The Yellow Papers

by Dominique Wilson

  ‘How can you not see what’s happening here?’ Huang Ho asked, opening the fridge door. ‘Everyone in Hong Kong is dedicated to living selfish lives. Everyone’s only out for himself.’ He took a bottle of Coca Cola out of the fridge and opened it, taking a long swig. ‘In the People’s Republic, people are happy to make sacrifices for the good of the country. But not here.’

  Ming Li only half listened to Huang Ho’s argument – she’d heard it all before. Contrary to her hopes, the British system of education practised at his high school had done little to change his ideas these past three years. He’d quickly found a group of friends with similar ideology from the many Communist families in Hong Kong, and it seemed to Ming Li that each week Huang Ho was drawing further away from her.

  ‘Look,’ he said, pointing to an article in the newspaper he’d been reading, ‘look what’s happening here. In China they’d be working in the fields, being useful, instead of wasting their time.’

  She pulled the paper towards her. It was an article bemoaning the immorality of the local Hong Kong youth, comparing 1965 Hong Kong to the Hong Kong of ten years ago. It blamed a mop-haired British group called The Beatles – or the Four Crazy Guys, as the older people called them – who had held a couple of concerts in Hong Kong last year. Since then the local pop scene had exploded with bands covering English and American music. Local radio stations played English pop songs as well as the Cantonese, Mandarin and Chinese opera songs they normally broadcast, and lyrics books such as OK Hit Songs sold out almost as soon as they hit the streets. A new phenomenon – Tea Dances – sprang up everywhere. These weekend afternoon dance parties were usually held in restaurants or nightclub, where for the price of admission teenagers could watch their favourite local bands perform English pop tunes, and scream and dance their excitement all afternoon as they drank soft drinks and snacked on food included in the price. Ming Li had noticed these young people, but the girls’ short skirts and boys’ long hair didn’t bother her – there had been much worse in Shanghai many years ago. Why couldn’t Huang Ho go to these Tea Dances? Enjoy himself a little?

  ‘The city’s full of crime,’ Huang Ho continued, ‘and do you know why?’

  Ming Li shook her head and went back to finely slicing a piece of pork for their evening meal.

  ‘It’s because there’s no purpose to their miserable lives. It’s all greed greed greed. In China, we managed on the bare necessities. We didn’t need all this stuff.’ He gestured widely, encompassing her whole living area. ‘And because we didn’t worry about all this, we could concentrate on doing something for the country – it was a struggle, but everyone benefited.’

  ‘Benefited, did you? What utter rubbish! How can you believe that? Your own mother – my daughter – worked herself to death “doing something for the country”. And you – you were starving. I remember when you first came here. You were so skinny I thought—’

  ‘You’re exaggerating – I wasn’t starving. It’s under the Kuomintang that the people starved – you should know that. But all that changed with Chairman Mao. I’m lucky to have been born under the red flag. To be able to serve the people. Soon it’ll time for me to go back and I’ll—’

  ‘Enough!’ Ming Li didn’t want to discuss politics with her grandson right now, and his threats to go back to China annoyed her. She wondered briefly if she should point out that the bottle of Coca Cola in his hand was the product of what he’d call ‘Western Imperialism’, but decided against it. He was irritating her. ‘Go study,’ she snapped. ‘You have exams coming up. You have a good hour before we eat.’

  Huang Ho threw up his hands in frustration. His grandmother’s refusal to accept the truth about the situation in China irritated him. But he knew the truth, even if she refused to see it. And while many in his class aimed at high marks to go on to universities overseas, Huang Ho and his friends – Zha You and Leo Xin – aimed at guaranteeing themselves future security in the Party. They all planned to return to China together.

  They believed in what Chairman Mao was trying to do. Only when the people realised that they were responsible not only for their own lives, but for the lives of others, could China be unified. Only when the people shared freely what was available, so that no one had more than his brother, would China then outshine every Capitalist country in the world. And he and his friends wanted to be a part of that. So they held peer-assessment and self-criticism sessions to strengthen their bond and weed out any hypocrisy within themselves, and spent many evenings in political study.

  Some papers in Hong Kong blamed the famine in China on Chairman Mao, but everyone knew it was caused by natural disasters. And if his mother had died working for the good of the people, then he was proud that she’d died in this way. Hadn’t the Great Leader himself said that death varied in its significance – that to die for the people was weightier than Mount Tai, but to work for the fascists and die for the exploiters and oppressors was lighter than a feather? His grandmother refused to see that. She had become a real xiang jiao ren - a banana person, yellow on the outside but white on the inside.

  Huang Ho noticed his grandmother staring at him with that tight-lipped expression of hers – her way of saying she was waiting for him to do as she asked. He picked up his school bag and rummaged through it. Yes, she would learn – State President Liu Shaoqi may have denounced the Great Leap Forward, but Chairman Mao would return in time. Soon the people of China would realise that fat cats like Liu Shaoqi were not interested in them, and they would want their Great Leader back. He pulled a copy of Tom Sawyer out of his bag and went to sit on the balcony to read.

  Ming Li finished slicing the pork and put a wok on the stove to heat. Huang Ho worried her more each day – she had to do something. Edward was due back in Hong Kong next week; she’d ask for his help.

  ‘He’s getting worse,’ Ming Li told Edward as they drank coffee after their lunch in his hotel room.

  Since Huang Ho had come to Hong Kong, Ming Li had insisted she and Edward not be seen in public together. It had annoyed Edward at first, but now that he knew something of the boy, he could understand why she was anxious Huang Ho not learn his grandmother had a Western lover. Even so, he felt this hiding had been going on for too long – it reminded him too much of Shanghai.

  But now he’d done something about it. He had a surprise for Ming Li that would enable them to see each other more often. He’d applied for a position at the University of Hong Kong, and had just learned that the position was his, starting next year. At last they would be together – if not in the same house, then in the same city.

  ‘He’s out most nights,’ Ming Li continued, ‘and won’t tell me where he goes.’

  ‘Maybe he has a girlfriend?’

  ‘I wish it were that simple; I could handle a girlfriend. But if he’s interested in girls – or even boys, for that matter – he’s shown no sign of it to me.’

  ‘All boys that age are interested in girls.’

  ‘Maybe so, but when I mention anything along those lines, he tells me that falling in love at his age would show bourgeois and individualistic thinking. He says he’ll only take on a wife when the time is right for him to do his reproductive duty for the state. Can you believe that? His reproductive duty? I can’t believe he’s my grandson.’

  Edward smiled but Ming Li shook her head, bemused.

  ‘No, I’m sure it’s not a girl. I think he’s involved in a student-activist group. What little conversation we do have consists solely of Party propaganda on his part.’

  ‘How’s his school work?’

  ‘Good. But he tells me he wants to go back to China to join the Cultural Revolution. He says the old have not succeeded, and now it’s time for the young. They’re going to create a new China, apparently.’

  Edward nodded. ‘I’ve heard that sort of talk before. Mao’s behind it, of course.’

  ‘I’m frightened, Edward. There are rumours China’s preparing to take over the colony. There have been demonstra
tions. Riots. Slogans painted on shopfronts. I think Huang Ho’s involved.’

  Ming Li’s worries convinced him more than ever that he’d been wise to apply to the University of Hong Kong. He’d be able to keep an eye on the boy – find out what he was up to – in a way Ming Li never could. And he’d be able to look after Ming Li.

  ‘I think I can help.’

  ‘I think so too. Oh, Edward, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve had an idea that I think may work. I really believe he needs to be separated from the type of people he associates with – mingle with young people who have different ideas. Who enjoy life. Open up his mind a little. Do you think it would be possible for you to get him into your university?’

  How did she know about his new position? He’d only just found out himself.

  ‘Please, Edward. Could you do it? He really needs to get away – it’ll never work if he stays here. I don’t know how it works in Australia, but could you get him there, even if only for a term?’

  Australia? She wanted him to get Huang Ho into Adelaide University? No! He was moving to Hong Kong. They would see each other every day. No more frustrating phone calls when he could be talking to her face to face, holding her in his arms. It was their time now.

  ‘There’s no need for him to come to Adelaide, Ming Li. I have a surprise for you. I have work – right here at the University of Hong Kong. I start next year. I’ll be able to keep an eye on the boy. We can be together—’

  ‘You don’t understand! It’s not keeping an eye on him that’s the problem. It’s the people he associates with—’

  ‘We can change his school. I can talk to his teachers …’

  ‘Edward, please!’

  ‘No, Ming Li. I won’t do it. Listen, we can—’

  But Ming Li wouldn’t listen. Shaking her head, holding back tears, she rose and walked out of his hotel room.

  He tried to ring her that evening, but she didn’t answer his call. When he tried a few hours later, the phone was engaged. It stayed engaged all night. First thing next morning he went to her shop, but though there were no customers, she refused to discuss anything.

  Unwilling to return to his hotel, he paced the streets of Hong Kong, frustrated by her behaviour. He pushed his way past street entertainers, and long queues of people lining up, buckets in hand, at standpipes because of the water restrictions. Past the many bookshops displaying reading material reflecting every political persuasion, including a newly released export publication of a little red book titled Quotations from Chairman Mao. He felt Ming Li was being unreasonable. What she was asking would mean giving up his new post. Giving up seeing her on a day-to-day basis. Was he willing to do that? Give it all up for a kid that really meant very little to him? No, damn it! This was their time!

  She hadn’t even thought of what it would be like for them to be together, to see each other every single day. Hadn’t even reacted to his news. Was she really that worried about the boy? It wasn’t like Ming Li to act this way …

  A group of students pushed past, laughing and jostling each other. In their hands were bundles of leaflets, and as they passed one dropped her leaflets. She gathered them up but missed one. Edward picked it up.

  The leaflet shows people of different ethnicities at a commune meeting, discussing the Three Constantly Read Articles – Mao’s early political essays. Above it, in red characters were the words The people of Xinjiang of every ethnicity have boundless love for the thought of Mao Tse-tung. To the left of the image was a patriotic song, and on the back of the leaflet were three photographs. The first showed a group of women looking admiringly at a photograph of Mao, whilst the other two showed people reading his little red book. The red characters on this side of the leaflet proclaimed The masses are the makers of history. The masses grasp Chairman Mao’s thought, and become the most intelligent, the most courageous, and exhibit boundless strength!

  Edward folded the leaflet and put it in his pocket. One of Chen Mu’s quotes came to mind: ‘To study and not think is a waste. To think and not study is dangerous.’ Maybe Ming Li was right. If Huang Ho had no other intellectual stimulus than the study of Mao propaganda, if he only socialised with people who regurgitated the same dogma, Edward could understand Ming Li’s concern. And it was the first time she’d ever asked for his help. Could he really refuse? Insist it was time they think of themselves for a change? There had to be another way. But her eyes had begged him. He couldn’t refuse those eyes. He looked for a public phone to ring her.

  ‘It’s going to take some doing, Ming Li. He hasn’t even matriculated yet. I’m not even sure I can do anything.’

  A knock at the door of his hotel suite interrupted them – room service collecting their dinner dishes. When alone again, Ming Li came to sit next to him on the sofa.

  ‘Please, Edward. He’ll have finished high school this year; I won’t be able to hold him back then. I don’t want to lose him again. I can’t lose him again. He’s the only family I have left. If he were in Australia … It’s my last hope, Edward. Can you please try? I trust you. If I knew he was somewhere safe, that you were keeping an eye on him …’

  ‘All right, LiLi. If it means so much to you, I’ll try. I know there were scholarships available under the Colombo plan, but I’m not sure if they’re still going – I’ll have to check. There’s probably some other scholarship he could try for, but of course there’s no guarantee he’d get one – they’re pretty competitive. He might have a better chance coming in as a privately funded student, especially if he’s only going to be there for a term or two. Let me look into it. I might have to pull a few strings, but I’ll try.’

  ‘I’ll pay. If I have to let out rooms again, I’ll pay.’

  ‘No. This time you have to let me help – it’s the only way I’ll do this. No, don’t look at me like that – can’t you understand I want to look after you? Properly? I’ll pay his fees. You can open an account for him – make deposits for his everyday expenses, if you want. He needn’t ever know who paid what. But you have to let me do this, LiLi.’

  She nodded then, and moved to sit on his lap. She curled up, her arms around his neck, content in the knowledge that if he said he would try, then Huang Ho would definitely be going to Australia.

  From beneath the hotel window, a cacophony of Australian voices embarked on a raucous rendition Waltzing Matilda – boys on R & R from Vietnam. Edward thought of how he’d been alive through four wars. The first, he’d been just a boy. The second and third had separated him from the only woman he’d ever truly loved. When Australia began conscripting men for Vietnam last year, he’d been relieved that he was too old to be called up, and that this war could not interfere with his relationship with Ming Li.

  But he hadn’t counted on a kid wanting to join some revolution in China.

  30

  ‘You could, in fact, say that Doctor Faustus is the personification of the clash between the values of the medieval world and the spirit of sixteenth-century Renaissance. With God at the centre of …’

  The lecturer’s voice droned on but Huang Ho wasn’t interested – he’d given up. Though he’d done well in school in Hong Kong, here in Australia he was failing miserably – English 1A in particular, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried – genuinely – but the English they were expected to read was not the English he knew. He hated these lectures, hated being in this country, and yearned for the term to be over so that he could go back to China.

  When he’d first arrived in Adelaide a week before the beginning of term – on a scorchingly hot February day – he’d been suspicious of the welcome offered to him, so that he’d refused the invitations the Rotary Club extended to all foreign students for trips to the wine regions or the beach, or to dinner, preferring instead to hide in his room at the students’ lodging house. He was the only Chinese there – most being from India or Malaya – and though all spoke English, he saw no common bond between himself and his fellow boarders. And so, as soon as he�
��d gotten his bearings, he’d shut himself up in his room with the books he’d bought from the list provided by the university. He’d intended, then, to study before the start of term, so as not to lose face in front of his fellow students. And though he’d spent an enormous amount of money on a massive dictionary, still he couldn’t understand most of these English texts.

  Aakesh, a second-year student from India who shared his room, told him to start with The History of Tom Jones, a foundling. ‘It’s sexy!’ he’d laughed, telling him a little about the book, and Huang Ho thought that if the text was indeed ‘sexy’, it was probably an example of decadent bourgeois ideas about love. But the idea that someone would abandon a male child, however, kindled his curiosity and so, confident that he wouldn’t be polluted by its content, he’d attempted the book. He’d struggled on, page after page, but found the sentences difficult, and by the time he’d finished the first chapter of Book 1, had decided to temporarily abandon the book for the familiarity of his physics textbook.

  Still intent on getting ahead before the term started, however, and aware that his weakest subject was likely to be English, he’d attempted Dubliners instead, and here, at least, he’d understood the writing. And though he hadn’t understood every expression, still he could empathise with the characters’ frustration at their mundane and repetitive existence.