Destruction and Sorrow beneath the Heavens: Reportage

What Remains: The End

In the bus headed towards Jiuhuashan, there is no change. The woman at the back still sits motionlessly in her seat. Above their heads, the rain beats down on the roof of the bus mercilessly. Now even the passengers in the front are loudly grumbling about why that shabby-looking woman won’t close that bloody window. Everyone is freezing, and they are shivering in the draft coming in through the window. It really should be closed. The bus driver and the conductor, all the way in front, do not notice anything amiss. The woman takes no notice of the general dissatisfaction either, her eyes closed, she seems to be almost holding her face up to the ice-cold air streaming in.

The interpreter gets up from his seat, and speaks to her very courteously, asking her to please be so kind as to close the window, because here in the back, where they are sitting, the draft is very strong.

The woman doesn’t move, it’s as if no one had even spoken to her. She doesn’t even open her eyes.

Then in front, another passenger, a middle-aged man, seeing the half-hearted attempts of the foreigners clearly doomed to failure, makes up his mind, walks back towards the woman, pokes at her shoulder for her to wake up, and open her eyes, and says to her: Why are you doing this?

What? She asks, confused.

Why don’t you close the window? The draft is coming in.

At this the woman pulls the window in but just by a centimetre or two.

The passenger pokes her in the shoulder again.

I’m asking you again, why are you doing this? Why are you letting in the wind?

The woman turns red.

Because I like it.

What do you like?

The wind.

The man leans forward and speaks to the other passengers: She’s crazy. She has a screw loose somewhere.

With a loud grumbling they reply, fine, maybe so, but that bloody window still has to be closed.

The man grabs the handle on the window and closes it fully.

The woman says nothing. It is clear she is frightened. She’s afraid of the man.

And he doesn’t leave things there, he doesn’t go back to his seat, but remains facing her, then leans in very close, right into her face, until he catches her gaze.

So then tell me: Why do you like the wind so much?

It is clear that the woman is afraid that the man will strike her.

The wind? she repeats the question. She is really afraid. She tries to muster up some reply. No one sees the wind.

Fine, but why do you like it?

Well. . because it blows.

The man guffaws, then, as is customary with a crazy person who understands nothing at all, gestures at the woman, giving everyone to understand that she will certainly not dare to touch the window again or there will be the devil to pay, then he sits down in his seat. The passengers on the bus calm down, the bus driver pulls his bag over and takes out a snack wrapped in a plastic bag. He is a large, fat, sluggish person; he eats slowly, at his leisure. The windshield wipers squeak across the front windows of the bus. He drives with one hand, biting and chewing his food, and sometimes he leans forward, so difficult is it to see the road in the rain pouring down.

And before them, in the thick fog, supposedly there is somewhere: Jiuhuashan.