It's early in the morning, and the wind is blowing from the north. It picks up sand from the river valleys as it moves south down the western agricultural plain, and the dust in the air obscures my view of the the mountains beyond the village.
Apart from the sound of the wind the village is quiet. An old dog sleeps soundly on the road in front of our house. A funeral tent has been set up on the empty lot across the way. Last night the people occupying the funeral tent filled the night with the sound of chanting, but they've since either gone to bed or departed altogether. Nothing stirs, no one besides myself is outside, and the absence of the old man that once lived in the house next door broods over everything.
My wife and I get in the car, the sound of our movements breaking the silence. It's a good day to be away from this place. The mood here is heavy.
"If I see you again, I will call you my friend..."
Down the road from the village we turn right onto the Mountainside Highway. To either side is land owned by the Taisugar Corporation, some of it rented to farmers growing pineapples, and some of it home to trees planted there long ago. As I glance left and right I can see workers in the trees, clearing brush.
I'm complaining about the weather. I was hoping for a sunny day. I'm planning on going swimming tomorrow.
We turn right onto Highway 1. It's a long, wide stretch of road between rapidly emptying villages and indifferently grown crops. To the south I can see the Pingnan Industrial Area, a group of buildings from which worrying smoke pours into the sky.
I turn right onto the freeway ramp. Someone is building a gas station on the left side of the entrance, and to the right of the entrance is a patch of red beans stretching all the way to Chaozhou.
My wife talks about a seminar she attended last Wednesday. Something about aboriginal culture. Everyone there was so bored, she says. A red Tiida identical to our own cuts us off as we approach the ramp.
In the distance I see fields bisected by betel nut trees, betel nut trees crowded between narrow roads, and narrow roads coursing back and forth between Nanzhou and Laiyi.
"I have always, always grown my own before, oh schools are stray-ay-ange..."
Zhutian passes by below. If I raise my eyes a bit I can glimpse the mountains to the east, hidden behind drifts of dust. Ahead the freeway stretches onward to the mountainous parts of Kaohsiung. I'm going about 90, slowing down for the exit to the expressway.
We're going to have lunch with our daughters at 11. Reservations have already been made. We're going to a Malaysian restaurant near the Aodzedi MRT station. As the car curves around a flyover I think of a trip to Malaysia we took long ago. My wife, pregnant with our first daughter, was balancing herself on a speedboat on our way back from an island. Looking down into that water was like looking into an aquarium. Thousands upon thousands of fish.
I can see the factories and apartment buildings of Kaohsiung on the horizon, but we aren't there yet. We still have a bit further to go before we cross the Gaoping River and enter into the city.
"It's too late... it's too late... it's too late..."
We follow the expressway to the Jungshan Freeway. We reach a point very high up, and from this point I can see the city spreading out in every direction, teeming with activity The traffic grows thicker here, and I remind myself to keep my eyes on the road. More cars cut me off from the left. A few other cars pass illegally on the right. I'd be angry at the other drivers, but I know what it's like to drive in Kaohsiung. In Kaohsiung you must choose: either follow some of the traffic rules all of the time, or follow all of the traffic rules some of the time.
The choice, in other words, is not yours to make.
I hear my younger daughter's voice through my wife's phone. She's leaving her school. She's on the way to take the bus to the nearest MRT station, and from there she'll ride the MRT to Aodzedi, where the restaurant is. I know that when I see her she'll be wearing that Metallica T-shirt. Every time I see that T-shirt I have to smile.
To merge onto the Jongjeng Road exit is always a little dangerous. A truck barrels by on my left, driving unconscionably fast. A silver SUV on my right won't let me in, and as a result I have to wait behind a black Toyota until it's almost too late to change lanes. I sneak into a small opening between the silver SUV and a city bus. I guide the car down to the overpass, glad the drive is almost over.
Ahead of me another ramp leads back to the freeway. To my left is the overpass, and to my right is the wide road into Fengshan District, one of the least interesting parts of Taiwan. Why do I sometimes have the feeling that I'll be living in Fengshan one day?
"Easy as A-B-C, 1-2-3, A-B-C baby you and me girl..."
The tricky part is getting over into the far right lane after turning left under the overpass. Today I manage to do it, deftly swinging into the desired lane just before the light changes on the opposite side.
Downtown Kaohsiung stretches into the distance. I turn right just after the yellowing Martial Arts Stadium, gratefully gliding into the parking lot behind it. I've had enough driving for a while. It's only been an hour, but in my mind I'm adding this hour to a total number of hours extending back to the previous weekend.
The gate to the parking lot lifts up and I find a space next to the stadium. I'm looking forward to stretching my legs on the walk to the MRT station, I'm looking forward to Malaysian food, and I'm looking forward to seeing my daughters again.
As I step out of the car I hear the roar of the city around me: scooters, cars, people talking, road construction, the underground hum of the MRT, and even the sound of a convenience store's automatic doors opening, somewhere out of view. So many people, moving here and there, only ever coming to rest temporarily. The city is alive and I'm glad to be in it. I'm happy to be part of the commotion.
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