A Short Letter Home

We have no bread

Sometimes my timing is lousy. Take this past week. Our fabled supply of pig bread ran out. (Well, actually the last morsel was eaten this morning, but we knew earlier this week that we were running out.) When we first took delivery of the bread, Joan, the originator of the scheme, expressed a desire to try for a true whole wheat recipe the next time. Our family, however was content with the half wheat, half white flour mixture, so we decided that we would attempt to replenish our supply without the aid or collaboration of our neighbors. Besides, they were getting ready for their October holiday.

Therein lies the problem--everybody is getting ready for their holiday. Including Thad, who made the arrangements the last time, and ourselves, who are venturing to the provincial capitol on Wednesday night. Now if we were wise, we would have tried to get some new bread the week before. But we let our reluctance to bother Thad delay us until a few days before he was scheduled to leave town. Even then we only mentioned it in passing. It wasn't until Friday, when he helped us poor waifs purchase bus tickets, that we tried to get some serious help from him. Actually, at that point we were just asking for some information about the mill so that we might attempt to do things ourself. But in typical Thaddian fashion he took us out to the mill right then and there. (In the President's Buick yet! I would never have the guts to take my boss' car down that pothole collection that leads to the mill.) When we arrived at the mill, everything was closed up. Fortunately, however, foreigners in the neighborhood attracts attention and the lady from whom we purchased flour the last time came out to talk with us. It turned out that Friday was not a whole wheat milling day and that the next one was Sunday. We were told to try back then.

So we did. The most convenient plan seemed to be that after church, we'd get off the bus by the supermarket, I would walk down to the mill while Yau Neih and the girls did the daily shopping. Thad was not involved because he left on Saturday morning for a nice camping trip. So a bit after noon, I made my solo excursion towards the mill. It was a very pleasant walk--much more comfortable than the drive would have been. The sun was shining and there was enough of a breeze to keep it from being too hot. It was almost a perfect country stroll, Yunnan style. On my left were banana trees and small ponds, begging to be photographed, on my right was the broken glass-topped brick wall of the military base, begging that I leave anything remotely camera-like at home. In the distance were the green hills and mountains. The road was damp, but not muddy, except for a few easily avoidable puddles. Although I didn't see any livestock, I could see a few hoofprints as I walked along.

When I got to the mill, the doors were open and I could hear the milling machines at work inside. I paused by the driveway and wrote down my phrase, "wor syung mai myen fern." (I'd like to buy wheat-flour) I was hoping that the same woman would be around, would recognize me and I wouldn't even need my phrase. Of course, that was not the case. The only person in the building was a middle-aged man. I laid my phrase upon him, and he obviously did not understand. But being an old hand at not being understood, I had my finger in the book at the page containing "Myen fern". After a clumsy perusal of the word list, I indicated that word and he nodded to indicate his understanding. Now, it often happens when I have carefully prepared Mandarin phrases, people don't follow the script. Like at the supermarket when I bring my groceries to the checkout and the clerk asks me a question. (After a month, I finally found out that they were asking me for my club card. Who would've thought that Safeway had extended that far?) I'm left looking dumb and trying to mumble "Wa boo ming bai". (I really need to learn the Mandarin phrase for "I'm sorry, but my ability in your language extends only to the phrase I just recited, and even that is fading fast, so don't ask me to repeat it.")

Anyway, true to form, the mill guy read the indicated word and then said something to me. Whether he was asking a question or insulting my mother, I don't know. I think he tried rephrasing the statement, but of course, that didn't help. Another worker came by and said something to the first guy. I had a brief hope that he had recognized me from one of my previous trips and had a bag of pig flour waiting for me. Alas, this was not the case. He might have said something about my previous ventures, however, because soon after the first guy motioned me over to the milling machines. He showed me a handful of the whole wheat flour, and then a handful of white flour. I indicated that I wanted the whole wheat and he promptly shook his head. Oh, well, that was that. I shrugged and apologized and tried to leave. he wasn't about to let me off so easily. He started talking again and I tried to apologizing again. I walked towards the door and he started saying "two" and "three". Not in English of course, that much Mandarin I do recognize. (Especially when people hold up fingers.) At first I thought he had taken pity on me and was going to sell me some flour anyway. But he wasn't saying any of the Mandarin words for money. Finally in desperation, he pulled out a pen and grabbed a scrap of paper off the ground. (We were at the door of the mill at this point. I don't want to give the impression that the mill has papers lying on the floor or anything.) He wrote a 2 and a 3, each along with some character I didn't recognize. I opened the phrasebook to the Chinese section, but soon realized that my finding that character was pretty hopeless. Then, in a burst of frustrated inspiration, he wrote 2005 and 10 along with the 2, 3 and unrecognized characters. Aha! He was writing the date! He was telling me to come back tomorrow. I felt incredibly stupid, because we had covered time and all that in our Mandarin lessons. (Then again, I'm not sure if we covered the word for "third" or "tomorrow".) I somehow indicated my comprehension, thanked him and left in good spirits. I had no flour, but I had hope of maybe getting some tomorrow. And next time I'll know better. I'll write down how to say, "I'd like to buy brown wheat-flour."

posted by John @ 3:13 AM