by Liu Zhenyun
That day’s agenda was a morning report by the new provincial party secretary, followed by a discussion in the afternoon. The discussion did not go well, for they had had trouble concentrating on the report; then the organization director had one-on-one meetings with each of them. They were summoned to Lu Hongwu’s room, which was a step up, for it slept only two, with a private bathroom. Each emerged from the meeting with a sweaty forehead. The conversation consisted of nothing but harmless questions about their age, family situation, performance in their county, and future plans; they forgot everything they’d prepared and looked rattled. They were mortified and displeased with their performance as they emerged from Lu’s room.
The matter seemed settled three days before the meeting ended. They heard that the organization director had sent a report to the provincial party secretary in which, based on cadre reviews and comments from the district party secretary, he recommended Jin Quanli for the position of deputy commissioner. The provincial party secretary happened to be holding a standing committee meeting that evening, so the recommendation was speedily approved. The organization director informed secretary Lu that the formal appointment would come down from provincial authorities the next month. The passed-over secretaries lost sleep again that night when they heard the news, but on the surface they reacted to the decision with high spirits and clamored for Jin to treat them to another meal.
“You’ve been promoted, Lao Jin. You’d better treat us to a good meal.”
“No more drawing the lots this time.”
“Who says I’ve been promoted?” Jin tried to fend them off. “I haven’t seen the paperwork. Have you?”
“Come off it. We all know how it works. It’s your treat.”
So Jin treated them to another meal, but not everyone went this time. Zhou, Bai, and Hu stayed behind, and only Lao Cong from Zhu county and three others went. With fewer people this time, the atmosphere at the dinner table was strained. Cong, who had had worked with Jin on a socialist education campaign in the early 1960s, tried to console his old friend:
“Don’t feel bad, Lao Jin. Something unexpected came up for Lao Zhou and others.”
“We’ve known each other a long time, Lao Cong. I know my promotion has to have a negative effect on everyone else.”
“Don’t talk like that. No one would be that petty, not after so many years in the party.”
“What is it then, if not pettiness?” Jin was clearly irritated. “The food is ready, but they’re not here. They’re obviously trying to embarrass me. We’ve worked together for years and I’ve treated them well whenever they visited my county. Besides, the decision was made at the provincial level. It’s not up to me, so what can I say? To be honest with you, I don’t care one bit about the position. We already have the use of a car and a guesthouse in the county, which is as good as a district office. I’m a party secretary now, but will only be a deputy commissioner in the district. Who knows what kind of abuse I’ll suffer? They can have it if they want it. How about that?”
“Don’t be upset,” Cong said. “We have to work together in the future.”
“I’m not upset. I know that everyone feels bad after working so hard all these years.”
“Feeling bad accomplishes nothing. It won’t change the decision.”
“Drink up,” a couple of the men at the table said. “No more talk about that.”
They ran into Zhou, Hu, and Bai on their way back to the guesthouse. Jin was still peeved, while Zhou and the other two, feeling sheepish for missing the dinner, came over to talk to him. The incident blew over after some bantering.
Zhou and the others were uncomfortable with Jin not simply because they had stayed away from the dinner. While Jin was ranting about them at the restaurant, they had learned that Jin was promoted because he was an old school chum of the new provincial party secretary, Xiong Qingquan. They felt better now, because, with a connection like that, Jin was entitled to the promotion. Zhou or Hu would have been promoted instead if they’d been a school chum of the provincial party secretary. They realized that they shouldn’t be unhappy with Jin, once the logic was clear to them; besides, his promotion was settled, so what was the point of being resentful? Jin was a decent man and they got along well. So they went up to chat with him when he came back from the restaurant, and the incident blew over quickly. On his part, Jin forgave Zhou and others after seeing the change in their attitude; he even reproached himself for being petty. They were permitted to be upset when they first heard about his promotion, weren’t they? The former amicable feelings returned to their shared room. When it was time to turn off the light and go to sleep, Hu went over to the door in his baggy underpants.
“Let’s get this settled first, Lao Jin,” he said. “Don’t lord it over us after you become our boss. We won’t take it if you do.”
The others joined in with their friendly threats.
“That’s right.”
“Right, we won’t take it.”
“We’ll treat him with standard meals at our counties if he does.”
“How can I lord it over anyone, with a chickenshit position like that?” Jin said. “I’ll just go to a restaurant if you refuse to feed me.”
“Right!” The others laughed. “We’ll let him pay for his own food.”
On the day the meeting ended, each county sent a car to pick up their party secretary. They shook hands, inviting each other to visit before getting into their cars. Zhou pointed at his Nissan Bluebird when he saw Jin’s old Shanghai.
“Come on, Lao Jin. I’ll give you a ride back.”
Jin told his driver to go back on his own and got into Zhou’s car. When they reached Zhou’s county, Zhou had the driver take them to the guesthouse, where he ordered a hot pot, some crab, and a turtle soup, plus a bottle of liquor, Wuliangye. They ate and drank their fill before Zhou had his driver take Jin home.
2
In fact, Xiong Qingquan and Jin Quanli were not school chums; they had just met ten years earlier when they’d shared a room at a conference for deputy county party secretaries in Dazhai. Both were given to drink, but had only a moderate capacity for liquor, which brought them together. During the day, they went on tours, while at night they shared drinks at a local diner, where they vied to pay. One night Xiong got drunk and threw up in the room. Jin got dressed and went out to find some coal cinders to sweep the mess up. They were young and could talk about anything, chatting in bed about pretty girls in their counties and giving each other a “quota” if they were to visit the other’s county. By the time they parted two weeks later, they had become good friends, and were teary-eyed when they invited each other to visit.
They lost contact after that, however, and never made the visits. When Xiong showed up ten years later, he had done very well for himself, having been promoted to provincial secretary general. Before then, Jin had come across Xiong’s name in the paper, chronicling his promotion to secretary for the planning commission, to director of an agriculture committee, secretary-general of the provincial party committee, vice governor, member of the provincial standing committee, to governor. But Jin never made the connection, since so many people shared names. Not until this meeting, when he sat in the meeting hall and listened to a report by the provincial secretary general, did he learn that the Xiong in the newspaper was none other than the man he’d met ten years before. Except for a fuller face, a thicker waist, and grayer hair, he was the same as always. But he was a different man once he opened his mouth. Xiong could really talk, going on for four hours without notes, and he knew everything, from the central government down to administrative villages, with the international production modes thrown in. He was, clearly, no longer the man who had talked about women in a guesthouse.
Jin realized how much he lagged behind Xiong in knowledge of the world and leadership qualities, not only in the area of career advancement. He’d wanted to go up and chat with his old friend, but changed his mind and walked out of the hall with the others. Wh
at would he say to him? What would he look like in the midst of all the provincial cadres surrounding Xiong? Jin blushed at the thought of seeking out his old friend. Imagine his surprise when Xiong not only remembered him, but helped him out behind the scenes soon after he arrived in the provincial office. Jin knew he would never have been promoted without Xiong’s help, for Zhou and the others were equally competent, with similarly fine performance records in their counties. Why couldn’t any of them have been chosen to fill the vacancy? Jin was also impressed by Xiong, who, as the provincial party secretary general, must have known countless people, and yet still remembered someone he’d had a few drinks with ten years earlier. Someone who cherished friendships was rare among ordinary people, let alone provincial cadres. Those in the central government had been wise to promote Xiong, an outstanding individual.
Jin was filled with admiration for Xiong, though he hadn’t felt comfortable seeking him out at the meeting. The next time they met, he told himself, he would not greet him as an old friend, but would act according to his position as a subordinate, showing Xiong the respect he deserved and following his instructions. He would never brag about his connection with the provincial party secretary general, unlike some shallow people he knew, who were notorious name-droppers. If anyone were to ask him if he knew Xiong Qingquan, he would say, “I heard him give a report once,” which was the right response to show his own humility while protecting Xiong’s reputation.
He vowed that he would, after assuming the position of deputy commissioner, devote himself to his work to show the party how he appreciated the nurturing. His wife and child would stay behind at first so he could concentrate on doing his job well and have something to show for it.
As these thoughts swirled in his head, Jin returned to his county seat, a less affluent place than the one headed by Zhou or Hu.
Not all the roads were lit at night, dead piglets were often seen floating in the two open sewer lines, and sugarcane peels littered the streets. These were the sights that had always bothered him, but now he found them endearing. The town did have unlit areas, but the sparkling stars were a joy to behold. No matter what, it was a place where he had worked for more than a decade.
As they entered the county seat, he told Zhou’s driver to take him to the guesthouse, where he got a room to take a bath. Soon his office manager arrived to give him updates. After telling the man to give Zhou’s driver two cartons of cigarettes and send him home, Jin went to take his bath while the director gave his report from outside the bathroom. The updates were merely about what had happened during his absence over the past few days, but the director tried to pry out some news when he was done with the report,
“There’s a rumor going around the county town, Mr. Jin.”
“What is it this time?”
“People are saying you’ll be leaving us soon to work at the district office.”
Jin came out, wrapped in a towel.
“I didn’t know that. How come I never heard of that? Who’s saying I’m leaving? Do you want me to leave?”
“It would be wonderful for you, Mr. Jin.” The director laughed as he handed Jin a cup of hot tea. “But we don’t want you to leave.”
A bowl of noodles was delivered. Jin ate while the director said from across the table, “There’s something else, Mr. Jin.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a township chief meeting tomorrow.”
Jin’s mood soured and he dropped his chopsticks onto the table with a frown. He did not get along with the county chief, Xiao Mao, a young cadre who had been recently promoted to the position as a college graduate, at a time when emphasis was being placed on youth and knowledge. Mao had done well in the past, but his promotion had gone to his head; now he talked big at county meetings and during reports to higher-ups, as if he could change the county overnight. Jin was supposed to give the report when Lu Hongwu made a visit to the county, but Mao often interrupted him, as if he knew better than Jin. Naturally that ticked Jin off. Who is No. 1 in this county anyway? How long have you been here? You were nursing at your mother’s breast when I became a county level cadre. Jin grumbled silently, and gradually formed an impression of the young man as fickle and showy, with little substance. Mao, on the other hand, complained that Jin was stubborn, conservative, rigid, and uninterested in progress. Once Jin heard that Mao had said to a group of young clerks at a dinner, “We need a personnel change in Chungong County; otherwise nothing will get better.”
Jin was so outraged that he smashed a cup.
“Why not make him party secretary and everything will get better? He was saying the provincial and district leaders are blind to the fact that I’ve been bringing harm to the people. So he’s better than them, I guess. If that’s case, why isn’t he working at central government headquarters?”
To be sure, their clashes were veiled at first, limited to complaints behind each other’s back, and they remained cordial when they met. They did what was required of them when they sat together at a speakers’ table. Jin would have to say, “I totally agree with what Chief Mao has just said, and would like to add a few things.”
For his part, Mao had to respond with, “What Secretary Jin said was absolutely right and necessary. We must follow his suggestion thoroughly.”
But that did not last long, as they began to disagree in public. Once, after Jin had told Mao to attend a county-party committee, Mao chose to accompany a section chief from the provincial government office on a tour of the county. Jin was incensed over the young man’s impertinence.
“Does he still consider himself a party member? Why didn’t he send his deputy and attend the meeting? Why go himself? He may be young, but he already knows how to suck up to the higher-ups.” Jin was not done with his angry outburst. “He thinks he’s hot shit, but I can’t see anything special about him except that he has the same last name as Chairman Mao.”
Mao was naturally unhappy when told about Jin’s comment, and made a point of staying away from the next county meeting. Jin then returned the lack of courtesy by not attending meetings at the county office.
“There’s no need for me to give a speech. Chief Mao can do it. Aren’t we supposed to keep party and government separate?”
A pattern gradually formed: Mao was absent at the meetings of the county party committee while Jin stayed away from those held by the county chief. Which was why Jin frowned when his office manager mentioned a county meeting. He frowned again and dropped the noodles he had just picked up.
“He can have all the meetings he wants. Why tell me?”
“Of course, Mr. Jin, I would have ignored it if this were an ordinary meeting. But Chief Mao was driven over to our office to say that he wanted to know the moment you returned and he asked you to speak at the meeting. So, I’d like to know whether I should let him know.”
“No, don’t tell him.” Jin was adamant. “Arrange for a car for tomorrow so I can check on the people in Dachun Village. I’ll be with the masses while he has his meeting!”
“All right, I won’t tell him,” the director continued. “And I’ll go get the car ready now.”
“Go have your meeting,” Jin mumbled to himself as he walked out of the guesthouse. “I won’t be there.” He experienced a surge of pride.
“You think so highly of yourself that you can treat me with contempt, but now realities prove that the party trusts me, not you. Why weren’t you promoted to be the deputy commissioner if you’re so hot? They wouldn’t have picked me if I didn’t know a thing or two. You’d better not be so arrogant, because I’ll be your direct superior once I start work for the district. You’ll do what I ask you to do; you’ll give me a report on your performance in the county when I come down to Chungong County. You think you’re the Monkey King with all sorts of magic tricks? Well, we’ll see how you fare in the palm of my hand.”
Jin was enjoying these fanciful thoughts as he walked down the street on his way home. He was eager to see his family after a
two-week absence. A VW Santana coming toward him stopped and a man stepped out. It was Mao, dressed in his usual suit but wearing a cap.
“I see you’re back, Secretary Jin,” Mao greeted him.
Jin was surprised to hear himself addressed that way. Mao had shown him respect when the young man first arrived, always calling him Mr. Jin; later he changed it Lao Jin, when his disrespect caused problems between them. Jin thought he must have misheard, but Mao came up and took his hands.
“Comrades at the office told me you were back, so I rushed over to welcome you home, Secretary Jin.”
With self-restraint learned from years of experience as a cadre, Jin said with a smile, “I was on my way to see you at your home.”
“Hop in and we’ll go together.” Mao was pleased by what he heard. “I have a bottle of Gujing.”
Jin could not say no, so he went along. When they got there, Mao told his wife to prepare some food while the men began drinking.
“Please come give a speech at tomorrow’s county meeting, Secretary Jin,” Mao said after three rounds.
“There’s no need for me to go.” Not letting the alcohol go to his head, Jin stuck to his principles and bottom line. “You can give the speech. After being away for two weeks, I’m not up to date on what’s been happening.”
“You have to go, Secretary Jin. Two weeks isn’t such a long time, and I’m sure you know everything. Besides, I’d like you to share what you learned at the provincial meeting.”
“I’m not prepared for that. I’m actually thinking about calling a meeting for township party secretaries, and that’s when I’ll pass on what transpired at the provincial meeting.”
“Then let’s do this. I’ll move my meeting back, and we’ll hold the two meetings at the same time.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, mixing the two.”
“Why not?” Mao asked, while picking up the phone to call his office.
“Notify the townships that the meeting will be postponed a day.”