a three-wheel barrow. Wisps of steam rose from the tiers of a bamboo steamer.
    “World-famous roasted Shandong peanuts,” shouted another, a long pole balanced on his shoulder, a basket dangling from each end.
    “Come, try some Anhui dates. The best and the sweetest under heaven.”
    Pan-pan swallowed hard as she watched the array of exotic foods paraded before her. The sounds and the aromas made her mouth water. For three days now she had eaten nothing but homemade flatbread, washed down with hot water provided on the train. Station after station, she had overcome the temptation to treat herself to the seemingly endless supplies of candies, nuts, cookies, sweet buns, and eggs boiled in tea and spices. Her money had to be put to better use, she kept reminding herself.
    Another voice drifted by. “Delicious sunflower seeds roasted in five spices.”
    Pan-pan craned her neck farther, searching the crowd on the platform. Roasted sunflower seeds were her favourite snack, crispy and salty. And they shouldn’t cost much since sunflowers were easy to grow—every household in the village planted them alongside the pathways, at the corners of buildings, and around ditches and ponds. The villagers roasted the seeds in woks with salt and then sprinkled them with sugar water, leaving a sweet and salty coating on the shells. But never had Pan-pan heard of sunflower seeds roasted in five spices. They must taste even more delicious.
    “Do I have time to get off the train to buy something?” Pan-pan asked the young woman who sat across from her.
    “Sure. The train will be here for another twenty minutes. You’ll have plenty of time.”
    Pan-pan hesitated, then pointed at the luggage rack above her head. “Will you look after my bag and bedroll?”
    “Oh, come on, you peasant! Lighten up, will you? Who would steal a bedroll nowadays?” a woman across the aisle grumbled. She had tried a few times to change seats with Pan-pan so that she could sit beside the window, but Pan-pan had refused.
    Pan-pan ignored her comment, though she’d noticed that lately almost no one coming onboard had bedrolls with them. And the bags they carried were much fancier than hers. Some even had wheels at the bottom, and the owners pulled them along effortlessly.
    “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your things,” the young woman assured her with a smile.
    Picking up her small shoulder bag, Pan-pan dashed along the aisle and jumped down onto the platform. She zigzagged through the crowd, chasing after the sunflower-seed seller.
    “I’ll take one bag of your five-spices seeds, Uncle,” she said, catching her breath.
    The shabbily dressed man gave her a packet and held out his hand. “One yuan.”
    It was only then that Pan-pan remembered that all her money was in the pocket sewn into her shirt. She hesitated, looking at the triangular paper packet resting in her hand. Slowly she pushed her free hand up inside her jacket, her back arched into a bow as she reached for the money pouch. Turning aside to avoid the probing eyes of the seller, she opened the pouch and gingerly peeled off a five-yuan note, handing it to him.
    Just then, something heavy struck her shoulder and a figure in a black coat flew by her, snatching the pouch from her hand. Pan-pan let out a loud cry. The paper parcel hit the ground and the roasted seeds scattered over the pavement.
    “Thief! Help! Please help me!” Pan-pan shrieked as she sprinted after the fleeing woman. One of her laceless shoes flew off, then the other, but she kept running. Around the corner she skidded and fell headfirst on the ground. Scrambling to her feet, spitting blood, she dashed down the stairs and out onto the open