Earthquake in China

The teahouses are nearly empty, travel agents sit beside silent telephones and shopkeepers pass the day watching the continuing of their countrymen on television. The buildings in this usually city of 10 million, about 50 miles east of the epicenter of the May 12 earthquake, may be , but its residents are living on edge.

"Everyone is with , and each new tremor just prolongs our misery," said Wu Longyou, a crafts vendor over a nearly deserted outdoor shopping mall that normally pulses with foreign tourists. "We are still alive, but we are suffering, too." The powerful aftershock that struck northern Sichuan province on Sunday sent thousands of residents here running into the street. There was little damage in Chengdu, but the aftershock, with an estimated magnitude of 6.0, killed at least eight people, injured more than 400 and 70,000 buildings in the mountains to the north, according to the government.

It also renewed the terror for millions of earthquake survivors who are living in tent camps, on instant noodles and waiting for the earth to stop shaking. On Monday, government officials raised the death toll from the May 12 earthquake to 65,000; they also issued fresh warnings that 69 dams and several rivers blocked by landslides were to tens of thousands of people living downstream.

Here in Chengdu, the provincial capital of Sichuan, each new rattles the collective of a city that escaped serious physical damage but has lost its . Local officials estimate that as much as a third of the population has left town; many of those who remain spend their nights in tarp-and-tent . Those with the means drive to the countryside and bed down in their cars. "I don't want to die in my sleep," said Dan Chao, 13, explaining why he and his parents refused to spend the night in their third-floor apartment. Chengdu is in a of fear. On May 19, a week after the earthquake struck, a local television station a warning just before midnight that a 6.7 was on the way. Streets quickly clotted with vehicles and parks filled with families and their bedding. The big aftershock, however, never came.

For the last two weeks, students at Sichuan university have slept in their track suits; many keep their room doors open to allow for a quick escape. "We joke that it would be to have to run outside in our , but actually, I think we are all afraid," said Deng Minkuei, 19, a , who, like most of his classmates, keeps a with water and biscuits by the door. "To spend two weeks waiting for another earthquake is not good for your health."

While government officials say the earthquake's impact on the national economy will be small, the on Chengdu is expected to be enormous. The city is a tourist gateway to and a world-famous panda reserve that sit at the heart of the disaster zone. Tour operators say business, even in parts of the province untouched by the earthquake, has disappeared. "After they see the news, no one wants to come here," said Yu Jia, a travel agent sitting at his desk in Chengdu. "Everything is dead. Maybe it will be like this for a year."

Many of the city's hotels are nearly empty, although a few of the newest ones - those that claim to be "quake resistant" - have seen an of journalists and foreign relief workers. Wu Longyou, 40, an artisan who weaves palm into the shapes of insects and animals, said he had made any money since the quake struck two weeks ago. This week he is heading to Hangzhou, a city more than 900 miles to the east, where there are plenty of tourists. "If I stay here any longer, I'm going to starve," he said.

Not everyone is complaining. Xu Jianquan, who runs a local real estate company, said business had been , although most people are seeking apartments in new buildings.

As he spoke, two men sat in his office making a deal for a rental unit in a building constructed in 1990. The , Zhen Deyun, said he would have preferred a ground-floor apartment in a modern building but decided the third floor would have to do.

"From what I can tell, it's relatively good construction," said Mr. Zhen, 38, a stock analyst, who, along with his mother, is moving from an older building on the city's . "Of course, if an 8.0 magnitude earthquake hits Chengdu, nothing will be safe."

Such insecurities play out in ways. High-end hair salons and say they have seen a slight rise in customers seeking to be , while stores that sell alcohol say business is off by a third. "Maybe people don't feel like celebrating , or maybe they don't want to be when an earthquake comes," said one liquor store clerk, standing in an empty shop.

Wu Min, 43, a lottery ticket , had her own theory for why sales are down by half. "When people are or in a bad mood, they will not pick good numbers," she said. "They are just waiting for the aftershocks to stop."

So, too, are the hundreds of people who have turned the leafy along the city's Funan River into a of red-white-and-blue tarps. Tan Yuquan and his neighbours have stocked their encampment with beds, plastic chairs, playing cards and . The mood was on Monday night, with neighbours chatting late into the night as children ran up and down the sidewalk. "It makes us all closer," Mr. Tan, 60, a candy salesman, said as he passed out cigarettes to the crowd.

His wife, Hou Xiaorong, 42, was less . After two weeks, she said, she was growing of the lack of and the noise from cars passing 10 feet from their pillows. "I guess it can always be worse," she said. "Living on the street isn't so great, but it's better than waking up with a building falling on your head."