by Cheng Nien
While I was in the hospital I received notification from the Bank of China that all foreign exchange accounts were unfrozen. Being financially solvent again gave me a wonderful feeling of independence. I sent Hean and her husband a belated wedding present and invited them to come to Shanghai with their children for the Chinese New Year.
When I returned home, I went to the dentist again and was fitted with dentures. As soon as I had them in my mouth, I felt sick. The discomfort was so unbearable that my impulse was to tear the dentures out. I felt as though I had two enormous plates jammed inside my mouth and that I was choking. The dentist told me to take them out at night to get some relief. But I decided to wear them twenty-four hours a day so that I could get used to them sooner and shorten the time of agony. At night, when I couldn’t sleep because of the discomfort, I took sleeping pills.
Now that I had sufficient money, I proceeded to carry out the plan to make my portion of the house self-contained. A door was put at the foot of the back stairs, and the bathroom fixtures were transferred downstairs to make a bathroom in the pantry. In the space where the former bathroom had been, at the end of the corridor, I installed a sink and a gas cooker. The work was carried out by three workers from the local section of the Housing Bureau, which charged me a fee. With the help of Kong and his friends, I was able to get the sink, the wood for the door, and tiles to fill in the space left by the bath. All done through the back door.
The workers, regular employees of the Housing Bureau on a fixed monthly wage, earned nothing extra for the work they did for me. In such circumstances, their attitude was perfunctory. They would ignore the quality of the work and prolong the time they spent on the job. It was against the law for me to offer them money. I had to encourage them to work well and efficiently with what was called by the Chinese people “treatment.” It included cartons of the best-quality cigarettes and elaborate meals with wine and beer. Kong, A-yi, and their friends helped me to obtain the provisions by lining up at various shops and opening back. doors. When the job was finished, I gave the three young men each a present. I told them I wanted to build a wall to divide the hall space but was unable to obtain bricks. While none of them knew of a back door for bricks, they offered to build the wall for me in their spare time if and when I could get the bricks.
One afternoon, while I was sitting in my room sewing curtains for A-yi’s room, three ladies called on me.
“We are from the Residents’ Committee of this area. My name is Lu Ying. I’m in charge of your unit,” one of the women introduced herself. Then she pointed to a stout woman and said, “This is our Party secretary.”
The third woman said, “I’m her deputy.”
I stood up to welcome them and invited them to be seated. A-yi brought each a cup of tea.
The Residents’ Committee of each district was an extension of the police department, working under its supervision. Officers of the Residents’ Committee dealt directly with the people and reported to the police. The organization was responsible for the weekly political indoctrination of the residents, running the day-care centers, distributing ration coupons, allocating birth quotas, and arbitrating disputes between neighbors. In some instances, officers of the Residents’ Committee even helped the police solve crimes and capture criminals, as they had such an intimate knowledge of the life of the people in their charge.
Most of the officers of the Residents’ Committees were retired workers on government pensions, receiving no pay for their present work. Only in special cases, when the retirement pension was low, were the officers given an additional allowance. These ladies (and a few men) enjoyed great power over the people. Their reports on each individual were treated as confidential and were written into the dossiers kept by the police. In fact, the Residents’ Committee system enabled the police to remain in the background while maintaining close and constant surveillance of the entire population.
As we took our seats, the Party secretary gave a broad smile and said to me, “We have come to see you because we heard you have recently moved to our area. We also want to invite you to join our study group meetings on Tuesday and Friday afternoons.”
“Thank you very much for taking the trouble to come. I should have come to you to register my arrival. But I’ve been busy with medical treatment and getting my life in order,” I said politely.
“What was the nature of your illness? Was it …” The Party secretary hesitated to finish her sentence.
“Nothing serious. The operation was successful,” I said.
“Didn’t you have cancer?” The deputy Party secretary was less tactful.
“Oh, no! Nothing serious like that,” I said quickly, realizing they had been told by someone connected with the detention house, probably the police, that I had cancer.
They exchanged glances, seemingly surprised. But very quickly they regained their composure and looked impassive.
“Can you join our study group meetings two afternoons a week?” asked Lu Ying.
“I would like to. But could I have a couple of months’ vacation so that I can recover further from my operation? The doctor was very firm that I should rest in the afternoons until I am fully recovered.”
The Party secretary got up and walked to the balcony. She exclaimed, “What a wide balcony!” She looked into the bathroom and exclaimed, “A bathroom to yourself!” She even opened the door of the cupboard and peeped inside while she exclaimed, “What a spacious cupboard!” Then she sat down again and said to me, “Two large rooms for one person! You have been given very special consideration, you know,” looking at me in earnest as if inviting me to agree with her.
“Normally a single person doesn’t get so much living space,” added her deputy.
She couldn’t very well compel me to go to the indoctrination meetings of the study group, because they were supposed to be voluntary, and yet she was displeased that I asked for a few months’ holiday. Making a person feel guilty of ingratitude when they want that person to comply with their wishes is a common practice of Party officials.
“I appreciate what the government has done. I hope you will convey my thanks to the appropriate authorities,” I said.
The Party secretary and her deputy both nodded approvingly, pleased with my words.
“Of course, one day I hope to live in my own home. Do you know what the government policy is concerning private houses?” I thought I might as well remind her that since the government was using my house, giving me a little more room than others was not much of a consideration.
The smile disappeared from her face. She said rather stiffly, “I’m afraid I’m not very clear on that point.”
Lu Ying said, “You must get well quickly and join our study group activities to improve your socialist awareness. We all need to study Marxist-Leninism and Chairman Mao’s teachings. Members of the capitalist class need it more than others. I live here in this compound, only three houses away from you. I’ll come often to visit you and see how you are getting on.”
“That would be very nice,” I said politely.
“I have one room, which I share with my son and daughter. There are three other families in the same house.” Lu Ying was telling me about her own living conditions to illustrate further how very special was the “consideration” shown me by the government. I also gathered from her tone of voice and facial expression that she did not quite approve of my being given so much living space. Since she was the head of my unit, I would have to deal with her on a regular basis. I hoped she wouldn’t be difficult and create trouble for me.
Chinese society under the Communist Party was stratified according to the treatment given each person by the Party. Before the Cultural Revolution, I did not mix with the “masses.” Lao-zhao represented our household in all our dealings with the Residents’ Committee ladies. The United Front Organization of the Shanghai Party Secretariat took charge of people like me and treated us with courtesy. The special treatment we received helped the People’s Gove
rnment project an image of tolerance in the eyes of the outside world, for we all had visitors from abroad frequently. But the Cultural Revolution changed all that. I had now become a part of the masses. My life after my release from the No. 1 Detention House until my final departure from Shanghai provided me with a deeper understanding of the life and problems of the average Chinese.
My visitors stood up to leave, but the Party secretary had a few last words to say. “You must study Chairman Mao’s books. They will help you to assume a correct attitude towards your recent experience.”
I didn’t say anything. What was there for me to say? Would she believe me if I said I had enjoyed being in the detention house? She seemed to be waiting for some answer. When I continued to be silent, the deputy Party secretary looked at Lu Ying. Lu Ying said, “Oh, yes, I have brought you your coupons for cotton cloth, knitting wool, sewing thread, and quilt fillings. I already gave your oil, meat, and tofu ration coupons to A-yi the other day.”
I thanked them, and they moved towards the door. Etiquette required that I see them to the front gate. But they insisted that I remain in my room and called A-yi to go with them to lock the front gate. Realizing that they probably wanted a private word with A-yi, I didn’t insist on going down.
I took the teacups to the kitchen and returned to my sewing.
When A-yi came back, she asked me, “Have you taken away the teacups already?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I didn’t wash them. I really want to finish these curtains so that you can have them on your windows before nightfall,” I said.
A-yi threw her arms in the air and exclaimed, “You are not a bit like what they told me!”
I didn’t know who “they” might be, but I suspected it was either someone from the police or someone at the Residents’ Committee. I thought it best to say nothing, but I smiled.
“You are really a nice person. You helped me carry hot water on the very day you came back from that awful place, when you were really very ill. You gave me one of your chairs to use when you saw I had no chair. You spent a lot of money moving the kitchen upstairs so that I wouldn’t have to go up and down the back stairs. When you got your foreign exchange account back, you raised my wages, and now you are making curtains for me. You are very kindhearted.”
“Thank you, A-yi. I’m afraid I haven’t done anything extraordinary at all.”
“Well, I won’t let you down. You are a decent person. By the way, how do you feel about the Cultural Revolution?” she asked.
I realized that my answer to the last question was what the Residents’ Committee ladies wanted her to find out. They, in turn, probably had been told by the police to report on my attitude.
“Well, from my personal point of view, the Cultural Revolution was a disaster. I was imprisoned and my daughter died. But from the point of view of the whole nation, which is of course more important, perhaps it is good and necessary,” I said diplomatically, knowing exactly what the Residents’ Committee ladies would like to hear.
She clapped her hands and exclaimed, “You are so right! You are so enlightened! Why didn’t you tell the Party secretary all that? She would have thought well of you for assuming such an enlightened attitude.”
“They didn’t ask me what I thought of the Cultural Revolution,” I said.
“The Party secretary did talk about your assuming a correct attitude. Remember? Never mind! I’ll tell her what you said when I see her at the market tomorrow morning. She gets milk for her grandson every morning,” A-yi told me. Then she went into the kitchen to get supper.
A-yi was a simple soul. She had unwittingly revealed where she was to report to the Party secretary about me. It seemed that although I had been released from detention, I was still under surveillance. Probably as long as I lived in Shanghai I could not relax vigilance.
That night as I sat in the quiet of my room alone, the idea that I should leave China for good came to my mind for the first time. To be freed from the atmosphere of political intrigue and the necessity of being constantly on the alert would be true liberation indeed. With my daughter dead, there was nothing to keep me in Shanghai. Although at the moment the idea of leaving China seemed outlandish and impossible, I knew I had to hold on to it and work towards its realization.
It almost seemed God had lifted my downcast eyes to enable me to see the distant green hills on the horizon.
14
The Search for the Truth
FREQUENT NIGHTMARES IN WHICH I saw my daughter brutally beaten, tortured, and killed in a blood-spattered room left me gasping for breath. My heart would palpitate wildly as I lay in the dark conjuring up still more fearful scenes in my imagination. I decided I should make a trip to Nanjing Road to have a close look at the Shanghai Athletics Association building. I believed I must take this painful step as soon as I was physically fit so that I could have a clear picture of the place where Meiping died and if possible make some inquiries. I could not tell A-yi my intention because she would probably tell the Residents’ Committee ladies. What I could do was to set out at the usual hour for my daily walk but take a bus to Nanjing Road instead. So I prolonged the time of my walk gradually until I was often away from the apartment for two hours.
“What long walks you are having these days! You must be getting really strong. Your cheeks are quite flushed. Come and sit down! I’ll bring you a cup of tea,” A-yi would exclaim upon my return.
When my daily long walk had become an established routine and A-yi made no more references to the length of absence, I thought the time had come for me to carry out my plan.
Nanjing Road was the main thoroughfare of Shanghai, running across the city from the downtown section by the river to the western suburb. Before the Communist army took over the city in May 1949, the Shanghai Athletics Association building was the headquarters of the International YMCA. It stood in the middle section of Nanjing Road, facing the People’s Park, formerly the racetrack. From where I lived it was half an hour’s journey on the bus. As was always the case in Shanghai, the bus was packed. Not being able to squeeze myself further inside, I stood by the door with my body flattened by the crowd. At times, the woman next to me was pressing so hard on my chest that I thought she must feel my thumping heart. I was intensely nervous, fearful of what I might discover. While my mind told me I must go, my emotions wanted me to turn back. When finally the bus reached my stop, I hesitated. But so many people were getting off that I was carried out by the pushing passengers and found myself standing on the sidewalk.
I walked along, mingling with the crowd and forcing my eyes to look at the buildings on the other side of the crowded street. Next to the Athletics Association building were the Park Hotel and the Grand Cinema, both built in the thirties but still landmarks of Shanghai. The buildings were decorated with Cultural Revolution slogans on red banners. “Politics is in command,” “Do not forget class struggle,” etc., fluttered in the autumn wind. On the roof, neon lights spelled out another message urging the people to “carry the Revolution to the end.” To the people around me, my upturned face indicated that I was a visitor from another part of China admiring the urban wonders of Shanghai. No one paid me any special attention. When my footsteps faltered as my eyes counted the floors and searched for the windows of the Athletics Association building, I was rudely pushed by the thick crowd of pedestrians.
At the gate of the People’s Park, men and women with children were lining up to buy entrance tickets; others were waiting for their friends and families. I stopped among them and looked up at the building across the street again, for I had counted up to eight floors and then saw no ninth floor but only the slanting roof. To avoid attracting attention, I paced up and down as if I too were waiting rather impatiently for someone. Then I looked up again. I simply could not see the ninth-floor window from which I had been told Meiping had jumped. While I was absorbing the significance of my discovery, I strolled past the People’s Park. It was only when I turned around to go back that I saw th
e ninth floor and the windows on the side of the Athletics Association building. They did not face Nanjing Road at all but were above an alley with low two-story dwellings. The windows were very narrow, with vertical iron bars. Whether there was enough space between the bars for a person to squeeze through was something I could not tell from street level.
What I had discovered was very different from what I had been told. I wanted time to think it all over, so I bought a ticket for the park and walked in. From a bench in a quiet corner I could see the top floors of the buildings across the street. I stared at those narrow windows with iron bars and wondered what was the truth about my daughter’s death. I felt sure there was something more to it than what I had been told. The sun felt warm, and a slight breeze was rustling the autumn leaves overhead. I could hear the hum of traffic and the sound of human voices. But in my grief I was utterly alone, as alone as a man isolated on a desert island.
Should I cross the street, knock on the door of the Athletics Association building, and attempt to make inquiries? I asked myself repeatedly, unable to decide. A little girl on a tricycle pedaled into view around the corner of the footpath. Her mother was walking behind her. As she gathered speed, the mother called, “Go slowly! Be careful!” But the child pedaled faster. Her black eyes were mischievous as she looked back at her mother. They passed in front of me and disappeared behind a cluster of shrubs.
As I left the park and walked towards the bus stop, I saw Meiping everywhere; every young woman and every little girl on the street looked like my daughter. My heart was bursting with pain, and I felt more desolate and helpless than I had felt at any time in prison. At the bus stop, a crowd was gathered. A bus passed without stopping. I pulled myself together and boldly turned to the intersection to cross the street. At the entrance of the narrow alley beside the Athletics Association building, I saw a young woman sitting on a low stool knitting.
“Do you live here?” I asked her.