To please Mao, on May 8, under the pen name Gao Ju-High Torch-I published an article entitled "Toward the Anti-Communist Party Group: Fire!" It is my first publication in thirty years. The article becomes the talk of the nation. Shouts of To guard Chairman Mao with our lives! are heard everywhere.
It is the night of May 9. I am losing sleep to joy. I have taken fate into my own hands and am rewarded. Mao phoned this morning to congratulate me. He wanted me to have a pack of his ginseng. The phone rang again in the afternoon. It was Mao's secretary. Mao wanted me to come for dinner. Nah is home, the message said.
I have nothing to wear, I said.
The secretary was confused. Does that mean "no"?
Sitting in my chair I feel my body shiver. He wants me, finally. All the years of resentment dissolve in one phone call. Am I crazy? Is he fooling me again? Or is it nothing but part of his aging? Or am I daydreaming? He has not stopped his longevity practice and continues to sleep with young girls; and yet he wants to reconnect with me. And he wants it badly.
Sometimes I feel that I know him well enough to forgive him-he is driven not by passion or lust or even his great love of country, but fear. Other times I feel that he has always been a stranger to me. An aloof, emotionally disconnected being like myself. He has never paid a single visit to his ex-wife Zi-zhen, or to his mentally disturbed second son Anqing in their hospitals. Just like me with my mother-I have never tried to find out what became of her.
Mao doesn't talk about the Korean War. It is to avoid his pain of missing Anying, his older son, who died from an American bomb. Mao has never recovered from Anying's death. Madame Mao Jiang Ching knows that Anying is always on his mind at moments of celebration, especially during Chinese New Years. Mao never accepts invitations to visit his friends or associates. It is because he can't stand the warmth of families. He says that he is an antitradition man. It is because everything traditional weaves around the family.
How can Mao not feel the loss or have sympathy toward pain and separation when he is such a passionate poet? One can only guess that his pain over the years has changed or, a more precise word, distorted his character. His longing for his losses gradually turns into envy of others' gain. Why does Vice Chairman Liu have all that he hasn't? Mao knows that he is by nature fragile and that to learn to be a stone-Buddha is his only way to survive. He takes tragedy in his life as his body's ulcer-he just has to live with it. Yet he is frustrated that he has no power to cure his pain. He doesn't understand that he owes himself compassion. He has taught himself to recognize no such word in his emotional dictionary.
It is after dinner. We are relaxing around the table having tea. Nah begs that we not talk about business, a request I must turn down. I count on the time I spend with Mao, because he may change his mind tomorrow. I have trained myself to always be prepared for the worst.
Nah dashes out of the room. Where are you going? I yell. Don't tell me you are going to waste time on knitting. Did you call the people I asked you to call for me? Answer me! You are sixteen years old, not six!
Leave her alone, her father says. He has had some wine and is in a good mood. He is in his usual pajamas and wears socks without sandals. The room is heated but still feels cold and empty. It doesn't seem like a home. It is more like a war headquarters with books, cigarette butts, towels and mugs lying carelessly around. He is comfortable with this on-the-move style. The walls are bare. I can't tell their original color. The color of dust. The floor is made of large gray-blue bricks. I once suggested that he install a wooden floor but he didn't want to bother. He still uses a mosquito net in the summer. His staff made one as big as a circus tent.
I have an important task for you, he says and puts down his tea.
My eyes widen and my lips tremble in excitement.
I have discussed with Kang Sheng that you will be the best candidate to take command on the ideology side of my business. What do you think?
For you, Mao Tse-tung, if your bomb misses a fuse I'll lay down my body.
May 16, after revising "The 5.16 Notification" seven times, Mao puts down his signature and entitles the document "The Manual of the Cultural Revolution." As it goes to press, Mao establishes a new cabinet apart from the existing Politburo. He calls it the Headquarters of the Cultural Revolution with himself as the chief, Jiang Ching as his right-hand person and Kang Sheng, Chen Bo-da and Chun-qiao as his key advisors.
From that moment on China is run by Madame Mao Jiang Ching with Mao behind her every move.
17
JUNE 1966. MY BURNING SUMMER. Although the path is rough, the future looks bright. In the past my name lacked authority. The opera producers and critics showed me little respect. They rewrote my scripts. I had to fight for every line and note. The ordinary folks thought of me as Mao's housewife. Except in Shanghai where Chun-qiao was in control, no one printed my words. Now that I have Mao's support, everyone is competing for my attention. The press, in my opinion, is like an infant-whoever offers it a nipple will be called mother. Cheap.
In Mao's name I organize a national festival-the Festival of Revolutionary Operas. I select potential operas and adapt them to serve Mao's purpose. I arrange talented artists to upgrade the pieces into high-quality extravaganzas, such as Taking the Tiger Mountain by Wit and The Sha Family Pond. I make the operas bear my signature and personally supervise every detail, from the selection of the actors to the way a singer hits the note.
There are quick learners and stubborn minds. I have to deal with them all. Not a day passes that I don't feel my enemy's shadow. When the resistance becomes strong and my projects face danger I phone Mao. This morning a couple of my playwrights have been taken away from their work. They were put into a detention house under an order placed by my enemy. The reason was vague-"They have not served the people with their hearts and souls." I have no idea who exactly is in charge of the opposition. Everything is done through students. There is a war zone here. My enemy has many faces. The students are being manipulated.
Mao comforts me by offering substantial help. Launch a campaign, he says. Establish your own force. Go to universities and speak at public rallies on my behalf. The goal is to get the students on our side.
The thirty-seven-day festival turns out to be a great success. Three hundred thirty thousand people are received. To add excitement Mao and his new cabinet attend my closing ceremony. Standing next to Mao in a brand-new grass-green army uniform I clap. When the curtain descends I weep in happiness. With "The Manual of the Cultural Revolution" being distributed in every commune, factory, campus and street, I have established my leadership. On my order, students, workers and peasants challenge the authorities. At rallies I recite Mao's poem into the microphone:
The brave winter plums blossom in the snow
Only the pitiful flies cry and freeze themselves to death!
The opposition shows no sign of quitting. Vice Chairman Liu organizes his own counterattack groups. His messengers are called the Work Team. Their purpose is to put out the "wildfires"-to destroy Madame Mao.
Yet she is not worried. Mao has confirmed his desire to beat Liu. Mao is determined to set Vice Chairman Liu himself on fire.
Last night she dreamed. She fumbled her way into her lover's arms, sobbing piteously. He comforted her as if she were a child. Her tears soaked into his shirt.
This morning they have breakfast together. Being in each other's presence has become a way to show affection. She doesn't tell him about her dream. His face is calm and patient. They eat quietly. He has bread and porridge with hot pepper, and she has milk and fruit with a piece of toast. The servants stand like trees. They watch the masters eating. If it were in her residence she would send them away. Mao is not bothered. He likes to have guards and servants standing in every corner of the room while he eats. He can be perfectly at ease having bowel movements in front of his guard.