I Did Not Kill My Husband

by Liu Zhenyun

  “Put them in the back.”

  Li Xuelian glanced at her province’s delegates—they were all wearing People’s Congress badges—who were engaged in lively conversations. No one paid her any attention. From outside, the bus had looked full, but once she was inside, she saw that the back was empty. She finished loading just as the door shut behind her and the bus took off. The driver must have taken her for a member of the official party. Scared silly, she felt like shouting “Stop the bus!” but quickly changed her mind. They were going to the Great Hall of the People, which was on the west edge of Tiananmen Square—east edge to her, of course—so she’d be foolish to get off and squeeze aboard a bus heading to the same place; she’d also save the money. When they reached their destination, the delegates would walk to the Great Hall of the People to attend the Congress, while Li Xuelian would walk onto Tiananmen Square to stage her sit-in. This put no one out, so she sat back and enjoyed the ride.

  Since it was rush hour, any space not occupied by a vehicle was taken over by people. But her convoy sailed down the street, their way cleared by a police car. Every red light along the way turned green before they reached the intersection, while all other traffic was stopped to let them pass. The trip to Tiananmen took fifteen minutes. And when she looked around, she was immediately aware of the solemnity surrounding the National People’s Congress. Hers was not the only line of vehicles that had driven up. Cars and buses from more than thirty provinces, municipalities, and autonomous regions drove up from all directions. Dozens of policemen directed traffic around the hall. Their experience showed: in less than two hours, hundreds of vehicles were neatly parked just beyond the hall’s eastern gate. Then thousands of delegates, briefcases tucked under their arms, poured from the parked cars and happily made their way to the steps of the Great Hall of the People. Astounded, speechless, Li Xuelian remained on the bus after everyone else had piled out and the boxes had been removed. She looked around until the driver, still thinking she was one of the delegates, turned and said:

  “Why aren’t you going in?”

  That woke her up. If she could get inside the hall with the delegates, this protest would be a snap. Since it was the day for making reports on government work, the presence at the Congress of national leaders was assured. How much better than sitting alone in Tiananmen Square if she could personally plead her case to those people. And so, without a second thought, she jumped out of the bus and fell in behind the line of delegates. As a passenger in an official bus that had been waved through several police check points, she made her way up the steps to the Great Hall entrance without drawing any attention.

  But to actually enter the Hall, every person was required to pass a security inspection carried out by personnel with batons they brushed across everyone’s body. Thousands of people crammed into a small space made for plenty of pushing and shoving, and the staff was too concerned over security to pay much attention to each individual delegate. Jammed in the midst of the other delegates, Xuelian made it past security and followed the crowd toward the auditorium. At the entrance a middle-aged security guard in civilian clothes stopped her, smiled, and pointed to her chest.

  “Welcome, Madame Delegate,” he said politely. Please pin on your delegate badge.”

  He too had mistaken her for a delegate. Since striding through the door, she had been bowled over by the splendor of the auditorium. Festooned around the interior were magnificent floral bouquets in honor of the delegates, a sight the likes of which she’d never seen. Her heart was thumping against her chest. The spell was broken when another man came up to her. Nervous beyond imagining, she managed to control herself.

  “My delegate badge, I left it at the guesthouse.”

  The man had a gentle look.

  “Don’t worry about that. Which group are you with?”

  She had her wits about her and gave him the name of her province.

  “May I ask your name?”

  For that she had no answer. She could tell him, of course, but she knew that wouldn’t help. And she didn’t know the names of any other of the delegates she’d come with. She stood there frozen.

  “So, may I ask your name?” he asked a second time.

  She needed to tough it out. Maybe she’d be all right.

  “Li Xuelian.”

  She stammered a bit—a case of nerves. She might not have done that if she’d given another name, but she was done in by her real name.

  “Thank you, Delegate Li Xuelian. Would you come with me, please. I need to check your name against the list. It’s nothing to worry about. We need to keep everyone safe.”

  Li Xuelian had no choice but to go with him into a passageway on the left side of the auditorium. He spoke softly into his walkie-talkie as they made a turn onto a long hallway that appeared to be deserted. Suddenly, Xuelian saw four or five young men in suits walking toward her, and she knew her cover had been blown. Hurriedly digging in her bag to take out her protest sign, she held it over her head, and shouted:

  “Injustice!”

  They were on her like beasts of prey before she could shout a second time and wrestled her to the floor. One of them clapped his hand over her mouth, other hands pinned her arms and legs to the floor. She couldn’t move.

  It was over in less than five seconds. Meanwhile, delegates engaged in lively conversations poured into the auditorium, not one of whom saw what had happened. A bell rang—it was nine o’clock. The hall burst into thunderous applause. The government work reports were called for.

  14

  The day’s schedule for the National People’s Congress:

  Morning, Government Work Reports.

  Afternoon, Group Delegate Discussions.

  The delegate group from Li Xuelian’s province was assigned an assembly room in the Great Hall. The decision to have both morning and afternoon sessions held in the same building was not made to save the delegates travel time, since they had to return to their lodgings for the noonday meal, where they would normally stay for the discussion session. It was intended to accommodate the schedule of one of the national leaders, who would attend the discussions of several delegations that afternoon. What that meant was, all the afternoon sessions for discussions attended by one of the national leaders would take place in the Great Hall of the People for his convenience.

  The results of a discussion in which a national leader participated differed from those in which none did, for they made that night’s TV news. And, like the results, the format differed. Most of the time, the leader would first listen to the delegates’ reports and then give a speech to summarize what he heard. In order for everything to go smoothly, the discussion for this delegation was carefully orchestrated: A dozen delegates representing a broad range of fields, from mayors and village chiefs to railway workers, entrepreneurs, and university professors, had been selected to speak. The length of the reports was limited to ten minutes or less.

  The session was to begin at two in the afternoon, and the delegates were to arrive at the Hall no later than 1:30. Those from ethnic minorities were dressed in national costume. Casual conversations and occasional laughter typified the discussion site until 1:50, when everyone silently awaited the arrival of the national leader. Such dignitaries were seldom late, but, given the myriad of affairs they must attend to, sometimes that was unavoidable. By 2:30 on this afternoon, there was still no sign of the leader, and the delegates began to grow restless. The provincial governor, Chu Qinglian, tapped his teacup to demand patience. At 2:45, the door opened to admit the expected personage, whose entry would have been greeted by applause. But it was not him; a representative of the Congress Secretariat walked briskly up to Governor Chu and whispered something. Somewhat unnerved by the news, Chu waited till the visitor had left to announce:

  “The national leader had to attend to an urgent matter and will not be with us today. We will proceed on our own.”

  Since nothing could be done to alter the leader’s schedule, the discussion began w
ithout him, though the scenario underwent a significant change: as residents of the same province, the delegates knew one another well, and if the speakers put on a show of formality and engaged in high-sounding speech, they would appear affected. So Governor Chu suggested opening the discussion to anyone who wanted to address the delegation. Enlivened by the change, more than a dozen delegates raised their hands. The eagerness with which they volunteered to speak belied the substance of their offerings, which was essentially the same: support the government work reports, combine the demands raised in the government work reports, coordinate local work, or coordinate departmental and corporate work, find gaps, list ways to correct problems, and strive to catch up. After six delegates had spoken, Governor Chu was about to announce a mid-session rest break when the door opened and, to everyone’s surprise, in walked a different national leader on an unplanned visit, followed by a bevy of TV cameramen, lights on. This particular individual had not planned to observe this delegation’s discussion, but here he was, to everyone’s surprise. Applause erupted as soon as the moment passed. The ruddy-faced visitor waved to the gathering and then lowered his hands to stop the applause.

  “I just left the discussion of another delegation, and thought I’d drop in to say hello.”

  That triggered another round of thunderous applause.

  The leader strode confidently into the midst of the delegates and sat in an easy chair next to Chu Qinglian, where he accepted a hot towel from an attendant and said to the governor:

  “Go on with what you were doing, Qinglian. I’d like to hear what everyone has to say.” Then he pointed to the people. “Before you start, I want you to know that today I brought only my ears, not my mouth. I’ll have nothing to say.”

  Chu Qinglian laughed. So did the others. The meeting began again—no rest break—but, thanks to the leader’s presence, the format returned to that originally planned for the session. The meeting pretty much started over, as the designated speakers were again required to perform. The leader took a notebook out of the briefcase his secretary handed him and readied himself to take notes. The speakers also took out notebooks, even though their speeches were prepared and ready to go—lofty speech was more spirited than extemporaneous talk.

  Some of the presenters left their prepared speeches in mid-report to give details on work in their particular region or department or field of endeavor. The leader listened with keen interest equaling or exceeding that of the prepared parts of the reports; he nodded frequently and took notes. His obvious interest kept Governor Chu from breaking in on the unscripted presentations, and when the last of the appointed delegates had finished, he announced:

  “I now invite our distinguished leader to honor us with his instructions.”

  TV camera lights snapped on. Applause filled the room. The national leader began with a laugh:

  “Qinglian, didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t say anything today?”

  The applause grew louder. The leader laughed again.

  “Well, it looks like I’m going to have to eat my words.”

  That was greeted with laughter, as he shifted in his seat and sat up to make comments on the presentations, sharing his agreement with the successes, accomplishments, and failures mentioned in the reports, and plans for the year to come. With gravity befitting his status, he urged the delegates to hold firmly to the central issues of growing the economy, advancing reform in the economic system, methodically promoting reforms in the political system, improving Party leadership, increasing work on democracy and law, reinforcing unity, mobilizing all elements subject to mobilization, increasing initiative and a sense of urgency, and reaping a bountiful harvest from socialist material and spiritual civilization. Like the delegates before him, once he had rattled off his list, he departed from the government work reports and moved on to other matters, beginning with the international situation. His talk ranged from North America and Europe to the South American and African continents, spending a bit more time on Africa, since he had recently returned from a visit to the continent. Then it was on to Asia and a return from the international to the domestic, focusing on the realities of the current people’s economy. From the cities he turned to the countryside and from industry to agriculture. He talked about tertiary industries and technology … spoken of as extemporaneous, it was anything but. Throughout the room the only sounds were the voice of the leader and the scratching of delegate pens on notebook paper. A needle falling to the floor would have been inaudible. Now that this was behind him, he said:

  “Of course, the beneficial state of affairs overall is indisputable. Now let me speak of shortcomings.”

  And that is exactly what he did, with no let up in candor, and as they continued taking notes, the delegates shared a feeling that their leader was being both frank and down to earth. After dealing with deficiencies in work in general, he spoke of cadre behavior, including corruption and degeneration. Finally he turned to the cameramen.

  “Now I’ll speak off the record.”

  They lowered their cameras.

  “Corruption, degeneration, and malpractice are problems that cause me the biggest headaches and have elicited the strongest reactions among the public. These problems are getting worse by the day, Comrades, and they have become a major topic of conversation. Water can float a boat, it can also swamp it. If we do not root out and destroy these cancerous growths, sooner or later our Party and our nation will come to grief.”

  The somber nature of the leader’s speech affected everyone in the room.

  “As the ruling party, our primary aim is to work unstintingly for the benefit of the people. But not everyone furthers that aim. By their very nature, corruption, degeneration, and malpractice serve only self-interest, placing it above party and the general public. Why does someone like that become an official? Not to be a public servant, but to set himself up as a powerful bureaucrat, to get rich, to take on a mistress. The details of these cases are horrific and shocking. I advise anyone walking down that path to stop before it is too late. Chairman Mao said it best: Countless revolutionary martyrs shed their blood for the good of the people, made the ultimate sacrifice, so is there any form of self-interest we cannot forego? Am I right, Comrades?”

  “Yes,” they cried out in unison.

  The leader stopped to take a drink of tea.

  “Qinglian,” he said, turning to Governor Chu, “is such-and-such County in your province?”

  Not knowing where the leader was going with this question, Chu looked up from his notebook with a perplexed expression. Since such-and-such County was indeed in his province, he nodded hastily.

  “Yes,” he said, “yes, it is.”

  The leader laid down his teacup.

  “Something strange occurred this morning. A woman lodged a protest right here in the Great Hall. My secretary tells me she is a resident of that county. Do you know what this is all about, Qinglian?”

  Governor Chu broke out in a cold sweat. His province, his county, a resident who actually lodged a protest in the Great Hall of the People in the midst of the National People’s Congress. Without doubt a major political incident. Having heard nothing about such an incident, he shook his head animatedly.

  “Neither did I. She was arrested and interrogated as a possible terrorist, but it turned out to be a simple divorce case. A divorced woman from the countryside bringing her case to the Great Hall is nothing less than bizarre. How could something so minor have come to this? Did she blow it out of proportion? No. Officials at every layer of government failed to attend to the people’s well being. Officials at every level refused to get involved, they passed the buck, they threw up obstacles. In line with what I was saying just now, she was driven to despair, and just like that, a sesame seed had turned into a watermelon, an ant became an elephant. The woman’s divorce should have been a matter between her and her husband. And now? Now she wants to bring charges against seven or eight individuals, from the mayor of the responsible city to her county chief
, the chief justice, judges, and others. She is a modern-day ‘Little Cabbage.’ No, even stranger than the Qing dynasty Little Cabbage, because she is even pressing charges against herself. I admire the woman’s courage. I’ve been told that because of her protest, the local security bureau placed her under arrest. Who drove this woman to despair? Not us members of the Communist Party. No, it was people who suck the blood of the laboring masses, tyrants who ride roughshod over the laboring masses …”

  The leader’s face darkened from rage. He banged his hand on the table. No one present dared look up. Governor Chu’s clothes were soaked.

  “The wrongs this Little Cabbage has suffered do not stop there,” he continued. “She brought her complaint to the Great Hall to get out from under the smear of being a Pan Jinlian. In order to stop her from staging her protest, many local individuals changed course to confuse the issue and tried to ruin her good name by fabricating a rumor that she lived an unchaste life. For her being a Little Cabbage was bad enough, but how was she supposed to live besmirched with the label Pan Jinlian? If denied the right to bring her case to the Great Hall, where was she supposed to go? The UN? Who made it necessary for her to come to the Great Hall? Not us members of the Communist Party. No, again it was people who suck the blood of the laboring masses, tyrants who ride roughshod over the laboring masses …”

  The national leader turned to Chu Qinglian.

  “Qinglian, do we or do we not want to have officials who become oppressive bureaucrats?”

  Chu Qinglian too was pale with rage. “No,” he said, nodding like a pecking chicken, “we do not.”