by Hua Bai
E was saying, “I discovered the truth at last. I pieced
together the tips I gathered from my right and left sides, ridding them of falsity to seek the truth.…”
D cut in with a strained voice: “If you had learned how to get rid of falsity to seek the truth earlier, I wouldn’t be in prison.”
E struck back: “Do you want to hear it or not? D, what a damned fool you are! Okay, I’ll shut up and let you tell the tale.”
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A, B, and C said in chorus, “Go on, go on. Don’t take it personally.”
E insisted, “Okay, I’ll go on, provided nobody interrupts me again.”
“Don’t be so fussy.”
“This little girl called Lingzi is six years and forty-five days old.…”
“Show off!” D cut in again.
“No, I just want to be accurate. On the night of her sixth birthday, her grandma was boiling an egg for her in the
kitchen. The little darling had to play all by herself in the room, practicing the paper folding Grandma had taught
her. As Grandma dropped the boiled egg into cold water for easy shelling, she heard a terrible smashing sound and
thought that little Lingzi had broken their only thermos:
‘Good lord, there’s a thermos shortage in the market nowadays. What will I do?’ When she came in to have a look, she reeled in horror: Little Lingzi had created a terrible disaster.
She wished Lingzi had smashed their thermos. But the sound was of Chairman Mao’s sacred plaster statue shatter-ing into bits. Holding a folded paper boat, Lingzi stood blaming Mao, as if he had made the trouble: ‘Look at you!
Just look at what a mess you’ve made!’ It took a while before Grandma, who had collapsed, came to and realized how critical the situation was. She picked herself up and bolted the door and then staggered around to find a sheet of red paper with which to gather the debris carefully, all the while begging forgiveness. After putting the wrapped debris under the bed, she held little Lingzi in her arms and whispered,
‘Lingzi, why didn’t you break anything else but him? ’
Lingzi said with dignity, ‘I wasn’t trying to break anything.
I was trying to put this cap on Grandpa Mao. I was afraid he might catch cold.’ Panic-stricken Grandma tried to cover Lingzi’s mouth, but in her haste she covered her eyes
instead, and the little girl’s voice grew even louder. Aware of her mistake, she moved her hand down. ‘Lingzi, Don’t talk 2 3 2
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like that! If people hear you, they’ll never let you get away with it. You know your father is doing labor reform in Xinjiang, your mother is in a cadre school, and your grandma’s class status is bad.’ Pulling Grandma’s bony hand from her mouth, Lingzi asked secretively, ‘What’s class status?’
Grandma sighed. ‘Don’t ask. Listen, never tell anybody
about the statue.’ Lingzi obviously understood the gravity of the situation and she nodded her little head. ‘Grandma, I won’t. But what about Grandpa Mao?’ Grandma said,
‘None of your business. I can – Grandma will ask Chairman Mao’s forgiveness for you. I can – ’
“She racked her brains for suitable words to explain what she could do. While she was muttering, she helped Lingzi get undressed and tucked the shivering child under the
quilt. Sitting by the bed, she chanted her plea for forgiveness while patting the child to sleep. As soon as Lingzi fell asleep, Grandma started maneuvering. She took the plaster debris from under the bed and put it in a grocery basket.
She caught herself as she was about to leave, realizing her stupidity. At this time of the day, going out with a grocery basket definitely would invite suspicion. Bad idea. She put down the basket and placed the plaster debris into a dustbin. No sooner had she dropped it in than she realized her sacrilege. How could she throw the great leader’s sacred statue into a dustbin? When it was discovered, she would be either butchered or shot. Old Grandma was caught in a
dilemma. She wanted to cry, but this was no time to cry. She wanted to curse her daughter who was away in a cadre
school. But she had enough hardships for one person.
Besides, she did not know what was happening here. How
could she be held to blame? If Grandma blamed her daugh-
ter for having had Lingzi, her daughter could turn around and blame Grandma for having had her.
“In the end, she had no choice but to wrap a few clothes in a sheet, hide the debris inside, and go out, where she ran into her neighbor, Second Aunt Zhang. Her heart jumped
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to her throat, and she wanted to go back inside, but it was too late. ‘Lingzi’s Grandma, what are you doing out at
night?’ ‘You see, early tomorrow a colleague of Lingzi’s mother is going back to the cadre school. I want him to take a few clothes for her. Even though it’s late, I think I’d better make the trip.’ ‘Has Lingzi gone to sleep yet?’ ‘Yes.’ Feigning neighborliness, Second Aunt Zhang squeezed the
wrapped clothes, almost scaring Grandma’s soul away. But with a great effort, she steadied herself and moved on. Like a lost soul, Grandma roamed the streets. Although she passed quite a few trash cans, she didn’t have the heart to throw the debris into any of them. Pity there was no river in town –
she could let the pure water carry the debris away. In the small hours of the morning there wasn’t a soul in the street.
Occasionally a dog darted out of a trash can and scared
Grandma into crying for the goddess of mercy. Calling on the goddess three times, she realized she had committed
another crime, slapped her own face, and then recited Chairman Mao’s quotation: ‘Be resolute. Fear not death and overcome all difficulties to seize victory.’ The more you fear the devil, the more likely the devil will catch you. Like a devil digging a well, Grandma found herself in front of her own house after a whole night’s wandering. If she did not go in, the day would break, and, if Second Aunt Zhang questioned her whereabouts during the night, she would never be able to explain herself clearly. The first trash can she had seen when she stepped out of the house stood right before her. If she did not throw the debris in now, it would be too late. So she nervously dusted the plaster debris from the folded
clothes into the trash tank. Looking around, she saw that no one was watching, so she dashed away as if she had thrown a bomb. There was no one at her door. Inside she found Lingzi still asleep. Thank heavens, she had gotten rid of it at last!
‘Sinful, sinful. No. I mustn’t say that.’ How should she describe her deed? She could not find a fitting expression.
She went to bed in her day clothes, murmuring, ‘Chairman 2 3 4
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Mao, Chairman Mao, tomorrow I’ll buy another sacred
statue of yours. No, I shouldn’t use the vulgar term buy, but the respectful term invite. I shall invite another sacred statue and restore you to the altar.’ She gradually calmed herself down and closed her eyes.
“When she opened her eyes again, she found the sun
already high in the sky. She hurried up and got Lingzi
dressed, washed, and combed. The radio was cheerfully
blasting the song, ‘Beijing Has a Golden Sun.’ She then
went out to stand in line after line for milk and vegetables.
She had to wait in three different lines to get cabbage, bean curd, and chicken claws. She could buy only the claws of chickens, not their meat, nor even their necks. Where were all the chicken legs and bodies? It was hard to understand why people in the countryside raised only chicken claws
without chickens. It seemed odd. Some people said the
chicken breasts were in tins. But where could one buy those tins? They w
ere not sold domestically but were transported to foreign countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Oh, I see, the chicken breasts have gone abroad to carry out a diplomatic mission. They were sacrificed for world revolution. How about chicken legs? They have entered special
supply depots. Why are they called depots of special supplies? Because they have only a limited quantity of special goods, which are sold only to customers of the proletarian headquarters. How many people can be regarded as customers of the proletarian headquarters? Only a few – a few in the capital, a few in the provinces, a few in the prefectures, and a few in the counties. Because chicken legs are only for the few, why so many chicken claws? Aren’t those claws
chopped from the chicken legs? Is it possible that one
chicken grows ten pairs of claws on a single leg?”
While E was expounding this puzzle in high spirits, A
cast a tiny stone right into his mouth. “Why are you
digressing? Show-off!”
“Ptui – ” Spitting out the stone, E said, “All right. No 2 3 5
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more digressions. Let us get to the tale: When Grandma
returned with her shopping basket, it was already half past nine. After preparing milk and a few cookies for Lingzi’s breakfast, she heated some leftover rice for herself. Lingzi ate slowly, listening to some Beijing opera on the radio:
‘Across the sea of clouds and through the snow-covered
fields.…’ Because across and wear share the same Chinese character, and the sea of clouds sounds in Chinese like yunhai, Lingzi was puzzled. She asked Grandma: ‘What does wear the sea of clouds mean?’ Having heard the song countless times and without trying to understand its meaning,
Grandma said, ‘Because the word chuan [wear] is used, yunhai [the sea of clouds], if not a blouse, must be a sort of trousers. If it were a hat, the word dai would be used.’ With half a cookie in her mouth, Lingzi thought hard, but with no result. About to ask again, she was stopped by an irritated Grandma. Putting down her chopsticks, Grandma lec-
tured her with a serious face: ‘Lingzi, do you know any other children as slow as you? If it takes an hour to finish your breakfast, when can our family find time to be revolution-ized? The neighborhood committee is going to ask me to
attend their daily study of Chairman Mao’s works pretty
soon.’ Actually, Grandma was saying all this in order to disguise her ignorance. She was afraid that Lingzi might ask her, ‘Because one can wear yunhai, is it corduroy or Dacron?’
A question like that would strike her speechless. Believing her slow eating would affect the revolution, Lingzi inserted the last half cookie into her mouth, and flapped her hands to signal she had finished. Grandma praised the child and
gathered up the dishes to wash. After doing the dishes, she sighed with relief and took off her apron. Just then, someone knocked at the door. She knew it must be Chairwoman
Qiu from the neighborhood committee. (She had previously been called Aunt Qiu, but since the Cultural Revolution
began, everyone had to address her by her official title.) Fumbling for a little stool, Grandma responded quickly,
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‘I’m coming, Chairwoman. I’m sorry I make you come for
me every morning. I should study Chairman Mao’s works
more actively. I’m a bit late because of my housework. You see, it takes almost an hour to feed little Lingzi. I’ll do some self-criticism. I’ll criticize myself in a deep, thorough way.’
The moment she grabbed the little stool in her hand, she heard, ‘Ma, please open the door.’ ‘Oh, it’s Lingzi’s mother.
Why did they let you come home before the end of the
month? Lingzi, quick! Your mother is home!’
“When she opened the door, her daughter came in, fol-
lowed by quite a few serious-looking people. Although
there was a big crowd, nobody dared draw a loud breath.
Lingzi’s mother took Lingzi into her arms and the child
asked, ‘Mama, who are they? Are they all my uncles?’ ‘Nonsense.’ Lingzi retorted, ‘It’s not nonsense. Doesn’t Tiemei say on the stage that our family has numerous uncles but none come until something important is up?’ Her legs turning rubbery, Grandma asked her daughter timidly, ‘What
has brought all these comrades come to our house?’ Lingzi’s mother replied, ‘I don’t really know. They brought me back in a car early this morning.’
“Grandma recognized a few among those rare visitors:
Second Aunt Zhang, Chairwoman Qiu, and Comrade Liu –
a policeman in charge of household registration – and Comrade Wang from the Security Department of her daughter’s farm. She saw Second Aunt steal around the house on tiptoe, sweeping every corner with her sharp eyes in the manner of Aunt Hong in the revolutionary ballet opera of that title. A sharp-chinned young man, prematurely wrinkled, with thin hair and invisible eyebrows, looked far from the image of a hero in the model operas, but his words overpowered his
enemy all the same. His slitlike eyes never opened wide but remained cast down all the time, fixing on your toes to keep you from escaping. He gave a slight cough. In the dead
silence of the house, his cough declared the importance of his presence. He knew perfectly the power of his pause – the 2 3 7
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silence of the moment speaks louder than words. After the pause, he said, ‘Comrades of the proletarian revolutionary factions.’ This address revealed the gravity of the situation.
In China, the manner of addressing your audience is
extremely important. Whether or not one is willing to call you a comrade is indicative of your status as one of the people. If you are addressed as ‘mister,’ you are put in the category of the bourgeoisie or bourgeois intellectuals. If the speaker addresses the whole audience as ‘revolutionary comrades’ or simply ‘comrades,’ the atmosphere will be relaxed.
The rank of comrades of the proletarian revolutionary factions is more restrictive, excluding people like Lingzi’s mother and grandmother.
“The authority of the proletarian revolutionary factions continued, ‘Supreme directive: “The reactionaries will not perish of themselves.” In the name of the combined revolutionary committee of police, public prosecutor, and court, I announce – ’ The combined committee of police, public
prosecutor, and court seemed to suit China best, because, even in the past when each had been a separate institution, they had acted uniformly under one man’s direction. Sorry, I’m footnoting again. The authority went on to say, ‘Today we cracked a big case, a serious case. Are there any cases bigger than this one? More serious than this one?’ Poor
Grandma’s face turned ghastly pale. ‘Our party’s policy
remains: “Leniency to those who confess and severe punishment to those who resist.” Now, Comrade Zhang, the secu-
rity chief of the neighborhood committee, will interrogate the suspect.’ Sitting on the corner of the square table, the Second Aunt Zhang began, ‘Supreme directive: “Clouds and waves are raging over the four seas; wind and thunders are storming across the five continents.” At this moment my
mind rages and storms like the four seas. Beware, you cow ghosts and snake-spirits. We will gather the thunderbolts of the five continents to blast every corner of your dark liver and rotten lungs. Guo-He shi!’ Who was this Guo-He shi?
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It was none other than Grandma, who was born without a
name and to whom they could attach only the surnames of
her husband’s family (Guo) and of her mother’s family (He) together as her name in the household registration. This name was used only in formal occasions. Because she had
&
nbsp; never heard this name before, she did not respond. Her
clever daughter, elbowing her, said, ‘Mother, they’re calling you.’ ‘Here!’ No one knew where Grandma had gotten her
military training, but she answered crisply like a soldier, even clicking her heels together. ‘Do you have a sacred
statue of Chairman Mao in the house?’ Dear me! Now what?
Too busy this morning to invite another one in. The pitiful old woman’s lips quivered for a minute and a half before she replied, ‘Yes. Whose family doesn’t have Chairman Mao’s
sacred statue?’ ‘Where is yours, then?’ Grandma’s head was spinning. ‘Who – who – who knows – where it went to?’
‘Who knows? Who knows what happened in your house?
You are the person who knows.’ Believing they had no criminal evidence, Grandma tried denial. ‘I really don’t know –
really don’t know.’ ‘Well, let her know then. Show it to her!’
Following the command, Comrade Liu took out a red
packet. Behind the paper, Grandma could see it was the
plaster debris she had thrown into the trash can. The broken pieces were pretty big. As soon as the paper was unfolded, one could discern the partial features of Chairman Mao’s face. Who in China is not familiar with Chairman Mao’s features? Broad brows and square face, an appearance of good fortune, with a mole on the lower chin. Grandma started
shaking. With her daughter’s support, she remained standing. She thought suddenly, Why didn’t I smash it into tiny bits? Of course she had not dared. She would die first before gaining the nerve to do it. ‘Is this what you dumped into the trash can in the middle of the night? Listen, we can find you guilty with or without a confession. In the late hours last night you stole onto the street with a bundle. You tried to deceive me by saying you were asking someone to take a 2 3 9
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few clothes to your daughter in the cadre school. Who did you ask? Where does she live? Can you give us her name? As a revolutionary, my vigilance is very high. I followed you and immediately saw that something was up by the way you wobbled. No sooner did your reactionary head touch your
pillow than I invited our great leader back piece by piece.