“Never Leave Your Post”

Gorge Circle

The snow, already more than half a foot deep, obliterated the line between earth and sky behind a hazy white curtain. I had been following the path of the future railway for forty kilometres. Although I could hear the roar of machinery further back in the hills, I had seen neither work sites nor workers.

The Harsh Gorge

Entering Lingkuan Gorge, my irritation increased. Even in clear weather, in this gorge the sun never shone. It didn't matter where you looked up along the twisting cliffs—the most you could see of the sky was a patch no bigger than the palm of your hand. Now it was dusk, and the swirling snowflakes and the gale made every step a struggle.

Construction in the gorge was very busy. Everywhere people were at work. Generators, cement-mixers, air compressors shook the ground. Hundreds of light bulbs gleamed dim and yellow. Electric wires, crisscrossing like a giant spider web, were scarcely visible, but I could see the overhead cables and their pulley cars sliding back and forth loaded with materials.

The Cave Encounter

Hungry, cold, I tripped and fell, scraping my hands. Enough! I'd find some place under a cliff, out of the wind, and rest a few hours. If I reached the materials depot tomorrow morning by ten o'clock, that still wouldn't be too late. Stumbling around in the dark like this, I was liable to fall into some deep ravine, and that would be the end of this Materials Department chief; I'd have to be put on the "used up" list!

I noticed a path leading to a cave in the cliff-side. A door curtain hanging in the entrance showed that the cave was undoubtedly occupied by workers. Grasping branches along the steep path, I hauled myself up to the door and entered.

Strange! Seated on a small stool in the doorway was a little boy, seven or eight years old, elbows on his knees, supporting his face in his hands. His cheeks were red with cold. He had been peering at the opposite cliff-side through a rent in the curtain. He glanced at me briefly as I came in, then went back to his observation.

The cave was large, but quite warm. It had a stove and eating utensils. On the wall above a bed was a coloured New Year picture of “Chubby Children Pulling the Turnip.” All the walls had been papered with old newspapers, now blackened by smoke from the stove.

The Child with a Strong Spirit

"Why isn't anybody home?" I asked, shaking the snow from my coat and hat.

The little boy turned his head. His eyes flashed. "Aren't I anybody, uncle?" He rose and walked towards me, his hands behind his back, his chest extended, as if to say: Not only am I somebody, I'm a very grown-up somebody!

I cupped his round little face in my hands. "You're pretty sharp, young imp!"

He pushed my hands aside. Doubling up his fists, he cocked his head to one side and demanded: "Who are you calling imp! I have a name!" Pointing at the baby girl asleep on the bed, he informed me: "Her name is Pao-cheng, mine is Cheng-yu."

No doubt about it. These kids were like thousands of others I had met, born and raised on construction sites. The workers liked to name their children after the projects where they were born. Cheng-yu probably had first seen the light of day on the railway project between Chengtu and Chungking, also known as Yu. His baby sister Pao-cheng very likely had been born right here at the site of the future Paoki-Chengtu Railway.

The Innocent Curiosity

I sat by the stove, smoking and rubbing the drying mud from my hands.

Cheng-Yu crawled on to my lap and looked into my eyes, "Is it going to snow tomorrow, uncle?"

I pressed his icy red little nose. "As soon as we get our telephone line connected up with heaven, I'll ask for you."

Angrily, he leaped down and stood a meter away, scowling at me. "Quit your kidding! You've got a newspaper in your pocket. Why don't you look at the weather report?"

He resumed his seat in the doorway, clamped his elbows on his knees, rested his face in his hands, and peered out through the rent in the curtain. When I asked him where the kettle was, he ignored me. I certainly was sorry I had offended my small host!

"Why do you want to know about the snow, Cheng-Yu?" I asked him. "Is it because you can't go out and play when it's snowing?"

He didn't even bother to look at me. "Papa says if it's still snowing tomorrow, we'll have to quit work."

The Pride of a Child

"What does your pa do?"

"He opens up mountains!" the child replied proudly.

Cheng Yu pointed with pursed lips at the work site opposite.

I looked. All I could see was a searchlight beam, shining through the drifting snowflakes straight up into the heavens. In its light, I could vaguely discern a few dozen men, who seemed pasted to the side of the towering cliff, drilling holes for dynamite charges. The holes were like the steps of a ladder to the sky.

"How can you tell which one is your father at this distance?" I asked.

"I can't see him plainly but pa says he can see me. He says all he has to do is turn around. I often sit here so he can see me."

Ah, so that was it!

The Family of Strength

The icy snow melted from my boots. My numbed legs, thawing out, ached painfully. I stamped to help the circulation.

Cheng-Yu waved his hand warningly. I understood. He was afraid I'd wake his baby sister.

"You really take good care of your sister," I commended.

"Mama says my job is to look after her. When mama comes home, I can knock off."

"So, you're on the job every day?" I hugged him. "What does mama do?"

He pointed to the road below the cave.

I could see a person standing by a telephone pole beside the road. Covered with snow, she looked like a white stone image. Apparently, she was directing traffic. The road, not very wide, had been blasted through the rock. Ordinarily, carts, mules, donkeys and people no doubt streamed in both directions along that road twenty-four hours a day. Someone had to keep the traffic in order.

Today, because of the snow, there weren't many people or vehicles on the road. She could well have spent the day at home. But there she stood and there she would remain, three months, five months, or three years, five years, if need be. Perhaps, from time to time, she raised her head to gaze up at her child or at her husband who was scaling the cliffs between the mountains and the sky.

Even though it was a snowy, windy night, even though the worker, his wife, and children couldn't see one another clearly, I was sure they could feel a mutual loving encouragement and sense that each was looking forward to the moment of family reunion.

The Lesson of the Child

I glanced at Cheng Yu. The child had placed his hands in his sleeves and pulled his neck into his collar. He kept dozing off.

"You're liable to catch a chill. Better get into bed and go to sleep."

He looked at me dreamily for a moment, probably thinking that his parents had returned.

When he realized who I was, he shook his head violently. "No. I won't!"

"Why not?"

He rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Papa and mama say a man should never leave his post."

I hugged him tightly and pressed my cheek against his. Then I rose, buttoned my coat, pulled my hat down firmly, left the cave and walked down the path. Following the road that had been blasted through the rock, I pushed on, the words of the child echoing in my head:

"A man should never leave his post."

A job was waiting for me. I wanted to reach my destination without any further delay.

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Moral of the Story

True strength is not only in the mountains we break or the roads we build, but in the love, duty, and resilience that bind families together. Even in hardship, never abandon your responsibility—for it is the post of honor.