The Long March Home

by Zoë S. Roy

  “Yes,” Yezi said, feeling her chest tighten.

  “Why?”

  “He brings happiness to the people. He’s our saviour,” she recited what she had learned in her Chinese class.

  Principal Wu got up from her chair and approached Yezi. She smiled at her benevolently. “If other people ask you these questions, give the same answers. Will you remember?”

  “Yes, I will.” Dismissed, Yezi left the office.

  She returned to the classroom, but was troubled. Back at her desk, she did not even hear what Jian had asked her until she felt a nudge on her arm. “Where have you been?”

  “I — I went…”

  “I saw you come from the principal’s office,” said Jian.

  “What happened?” asked a boy sitting behind her.

  “She must’ve done something wrong!” another boy next to Yezi shouted. “Tell us what you did!”

  A girl said, “It must be related to the anti-revolutionary slogan.”

  “It was not me!” Yezi raised her voice in answer to her classmates, most of who were now looking at her with suspicion. She buried her head under her arms on her desk like an ostrich with its head in the sand. She whimpered, “I did nothing wrong.”

  “Who did it?” several voices questioned.

  Jian answered for Yezi in a firm tone, “She didn’t do it.”

  Yezi was comforted by Jian’s voice, but the boy next to Yezi yelled, “Yes she did it, she did it!”

  “No! You’re the one who played around the ping-pong table that day!” Jian protested. Like other students, she had heard the gossip about the slogan having been written on the ping-pong table.

  “How dare you say that? I’ll beat you up!” the boy screamed.

  At that instant, the teacher of political studies entered the room. “Time for class! Be quiet!” he roared.

  Then, he stared at Jian and another student who were still arguing. “You two get out of here!” His hand pointing to the door, he ordered, “Go to the office of the workers’ leader right now.” Then he scanned the class and stared at Yezi, asking impatiently. “What are you crying about?”

  “She was the one who wrote the anti-revolution slogan on the ping pong table,” another student said.

  “What?” the teacher gasped. “Yezi! Stand up and confess your crime!”

  “I did not do it.” Yezi insisted, her legs trembling. She stood, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her face paled. Strands of hair stuck to her wet cheeks.

  The teacher slapped the desk. “Who did it?”

  The children looked at one another, confusion and fright in their eyes. But, at that moment, the words of Teacher Li echoed in their minds: “The Chinese shouldn’t scold the Chinese.” They answered in unison, “We don’t know.”

  The teacher raised his eyebrows. “Yezi, go to the leader’s office! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Yezi answered, collecting her book bag. She left her seat, her face red, her eyes still full of tears.

  The teacher said, “Let’s read Chairman Mao’s directive on class and class struggle. Open the Red Book. Turn to page ninety-nine and look at the second paragraph.”

  When Yezi stepped out of the classroom, she heard different voices reading Mao’s words aloud behind her: “We should support whatever the enemy opposes and oppose whatever the enemy supports.”

  Who are our real enemies? Yezi wondered, gripped with fear.

  At home, Sang was finishing his lunch. After peering up and down at the road again, Yao asked, “Are you sure you didn’t see Yezi on your way home?”

  “Nope. I already told you twice.”

  “I can’t wait any more. I must try to find her,” Yao said, wiping her forehead with a corner of her apron. She walked along the road toward the school filled with anxiety.

  On her way to the school, she checked every corner of every garden calling in each direction: “Yeeh-zee! Where are you?” Her gruff voice reverberated around the campus. As she reached the elementary schoolyard, her legs were weak, and tears and sweat poured down her face.

  Peering into every door she passed, Yao found only closed classrooms with empty seats. Suddenly Yao detected a woman’s shout from inside an office. “Do you hear me? You must confess if you want to go home!”

  Yao dashed toward the room. Through the window, she recognized the solemn face of a middle-aged woman, the Workers’ Propaganda Team leader, sitting behind a desk, her face stern, her lips pursed in anger. The frightened Yezi sat on a chair in front of the desk, her head bent low over her lap. Her shoulders were trembling. My God! There’s my baby!

  Yao knocked loudly on the door and pushed it open before the leader had time to respond. Darting toward Yezi, she pulled her from the chair and enfolded her in her arms. “Little One! What’re you doing here?”

  Startled by the action of the heavy-set, gray-haired woman, the leader’s eyes widened. She asked, “Who on earth are you?”

  “Yezi is my girl. I look after her. Who are you?” Yao responded.

  “I’m the workers’ leader. She did—”

  Yao had heard that the workers’ leader could give orders to the principal, because the working class under Mao was of a higher rank than educated people. She also knew that as a peasant during this revolution she would not be questioned. “I’m from a poor peasant’s family,” she said loudly, puffing her chest out and standing as straight as she could. She knew it was also important to praise Mao. Her gruff voice rose, “Chairman Mao is our savior. How can you become a leader without Chairman Mao?” Yao wanted to remind her that both of them were from the same class, and she knew these were words she could utter without fear of reprisal.

  Flabbergasted, the leader asked, “What are you talking about?”

  Yao’s mind went blank, not knowing what else to add. Determined to get the child out of there, she tried again. “Because of Chairman Mao, I’ve lived a better life. Now Yezi needs to come home and eat her lunch.”

  “Her mother is an anti-revolutionary!” The leader scowled.

  “But the child is not. She has grown up with me.” Yao was firm, her eyes glaring at the leader.

  “Why are you loyal to this anti-revolutionary family?” asked the leader, standing up. She drew in a breath. “Your loyalty to the family is wrong.”

  “I don’t know that,” answered Yao, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “This little girl has been living with me since she was an infant, and she’s done nothing wrong.”

  The leader came face to face with Yao, her finger jabbing at Yao’s shoulder. “Do you read Chairman Mao’s work? He teaches us, ‘Mercy to the enemy means cruelty to the people.’” Gripping Yao’s arm with her hand, the leader hissed, “Don’t you think you are cruel to people like me from the proletariat class when you pity and stand beside the enemy?”

  “I’m illiterate. I can’t read Mao’s great work. But what if this child were your daughter—”

  “She’s not my daughter,” the leader sputtered.

  “If she were yours, I’d take her under my wing, too.” Yao turned to the leader. “I beg you— I’ll get down on my knees if you wish,” she said and stooped.

  “What are you doing?” The leader shook with anger as she tried to pull Yao up, her teeth chattering.

  “Please let her go. She’s a harmless child.” As Yao pulled Yezi toward the leader, she motioned for her to kneel down beside her. Yezi’s eyes were fixed on the small sparrows that were hopping on the window ledge behind the leader’s desk. They looked as though they too were apprehensive and not sure what to do.

  The leader trod back to her chair and exhaled. “Fine! I’ll let her go. But you must know that her parents are our enemies!” The workers’ leader could punish any person hired by the school, but she was unsure what she could
do to this unlettered old woman from a poor peasant’s family, a member of her own class.

  “Thank you. I’ll pray for you and ask Buddha to bless you,” Yao entwined her hands, raising them up and down, and then bowed her head to show her appreciation. Then she pulled Yezi’s arm. “Thank the mistress.”

  “Thank you,” Yezi mumbled.

  Holding back tears, Yao looked down at the crying girl, and pulled her gently to her feet. “Come on, little one, let’s go home.”

  10.

  SECRET HIDEOUT

  YEZI FOLLOWED YAO OUT OF the office into the sunny yard. The sunlight blinded her drained, red-rimmed eyes. But other senses overwhelmed her: hunger and weariness, embarrassment and fear. Did my mother feel like this, too?

  On the way home, she encountered several students returning for afternoon classes. Afraid of any gossip about her detention, she evaded them by walking behind Yao.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Yao said, pulling Yezi’s hand closer.

  It was 2:00 p.m. when they sat down at the table for lunch. Still dizzy, Yezi ate little. “I don’t feel like going back to school, Popo Yao. I only want to sleep.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell your teacher you’re ill.”

  Yezi climbed into bed and closed her eyes. Her heart thudded painfully, and a scene from the last year played out in her mind.

  During their visit to the Wildcat Valley Labour Camp, Yezi could not help but ask her mother, “Are you anti-revolutionary?”

  “What do you think?” her mother had replied, and smiled, her voice weak.

  “People say you are, but I don’t want you to be.”

  “Neither do I, but…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s hard for me to answer your question. But you should know that I am not an anti-revolutionary. I am Chinese, just like you and Sang and Dahai, and your father. Now let’s talk about you. Are you a well-behaved girl?”

  “I am. I am. But people think I’m bad because you and Baba are locked up,” Yezi muttered.

  Her mother sighed, and then cupped Yezi’s head in her small but rough hands. She smoothed strands of hair from Yezi’s eyes, tucking them behind her ear. “Your father isn’t locked up. He works at the mine, and lives in the camp. He gets paid.”

  Sang pulled Yezi’s sleeve, a scowl on his face. “Those people are wrong. Facts will tell them who we are.”

  Meihua looked up at Sang with a wry smile. “I am so sorry that you are suffering too…” Squeezing her daughter’s hand, she added, “Both of you are blameless. Remember that. Continue to be excellent students. I am so proud of you both, and your father is too.”

  Yezi could not take her eyes away from her mother’s face. Her mother’s eyes were brimming with tears, and Yezi was in anguish at the thought that she might have been the cause of her mother’s sorrow. She did not want to ask any further questions. She hugged her mother tightly and said, “We are proud of you too, Mama.”

  Before saying goodbye, her mother gave Yao a small cloth bag. “Inside there’s something for all of you. An inmate taught me how to knit. Now, please don’t all laugh at my poor knitting skills!”

  “Where did you get the yarn?” Yao asked, peering into the bag. “The colour looks familiar.”

  “From my unravelled sweater. Doesn’t everything look nice?” Meihua said. A smile seemed to smooth away the wrinkles on her forehead.

  “But now you don’t have enough clothes for yourself,” Yao said with a sigh, patting Meihua’s hand.

  “Don’t worry about me. My double-layered jacket still keeps me warm in winter.”

  Eager to see what was in the bag, Yezi had drawn the items out. “Oh, what pretty socks!” They were brown and white, and they looked warm and cozy. “Thanks, Mama,” she said, pulling them on right away. They fit well, and she delighted in wiggling her toes at her mother. They had left then, each holding on to their mother’s gift as if for dear life.

  But the same question continued to trouble her: Is my mother anti-revolutionary? The question felt like a chisel digging an endless hole in her heart.

  Yezi lay in bed. Eyes swollen, she tossed and turned, unable to get thoughts of her mother out of her mind. Is Mama innocent? If she’s evil, why does she ask us to listen to Chairman Mao and read his books? And even if she is evil, why do the people think we are evil, too? Finally she dozed off, but she tossed and turned throughout the night.

  In her dream, she changed once again into a swallow. This time, she was flapping her wings in a sleet storm. Wet and tired, her feet were leaden. Glimpsing the sun beginning to rise from behind a mountain, she decided to fly toward it. Although her wings ached, she soared toward the heat and light. Her heart swelled with delight and hope as she watched the sun grow larger and brighter. All at once, she heard a flat, low voice coming from some place she could not see: “You’re not wanted.” Tilting her head, she struggled to see who was speaking, but the force of the sunbeams prevented her from opening her eyes. Blindly gliding, she hit something hard and felt herself swirl downward and into a deep hole. Shaking her wings, she attempted to fly out, but in vain. She woke up, feeling like a tiny black swallow with broken, useless wings.

  A familiar voice called out, “I have a fried egg with noodles for you.” Yao lifted the curtain and came in.

  Yezi sat up. “How come you have an egg?”

  “I borrowed it from Granny Yu.”

  Taking the bowl, Yezi bit into her first egg in many weeks. She was hungry and it tasted so good.

  Later, after school, Jian came to see her. Eagerly, she asked Yezi to come with her to their hideout.

  Delighted to see Jian and happy to be invited to play, Yezi felt much better. She nodded, clasping Jian’s hand. “I can’t go right now, but I’ll see you there tomorrow. I’ll show you some pictures I’ve drawn,” she said.

  Sang overheard them talking excitedly. After Jian left, he asked, “Where is your hide-out?”

  Joining him at the table, Yezi said, “I can’t tell you because it’s our secret.”

  He looked solemn as he said, “Be very careful. Have you already laughed away the incident of the ping-pong table?”

  “It’s not a real hide-out,” she frowned. “It’s only a small lean-to we made with a bunch of branches. They were cut down in Jian’s yard.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “We sit there, and talk, and look at insects and share pictures.”

  “Okay then. I heard about the leader’s talk with you. Even though she knows you had nothing to do with the anti-revolutionary slogan, you still have to be careful.” Sang took his sister’s hands in his, and said, “I am going to tell you a secret. It will cheer you up. Mama might be discharged before her sentence expires.” He was elated. He couldn’t stop the grin that swept over his face.

  “Really? Oh my,” Yezi gasped. She could not believe her ears. “Oh! That would be so great!”

  “Yeah! Mama is innocent, you know,” Sang said. His eyes beaming, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and leaning close, he whispered, “The people who put her behind bars have fallen out of power now. Mama will be home very soon.”

  Grasping her brother’s arm, Yezi looked at her brother and pleaded, “This is true, right? It’s true!”

  “It’s true, yes, but we will have to wait and see.”

  The next Sunday, Yezi got up early to help Yao with chores. From behind the door, Yao dragged out her treasures: a basketful of split tomatoes, leftover red peppers and green beans she had bought at a discount price. She cut away the blemished parts, and placed them in the large pot that Yezi would take to the communal sinks. Yezi then washed the vegetables in an enamel basin and when she returned, she placed each in different containers as Yao instructed.

  Yezi told Yao what she had heard from her brother,
but Yao just said, “I know, but I won’t believe until I see it. I’ve been waiting for that news for a long time.” She didn’t lift her eyes from the vegetables she was chopping.

  An hour later, when everything was ready for cooking, Yezi asked, “Can I go hang out with Jian now?”

  “As long as you don’t stay out too long.” Yao nodded, and then set one of the pots on the stove.

  Running across the road, Yezi headed to their hideout and slipped in quietly. Jian was already waiting inside, using a stack of bricks as a stool. Yezi found a couple more bricks and stacked them together for her stool. Jian pointed to another pile of bricks that was blanketed by a large piece of white paper trimmed with scalloped edges. “This is our table.”

  “Wow! That’s fantastic,” Yezi said, placing the heap of drawings she had brought with her on the makeshift table. Then she proudly presented them one by one to Jian.

  Unexpectedly, a boy’s voice called out, “Jian, where are you?”

  “Shhh!” Jian placed her finger over her mouth.

  They both stretched their heads toward the gaps between the branches and spied a boy about thirteen loitering in the yard. “Ha! He doesn’t know where we are,” Jian whispered delightedly, as the teenager turned and started walk away. Impulsively, she shouted, “Ming!”

  Ming turned his head, scanning the yard. He turned his head from one side to the other, and spotting no one, continued on his way. Yezi giggled and decided to play the same trick by calling out to a girl who had just come out of one of the nearby units “Yes, who is this?” the girl responded, eyeing the area. Not seeing anyone, she left the yard, baffled.

  When Jian’s mother stepped out of their unit with a tote bag in her hand, Jian tried calling out to her. But her mother was not easily fooled and quickly located her daughter’s voice from the shelter. “Jian! I know you are there!” Her mother trotted over to them.

  “No, Mama. I beg you.” Jian laughed. “I am not here!”

  “Okay,” replied her mother, turning to stride out of the yard. “But you must finish your homework before going anywhere else.”