by Anchee Min
"Yeah. And my old face will have no place to hide. Just to think about it shortens my life."
"If you are really embarrassed, there is a trick. You can ask to play the sunflower. That way, your face will always be behind the flower head."
I didn't feel any better after the ginger soup, so I decided to take a walk. Throwing on my jacket, I went out the door. After a few blocks I turned into Red Sun Park. The mid-March weather was warm. The park was full of pink peach blossoms, thick and cloudlike. The ground was carpeted with petals.
I lay down on a bench. Petals gently snowed down on my face. The sun's rays streamed through the branches. To avoid the sun, I turned my face to the side toward a bamboo pavilion. To my surprise, I saw a familiar figure sitting inside. I sat up to make sure. "Evergreen!" My voice betrayed me.
It was he. He waved. He was in the same blue sportswear.
"Don't tell me you are zoo dancing here!" I tried to be funny. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't know if I should move toward him or back out of the park. I thought about his naked back, his firm buttocks. I got up to walk toward him, but my feet became tangled. I felt that he somehow knew I had spied on him.
"Oh, I am taking a break here." He stood up to greet me. "I am tired of teaching the dances."
"Why don't you do that at home?" I decided just to stay where I was. We stood about fifteen feet away from each other. The distance was awkward for conversation but it comforted me.
"Well, I'm drafted constantly from my house."
"You mean Wild Ginger?"
He laughed. "No one escapes her."
I tried to figure out the meaning between his lines.
"You look deadly serious, Maple, like a party secretary. Come over, sit down. Let's have a chat, please."
"I..." I looked around as if trying to find a clock. "I'm late. I have to get going."
"Where?"
"A ... drugstore. My mother is waiting for me."
"If you are in such a hurry, why did you even come to the park?"
I lost the courage to keep lying. "All right, I am not in a hurry."
"Come on, I haven't seen you for a long time. You must tell me how you have been and you might be curious about how I've been."
I saw you, heard you, and talked about you almost daily, my mind's voice said.
"Tell me something, talk to me, Maple," he said, looking at me.
The image of his naked body kept surfacing in front of my eyes.
"I've been doing fine," I said dryly.
"Have you been with Wild Ginger lately?"
I went silent.
"I am sure you have," he concluded. "You are each other's shadows. Did she ... does she confide in you?"
"Sort of."
"Did she tell you anything ... about me?"
"I don't know. I ... am not sure ... Well, I don't think so."
"I need a favor, Maple," he said.
"I am listening."
"It might not make sense to you, but I am experiencing something I'd like to try to share with you. Well, are you ready? Chairman Mao ... All right, are you with me? Let me know if I lose you—"
"I am not sure if I want to hear it, Evergreen."
"I'll make it short. Very short. Gee, this is not easy. The Chairman teaches us to be selfless. But I am discovering the self, myself really, as a human being. For the first time, I've started to see things through my own eyes instead of Chairman Mao's ... It's devastating. My whole world is upside down now ... It's puzzling to you, isn't it?"
"Well, when did you start to change? What happened?"
"The moment you brought Wild Ginger to me. I have discovered something more meaningful than preaching Maoism, something more satisfactory to my nature. Do you know how difficult it is for me to bring this up?"
"You aren't talking about abandoning Maoism, are you?"
"Indeed, that might be exactly the question."
"And it is a very dangerous one too."
"But no, it's not the issue of safety. I know I can trust you. I do trust you—it doesn't make sense but it's true that I feel I can trust you more than I can trust Wild Ginger. It might sound strange. She is a Mao zealot. Her loyalty is beyond reproach. Her eyes see only what's red. You are different. Your eyes reflect the rainbow. Now the risky part is, wait a minute, what do people do with the brain's waste?"
"What do you mean?"
"Give it a try. Your mind is always a step ahead of mine."
"I could have said something else."
"No, I appreciated your frankness." He paused for a while. His hands went into his pockets as if they were cold. Suddenly he asked, "What's Wild Ginger's decision? Can she ... does she want to ... I mean, does she feel the same way I do?"
My mind struggled. I had the answer but I didn't know how to give it. I couldn't say, Yes, Wild Ginger is attracted to you, but you are not worthy enough for her to break her vow to Chairman Mao.
"I'm not in any position to judge my friend," I finally uttered.
"Do you know that she showed me her diary?" He began walking.
"No." I followed him.
"Do you know she carries a diary?"
I made no reply because I couldn't say, It's a fake diary.
"We're"—he lowered his voice—"we are in each other's lives at the moment. But I am puzzled by the way she acts."
"Are you or are you not in the diary?" I asked.
"No, I am not."
"It doesn't mean that you are not in her thoughts."
"Thank you. That's what I have been trying to tell myself."
"The diary"—I don't know why I suddenly decided to blow this—"is for show. It's going to be published nationwide and printed in textbooks."
"Then why the hell does she write it and call it a diary?"
"She is the Maoist model for the country. She has to do what's expected of a Maoist."
"This really bothers me. Maple, let me tell you something. There is a wonderful part of her character and there is also a phony part. This is what we have been fighting: she wants no other life besides promoting Maoism. Her instincts might want what a human being wants but not her head. She's trying to kill off her human self."
"Well, you must understand that it is not easy to give up one's personal life for a national cause."
"National cause? Are you sincere, Maple?"
I found my defense weak—what bothered Evergreen bothered me too.
"I am not interested in teaching the zoo dancing at all, to tell you the truth."
"Aren't you supposed to say Zhong dancing?"
"I did it on purpose. To me it is zoo dancing—every one has been forced into a barn. People have better things to do, like resting, taking care of their households, being together, cooking, reading, playing, and making—" He cut his words short and lowered his head.
"The first installment of her diary will be out in a couple of months." I brought back the subject.
"I won't read it," he said firmly, then asked, "Will you?"
"I might not enjoy it. But I will read it. I do everything she asks of me."
He turned to look at me suspiciously, then smiled. "You make me want to be a woman so I can get closer to Wild Ginger."
"I don't really feel close to her or even understand her."
"How do you mean?"
"This diary thing, for example. To publish it is to publish and legalize a big lie. It's harmful. It's dishonest. It'll damage the minds of the young. It's a false portrait of a Maoist. Not only will Wild Ginger suffer the consequences, other people will be forced to copy her—the model can do it, why can't you?"
"I shake hands with you, Maple. I shake hands with you. I really do. Thank you for answering my question ... Wild Ginger is lucky to have a friend like you."
"Not necessarily." Somehow his compliments made me feel bitter. "She is lucky for what she has. It has nothing to do with me. She and I ... I cannot achieve what she has achieved or is capable of achieving in the future. It's not that I agree
with everything she does. I can't make myself be such an ardent Maoist. I'm not that driven. I am not that interested, or obsessed. I can recite a lot of quotations, though. It was a way to earn my place in the school and society. Wild Ginger is ... I can't really say that she is being dishonest. Let's put it this way: she knows what it is like to be called an anti-Maoist. I won't question her motives. She writes the diary with sincerity. The reason she won't expose parts of herself is because she really believes that her behavior was immoral, and she is determined to fight it. She believes that she can overcome it."
"Will she?"
"She lives to win."
"Will there be a chance that someone might change her mind?"
"I'm not a good person to ask."
"Have you been encouraging her to be a Maoist?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I feel ... sad, really sad. She has to give up so much to achieve her goal."
14
"Get up and attend the Zhong dancing class!" A group of neighborhood activists rang handbells throughout the lanes. "Order from the district party secretary!" "Ten o'clock, check yourself in at the marketplace!" "Show your loyalty toward Chairman Mao through your action!"
"Zoo class! Zoo class!" The children ran after the group and shouted cheerfully.
After the group made their rounds through the neighborhood, they came to knock on doors to make sure that everyone was out.
"Mama, time to go!" my sisters called. "The activists are knocking our door off its hinges."
"I'm trying to find my shoes! I can't go with slippers, can I?"
"Hurry up!"
"Zoo class!" Mother finally found her shoes. "Forcing an old dog to catch a mouse. Buddha with your eyes open above."
Down the lane, One-Eye Grandpa greeted Mother. He was in baggy clothes. "I'm ready to have fun," he said to her. "Think of it this way, the dance will get your blood circulation going and boost your longevity." They chatted and Mother laughed in embarrassment.
The crowd grew thicker. There were hundreds of people, grouped in families, making their way to the market. We all wore blue or gray Mao jackets. Most of my neighbors were in their wooden slippers. Tic, tac, tic, tac. The noise was loud and pleasant to the ears.
Mother asked One-Eye Grandpa if he had ever danced before. The old man replied, "I studied traditional healing dance when I was young." He stopped and squatted down to demonstrate. After making some turns he started to hop on his feet like a frog. We all laughed and copied One-Eye Grandpa's hopping.
Finally we arrived at the market. The loudspeaker was broadcasting "We Can't Sail without Chairman Mao as a Helmsman." Although the song was much distorted, I still recognized the voice. It was Wild Ginger's. I could never forget her voice after she sang the French songs in the wheat field. This time she sang with energy and encouraged people to join her.
It was ten o'clock. The morning market had already been cleared up. The ground had been swept and washed, but the stinky smell was still there. The street was blocked by the activists and the emptied booths now filled with children. The neighbors lined up on one side of the street like cornstalks in a field. The line extended about a half mile.
Two loudspeakers were hung from a tree. Three accordions and four drums were playing. A man with his back facing us was conducting. It was Evergreen. He let the band rest whenever he could.
In the center of the stage stood Wild Ginger. She kept waving at Evergreen, asking him to keep the band playing. She was in her army uniform and the red-star cap with all her hair tucked in. She could be mistaken for a man if not for her full chest. "Chairman Mao teaches us, 'For hundreds of years the scholars had moved away from the people, and I began to dream of a time when the scholars would teach the coolies, for surely the coolies deserve teaching as much as the rest.' Now, let's put our great teacher's words into action! One, two, three, and four!" She instructed the neighbors to follow her steps. It was not easy. The old people like my mother just flung their arms and kicked their feet side to side. It was obvious that they were not interested in learning the dance. They were trying to kill time until they were released.
My mother was having difficulty. She asked Wild Ginger about being a sunflower.
"We won't have any costumes or props until the final recital."
So Mother was stuck. It didn't take long for her to relax—she saw other women who danced just as poorly. They paid no attention to the music. No matter how many times Wild Ginger demonstrated the combo, they couldn't get it. I was sure that they were looking to be dismissed. But Wild Ginger was outrageously patient.
She sang and danced, demonstrating over and over again:
The Yangtze River roared toward the East,
The flower heads chased the red sun.
Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you,
Our great helmsman, Chairman Mao.
We wish a long life,
A long, long life to you.
Mother and her lady friends began to enjoy themselves. They chatted whenever Wild Ginger left them alone to practice. They moved their arms back and forth like brooms in sweeping motion. One woman was giving out a recipe. "I brew my own bean sprouts." She grapevined her legs. "The trick is that you have to put a wet cloth over the soaked beans to keep the basket moist at all times. And you put it in a straw rice warmer at night to keep up the temperature."
Mother was very interested. She copied the woman and twisted her legs from side to side. "I failed a couple of times trying to brew my own bean sprouts." She twisted her shoulders. "I'll try again, keeping your advice in mind."
"It saves you a lot of money if you figure out how to do it. It is the cheapest way to provide protein for your kids."
"Here, attention, everybody," Wild Ginger called. "'Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you, our great helmsman, Chairman Mao.' You must really show your expression! Like this, watch me! Like this, smile!"
Mother showed her teeth and quickened her steps.
"Do you know shortages are coming?" The woman put a hand over her mouth and bent toward Mother. "The government is running out of oil, salt, and matches. My son told me—he works for the national storage department. The warehouses have been emptied to keep the supply line alive to poor countries like Vietnam and Tanzania. We are drained but we can't afford to lose face. Chairman Mao has to look good to the world. But the soil doesn't understand this. It doesn't produce more just because we need it."
Mother shook her head, moving her limbs absent-mindedly.
"It's going to be terrible," the woman went on. "I have been stocking up."
"I have no use for my coupons, because I don't have money. It takes money to spend the coupons, you see, big sister," Mother said worriedly. "It's not that I don't need it. I need it badly. I have six kids. Six bottomless wells to fill. Seven ounces of oil per person per month has never been enough, yet I can't even afford to spend the oil coupons. We eat rice with plain salt, but still—"
"I have a trick for you, big sister..."
"You!" Wild Ginger's patience finally ran out. She pointed at the woman. "You have been talking since you got here. Not only do you show no loyalty to Chairman Mao, you have been distracting others! Would you like to be sent to a mind-brushing school?"
"I'm terribly sorry!" The woman quickly moved away from my mother.
But Mother was not ready to give up the conversation. She was eager to learn the trick about stocking up. She tried to get closer to the woman.
"Attention!" Wild Ginger yelled loudly. "Now we are coming to the end of the dance. We are making a shiplike form. We will have the front with One-Eye Grandpa holding the national flag, the back with all of us holding Mao books, and a 'smokestack' in the middle with a Mao picture held high." She began to make arrangements by moving people around. "Listen, everyone has to fit into the formation."
My mother's friend was placed to be a "frame" of a "Mao picture holder." She and another woman were instructed to bend their knees to form a "ladder
."
"We need someone to get up on their knees to hold the Mao picture." Wild Ginger turned to the crowd.
"How about me?" Mother volunteered. She must have seen the possibility of hiding her face behind the picture.
Wild Ginger hesitated.
"I am light," Mother added. "I'd like to show my loyalty toward our great leader by holding his very picture!"
"Are your limbs strong enough?"
"Chairman Mao's teaching will certainly strengthen me."
I was surprised at Mother's quick wit.
"Wonderful, aunt! You've got the job!"
Before Wild Ginger gave the instruction, Mother climbed on the "ladder."
Evergreen came and passed Mother the Mao picture. "Be careful, aunt!" He turned around and told the two women who were holding my mother's legs to keep her still. "Stabilize yourselves first. Let her down once she gets up there."
"No," Wild Ginger corrected him, "the pose has to be held for at least forty seconds so the stage will seem to freeze. That's how we'll make the most powerful impression!"
"You've got the right soldier for the task," Mother yelled.
"Move on." Wild Ginger went to arrange the other parts of the "ship."
"So what's the trick, big sister?" Mother finally resumed the conversation.
With her knees and arms trembling trying to hold my mother, the woman replied as her breath shortened, "Secretly sell your coupons to village dealers. They come to the city once a month to exchange sesame oil, salt, and matches for rice coupons and cotton coupons and oil coupons."
"But when exactly will they be coming next time? How will I find them?"
"Is everybody ready?" came Wild Ginger's call. "Let's practice. Ready? One, two, and three, begin! 'Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you, our great helmsman, Chairman Mao!'"
The crowd sang.
The drums beat loudly.
The accordion players worked their bellows as hard as they could.
"The fourth Tuesday of the month!" The woman's knee began to tremble so violently that Mother's knee almost buckled. "Six-thirty at the corner of Chia Chia Lane."
"I'll be there!" Mother said excitedly. It was followed by a deep sigh. "The reason I keep the coupons is because I hope that one day I'll be able to spend them. To buy cloth I need those coupons. All my bedsheets are worn out. My children dress like beggars."