The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature

by Yunte Huang

  Lin Chen had prepared these words well in advance and spoke them very unnaturally, as if he were really a primary school student who was meeting his teacher for the first time. The room began to feel very warm. It was mid-March. Winter would soon be over. Yet, there was still a fire burning in the room. The frost on the window had melted and turned into dirty streaks. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He wanted to pull out a handkerchief and wipe them away, but he could not find one in his pockets.

  Liu Shih-wu nodded his head mechanically and, without watching what he was doing, pulled a manila envelope out from a large pile of papers. Opening it, he removed Lin Chen’s Party registration form and scanned it rapidly with a keen look in his eyes. Fine lines appeared across his broad forehead and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then, placing his hand on the back of his chair for support, he stood up—as he did so the jacket that had been lying across his shoulders slipped to the floor—and in a skilled effortless voice said, “Good. Fine. Excellent. The Organization Department is short of cadres now. You’ve come at the right time. No, our work is not difficult. With study and practice you’ll be able to do it. That’s the way it is. Also, you did a good job in your work at the lower level, right?”

  Lin Chen sensed that this praise was given somewhat in jest, so he shook his head and replied apprehensively, “I didn’t do my work well at all.”

  A faint smile appeared on Liu Shih-wu’s unwashed face. His eyes sparkled with intelligence as he continued. “Of course, there is the possibility that you will have problems. It is possible. This is very impor­tant work. One of the comrades on the Central Committee has said that organization work is the housekeeping work of the Party. If the house is not properly cared for, the Party won’t be strong.” Without waiting for any questions Liu added an explanation. “What housework are we doing? We are developing and strengthening the Party, making the organization solid, and increasing the fighting power of the Party organization. We are establishing Party life on a foundation of collective leadership, criticism and self-criticism, and close ties with the masses. If we do this work well, the Party organization will be robust, lively, and will have the strength to fight. It will be up to the task of unifying and leading the masses. It will be better able to complete the work of socialist construction and fulfill the various duties of socialist transformation.”

  After each phrase Liu cleared his throat, except for those expressions which he knew well through repeated use. These he spoke so rapidly that he seemed to be saying one word. For example, when he said, “Let’s anchor the life of the Party on . . .” it sounded as though he were saying, “Let’s anchor the life of the Party on rata-tat-tat-tat.” With the skill of someone manipulating an abacus, he handled concepts that Lin Chen thought were rather obscure and difficult to understand. Even though Lin listened with extreme intensity, he still could not grasp everything that Liu was saying.

  Liu Shih-wu went on to assign Lin Chen his work. Then, just as Lin was opening the door to leave, he called to him, and in a completely different, easygoing manner asked, “How are you getting along, young man? Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No,” Lin Chen replied, a touch of redness sweeping across his face.

  “A big fellow like you still blushes?” Liu Shih-wu asked with a laugh. “Well, you’re only twenty-two. There’s no need to hurry. By the way, what’s that book you have in your pocket?”

  Lin Chen took the book out and read him the title, The Tractor Station Manager and the Chief Agronomist.

  Liu reached for the book, opened it to the middle, and read a few lines. “Did the Central Committee of the Youth League recommend this book for you young people to read?’’

  Lin Chen nodded.

  “Lend it to me so I can take a look.”

  Glancing at the papers piled high on the vice director’s desk, Lin Chen asked in surprise, “Do you have time to read novels?”

  Liu Shih-wu placed the book in the palm of his hand and gauged its weight. His left eye squinted slightly as he answered, “What do you mean? I’ll read through a thin volume like this in half an evening. I read the four volumes of And Quiet Flows the Don in a single week. That’s the way it is.”

  By the time Lin Chen went over to the main office of the Organization Department the sky had already cleared. Only a few clouds remained along the clear bright horizon. Sunlight streamed into the large courtyard of the District Party Committee. Everyone was busy. [. . .] Lin Chen stopped for a moment in the portico and looked at the dazzling courtyard. He was very happy about the beginning of his new life.

  [. . .]

  Chapter 3

  Lin Chen had graduated from normal school in the autumn of 1953 and had been sent to serve as a teacher in the central primary school of this district. At that time he was an alternate Party member. Even after becoming a teacher he maintained the practices of his middle school student life. Early in the morning he lifted dumbbells. At night he wrote in his diary. Before every major holiday—May 1, July 1, etc.—he went about asking people for their opinions of him. Some people predicted that within three months he would be “converted” by the older adults whose lives were not so regulated. However, in a short time several teachers were praising him and saying with admiration, “This lad doesn’t have any worries or family cares. All he knows is work.”

  Lin Chen proved himself worthy of such admiration. Because of his accomplishments as a teacher, during the winter recess of 1954 he received an award from the Bureau of Education.

  People may have thought that the young teacher would continue on in this steady fashion, living his youthful years in contentment and happiness. But this was not to be. Simple, childlike Lin Chen had worries and concerns of his own.

  After another year, Lin Chen was anxiously berating himself even more frequently. Was it due to the press of the high tide of socialism? Was it the result of the convening of the All-China Conference of Young Socialist Activists? Or was it because he was getting older?

  Lin Chen was now already twenty-two. He recalled how in his first year of middle school he had written an essay entitled “When I Am XX Years Old,” and how in that essay he had written, “When I am twenty-two I want to . . .” Now he really was twenty-two and the pages of his life history still seemed to be blank. He had no meritorious achievements. He had not created anything. He had not braved any dangers or fallen in love. He had not written one single letter to a girl. He worked hard, but if the amount of work he did and the speed with which he did it were compared to the accomplishments of the young activists or the swiftness with which his life was flying by, of what possible comfort could this be to him? He set forth a plan to study this and study that, to do this and do that. He wanted to cover a thousand things in one day.

  It was at this time that Lin Chen received his transfer notice. Now his history could read, “At twenty-two I became a Party worker.” Was his real life going to begin from here? Suppressing his love for primary school teaching and the children, he kindled great hopes about his new job. After the secretary of the Party Branch discussed his transfer with him, he stayed up all night thinking about it.

  Thus it was that Lin Chen excitedly climbed the stone steps of the District Party Committee, The Tractor Station Manager and the Chief Agronomist stuck in his pocket. He was filled with a sacred reverence for the life of a Party worker. . . .

  [Lin Chen’s assignment in the Organization Department is in the Factory Organization Development Section. His section chief, Han Ch’ang-hsin, makes a very favorable first impression on him and he enthusiastically prepares for his first trip to a factory.

  [Four days after his arrival, Lin Chen rides his bicycle to the T’ung Hua Gunnysack Factory to study Party recruitment work. What he finds leaves him shocked and confused. The factory director, a man named Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan, who is concurrently serving as Party Branch secretary, is domineering, dogmatic, and obviously not very interested in his duties. Worse yet, when Lin suggests to the Party memb
er in charge of recruitment, Wei Ho-ming, that a report on the situation be made to higher authorities, he is told that this has already been done several times with no effect. In Wei’s words: “I don’t know how many times I’ve talked to Han Ch’ang-hsin about this. Old Han didn’t do anything. Instead, he turned around and gave me a lesson, telling me about the need to respect leadership and strengthen unity. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I feel that we may have to wait until Factory Director Wang embezzles some money or rapes a woman before the higher echelons finally sit up and take notice!”

  [Lin Chen cannot understand how such a situation can be permitted to exist, and he reports excitedly to Han Ch’ang-hsin about what he has learned. Han is unconcerned. He informs Lin that he knows all about Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan and tells him not to worry about matters that are beyond the scope of his duties. This fails to satisfy Lin Chen and he goes to talk to Han Ch’ang-hsin’s superior, Liu Shih-wu. Liu openly acknowledges that Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan has made some serious errors, but he asks Lin to be patient, saying that conditions are not yet ripe for resolving the situation.

  [Lin Chen’s talk with Liu Shih-wu eases his mind temporarily, but subsequent visits to the gunnysack factory revive his indignation over Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan’s performance. Thinking that he will hasten the “ripening of conditions” mentioned by Liu Shih-wu, he gives his approval to Wei Ho-ming’s idea of organizing the workers into a discussion group that will submit complaints about Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan to higher authorities. However, after Wang learns of this plan and accuses Lin of encouraging antileadership activity, it is Lin, not Wang, who receives most of the criticism. At a meeting convened to discuss this matter, Han Ch’ang-hsin complains about Lin’s “unorganized and undisciplined activity.” Liu Shih-wu notes that Lin, as with most youth, is overly idealistic and reminds him pointedly that he is “definitely not the only person who has principles.”

  [After being subjected to such criticism, Lin Chen is uncertain about what he should do. Should he continue to struggle resolutely on behalf of his high standards? Or should he put aside this struggle temporarily and wait until he is more knowledgeable and more experienced? A chance meeting with Chao Hui-wen on the following Saturday evening helps him decide which path to follow.]

  Chapter 7

  On Saturday evening Han Ch’ang-hsin was getting married. Lin Chen went into the assembly hall, but he disliked the thick irritating smoke, the candy wrappers scattered about the floor, and the steady roar of loud laughter. Without waiting for the ceremony to begin, he made his departure.

  The Organization Department office was dark. Lin Chen turned on the light and saw a letter on his desk. It was from his fellow teachers in the primary school. Enclosed inside was another letter signed by the children with their little hands. It read:

  “Teacher Lin, how are you? We miss you very very much. All of the girls cried, but they are better now. We have been doing arithmetic. The problems are very hard. We think them over for a long time, but in the end we work them out.”

  As he read the letter Lin Chen could not refrain from smiling to himself. He picked up his pen, substituted a correct character for an incorrect one, and prepared to tell them in his reply not to use a wrong character when they wrote him again. It seemed as though he was watching Li Lin-lin, with the ribbon in her hair, Liu Hsiao-mao, who loved watercolor painting, and Meng Fei, the one who often held lead pencil tips in his mouth. Abruptly he lifted his head from the letter. Only the telephone, the ink blotter, and the glass desktop were there to be seen. The child’s world that he knew so well was already far away. Now he was in an unfamiliar environment. He thought about the criticism leveled at him at the Party committee meeting two days earlier. Was it possible that it was actually he himself who was wrong? Was he really rude and childish, full of the cheap bravery of the young? Maybe he really ought to make an honest self-appraisal. Couldn’t he do his own work well for two years or so and wait until he himself had “ripened” before intervening in all of these things?

  An explosion of applause and laughter burst from the assembly hall.

  A soft hand fell upon his shoulder. Startled, he turned his head and felt the glare of the light pierce his eyes. Chao Hui-wen was standing silently beside him. All women comrades had a talent for walking without a sound.

  “Why aren’t you over there having a good time?” she asked.

  “I’m too lazy to go. What about you?”

  “I’ve got to be getting home,” Chao Hui-wen replied. “How about coming to my place and relaxing for a while? It’s better than sitting here brooding by yourself.”

  “I don’t have anything to brood about,” Lin Chen protested. He did, however, accept Chao Hui-wen’s kind invitation.

  Chao Hui-wen lived in a small courtyard not far from the offices of the District Party Committee. Her son was sleeping in a pale blue crib, sucking contentedly on his fingers. She gave the baby a kiss and drew Lin Chen to her own room.

  “Doesn’t his father come home?” Lin Chen asked cautiously.

  Chao Hui-wen shook her head.

  The bedroom looked as though it had been arranged very hastily. The walls were completely bare and because of this they appeared excessively white. A washstand huddled alone in a corner. On the windowsill a flower vase held its empty mouth open like a fool. Only the radio on the small table at the head of the bed seemed capable of breaking the stillness of the room.

  Lin Chen sat down on the rattan chair. Chao Hui-wen stood leaning against the wall. Lin Chen pointed to the flower vase and said, “You should put some flowers in it.” Pointing to the walls, he asked, “Why don’t you buy some paintings and hang them up?” “Since I’m hardly ever here, I haven’t given it any thought,” Chao Hui-wen replied. Indicating the radio, she asked, “Would you like to listen? There’s always good music on Saturday evening.”

  The light on the radio came on and a dreamy gentle melody floated in from afar. Slowly it became an emotional stimulant. The poetic theme played by the violin seized Lin Chen’s heart. He laid his chin on his hands and held his breath. His youth, his aspirations, and his failures all seemed to be transmitted through this music.

  Chao Hui-wen leaned against the wall with her hands behind her back, oblivious to the whitewash rubbing off on her clothes. She waited until the movement was completed, and then, in a voice that was itself like music, she said, “This is Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italien. It makes me think of a southern country and the sea. When I was in the Cultural Work Troupe I heard it often, and gradually I came to feel that the melody wasn’t being played by someone else, but was boring its way out from my heart.”

  “You were in the Cultural Work Troupe?”

  “I was assigned there after attending the Military Cadre School. In Korea I used my poor voice to sing for the soldiers. I’m a hoarse-voiced singer.”

  Lin Chen looked at Chao Hui-wen as if he were seeing her for the first time.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t I look like a singer?” At this moment the program changed to “Theater Facts,” and Chao Hui-wen turned the radio off.

  “If you were in the Cultural Work Troupe, why do you hardly ever sing?”

  Chao Hui-wen didn’t answer. She walked over to her bed, sat down, and said, “Let’s have a chat. Little Lin, tell me, what’s your impression of our District Party Committee?”

  “I don’t know. That is to say, I’m not sure.”

  “You do have some differences of opinion with Han Ch’ang-hsin and Liu Shih-wu, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “When I first came I was that way too. Having transferred here from the military, I was making comparisons with military strictness and precision, and there were many things that I couldn’t get used to. I made many suggestions and had one spirited argument with Han Ch’ang-hsin. But they made fun of me and said I was childish. They laughed at me for making so many suggestions before I was doing my own work well. Slowly I came to realize that I didn�
�t have enough strength to struggle against the various shortcomings of the District Committee.”

  “Why not?” Lin Chen exclaimed, leaping to his feet as if he had been stabbed. His eyebrows came together in a deep frown.

  “That was my mistake,” Chao Hui-wen answered, taking a pillow and placing it on her lap. “At the time, I felt that with my own lack of experience and my own imperfection I certainly wasn’t strong enough to be thinking about reforming comrades who were much more experienced than I was. Moreover, Liu Shih-wu, Han Ch’ang-hsin, and some other comrades actually do many things very well. If you scatter their shortcomings among our accomplishments it’s like throwing dust into the clear air. You can smell it, but you can’t grab hold of it. This is what makes it so hard.”

  “Right!” Lin Chen responded, smashing his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  [After this Chao Hui-wen and Lin Chen discuss what they see as the faults of several leading cadres, including Han Ch’ang-hsin and Liu Shih-wu. The plodding approach of these cadres toward their duties has troubled Chao Hui-wen for a long time and caused her many sleepless nights. Now at last she has an opportunity to vent her frustrations. Lin Chen is deeply moved by what she tells him.]

  “Then . . . what’s to be done?” he asked. Only now was Lin Chen beginning to realize how complicated everything was. It seemed that each and every shortcoming was attached to a whole series of causes that ran from the top to the bottom.

  “That’s true,” Chao Hui-wen answered, deep in thought, her fingers tapping on her legs as if she were playing the piano. Looking into the distance, she smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” Lin Chen thought that he had heard incorrectly.

  “Yes. When I see you I seem to be young again. You often fix your eyes on something and don’t move. You’re always thinking, like a child who loves to dream. You get excited quite easily and blush at anything. Yet, you are also fearless, willing to struggle against every evil. I have a kind of woman’s intuition that you . . . that a big change is on the way.”