Jackal by Jeff Stone Page A

Pudong, which is kind of like ‘new’ Shanghai. That is where all the famous skyscrapers are and such. It is also where most of the growth and expansion is happening. You will be staying on the outskirts of Pudong in a very new, very Western area. You won’t find it much different from the United States, as I believe I’ve already told you.”
    I stared out the window at all the streetlights and illuminated buildings. “I already don’t find it much different from the United States. If it wasn’t for the signs being in Chinese, I’d swear I was back in Indianapolis or even Los Angeles. I can see the haze of smog in the lights. Or is it fog? We’re by the ocean, right?”
    “We are very near the ocean, yes. Shanghai is the largest port in the world. However, what you are seeing is smog, not fog. It is a bit of an embarrassment, but it is the price we pay for having so many people and so much industry. We are doing our best to manage the situation, including dailypollution-count announcements. You will get used to checking them each morning. If the levels are too high, you will train inside rather than outside.”
    “It’s
that
bad?”
    “It can be. Most buildings have air-filtration systems, though. We simply stay inside on bad days.”
    I shook my head, unable to comprehend not being able to go outside. I continued to stare out the window, watching as we turned off the highway onto a crowded street with two lanes of traffic going in each direction. Along either side of the street was a wide bike lane separated from the traffic by a waist-high wall; next to each bike lane was a sidewalk. There were hundreds of bicyclists using the lane, along with hundreds more on motor scooters and mopeds. The sidewalks were packed with people walking. Most of the pedestrians and nearly every single rider either wore a surgical mask or had some type of scarf wrapped over his or her nose and mouth.
    “As you can see,” Ling said, “today there is a high pollution count. Hence, all the covered faces. While people remain inside as much as possible on a day like today, they still have to travel to and from work.”
    I nodded, trying not to think about the pollution. Instead, I focused on the bikes. I saw more different styles in two minutes than I’d seen in my entire life in the States. We passed bicycle taxis, bicycle vending carts, and bicycles with trailers containing construction supplies. We even passed a guy riding some sort of oversized delivery bike that had so many plastic milk jugs strapped to the back, they reached the height of a second-story window.
    Ling must have read my mind. “So many different uses for bicycles, no?”
    “Yeah. I had no idea. I think I get what you and Mr. Chang are trying to do. People here think of bikes as a way to get around, not as a sport.”
    “Exactly. I thought it would make more sense to you once you arrived.”
    The minivan slowed for a traffic light, and I saw a huge line of people in front of a small shop. Ling powered down his window, and the oily smell of fried food wafted into the minivan. It wasn’t very appetizing.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Shanghai is famous for its dumplings, and this place is one of the best.”
    “No thanks,” I said. “I ate on the plane.”
    “Have you ever tried traditional Shanghai dumplings?”
    “No.”
    “Well, do yourself a favor and try some while you are here. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like
xiao long bao
. People eat them at any hour, even for breakfast.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    We continued on through the night, merging onto another highway. I couldn’t help noticing a long row of illuminated billboards that looked like the ones you’d see in America, except these all had Chinese writing on them. It was surreal, because several of the billboards featured American actors selling different products. Then there was a billboard for—
    “What the—” I began, but couldn’t find the words to continue.
    Ling