Spider Eaters: A Memoir

by R Yang

  When she came back from the fields, she had to cook, wash dishes, wash and mend clothes, repair shoes ... She was so busy that she often forgot to comb her hair or wash her face. Seeing Jiang and other "stinking dependents," I saw myself in the future. Educated youths? As long as we were women, the state might dump us just as it did Jiang and others. Such a prospect frightened me. I did not want to jump into such a pit! So how could I tell Zhou I would marry him? I had made a big mistake coming to the Great Northern Wilderness. At this juncture, if I erred again, I knew that would seal my fate. Afterwards no one could help me anymore.

  On the other hand, it pained my heart to see Zhou suffer. Since he became my boyfriend, all I gave him was frustration and heartache. As a result, he lost weight as well as his sense of humor. Sometimes he tried to smile, but his eyes were so sad. When I saw them, I wanted to cry.

  Because of his father's historical problem and his own experience in the past, Zhou was a lot more sensitive than I. He probably knew that some people were gossiping about him in the village. At first they refused to believe and later some of them did not seem to like the fact that Zhou and I were lovers. They called him Julien, the hero of The Red and the Black, Stendhal's masterpiece.

  That is really unfair! Zhou is no Julien. He knows my family has declined and hit rock bottom; my parents have neither power nor money. He became my boyfriend only after I told him that. But what he knows, others don't. He is too proud to explain. They won't believe him anyway. So now they are waiting to see him get ditched and then laugh at him.

  Why are these people so vicious? Zhou hasn't offended any of them. Maybe for them, Zhou belongs to a lower caste by birth, and he should know his place? And according to that theory, once I marry Zhou, I should know my place too. I am no longer the daughter of an old revolutionary, but the daughter-in-law of a Nationalist officer and my children are the grandchildren of...

  My first love opened my eyes. It made me see traps in the ground, webs in the sky, poison in sweet chitchat, daggers in hearts. At night, I spent a lot of time rereading Cao Xueqin's Dream of the Red Mansion. I began to understand why in the novel when Lin Meimei and Baoyu are in love they cry, fall sick, go mad, and die. The two of them love each other deeply. All they wish is to be together the rest of their lives. Despite the wish, there is not a single thing they can do. Everything they do backfires. Every word they say wounds the other in the heart. Tradition and politics. Hypocrisy and jealousy. Lovers' blood and tears. This is China, traditional as well as contemporary. People are caught in situations where the will is so strong that it can melt metal, but there is absolutely no way. Love is impossible! Life is impossible!

  Like the heroine in the novel, by the summer of 1973 I found that unless I would lie, I had run out of things to say to Zhou to cheer him up. So one evening I said to him:

  "Zhou. I cannot marry you. Our love is a mistake! You ought to marry Xiang. I know she wants to marry you."

  "No! I don't love her at all! I love you! How can you say such a thing?"

  Not knowing what to say, I began to cry. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I felt that between heaven and earth there was nothing but sadness! Boundless sadness! My heart sank to the bottom of a bitter ocean. Shang xin literally means hurt heart. This is the Chinese word for sadness. Shang xin was what I felt. My heart was wounded. It was bleeding. Zhou tried to console me. He couldn't. After a while, he held me in his arms and we cried together. So many bitter tears had been dammed up in us, when they burst the dikes, nothing could stop them. Before that I had never cried as hysterically as that; nor did I afterwards. As for Zhou, that was the only time I saw him cry.

  That evening I reflected about our situation and talked to myself:

  -Do you love him?

  -Of course I do!

  - You shouldn't love him, if you won't marry him.

  -But I can't help it. He can't help it either. We just fell in love with each other.

  -Then why won't you marry him? After all, this is new China. No more arranged marriages. Unlike the lovers in the novel, you two can be together for the rest of your lives, that is, if you change your mind and say Yes. Then instead of hurting him, you can make him happy.

  -Can I? I mean, if I'm miserable, can I still make him happy?

  - Who knows? Maybe.

  -All right. If I am willing to die with him, I guess I can try to live for him. Sacrifice myself to make his dream come true. Well, for me it's hardly a sacrifice, as I'm already done for. Also we do love each other. But why on earth is our love so bitter, so difficult? Love should be as sweet as honey ...

  With such thoughts churning in my head, I decided to write a letter to my parents. In this letter, no more slogans and lies. I told them I wanted to leave this place for good. And I asked them if there was a way they might help me. If not, fine. I told them I was in love with Zhou and I would marry him. We would take roots here.

  This letter was very short and abrupt. In it I made no attempt to explain. Either my parents would understand or they would not. I just wanted to find out about my destiny. Thus sending out such a letter was like playing Russian roulette. I had pulled the trigger. I waited for the blast.

  The blast came eleven days later. It was a letter from Father. In it, he said that both he and Mother were surprised by some of the things I said in my letter. But in his opinion, I made the right decision to take roots in the countryside. Educated youths should ... As for my marriage, he said that he and Mother would respect my choice. The decision was entirely up to me. Yet he wondered why I was in such a hurry. At the age of twenty-two, I might want to wait another year or two.

  So they would not understand. I knew it! I knew it all the time! Yet I had been unwilling to believe there was no hope. Now I could no longer doubt.

  I did not tell Zhou when I wrote this letter to my parents. Now I decided to tell him about it. I thought I would do so that evening. But when evening came, I felt sick. I had lost my appetite and ate nothing during the day. Once I came back from work and lay down, I did not feel like getting up again. So I thought I might as well tell him the next day. The rest of my life had been determined. One or two days was no big deal.

  The next day, however, before I had a chance to tell Zhou that I would marry him, a telegram arrived. It was from Father. It was very short. Five Chinese characters read: "Mother Badly Ill, Return Quickly."

  I received the telegram from Yan. As political instructor, he was always the first to read everybody's telegrams. So I asked him if I would be allowed to take a home leave, which was overdue in my case. But he said no; the regiment had just issued a notice that said because the wheat harvest was about to begin, unless an educated youth's parent was critically ill, she or he would not be allowed to go home.

  So that night, I had no other choice but to write my parents another letter. But it turned out that they didn't need it. Three days later (before my second letter could possibly reach them), another telegram came from Father. This time it read, "Mother Critically Ill, Return Quickly."

  Now Yan said the leaders would consider my request. The word he used was yan jiu. Everybody in China knew that yan jiu could take days, months, and in some cases even years. But what could I do? I could only wait and wonder what my parents were up to. Was Mother really ill? That possibility could not be ruled out. Yet it was also possible that my parents had figured out a way to help me.

  Fearing the worst and hoping for the best, I almost hated Father for giving me no clue in the telegrams. But of course I couldn't blame him for that. In those days, everybody knew that telegrams were "public secrets."

  Two more days passed. I went to see Yan again. This time he told me that the leaders had decided to let me have a home leave. Hearing this, secretly I was overjoyed. But at that moment, another telegram arrived. When Yan read it, I noticed a sudden change in his countenance. After a moment's silence, he let me read the telegram. It was from Father again. This time it said: "Mother Died. Return Quickly."

&n
bsp; Soon everybody in the village heard about my misfortune. People came to offer their condolences. I was awfully embarrassed. For I did not know if I deserved such condolences or not. Nor did I know if I should cry or laugh. Of course, I couldn't laugh. And I was unable to cry. I would feel very bad, if it turned out that I was cheating these people who were so kind to me. I would feel even worse though, if I was not cheating them. The best solution, I decided, was to run away from all this. So I began to pack. Fang, Liya, and Old Song helped me.

  That night Zhou walked with me to the nearest train station. It was ten miles away. We had to walk through a swamp. The wind was very strong. The tall grass stooped and then it struggled to stand up. Wolves were howling in the distance. A crescent moon sailed through mountains of clouds. The world around us was dim at one moment, bright the next.

  The wind is howling hsiao-hsiao; the water of Yi River is cold. The hero, once departed, will never come back.

  Five years had passed. The girl who had dreamed of being a hero was no more. A young woman who had her name was running away from a battle that had become meaningless to her. The dream died. She felt empty inside. Would the moon be dim or bright for her tomorrow night and the night after at a different place? When would she and her lover be under the same moon again?

  Before the train left, Zhou told me that I should try my best to convince my parents so that they would help me find a way to leave this place. But as this was very difficult, he would wait for me here for three years. In that period of time, if I felt I couldn't do it, I could always come back and he would marry me. He did not care what kind of punishment the leaders might want to impose on me. When the train began to move, he pressed a ten yuan note into my hand and told me to take good care of myself. Then he turned to walk back, another ten miles through the swamp, this time all by himself.

  Sitting alone in a dark, empty train, watching the moon fly, I thought of the five years I had spent on the Great Northern Wilderness. From seventeen to twenty-two, these were the best years in my life. Tons of sweat. Buckets of tears. I felt cheated. I was angry. Yet in the meantime, I also felt guilty as if I were a deserter. I had jumped off a sinking ship, leaving my friends and my lover behind. And the poor peasants who had been so kind to me, I had left them behind too.

  The day I die, I will probably feel like this, should my soul continue to exist. Come with a naked body. Depart with two empty hands. Everything I've cared about and invested in during my lifetime I leave behind. Love, friendship, ambitions, guilt, hatred. All kinds of relationships turned to rainbows and clouds of yesterday. This life is done for. The next is yet unknown. The loss is devastating. The uncertainty is overwhelming. Yet at this moment, I am quite free.

  23

  What Have I Lost? What Have I Gained?

  When I got home, Mother rushed out to meet me. Her face was still yellow and swollen. But at that moment it was lit up by joy, overflowing with love. She looked like a mother who welcomes home her dear little girl, lost in an enchanted forest for three days. Seeing Mother like that, I was moved as well as relieved. Then Father told me what had happened on their end.

  According to Father, the message I was trying to send in my short letter went straight past him, even though in our family he had been known as the more sensitive parent. Taking it for an ordinary letter, he promptly wrote back, using the same old official language I'd come to hate. Mother, on the other hand, was disturbed. She kept thinking about my letter. And then one day she knew I was in trouble. Big trouble.

  So she said to Father, "Listen! Rae is in trouble! You know what a stubborn child she is. Before this, she never complained about the Great Northern Wilderness. Instead, she kept telling us she was doing just fine. Proud as she is, she'd never go back on her word and ask us for help, if things hadn't gone terribly wrong for her! She needs our help! She is desperate! She wrote us this letter as a last resort!"

  That made a lot of sense to Father. Suddenly he was very worried too. So they took immediate action. The telegrams were all Mother's ideas. Father merely carried them out. The third time he went to the local post office, all the workers stopped what they were doing. They came out from behind the counter, shook Father's hands, and offered him condolences. That caught him by surprise and he was terribly embarrassed too.

  By that time, my parents' cadre school had been at the county seat of Ji for over a year. In such a small town, everybody knew everybody. And because Mother went to the post office all the time to mail letters and parcels to her three children, people there knew her very well. After that, Mother no longer dared set foot in the place. She said she did not want to scare those kindhearted postal workers and make them think they had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

  Although both Father and I thought Mother went a bit too far by writing that third telegram, I was really touched. Mother! Who would have thought she was the only person who understood me at the most difficult and crucial moment in my life? That made me think I'd been unfair to her in the past. For didn't I conclude that she could only echo Father's opinions and the two of us could never talk and see eye to eye? I was truly glad to find that I had been wrong.

  Therefore things were not as bad as I had feared, and less good than I had hoped. My parents called me back because they were worried about me. But neither of them had the vaguest idea how in the future they might transfer my hukou back from the Great Northern Wilderness.

  "Just forget the hukou for now!" Father said. "If your mother and I have things to eat, you won't starve. Your biggest problem is not hukou, but your age! You are twenty-two years old, but you haven't even finished junior middle school. Time is running out for you. If you don't start getting some kind of education immediately, soon it will be too late!"

  "But the good thing is," he continued, "nowadays neither of us has much to do. We are not allowed to leave. We are not interested in making furniture or raising hens as some people here are. From now on, we'll teach you English. Two professors. One student. Who ever heard of such a ratio? Our success is almost guaranteed, that is, if you can concentrate on your studies."

  Mother and I were not entirely convinced. But we went along with the plan, because we had no better alternatives. Thus in the next two and a half years I followed a rather rigorous schedule: get up at six, jog for half an hour, memorize and review vocabulary for one hour. After breakfast, work on grammar and texts with Father for three hours. In the afternoons, go over conversation and exercises with Mother for another three hours. In the evenings, either practice calligraphy or listen to a special program by Voice of America called "goo Sentences," which was not jammed in that part of the country.

  My favorite activity was our daily walk at dusk. After supper we usually walked on the remains of an ancient city wall, which might date back to the Three Kingdoms period (A.D. zzo-z8o). At that time Ji was the stronghold of Yuan Shao, the most powerful warlord in China. The city wall must have been tall and thick, the moat around it deep and formidable. But the warlord was defeated by his opponent Cao Cao and died spitting blood. Since then, the city wall had fallen into ruin and the moat was flattened. Now on both sides of the wall winter wheat grew, thin and short because of constant drought.

  This place, my parents discovered, was ideal for people to talk. At home they did not dare to. Even with windows closed and doors shut, the walls had ears. That is, they thought the neighbors were eavesdropping on them. Some became my parents' enemies at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. Espionage was these people's specialty anyway. World-class espionage.

  But my parents were no fools. Thus they discovered the city wall, on which they could say things as loud as they liked. Usually the wall was deserted. In case someone came, they could see the person from the top of the wall long before he or she was within earshot. The moment I got there, I poured out what had been on my mind these couple of years.

  "You know what? The campaign of educated youths going to the countryside has become a tremendous waste and unprecedented
human tragedy! Nevertheless I did learn a few things from it, things the leaders may not have anticipated. For example, now I agree with Chairman Mao that class struggle continues to exist in China under socialist conditions-but not between landlords and poor peasants or capitalists and workers. It goes on between Communist Party officials and the ordinary Chinese people! The officials at all levels abuse their power. The corrupt ones as well as those who are not so corrupt yet. As for the Party, it has been blocking information and creating lies. By doing so, it made us into idiots and clowns! But now I can see it in its true light and I have lost faith in it! Over the years it has been purging those who are honest, intelligent, and dare take responsibility. Those who survive the incessant inner struggles are the mediocre and cowardly ones. As a result, you see nowadays more and more officials curry favors with their superiors and care nothing about the people! They are all hypocrites! ...

  "Stop!" Mother said under her breath. "Your thoughts are very dangerous! How come you talk like a counterrevolutionary?"

  I shut up. I had anticipated that my parents would be upset or furious. After all, they were both Communist Party members for many years. I wasn't trying to provoke them though. I just wanted to let them know what my reeducation in the countryside had taught me.

  Father, on the other hand, remained calm and silent. A trace of smile in his eyes? That could be just my imagination. It was not until several days later when Father and I walked by ourselves on the city wall that he told me he agreed with much of what I had said the other day. In fact, even before 1949 in the liberated areas the Party leaders had already begun to abuse their power and the struggle within the Party was ruthless. If the problem then was like cancer incubating in the body of the Party, now the disease was full-blown.