by R Yang
Four years later the same disaster struck the two little boys of Old Wang and his wife. Both children were suffocated to death, one at the age of five and the other three. We witnessed the tragedy with our own eyes. By this time Little Tang was already a second grader. Sometimes he and other kids would come to our dormitory and ask for a "wit game."
"All right. There were seven birds in a tree. A hunter came and shot down one. Now how many birds are still in the tree?"
"Six!" "Five!" other kids yelled. Little Tang looked at me with a knowing smile as if he was telling me that he had seen through my trick. Then he proudly announced: "None!" That was, of course, the correct answer.
I also had a bunch of funny riddles. One of them goes: "It looks like a lantern from afar, but seen from close by it has many holes." This riddle had baffled everybody in the village, educated youths as well as the villagers. But when Little Tang heard it, he immediately said: "Oh yeah? It's a worn-out, no good, ought to be thrown away, broken lantern!" Everybody laughed, suddenly seeing the light. Since then, I had paid special attention to this bright little boy.
To my disappointment, however, Little Tang soon got himself into trouble. In the beginning, his teacher at the village school disliked him, saying the kid was disrespectful. But according to other villagers, the teacher was no good. He got the job not because he was qualified, but as a favor from the political instructor. So when the boy asked him too many questions, he was embarrassed and shame led to anger. Later this teacher detected a counterrevolutionary slogan within Little Tang's scribbling in a notebook. He reported this to the political instructor Zhao. Zhao in his turn reported this to the farm headquarters. Soon policemen arrived at our village from the public security bureau of Hulin county to investigate the case.
On their arrival, the policemen detained Little Tang and questioned him day and night. Old Tang and his wife were detained and questioned too, because they were suspected to be the abettors. As they both denied the charge, the investigation went further. Meanwhile, the counterrevolutionary slogan was kept a secret. No one was allowed to see it. As if the leaders thought that once we set our eyes on this slogan, our faith in communism and the Party would collapse. What trust they had in us!
"Beat the grass to startle the snake." "Follow the vine to get to the melons." As time went by, everybody in the village grew nervous. "Who knows what the little boy might say when he is interrogated like that? What if he says ... ?"
Even we, the educated youths, became uneasy, not because we wanted to "share weal and woe with the poor and lower-middle peasants" in this case, but because we weren't on such good terms with the political instructor, Zhao. We feared that he might bear a grudge against us and use his influence (as he represented the local Party organization) to get some of us implicated.
To tell the truth, we were partly to blame for the tension that existed between Zhao and us. When we first came to Cold Spring, we had cherished some very unrealistic notions about the political instructor. Actually it wasn't our fault either. The notion had been put into our heads by the movies we saw and the books we read. In such literature, the political instructor is always portrayed as a loving and caring older brother to the soldiers. Warm as a ball of fire. Gentle as the spring breeze. He always knows what the soldiers think and how they feel, and he guides them with timely advice and well-meaning criticism. When there is danger, he gives the chance of life to the soldiers and takes death himself ... In short, he is a great, perfect hero, shining and noble, tall and handsome. Not a bit like Zhao, our political instructor here!
Zhao was in his early forties when we met him. He was short, his complexion sallow. His face was long and thin, like a squash. He had small, sharp eyes, though. He especially liked to watch people from the side or from behind, when they were not paying attention to him. If this wasn't enough to make us feel uncomfortable, there was more: he was distant and did not open his mouth easily. Nor did he ever smile. He kept up his prestige in a village where he was the number-one leader.
But perhaps it was wrong to judge a person by his appearance? Some people were more reserved than others. If Zhao did not come to us, maybe we should go to him and break the ice? Perhaps that was the idea a group of Beijing youths had, when they went to visit him at home one evening.
First they met Zhao's wife at the door. Not a trace of smile on the face of "the first lady" either. She looked as if these educated youths had borrowed money from her and never paid her back. She simply told them to go in, while she herself went away. What a decent hostess!
Once inside, the youths saw that Zhao was lying on the kang, enjoying his cigarette after dinner. He propped one leg up and crossed the other on top of it. When he saw the youths come in, he made no attempt to sit up. Nor did he even lift his eyelids. Through his nose, he uttered an impatient "What's up?"
The members of the group were very embarrassed. They did not know if they should sit down or continue to stand. Should they leave or stay? "We have come to report our thoughts to you ... political instructor ... We want to seek your help . . . " they stammered, all the while standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"Spea-k." Zhao's voice was dry and cold. His eyes were on the ceiling. Smoke came out of his nose, puff after puff. Still not the slightest gesture for the youths to sit down.
By this time these educated youths from Beijing were outraged by the reception and had lost their zeal to report thoughts. So they made it very short, said good-bye, and got out. On their way back, they were speechless with anger and disbelief. Once inside the dormitory, the volcano erupted.
"Fuck! That Zhao! What does he think he is, to dare treat us like that? Number-one man in the village? Parents official? To put on such airs! Of all the high-ranking officials in the central government, I never met one who was so arrogant!"
"Agreed. He thinks he's a big shot! Actually he's a small radish! He's a nobody! A mere 24th-grade cadre! Next to the lowest rank! Even the person who guards the gate of our big yard in Beijing is three scales higher than him! What's he so proud of?"
This last remark was made by one of the "eight happy big flies." Except Wen, the other "flies" were all from high-ranking cadres' families. Somehow this comment caught on in Cold Spring village, like the child's remark about the emperor in Andersen's fairy tale: "But the emperor has no clothes." At first it went round among the educated youths and we all had a good laugh. Later somehow it leaked out and the villagers heard it. Gladly they whispered it into one another's ears, saying that it was not him or her but the Beijing youths who said that. Then someone who belonged to Zhao's inner circle heard it and reported it to Zhao. That was why we were uneasy.
I hope Zhao is not too offended by this remark. After all, he is the number-one leader and we are the real small radishes here. The power is in his hands. Whatever he thinks, I can't tell from his face, which is forever overcast. Thought report? What a stupid idea! As if these people still did not have enough of it at ioi! Serves them right-Zhao treated them like dirt and they lost face! Then they said this thing about Zhao's rank, which is true. That makes it even worse! "When you hit a person, do not hit him on the face. When you poke fun at someone, do not touch the sore spot." The ancient wisdom should not be neglected. Now if Zhao takes this amiss, we are all in for a lot of trouble. We'd better be very careful.
18
"The Tree May Wish to Stand Still,
but the Wind Will Not Subside"
Although I thought it unwise for my fellow educated youths to provoke Zhao, it didn't mean I liked him. He was, in my opinion, a typical "local emperor." He treated the peasants in "his" village like dirt under his feet. So perhaps he didn't mean to be particularly rude to the Beijing youths the other day. He was just his normal self. Many villagers resented the way he treated them as well. But they did not dare show it. Only after we gained their trust did they tell us behind closed doors some of the things Zhao and his few trusted fellows did.
Over eight years Zhao had pl
aced his trusted fellows in key positions at Cold Spring village. These included the person in charge of the tractor crews, the village accountant, the manager of the dining hall, the head of the pig farm, the head of the horse farm, the person in charge of the thrashing ground, the statistician, the agrotechnician, and the village schoolteachers. After that, the village became his family domain. The cadres who were assigned to work here would either join their coalition or find their lives so difficult that sooner or later they would want to leave. The ordinary farmworkers and "dependents" had nowhere to go. So they had to kowtow to Zhao. "If you dare offend him, he will give you small shoes to wear."
"Small shoes? What kind of small shoes?"
"Many different kinds. For instance, the jobs that are harder and dirtier. Or the same job but just at night or some other inconvenient time. You ask for a sick leave or private business leave, he'll either reject it or delay it until you don't need it anymore. The firewood given to your family might happen to be the dampest; the potatoes the smallest ... Numerous little things like that and you are `the dumb person tasting the bitter herb huanglian who can't complain.' You'll never get a promotion. But that's not all. It can be worse. Look at Old Tang and his wife, the two lower-middle peasants who were out of favor with Zhao!"
As for those who belonged to Zhao's inner circle, the villagers did not know exactly what favors they obtained from him. One thing everybody knew, however, was that during the famine (1959 to 1962.) the families of these people were well fed, while others in the village were hungry all the time. During the next campaign, called the Four Cleanups (1964), cadres were sent down here to check the accounts. They found that over the years a great deal was missing from the village dining hall and storehouse: flour, soybeans, cooking oil, sugar ... Chen, the manager of the dining hall, was held responsible. Some villagers said that back in 196o they had seen him visit the Zhaos at night carrying things on his back. No wonder when Chen was punished, Zhao had him switch places with the head of the pig farm, who became the manager of the dining hall. That was all.
After I heard such stories from the villagers and saw with my own eyes how arrogant Zhao was, I wondered if there was anything we might do about this situation. If this were in r966, all would be simple. Mobilize the peasants. Expose Zhao. Overthrow him as a capitalist-roader and seize power. But that was then and now our status is different. We are no longer Red Guards. We are educated youths who came here to reform ourselves. Zhao, on the other hand, represents the local Party organization. Yet he is a local emperor! When we see him abuse his power, should we look the other way and pretend to know nothing? Otherwise what could we do? The shangfang sword-which the emperor in olden days gave his trusted commissioners to execute corrupt local officials before they reported the cases to him-is no longer in our hands. In fact, we are as powerless as the villagers. Under such circumstances, we cannot fight and win against Zhao. The idea is crazy. Forget it!
Thus thinking, I decided to stay out of the conflict between Zhao and the villagers. But my decision made no difference. I got involved anyway. Chairman Mao was right when he said, "The tree may wish to stand still, but the wind will not subside." By this metaphor he meant that class struggle was unavoidable despite people's desire to shun it.
One day toward the end of October, Zhao suddenly sent for me. Why does he want to see me? This is strange. Very strange! What's he up to? I'd better be careful!
I went to see him at home. This time he was quite polite. Asked me to sit down. Then he sat down too. Ha! He should have done this last time, when those Beijing youths visited him. He would not have lost face.
"You have been here for more than three months. The work on the farm is very hard. Isn't it?" he asked.
"Well. I'm used to it now. I'm getting there."
"Besides physical labor, what other problems do you have?"
"I don't really have any problems. The poor and lower-middle peasants here are very kind to us. But thanks for your concern anyway."
"What about your thoughts? Do you have any questions, or any doubts? If you tell me, maybe I can help you. You know?"
Why! Zhao is definitely a different person today. What is he trying to do? Maybe he realized he made a mistake with the educated youths and now he wants to make it up? But to me? I'm not among those who wanted to report thoughts to him.
"I read Chairman Mao's works every day. They answer all my questions. But in the future if I run into problems I can't solve, I'll seek help from you."
"Do you have any complaints you want to make about the leaders here? Chairman Mao says, `Say everything that is on your mind. And when you do so, say it without reserve.' You might as well make a clean breast of it in front of me."
"Well. I think right now the most important thing for me is to reform myself and get a reeducation from the poor and lower-middle peasants. I don't want to complain about the leaders."
At this point it seemed that Zhao had run out of things to say to me. He was silent for a while. Then suddenly he spoke.
"If you have no complaints about our work here, why do you say you're a labor worker?"
"A labor worker?" This was a bolt from the blue. I was startled and shaken. "I can't recall I ever said that." Of course not! How could I say such a thing? Labor worker refers to the Chinese who were captured and forced to do hard labor by the Japanese during the occupation. Many of them died because of the diabolic conditions ...
"You said you did not say it? But you wrote it down! Black characters on a sheet of white paper! Do you want to deny it?"
His small eyes were watching me sideways. Sharp as nails. They seemed to be drilling holes into my body and soul.
"Where did I write it? When did I write it?" My voice trembled.
"You think about it yourself!"
"I can't recall anything like that."
"In that form you filled out a few days ago. You wrote that your occupation was labor worker!"
That form! Damn it! Could it be true? I really can't remember what I wrote. Didn't think it was important. I should have double-checked! How stupid that I didn't!
"I meant to write farmworker (nonggong), not labor worker (laogang). It must be a slip of the pen. May I see the form, please?"
"No. It has been sent to the farm headquarters. At this moment it may be at the public security bureau of Hulin county."
My heart sank. I knew I was in trouble. Very big trouble! I didn't know what to say.
"Now I want you to think very carefully. Probe into the depth of your soul. Ask yourself if you are dissatisfied with reality and if you resent the Party for sending you to the countryside . . . "
"But I volunteered to come here! I love the Party and Chairman Mao! I'm from a revolutionary cadre's family! ... "
As I said this, I was trembling all over. It seemed the room temperature had suddenly dropped to forty degrees below zero. The chill got into my bones. I had to bite my lip to stop my teeth from chattering.
"Revolutionary cadre's family? Humph! Let me tell you this: from now on, for everybody from Beijing, family background will depend not only on the status of your parents before Liberation but also on that of your grandparents on both sides. For instance, if you have a grandparent who was a landlord before Liberation, your family background will be changed to landlord. On the other hand, if your grandparents were poor peasants, but your father or mother was a landlord, you will still be considered the child of a landlord."
This was another heavy blow! The ground under my feet was crumbling. Suddenly I felt an urge to cry. But I mustn't cry in front of Zhao! I mustn't let him see I'm afraid. If I'm done for, then I'm done for. But I won't give him any more bullets to shoot me down. So I remained silent. After a while, Zhao went on.
"You go back and think about the roots of your problem, which by the way, we do not think is a slip of the pen! Write a self-criticism. You know the Party's policy has always been to show leniency to those who confess and severity to those who try to resist."
Thus the talk ended and I got out. I was in a funny state. My hands and feet were icy cold and my cheeks were burning. With glazed eyes, I saw a bottomless abyss open up in front of me. I was standing on the brink of it.
In the past I had seen and heard about people who became counterrevolutionaries in the wink of an eye because they had made a slip of the tongue or a slip of the pen or whatever. Little Tang was the latest example. Before him, there was Zhang, a Beijing youth who came to Cold Spring in 1964. After the Cultural Revolution broke out, one day he took an encyclopedia from a deserted library at the farm headquarters. In it he found the anthem of the Nationalist Party. He hummed it. Others told him to stop. He was too proud to obey. So he argued with them instead, saying that when the Nationalist Party was first founded by Sun Yat-sen it was a revolutionary party, therefore the song was once a revolutionary song. Because of this, he was labeled an active counterrevolutionary. His rights were stripped away. He was banned from all political activities. His wages dropped to 15 yuan a month. Since then he had been doing penal labor under surveillance by the revolutionary people.
Now am I going to be like him? If so, that'll be the end of me. And worse still, I'll drag my whole family down. My parents will be implicated. Lian and Yue's future will be ruined. And Aunty? I will break her dear old heart! We'll all be finished. That is exactly what Zhao wants. The poisonous snake!
"Kill a chicken to warn monkeys," so goes an old saying. If he can make a counterrevolutionary out of me, the other young people from Beijing will be subdued. No one dares challenge him anymore. He'll break our backbone, bring us to our knees. This group of proud exBeijing Red Guards, who acted as Chairman Mao's commissioners and raised red storms all over China. What a threat we must be to him and his little empire. Even if nobody ever said anything about his rank, he'd have lost sleep over us ...