[h1]Anhui Province[/h1]
[h2]Along the Yangtze[/h2]

	The group of four moved up the road with a trunk full. Beneath the marching bags of clothes and personal effects packed tight under the heavy steel hood of the car boot lay three cases of shotgun shells, five boxes of rifle rounds, and a loose collection of pistol rounds in a hemp sack. Laid out like decking boards rested the unloaded armaments to the shell, a shotgun, rifle, and a pair of pistols. The four men that rode with them in the passenger cabins looking out the rattling windows with patient relaxed expressions. If told of what they had in the trunk they would be thought of as being bandits. But at a glance they would be believed to be perfectly normal civilians. They did not wear a severe uniform, or look particularly rough and scarred. There was no dead expression in their eyes. The driver and his companion in the front especially were jovial and casual, singing to themselves and their companions in the back; songs from the War from memory. Rude marching tunes, hopeful victory ballads, and the other dozen sort of things. In their song books they had also learned or transcribed – translated into Chinese – the fight songs of American labor, whose origins of their melodic tunes were alien to them.

	In the back the rear two passengers gazed out at the scenery, sometimes mouthing along as they rode. To one side of the car the mountains rose nearby, high foot hills making a long and lazy march upwards. Rice paddies and wheat fields set side by side creating a vast golden and shining emerald and black plate on which the forested mountains sat with their nestled mines deep within. From the near farms were the tractors of the ox drawn cart the car had to share road space with. And they swayed side to side as they passed the occasional spate of rural traffic along the wide dirt highway. There was not much traffic in the oncoming direction, and what came was in loose bunches of blue, green, red, or gray sedans, trucks, and other what-has-yous. Occasionally there would be a man on a bicycle, with cages of clucking hens stacked on either side in a delicate balancing act.

	The other side of the road was shared by the wide Yangtze whose far shore at times felt like a distant memory or a suggestion. Its dark gray waters running calm, broken only by small wind-swept waves. In the midst of its great wide body chugged a range of large freighters and barges whose white wakes trailed long behind them. Among the roving fleets too were the ferries and commuter boats that traveled between the cities of the river. All was on the great river as things had been for centuries. Unbroken by time, only changed in its size. Where they had once been boats with sails or oars there were not large steamers and smokers who took over the great Yangtze since the last century and became like a new Mississippi.

	The two rear passengers who watched this rode in one of two ways. They mouthed quietly along to the old songs, barely murmuring out the lyrics as the two in the front belted them out and drummed them out on the wooden dash. Or sat in total silence. Of the two one had a leafed through copy of What Is To Be Done by one Vladimir Lenin on his knee.

	The car came upon an intersection, and the driver dropped the clutch rather clumsily. They bounced in their seats as the gear dropped and the car roughly began to slow into the corner. It weaved, swaying to the side as it did not so much as drive into the corner, but fall into it. Righting out, the engine rose and it the gear was shifted up. “Sorry about that.” apologized the driver as they went up the road.

	It was a narrow gravel track, packed firm by rain and animal carts. Nothing had been up to turn up the gravel and it was all beginning to sink below the fields. They continued on all the same. The sign on the road said they were approaching some small village called Baimaozhen. The village was small, and clustered up along the small canal that went out to the Yangtze. Its rude rural homes were packed tight against the road side where old men sat on milk crates smoking cigarettes and staring at the car as it lumbered through from their field worn and earthly wizened faces. Their ragged clothes hanging lose from sinewy shoulders. A way in the travelers found a lot to park themselves in, and they pulled in. Next door was a tea shop, where the proprietor had set out make shift tables to sit and drink in the summer afternoon. They got out there, stepping out to find a seat. The locals kept a curious eye on the newcomers as they sat themselves down. Moments later a middle aged woman came to them and asked if they would like anything. Tea they said, she went back in. The group sat in silence, waiting.

	The minutes went on, and they sat in silence, rubbing their legs which had gone numb in the driving. Squinting into the summer sun they took in the small village with feigned disinterest. The server returned with a tin kettle, steaming with fresh brewed tea and a tray of cups. “Well that be everything?” she said in a reedy voice.

	“Yes, I believe so.” the eldest of the four said, looking at his companions to look for signs of disagreement. They had none, “Thank you.”

	“My pleasure.” bowed the serving woman, “May I ask a question though?”

	The eldest raised his eyebrow. He was a handsome young man with a broad brow and narrowly set eyes. His complexion pale and soft. He was beginning to grow the shadow of a beard on his chin and neck that he had not shaved in three days, “Go ahead.” he invited.

	“What brings you out here? We don't get many folk like you.”

	“Looking for work.” the elder said, pouring his tea first and passing the kettle on.

	“You have a car, did you not have good work where you before?”

	The eldest smiled politely and laughed, “We had good enough work. But this is only my brother's, really.” he said nodding his head to the silent brooding man next to him. They looked much alike, though the younger brother held himself up much more like a brooding ape. His body dropped against his raised knees as he sat on his milk crate. His heavy hands held out idly in the air. “We thought we could find better work elsewhere. We heard the mills up the river are hiring, and we might try there. Have an adventure.”

	“Tongling is quiet a ways away. Where did you leave from?”

	“Nanjing, it got very expensive then.”

	“Dear!” the woman said in an exasperated tone, “You've been driving for a long time. Why did you not take a ferry?”

	“Didn't think it would be fun.” the eldest laughed.

	“What it would be like to see the country though, I wish you boys well.” the woman bowed, and parted from the group who by now had poured their tea.

	“How long are we going to stay, Aiquo?” one of the travelers said to the eldest, his hair was long.

	“I suppose we could stay over night.” replied Aiguo, looking around, “We should find ourselves a place to stay overnight. We can have a break. We'll need to ask for a gas station, the tank is almost empty.” the table nodded their approval.

	“What do you think of the town?” asked the other.

	Aiguo shrugged, “I am not sure if we will be approached. This is an old man's town. Or all the men are in the field. Once we find somewhere to sleep, we may go out to drink and hear what the men have to say.”

	“So we could be here for a while?” the long haired one asked.

	“We could be, Chen.”

	“Anyways: to a good time. Long live the working people!” Chen said in a subdued voice, raising his cup of tea. The others received the toast, and they drank their tea.