Oblivion Tea: Some Foolish Thoughts

I boarded an open-top train, but it was not a train, for it was not moving on land; it looked like a raft, but it was not sailing on water; it looked like an aero-plane, but it did not have a cabin—besides, it had a long row of compartments. It appeared to be a very long automated conveyor belt with railings on both sides, and it was fully loaded with passengers, speeding along in a sea of clouds. As I followed the line of people to get onto the vehicle, I was given a numbered card for a reserved seat. However, the number, having altered several times, did not read clearly. I looked for my seat up and down the aisle only to find that one area was for teachers, all seats occupied, none of them mine; in another area there were writers' seats, also fully occupied, with no vacancy for me; in yet another part were seats for translators, with signs saying "English", "French", "German", "Japanese", "Spanish", etc. I checked a number of these sections but none had a place reserved for me. Along the conveyor, there were many attendants in grey uniforms. One of them came up to ask me whether I belonged in the "tail" part where there was open seating. However, what I was holding was unmistakably a card with a seat number. That attendant wanted to check the registration book, but another one said that I might as well give up the idea of finding the assigned seat: we were arriving soon anyway. They put a stool at one side of the conveyor for me to sit in.
While I was looking for my seat, I came across several old acquaintances, but since I was busy checking my number and I could not move around easily because the conveyor belt was running all the time, I was hardly able to speak to them. Now that I had settle down I realized that everything around me was in such a good order that I dared not run back and forth to look for anyone any more. Gazing ahead, all one could see was a dull grayish gloom. Looking back, half a red sun was dimly visible in the haze as if it was just rising in the east, or setting in the west. Or rather, it was neither rising nor setting; it just remained static, a bleary red halo. The attendants, mostly standing by the railings on both sides of the conveyor, were intent on shouting into the megaphones they were holding, "Look to the front! Look to the front!"
In a low voice, I ventured to ask the one in grey uniform next to me where we were. He laughed, "Granny, you don't seem to have quite collected your wits after turning a big somersault. This is the road to the West." Pointing backwards, he continued, "That way is the world of mortals. We're now heading for the West." Having said this, he also shouted, "Look to the front! Look to the front!" That was because quite a number of the passengers kept turning their heads and wiping away their tears.
I queried once more. "But where are we going to?"
He ignored me and went on announcing to the passengers through his megaphone, "Attention! Next stop is Granny Meng's Tea Shop! We'll soon be arriving at Granny Meng's Tea Shop. Please get ready!"
Commotion broke out among the passengers.
"Let's go and have a cup of tea at Granny Meng's."
"No, you mustn't drink Granny Meng's tea! One cup and you'll forget everything."
"Fine. A cup of her tea will put an end to all our troubles."
"None for me, thanks. What a terrible waste it would be. One cup of tea and all the experience you have accumulated will be washed away. Wouldn't that be denying your whole life?"
"You don't mean to hold on to that precious experience of your and live your life over again, do you?"
"Whatever you say, I won't drink it."
"Whatever you say, it's not up to you to decide."
The attendants must have got used to such disputes. In response, one of them began to explain patiently what Granny Meng's Tea Shop was all about through his megaphone.
"Granny Meng's Tea Shop is the name in traditional use. It's now called Sister Meng's Tea House. Sister Meng is most democratic; she never forces anyone to drink her tea. The tea house is now in a modern building: on its ground floor only plain tea is available, which may taste a bit bitter. Those who don't like plain tea may go upstairs, where different kinds of flavored tea are served: milk tea, lemon tea, peppermint tea, rose tea, etc., etc. Apart from that, there are assorted refreshments which you're welcome to have with your tea. And whoever has any complaints, questions, requests, or suggestions regarding his past life may, once he is upstairs, put them forward to the respective departments which will put them on record item by item. Up there are also TV rooms. With a single press of the TV button, you can see your whole life on the screen. But you don't have to worry: the TV rooms are partitioned off from the rest of the premises, and the show is not open to the public."
This gave rise to a roar of laughter.
"I've never done anything to be ashamed of. I've nothing against my past being shown to the public." That was a proud and heroic utterance.
"But you'll need an audience to appreciate it. Apart from yourself there must be others who'd like to watch it." That was a cold voice.
Over the megaphone the attendant was continuing with his explanation:
"The tea house is not an amusement parlor. The idea of watching TV is to invite you to tea. Because before you've finished watching, you'll feel so thirsty that you'll be impatient to have tea."
In a hushed voice I ventured to ask the attendant close to me, "But why?"
He answered with a grin, "You just go and see for yourself."
I said I'd have plain tea; I wouldn't go upstairs.
He was surprised, saying, "Everybody goes upstairs: it's worth it just to see all the goings-on."
"May I come down again for tea after the show then?"
"There'd be no need to. All sorts of tea are served upstairs, including plain tea. Once you're up, you won't come down—only up, no down."
I hastened to ask, "Where do we get to if we're up? And where to, if not?"
He gave a snort, saying, "I only go around with this belt. I wouldn't know where you're headed. If you don't want to be up, you'd better prepare yourself in advance. We'll only stay on the ground floor for a very short while. If you miss the chance to get off, you'll have to go upstairs."
"How am I going to prepare?"
"You should travel light. Nothing is to be smuggled in."
I swept my eyes across the conveyor. "Could anyone possibly be carrying any luggage?"
"It goes without saying that luggage cannot be taken," he said, "but apart from that, no smuggling is allowed, no hiding anything about your person, in your head, heart or belly. For anyone who goes upstairs, no matter what opinions, questions or requests you may put forward, once they are finished with, even the things you can't get off your chest are left behind for good. It seems that you don't want to go upstairs, do you?"
I smiled and said, "one cup of plain tea and everything dissolves. Is that not so?"
He said, "The tea here enables you to forget; it doesn't dissolve anything. Those who go upstairs don't have to be checked. Those who remain downstairs will leave the station as soon as they've finished the tea. But whoever carries contraband cannot pass."
Scarcely had he finished when the conveyor belt ran into Granny Meng's Tea Shop. The rooms downstairs were gloomy and deserted whereas those upstairs were brightly lit and full of gaiety and excitement. The conveyor seemed about to rush up any minute. Hurriedly I put my leg over the railing and down I jumped. A feeling of top-heaviness swept over me as I jumped and my head fell into a pillow. I opened my eyes to find that I was lying in bed safe and sound, but ears were still buzzing with the words "Whoever carries contraband cannot pass".
Well, I am carrying quite a bit of contraband; I had better dispose of it as quickly as possible.