My old home, p.28
My Old Home, page 28
“What did they do to him?”
“They paraded him through the campus wearing a dunce hat inscribed with ‘Expert in Reactionary Scholarship’ [反动学术权威].” Even though weeping, she was determined to continue, to retch up as much of the poison as possible before she broke down completely. “When he still refused to confess, they beat him, smeared his face with excrement, and locked him in a cage under a staircase. And I didn’t help him! Where was my generosity? How could I have betrayed my own father?”
“We were all so scared and lost,” he whispered, filled with both sympathy for her and regret about his own father. “None of us knew what we were doing.”
“I could have at least shown I cared,” she countered, struggling against her emotions. “I was his daughter, but I did nothing! Why?” She cried out this last question as if to the heavens. “Even as they mocked him, saying, ‘Before the righteous anger of the people your silence would prove no stronger than a slender reed in a hurricane,’ he did not argue. He just refused to speak. They didn’t understand such stubbornness. They didn’t win, but it was a bitter victory. One night, after an intense struggle session, he gave up, smashed his tea jar and slashed his wrists. As his life was draining away, he wrote a quotation from The Analects on the wall with his own blood:
The superior man does not even for the space of a single meal act contrary to virtue.
君子無終食之間違仁
Little Li thought of the characters “Save the children!” from Lu Xun that his own father had written on his studio wall.
“When the Red Guards discovered his body, they were furious,” continued Yang Ming tenaciously. “Because he’d evaded their torment, they took a fire ax to the wall where he’d scrawled his epitaph.”
“And where was your mother during all this?”
“Oh…my poor simple mother! She was a devout Buddhist, so when the attacks began she already had a black mark against her! She didn’t understand the charges against him at all and kept begging their friends still in high office to intercede. But no one dared help. When they ordered her to denounce and divorce him or be stripped of her job at the research institute where she worked, she just looked at them like they were crazy.”
“Did she denounce him?”
“She refused! Then, after he died, no one dared to tell her he was gone. So she just kept bringing clothing and food for him, and the Red Guards kept accepting it. Then, as soon as she left, they ate the food and laughed at her, calling her a ‘crazy old lady’ [疯老太太]. When she finally learned he was gone, she stopped eating and speaking. Soon she couldn’t recognize anyone, even me, her only child! She really did become crazed. One night, I woke up and found her missing from the bed we shared after my father’s death. I searched the streets of Shanghai for hours before finding her wandering the Bund with hardly any clothing on, wailing out across the Huangpu River for my father. She’d gotten herself into such a state that not even the Red Guards wanted to bother with her anymore. She was just another person gone mad, and maybe her madness protected her from having to recognize the horror of what had happened. At least, I hope so!” Yang Ming gave a bitter laugh. “In the end, they pronounced her ‘ideologically sick,’ in need of being ‘reintegrated back into the masses’ [回到群众当中], and dragged her screaming into a van and drove her away. I heard nothing more until four months ago. Then a letter arrived in Nagchu from a Shanghai hospital saying she’d passed away.” Yang Ming fell to the ground and buried her head in her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” said Little Li, kneeling down to hold and kiss her. He could taste the saltiness of her tears on her cheeks. Although it was the first time he’d ever kissed a woman, he did it with all the conviction of someone with a lifetime of experience.
“I didn’t mean to talk about myself so much,” she finally apologized.
“I understand,” he answered softly. And he did understand. For her story was his story, was China’s story, and it excited such a wave of contradictory emotions in him that, once they had started walking again to keep warm, he was glad when they reached the quarry and he had an excuse to change the subject.
“So—this is where I work,” he said, gesturing toward the giant rock face, white in the moonlight.
“You work here!” she exclaimed. He nodded. “Well, at least it’s peaceful!” In the moonlight, the face of the quarry and the giant boulders strewn across the ground below did convey a ghostly beauty. But for him it was disorienting to be at such a familiar place in such unfamiliar company.
“It’s very late,” he finally offered. “Aren’t you leaving in the morning?” The words “leaving in the morning” chilled him to the bone.
“I don’t want to go back until you’ve told me your story!” she said peremptorily. Like her, he’d never recounted to anyone what had happened to his family. And, having managed to neutralize the past by encysting it in scar tissue made him reluctant to excavate these memories, even for her.
“My story is so similar to yours, you already know it,” he protested.
“You must tell me!” she insisted. He did feel a debt of reciprocity, but he was also frightened by what might happen once he began. It was like pulling at the end of a loose strand of yarn on a piece of knitting—he feared he might unravel the whole fabric of his defense system against the past.
“Well, my mother was an American,” he began hesitantly.
“Your mother was a what?” she interrupted in disbelief. “An American?”
“Yes, she was a Eurasian from San Francisco, and was studying violin at the Conservatory there when my father arrived from China to study piano.”
“So you’re half American?”
“I am, although it sounds strange to say so here. My parents got married in San Francisco and came to Beijing in 1950. However, when I was hardly five, my mother had to return to California to see her ailing father, and she never came back.”
“You know, I’ve never met an American, even a half-American, before.” She smiled. “So—what happened after that?”
“Because China and the United States were enemies, she was unable to get her American passport renewed. While she was trying to work things out, she got cancer and died.”
“So much tragedy,” said Little Yang, kissing his neck. “And what happened to you?”
Like a vehicle gathering momentum as it coasts down a steep incline, Little Li had become so swept up in his own narrative that by the time he got to the night at Willow Courtyard with the Red Guards, he was so light-headed he had to sit down. When she knelt beside him, took one of his hands, and rubbed his knuckles against her cheek, years of bottled-up emotion erupted. But even as tears streamed down his cheeks, he, too, tenaciously kept going, as if his life somehow depended on finishing his own story. When he finally came to the end, he felt both emotionally spent and purged. As she stared silently up at him in the moonlight, he reached over and took her in his arms.
“What are the chances of two complete strangers with such similar lives finding each other in a place as remote as this?” she asked.
“As improbable as two random bullets colliding in midair,” he replied, and kissed her again. Glancing up at the moon, he saw it now had a white circle around it. “It looks like it might snow, so maybe we should start back.”
“All right,” she consented regretfully.
Just before they reached the compound gate, she stopped and huddled against him. “Usually, I feel so lost,” she murmured. “But tonight I feel found.”
“I don’t know what to think about my life right now,” he replied, stroking a wisp of hair that was hanging out from her cap. “I never thought a person like you would ever like someone like me.”
“We’ve been taught to despise ourselves by being despised,” she replied, and for a few moments, neither spoke. “Perhaps we should go now. If I’m not back before the other girls awaken, there’ll be trouble.”
“Will I ever see you again?” he managed, as she pulled away. The idea of parting forever was so painful, he immediately wished he’d not asked the question.
“I don’t know,” she said. “We’re supposed to leave at sunup.” Taking her head in his hands, he kissed her tenderly on both cheeks one more time.
“Goodbye, Yang Ming” was all he could choke out.
“Goodbye, Li Wende. I will never forget you. Ever!”
As he walked back to the barracks, he felt as if the ground beneath his feet had opened and swallowed up his delicately constructed Yak Springs life. As soon as he’d crawled under his quilt and closed his eyes, Yang Ming’s face reappeared before him. How inexplicable it was that, after only a few hours, he felt he knew her as well as anyone on earth. The idea that she was still so near, yet would soon disappear as quickly as she’d appeared, seemed as unreal as it was unbearable.
18
PROVIDENCE
WHEN LITTLE LI opened his eyes, daylight had not yet broken, and it took him a moment to recall what had happened the night before. He leapt out of bed, threw on some clothes, and rushed outside. A heavy snow was shrouding everything in white. Electrified with hope that this might mean Yang Ming’s convoy would be delayed, he dashed through the snow to the canteen. As soon as he entered, he spotted her sitting with the other two barefoot doctors at the same back table as the night before. When she looked up and saw him, his first impulse was to run to her. But as soon as their gazes met, she withdrew her eyes without registering even a flicker of recognition. It was then that Little Li noticed Station Chief Wu and Eunuch Liu talking with Master Chef Wang by his wok. Knowing he would be immediately suspect if he sat down with the girls, he fetched a bowl of porridge and found a seat alone. It took all his powers of discipline not to look in Yang Ming’s direction.
“And now, our station chief has an important announcement,” Eunuch Liu proclaimed, unexpectedly standing up to address the room.
“Comrades,” Station Chief Wu began grandly, “due to the unfortunate weather conditions, there will be no work details today, and though I know our guests are eager to be on their way, their convoy will remain at Yak Springs until snow levels on the Erla Pass can be checked.”
“Are we going to be stuck in this dump till springtime?” exclaimed one of the truck drivers at the next table.
“Relax, Old Shen,” another driver replied. “The road is as slick as yak shit, and it’s still coming down, so I don’t think we want to be out there, sliding around on that mountain!”
As Old Shen scowled, lit a cigarette, and returned to his bowl, Little Li’s heart soared. Since the room was still under Station Chief Wu’s surveillance, he dared not cast so much as a glance in Yang Ming’s direction. But, urgently wanting to connect with her, he began sweeping his gaze around the room like a radar antenna, a tactic that enabled him at least to glimpse her each time his ecumenical glance passed her table. And, each time, he found her more irresistible. But, fearing he might raise suspicions, he forced himself to concentrate on his breakfast. When he finally permitted himself to look up again, the girls had left. As quickly as he could, he, too, departed. Even though they were under whiteout conditions, he headed out the front gate, and there, in the snow, just as he’d hoped, were fresh footprints. He’d gone less than a kilometer when he saw a silhouette.
“I was sure you’d know to look for me here!” she said, rushing toward him with a smile.
“Your convoy’s not going!” he gasped.
“It’s only a short reprieve.”
“Maybe, but what matters is that you’re still here.” Despite the bitterness of their lives and the frigid remoteness of where they were, as they walked, arm in arm, through the falling snow, Little Li felt the long-frozen core of his being beginning to thaw.
“Will you promise me something?” he asked, in a take-charge tone of voice.
“All right.”
“No matter how bad the weather is tonight—one hour after dinner, meet me right here. I have an idea.” She nodded. “And, so that we aren’t seen together now, you go back to the compound first. If anyone asks where you were, just say you went out for a walk alone. I’ll wait and then go back in through a side door.” She brushed a few flakes of snow from his cheek and kissed him.
It was still snowing at dinnertime, and in the canteen he sat as far from the three girls as he could. And as he ate, he scrupulously disciplined himself not to cast so much as a glance in their direction. Then, like a commando in one of the Albanian anti-Nazi movies he’d loved as a boy, he anxiously awaited zero hour. In a world where few things had ever worked out in his favor, how had such good fortune now befallen him? When he could restrain himself no longer, he made his way out the front gate and set off down the road. It was still snowing lightly and the road was only dimly outlined as a band of unrelieved whiteness bisecting an otherwise formless landscape. As he walked, he kicked up as much snow as he could, so she’d have a clear track to follow. Only when he reached the rock where he’d played for her the night before did he stop and begin hopping up and down to keep warm. Then he heard the distant sound of boots crunching over snow. Unable to resist, he ran toward the sound.
“Why are you running the wrong way?” she laughed, as they almost collided.
“I’m just running toward the idea of you.”
“How sweet!” she said softly. “But where can we go? We can’t just stand out here!”
“I said I had a plan, didn’t I?” He smiled authoritatively.
“Yes, but what kind of plan?”
“You’ll see.” Taking her by the arm, he led her slowly back down the road. As they neared the compound, they could hear the truck drivers drinking, singing, and cursing at the caravanserai.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked hesitantly as he steered her off the road, through deep snow, and along the outside of the compound wall.
“Yes,” he reassured her. When they came to the corner, he guided her down a draw until they saw the dim outline of a shack looming in the snowy darkness. After opening the door, he took a candle out of his pocket and lit it.
“What’s this?” she gasped upon seeing steam curling up into the darkness like a phantasm.
“A hot spring.”
“Here?”
“Yes, right here.” He laughed. “Where do you think the name ‘Yak Springs’ came from?”
When he’d anchored the candle in a puddle of melted wax on top of a boulder, he took off his boots, sat down, and stretched his bare feet out over a flat stone warmed by the hot water bubbling up around it. She sat down beside him and took off her boots. Never had he imagined that feet could be so beautiful.
“It’s like a dream!” she exclaimed as the hot rocks infused both of their cold bodies with warmth.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked after a long silence.
“About our crazy lives,” she responded, “how I’ve always felt my family must have done something very wrong to have deserved its bitter fate, and how I, too, was being punished for those wrongs. Otherwise, things didn’t make any sense. Even though I knew that what happened to my parents wasn’t right, the idea that we deserved to suffer because of who we were did help explain why so many bad things kept happening. But you make me wonder, Little Li, if I actually deserved such harsh judgment. Why have you been delivered to me now? Are you part of a new, improved destiny [缘分] for me?”
“I don’t know about destiny,” he answered sweetly. “But I guess sometimes luck does strike!”
“And when it arrives, I’m going to accept it, even if it comes in the form of someone like you, with a ‘bad class background.’ ” Her eyes sparkled with both happiness and sorrow, reminding him that, though gladness and sadness are contradictory, they’re also as conjoined as yin (阴) and yang (阳).
“Until yesterday, I, too, always felt I was on a one-way street, always trying to do the right thing, but always getting accused of being politically impure and then being dismissed.”
“Well, maybe you are just a ‘bad element.’ ” She chuckled. “After all, being here with a person like me is truly a counterrevolutionary act!”
“Can you imagine what Station Chief Wu would do if he caught us?”
“Don’t think about such things!” She grabbed his arm and gave a little shudder.
“You know, up until yesterday, I’d been trying to accept my life here at Yak Springs as it was. Then you crashed through the fragile eggshell I’d managed to build around it, and…”
“Aren’t you glad?”
“Yes, but it makes everything suddenly seem completely absurd.” He was seized by a flush of indignation. “I mean, when you think about it, what did we ever do to deserve being treated like this?”
“Let’s not waste time getting upset,” she hushed him. “Let’s just take what we’re being offered now.”
Pulling herself up onto her knees, she reached over, took off his hat, and unbuttoned his overcoat, and then, as meticulously as someone peeling a piece of fruit, she removed each of his garments, until he was completely naked. He was too astonished to resist. For a few minutes, she just sat before him and, without any evident self-consciousness, drank in his body the way an art connoisseur might stand in silent absorption before a great sculpture. Then she ran her fingers over the goose-bumped skin of his chest.
