Taalan is officially a teenager, though he's been practicing the attitude for years. What was planned as a small birthday party, expanded exponentially. Most of his classmates attended. They pooled their yuan and bought him a model plane and some flowers. We held the party at the little restaurant owned by Wang Haitao's parents. [Wang Haitao is one of Taalan's best friends and is his main partner for playing Chinese chess. We often see him on the street in the evening, playing chess with the men.]
Wang's place is upstairs from another small restaurant where we go every Tuesday evening to eat jiaozi, or steamed dumplings. His whole family lives in the restaurant. They sleep in small, cupboard-like openings between the rooms or under the eves. The restaurant is well-liked by college students because the food is plentiful and very inexpensive. We were given a large, private room with four large tables. We pushed the tables together and the 17 children crowded around the sides. As food was being prepared, they all played Chinese chess, checkers, and various card games.
We ordered 4 to 6 plates of tu dou se (pronounced too-dough suh), which is thinly sliced and deep-fried potatoes, various tofu and vegetable dishes, and also some chicken and fish dishes. I have never seen food disappear so fast. The waitress appeared with two plates of tou do se. She put one plate on the left side of the table, then walked around the side to put down the other, only to be handed the first plate again, already empty. The noise was incredible. Everyone was laughing and shouting, and chopsticks were flourished freely for punctuation. Plates clattered, and drinks were spilled and quickly wiped up. Mary Ellen and I backed into the corner and looked at each other in amazement. Soon the 12 to 15 dishes had been inhaled, and after instructions to regroup back at the restaurant in half an hour for cake, the children disappeared outside.
I looked around. The floor was swimming in black ooze from muddy shoes mixed with spilled soft drinks and remnants of food. Smiling from ear to ear, the waitress dragged in a huge mop, and in no more than five minutes the floor was clean. She swished the mop back and forth, pushing the ever-growing pile of scraps ahead of her. She cleaned the whole floor without having to rinse the mop once. It was only then that I really began to appreciate those raggedy mops with their stout handles. Mary Ellen and I decorated the table with small party bags that we had filled with candy, balloons, and bouncy balls. We cut the two large birthday cakes into pieces and placed them at each seat around the table, and generally got organized. Then we went to find the children.
In China, Christmas has become the younger generation's special celebration. The streets were crammed with university students, laughing, setting off firecrackers, running away, holding their ears, and screaming in time with the ear-deafening bangs. Where firecrackers are concerned, there is no regard for safety. They land at your feet, whiz by your ears, and explode over your heads. Last year, Taalan was hit between the eyes with a zooming rocket. It immediately exploded, leaving a red mark on his forehead for several days. God be praised, he didn't lose his sight. Everyone plays with firecrackers. It was normal to see children as young as three or four throwing them on the ground, or two-year olds waving sparklers around in front of people's faces.
Mary Ellen and I waded through this mayhem, trying to track down the children and re-assemble them at the restaurant. We were near giving up any hope of finding them when we found Taalan and two of his friends. We headed back to the restaurant. Within two or three minutes, everyone had materialized like magic, and we went back upstairs. The party bags were opened, cake devoured, and firecrackers shot out the windows over the heads of the crowd surging below.
The older children crowded out the door, but Tariqa stayed behind to help while we collected our whatnots. As we walked back to the apartment, laden with games, we could see Taalan's classmates darting from shadow to shadow, stopping in doorways and the shadows of buildings. If they saw another group of their friends, they darted out and threw a firecracker at their feet. If it landed within two feet of them, they were captured. This was their idea of firecracker tag. Mary Ellen and I looked at each other and shrugged, covered our ears as best we could, and hurried inside. I sent up a fervent prayer to God to keep everyone safe, knowing that I had no power to influence the outcome of the evening.
[Taalan later told the story that one of his classmates had crouched down to hide behind an old man. While the old man wasn't looking, Taalan lobbed a firecracker over his head to get at the friend. Unfortunately, the firecracker landed short and caught in the hood of the old man's jacket, halfway down his back. After a few seconds the firecracker exploded, as firecrackers do. The man jumped up, saw the crouching boy, and began shouting. The boy ran away into the crowd with the old man, incensed but undamaged, chasing behind.]
Several hours later, Taalan stumbled in, grinning, glowing, and mud-spattered from head to toe. "Mom, that was the best birthday party I ever had! I'll never forget it." Nor will I.
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