The Boat to Redemption

by Su Tong

  Ah, the mirror had revealed my secret, so I went over to get a newspaper and covered my eyes with it. Running short of patience, Cui tore the paper out of my hands and tossed it to the floor. ‘High officials can read the newspaper when they’re getting their hair cut, not you.’ Knowing what was on my mind, he didn’t like it one bit, and he took his disgust out on my scalp. He cut everybody else’s hair with tender concern, but not mine. To him my head was a dark, bleak patch of ground, which he attacked with scissors in one hand and clippers in the other, like a reaping machine. And there was nothing I could do about it, because when I complained that it hurt, he stopped, turned to Huixian, and said, ‘Here, take over. The people from the Sunnyside Fleet are too much trouble. I’m turning them all over to you.’

  Huixian would shoot me a quick glance before smiling ambiguously at Old Cui and saying, deftly masking her attempt to get out of it, ‘You’re a model worker, Old Cui. No one can compete with you, so you go ahead. Besides, he won’t let me work on him anyway.’

  Why wouldn’t I? She should have been curious, should have wondered what that was all about, but she wasn’t curious about an eccentric like me, and not interested in asking. I actually felt OK about that, since I didn’t have to make up a story. But disappointment took over as I tried to imagine what place, if any, I held in her heart. Maybe to her I was a kongpi, and the thoughts of a kongpi are kongpi, as are the eccentricities of a kongpi, so there was no need to give me another thought.

  At the People’s Barbershop I was able to probe the rumours I’d heard about Huixian. Given the infrequency of my trips ashore, the accuracy of my research was about one in ten thousand. There were times when I wished I were one of those swivelling chairs, so I could be with Huixian morning, noon and night. Or I wished I were her scissors, always in the vicinity of people’s heads, wondering who they were and if they’d really come for a haircut, or were just pretending. Why did some people keep dawdling until they could get her to cut their hair? They talked about anything and everything, and they could well have been flirting. I needed to keep a close eye on them. My eyes were a camera focused only on Huixian. My ears were a phonograph, with the same intent. Too bad my time ashore was so limited, and my camera and phonograph had such restricted functions. When I was there, Huixian was so close, but still I was unable to glean any secrets of her heart.

  The women who came to the barbershop talked mostly of romance and marriage. I found their wagging tongues valuable, but they could never stay on one topic long enough. They were eager to pry into her private life. Did she have a mate picked out, they wondered aloud. Is the boy you’ve chosen really in Beijing? That’d get my antennae twitching. But when they saw she wasn’t interested in talking to them, they’d switch to the weather, or ask about the latest hair-styles. What would look best for my face, Huixian? I had to bite my tongue to keep from reminding them that no hair-style could improve their looks. Ask more questions, go on, ask her who the boy is. They couldn’t hear me, of course, and they only wanted to talk about hair-styles. The camera in my eyes was secretly aimed at Huixian, the phonograph in my ears went on strike, and I angrily shut it down.

  I once ran into Zhao Chunmei at the barbershop. She was wearing white high-heels and holding a white handbag as she sat in one of the barber’s chairs, waiting for Old Cui to do her hair. She’d aged a bit, but had lost neither her charm nor her spite and resentment. I didn’t recognize her at first, but she knew who I was right away. ‘What’s he doing here?’ she demanded.

  Before Old Cui could reply, Huixian laughed. ‘What’s he doing here? Good question. This is the People’s Barbershop. He counts as “people”, and he’s here to have his hair cut.’

  Zhao Chunmei snorted. ‘The people – him? If he is, then there are no class enemies. Do you know that he writes counter-revolutionary slogans? Mostly targeting my brother!’

  Enemies are bound to meet on narrow roads. It was an awkward encounter. Coming face to face with women who’d had relationships with my father not only made me blush, but threw my heart into turmoil. I still recalled their names, those few people who had been instrumental in my sexual initiation. Now those ageing faces, thickening waists and limbs, and cellulite-laden buttocks brought shame on those wonderful, moving, desirable, tantalizing names. I was ashamed to let my mind dwell on thoughts of their sexual encounters with Father, but then his reminder was confirmed: my crotch underwent an unexpected occurrence, as my wayward organ broke loose from my underwear and subtle changes appeared in the creases of my trousers. All of a sudden, I had trouble breathing. I thought I could see my father’s bizarre penis; after surgery, it had sort of regained its original appearance, but it was still ugly, comical even. Why had this mark of shame been transplanted on to my body? Crushed by unimaginable terror, I held tightly to the smock and could not hold up my head. I heard Huixian’s voice – she was defending me. ‘Don’t get involved in class struggle and political issues,’ she was saying. ‘Opposing Chairman Mao or the Communist Party, now that’s counter-revolutionary. He was opposing Secretary Zhao, an ordinary section chief, so nothing written about him can be considered counter-revolutionary.’

  With a click of her tongue, Zhao Chunmei turned and attacked Huixian. ‘What are you to him?’ she demanded. ‘Who are you to defend him? An official? What sort of political stance do you call that? Writing about my brother isn’t counter-revolutionary, is that what you’re saying? Are you trying to stir up the masses in opposition to leaders of the Party?’

  ‘Don’t try to stick that label on to me! Your brother is not the Party, and opposing him is not opposing the Party.’ There was anger in Huixian’s voice as she picked up a brush and began tapping it against the back of her chair. ‘Why take your anger out on me? Who am I to him? Who is he to me? I’ve got no mother and no father, so who is anybody to me? Nobody! But you can’t stop me from saying what’s fair. Chairman Mao has said the masses have the right to state their opinions, so who is Secretary Zhao to keep the masses from voicing theirs?’

  ‘That’s not opinion, that’s rumour!’ Knowing she was not going to win an argument with Huixian, Zhao Chunmei turned back to me. ‘No, it wasn’t a rumour,’ she shouted, ‘it was a venomous attack. All the time, that’s what he did, write lies all over the place, like: “Zhao Chuntang is an alien class element”, which had a widespread pernicious effect. Even grammar-school children were asking, “What’s an alien class element?”’

  The shop went quiet, as people pondered the meaning of alien class element.

  I saw that slogan everywhere too, but still didn’t know what it meant. Little Chen was the first to voice his confusion. ‘What does alien mean?’ he asked me. ‘How about explaining it to us.’

  I refused his request. ‘Who am I to explain anything? Besides, I didn’t write it, so why should I be the one to explain?’

  ‘If you didn’t write it, who did?’ Zhao Chunmei bellowed. ‘You haven’t got the guts to own up to your own deeds! You’re like your father, hiding in dark corners to spread rumours, sling mud and act like a hooligan.’

  I sat there affecting the ‘a real man doesn’t fight with a woman’ pose. Old Cui considered alien class elements on a par with morally bankrupt elements, while Teacher Qian from the Milltown high school announced authoritatively that alien class elements were the same as degenerates. You could have heard a pin drop. But Little Chen wasn’t quite finished. ‘What do you say, Kongpi? Does it mean the same as degenerate?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I replied ambiguously, ‘but not quite. Alien class element is a more serious label, I think.’

  Before I could elaborate on my vague comment, Zhao Chunmei jumped out of her chair and rushed over, blind with anger. ‘What do you mean, morally bankrupt and degenerate? My brother is a good and decent man and an upright official. Your father is the morally bankrupt and degenerate one. Go back and tell him that cutting off half his dick means nothing, and even if he’d cut it all off and turned himself into a eunuch, that wouldn�
��t mean anything either. He’s a sex fiend, a liar, a bastard, and a criminal who will never hold his head up in society again! Listen, everyone, here’s the latest news. Ku Wenxuan palmed himself off as the descendant of a martyr for decades, but now we know that he is not Deng Shaoxiang’s son, he’s the son of the river pirate Old Qiu. The woman they call Rotten Rapeseed was his mother, not Deng Shaoxiang. Before Liberation she was a riverboat prostitute.’

  Silence settled over the shop. Customers and barbers alike were tongue-tied. But only momentarily. Like oil popping in a pan, one person spun around in his swivel chair, while others tried but failed to stifle giggles as a frenzy of whispering began. Huixian was the first to come to my defence. ‘Have you gone mad, Zhao Chunmei?’ she demanded. ‘Your mouth is going to get you into trouble. Even if their whole family are your mortal enemies, you still don’t have the right to say whatever you want about their ancestors. You could bring the wrath of the heavens down on your head.’

  ‘Did I say anything about their ancestors?’ Zhao shot back. ‘I don’t have time to waste on that, even if could. I’m telling you, people, it’s confidential information, but my brother says that the next time Ku tries to file an appeal, my brother will go public with it.’

  It took Old Cui and Little Chen, plus some of the customers, to keep me from charging at Zhao Chunmei. ‘Calm down,’ they said. ‘Don’t fly off the handle. Don’t demean yourself by reacting to a woman’s empty-headed talk. If it’s confidential information, it could be true, it could be false. We’re the only ones who heard it, and it won’t go any further. You’re OK with that, aren’t you?’

  Working together, they managed to bundle me out of the shop, followed by Zhao Chunmei’s shrewish comments. ‘Where are you taking him?’ she said. ‘Bring him back in here. I want him here, so I can settle things with him once and for all. And if he lays a hand on me, I’ll see him punished by law.’

  There was no calming me down. I fired off a stream of filthy, almost hysterical curses, which drew the attention of passers-by on the street. Holding my arm with all his might, Old Cui shouted to Huixian, ‘Come out here, I can’t hold him. He’ll listen to you.’

  She ran out and glared at me. ‘Do you think that kind of filthy talk makes you a man? Why provoke her? You can’t win with a woman like that, especially with what your father owes her. So leave now before a crowd starts to gather and she goes into broadcast mode, blaring the news to anyone who’ll listen. Put yourself in your father’s position. Do you think he could stand it if this news reached him?’

  Huixian’s advice calmed me down, and I decided to avoid further conflict. I walked across the street to the cotton-fluffing shop to wait for Zhao Chunmei to come outside. I hated her with a passion. The shop’s proprietor came out to ask what was going on, but the look in my eyes sent her scurrying back inside, afraid of what I might do.

  I waited a long time, but no Zhao Chunmei. Huixian came out with a kettle. ‘Still here? What fiendish plan are you cooking up? Are you going to confront her alone out here? I tell you, calm down. A real man would not fight with a woman. So what does that make you?’

  I shook my head. ‘You water your flowers and don’t worry about me.’ To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was waiting for Zhao Chunmei. What was I going to say to her? I hadn’t decided. What did I plan to do to her? Nothing, given my timid nature. I watched Huixian water her plants; a new sunflower bloomed, its golden petals having burst open so it could stand tall, fresh and tender. It was velvety soft and immature, and I saw Huixian smile as she looked at it.

  My gaze was fixed on a young woman and a single sunflower, so when Zhao Chunmei came out of the barbershop, I didn’t know what to do. She was several metres away when she turned and spat on the ground. For me that was like waking from a dream.

  I made up my mind to follow her. Not to retaliate or scare her – the loathing I felt for her took a new direction. I resolved to make her tell me everything, so I could learn the true secret of Father’s legacy once and for all.

  It didn’t take long for Zhao Chunmei to realize that I was following her, and she took that as a threat. At first she kept turning around and rolling her eyes at me, a sign of contempt, but as the distance between us narrowed, fear crept in, and she grabbed a mop that was drying in the sun outside a house and pointed it at me. ‘What’s made you so bold all of a sudden? Why are you following me in broad daylight? Come on,’ she said, ‘I don’t care what you’re planning, just come on.’

  I gestured for her to calm down. ‘What’s got you so worked up? I just want to ask you something.’

  ‘I’ve seen lots of people like you,’ she said. ‘I’m not worked up. If you’ve got something to say, spit it out; if you’ve got gas, let it out.’

  ‘Not here,’ I said. ‘Let’s go somewhere where there aren’t so many people.’

  Once again she got the wrong idea. Her eyes blazed as she raised the dripping mop over her head and was about to hit me in the face. ‘Somewhere where there aren’t so many people? It’ll still belong to the Communist Party, even if there’s nobody there. You think I’m afraid you’ll try to kill me?’

  I had to keep moving to stay out of range of the mop. ‘Why don’t you put that down? Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. I just want to clarify something. You said my father is Rotten Rapeseed’s son. Where’s your proof?’

  ‘I don’t need proof, my brother is Zhao Chuntang, a Party leader. Whatever he says is all the proof anyone needs.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ I said. ‘If he spouts nonsense in his sleep, is that proof? I’m asking you, how does Zhao Chuntang know that my father is Rotten Rapeseed’s son? Can he prove it?’

  She blinked and pondered my question for a moment before laughing smugly and saying, ‘He’s a leading official, so of course he can prove it. He read it in a top-secret document.’

  Zhao Chunmei’s expression told me everything I needed to know: that what she said was not an empty rumour. My heart fell as I imagined Zhao Chuntang opening a manila envelope with ‘Top Secret’ stamped mysteriously in red. I imagined what the document said: Upon investigation, it has been revealed that Ku Wenxuan is the son of the river pirate Old Qiu and the prostitute Rotten Rapeseed. Effective immediately, make appropriate changes in all the materials in Ku Wenxuan’s dossier and terminate all financial benefits for a martyr’s family member. Then an almost paralysing fear and boiling anger hit me, and I began to quake. Top-secret document? That’s not what it was; it was a death-dealing document, and I didn’t believe it. Could they change an orphan’s parentage so easily? – a martyr one day and a prostitute or a bandit the next? I didn’t believe a ridiculous document like that existed. At that moment I was reminded of the birthmark on Father’s backside. Maybe it had never been a mark of glory, but of sin! Could he ever atone for his sin? My poor father, my self-confident father, my atoning father, all that remained to him in this world was a single barge. He had gone into hiding on the river, and if this shameful news were ever to reach him, where could he hide then?

  I despaired for my father and, lacking any other course of action, decided to negotiate with Zhao Chunmei. ‘Aunty Zhao –’ Hearing my own voice, soft, supplicating, ingratiating, I was incredulous. Was that me?

  She looked as surprised as I was, her eyes big and round. ‘So now you’re calling me Aunty, are you? Sounds strange to my ears.’ She snorted and produced a little sarcastic smile. ‘Well, it won’t do you any good. I can’t save your father, and wouldn’t if I could.’

  ‘I’m begging you, Aunty Zhao. You have to leave him a reason to live. You’re driving him to his death.’

  ‘Who is? Don’t you put that on me! You never heard me say that pretending to be a martyr’s son or being the son of Rotten Rapeseed was a death sentence. Take my word for it, the organization has treated him as well as he deserves, and my brother has showered him with kindness. Even after committing a crime of that magnitude, he still draws his pay and receives his food rations. And don’
t forget, he has a barge, so you have no reason to be dissatisfied with your lot.’

  ‘I’m begging you, Aunty Zhao, please don’t lump Old Qiu and Rotten Rapeseed together with my father, and please don’t go spreading this around.’

  ‘I’ve spread nothing. It’s confidential information, and if you hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t have brought it up.’

  ‘Please, Aunty Zhao, go to Zhao Chuntang and, if this top-secret document really exists, ask him not to go public with it.’

  ‘I can’t do that. I’m not my brother’s superior. What makes you think he’d listen to me?’ She rested the mop against the wall, enjoying the taste of victory. I heard her breathe a sigh. ‘I hear you’re a dutiful son,’ she said. ‘Too bad you have to be dutiful to a father like him!’

  She walked away and I fell in behind her. She wasn’t getting rid of me that easily, and was obviously growing anxious. She turned into Cotton Print Lane and sort of jogged in the direction of the Milltown police station. ‘You’re worse than your father,’ she said without slowing down. ‘Come on, follow me – I’ll even let you catch up – all the way to the police station, where we’ll see what they have to say about all this.’

  That worked. The last place I wanted to be was a police station, so I stopped following her. Standing in the entrance to Cotton Print Lane, I saw several old men sitting on stools at a table they’d set up in the sunlight next to a water-boiling tiger oven. They were drinking tea and passing the time of day. Spotting me and knowing at once who I was, they began talking in hushed voices. ‘That’s Ku’s son,’ one of them said. ‘He used to swagger around town, but no longer. Now he walks with his tail between his legs.’ The other oldster, who gossiped like a woman, was passing judgement on my appearance. ‘As a boy he looked like Qiao Limin, but the older he gets, the more he takes after Ku Wenxuan, with that hang-dog look.’ I’d forgotten their names, but I knew who their sons and daughters were. The one with the bulging growth on his neck was Scabby Five’s father. A retired blacksmith, he kept spitting on the ground and smearing his spit with the sole of his shoe. The other man was the father of Little Chen, the barber. He’d worked at the public baths, where he was in charge of cleaning bathers’ ears and trimming their corns, until he managed to pull the right strings to get a transfer to the piers as a longshoreman, although he still plied his old trade, clearing the ears and trimming the corns of high officials after hours. I recalled the days when he’d show up at our place with a little wooden box to perform his services on my father.