What a feeling! I can't go anywhere without being congratulated.
Story of a Red Lantern is so popular that Mao expresses his desire to view it. I take it as an honor and accompany him to his private viewing booth. He likes everything except the ending where the heroine and the hero are shot.
It's too depressing, he complains. He suggests that I make it a happy ending. I disagree but promise to consider his remarks and tell him that I shall try my best to make the change.
The fact is that I am determined to do nothing about it. I won't touch the ending. It is symbolic. It is how I feel about life. The flying bullets are in the air. It's my life. So many times I have been shot.
It is an open space. Man-high wooden poles stand three feet apart against the gray sky. Twenty of them. Weeds are waist high. The wind is harsh. The prisoners are kicked out of the truck and tied to the poles. Blinders are removed. Colorless faces, some with towels stuffed in their mouths. The chief executioner shouts an order. Some prisoners begin to lose consciousness. Their heads drop to their chests as if they have already been shot.
Fairlynn is shaking hard. She struggles to breathe. Suddenly her legs start to walk by themselves. She walks toward the wooden pole involuntarily. She wails, Chairman Mao!
The chief executioner comes and pulls Fairlynn up by the collar. He drags her to the side. Fairlynn's mind is paralyzed. She feels as if she were a cooked fish lying on a plate with its spine taken out.
The soldiers raise their guns. The sound of the wind can be heard. One female prisoner turns around. Her eyes seek Fairlynn. It is Fairlynn's cellmate, Lotus. Fairlynn rolls on the ground and then rises up on her knees. Suddenly she sees Lotus wave her hands, punching her fists toward the sky. Lotus's mouth opens, shouting Down with Communism! Down with Mao!
The woman stops punching her fists toward the sky-she is hit by a bullet. But her mouth keeps moving.
In terror Fairlynn lifts her head and crawls toward Lotus. Her surroundings spin. The earth is upside down. Her ears begin to buzz. Suddenly everything starts to float soundlessly in front of her eyes.
The prisoners fall, scattered in all directions. Some of them bounce off the wooden poles. Shot-broken ropes drop to the ground. Lotus runs toward Fairlynn. She wags her body with her chin toward the sky. Behind her, the clouds have fallen to the earth, rolling like giant cotton balls.
The chief executioner shouts his last order. In extreme silence, Fairlynn witnesses Lotus's face break. The splattered blood paints a blooming chrysanthemum.
Chimpanzee experiment! Fairlynn passes out.
Although Fairlynn survives the Cultural Revolution, the moment Lotus's face became a bloody chrysanthemum, an important compartment in her own conscience bursts as well, as her memoir suggests (written in 1985 and published by South Coast China Publishing in 1997).
True, Chairman Mao has his weaknesses. They seem more poignant during the last few years of his life. I think it is all right to write about it. But under the circumstances I refuse to reveal more than what's known. There are people who intend to deny Mao's great contributions and heroic deeds. They not only want to smear his name but also want to have him nailed as a demon, and I will not allow that. No matter how wrongful the treatment I was made to endure in the past, I will not use my pen to write any word attacking Mao.
In later chapters the seventy-nine-year-old legend lingers on an encounter with Mao in a tone of elation:
It was in Yenan. I visited Mao's cave quite often. Almost every time I went he would give me a poem of his own or by others as a gift. All presented in his beautiful calligraphy on rice paper. Once Mao asked me, Do you agree that Yenan is like a small imperial court, Fairlynn?
I was sure that he was joking, so I answered, No, for there isn't a board of one hundred advisors. He laughed and said, That's easy, Just make a board. Let's draw up a list. He took out a pen and pulled a sheet of paper and said, Come on, you produce the candidates and I'll grant them titles.
I pronounced the names that came to my mind as he wrote them down. We were having such fun. He wrote ancient titles next to the names. Li-bu-shang-shu-Judge of the Supreme Court, Bing-bu-shang-shu-Minister of National Defense. There were others, like prime ministers and secretaries of state. After that he asked me, What about wives and concubines? I laughed. Come on, Fairlynn, names!
On that of course I retreated because I want no more trouble with Jiang Ching.
It's New Year's Eve. The snow has turned the Forbidden City into a frozen beauty. Yet I am in no mood to visit my favorite plum flowers. On the surface I have achieved a dream-I have walked out from the shadow of an imperial concubine and have established myself as the ruler-to-be. And yet, to my discontent, I've once again lost my way to Mao's door-he has declined my invitation to spend New Year's Eve with me.
It has, I am sure, a lot to do with the success of my opera and ballet films-he believes that my popularity has diminished his name. He feels damaged. What will happen? I don't have to look far-this was the reason he removed Liu.
I feel as lonely as ever, yet I can't stop doing what I have been doing. Like a moth I am destined to chase after light. To escape depression I plan my own New Year's Eve party in the Grand Hall of the People. I invite my creative team and crew members, three hundred in all. Comrade Jiang Ching would like to honor everyone by spending New Year's Eve with you.
After a cup of wine my tears begin to spill. To beat this, I ask my bodyguards to bring out firecrackers. They are surprised at first-they all know I have an aversion to loud noise and heavy smoke. It's true my nerves have been weak. But I am desperate to hide my feelings and to get rid of the public's suspicion that I am falling from Mao's grace.
My bodyguards come back emptyhanded. There is a security rule that no fireworks are allowed in front of the Grand Hall of the People.
Well, I don't care. I am Jiang Ching! Bring firecrackers to me in twenty minutes or you're fired! Steal them if you have to!
A half-hour later, the bodyguards arrive with cases of firecrackers.
The bullet sounds begin. The fireworks cover the sky. The crackers bounce up and down and side to side. I laugh to tears. I hate Mao. I hate myself for walking this path.
When the head of the hall's security comes and tries to stop me I throw an "earth dragon" at him. The firecrackers shoot out like magic ropes encircling him and leaving black burning dots on his clothes.
My bodyguards follow me. They "shoot" him in the chest and feet and finally he backs off.
She changes. The rhythm of her temper reflects Mao's mood and his treatment of her. In public she is more than ever a Mao zealot. She resides in Shanghai and makes all members of her opera troupes wear army uniforms. She tells them that every performance should be taken as seriously as a battle. To her it is more than true. She feels that she has to fight for the right to breathe. She becomes hysterical and nervous. Nothing lasts forever, she comments out of nowhere. When she has a good night's sleep she wakes up thinking about her past. One day she reveals a secret to her favorite opera singer. You know, this is the exact same stage where I played Nora.
She wonders where actor Dan has been. The last time she saw him was on the screen. He had been playing emperors and heroes of all sorts. The image is still magnificent and irresistible. Since the Cultural Revolution his name has disappeared from the papers and magazines. She suddenly desires him. She now understands why the empress dowager was obsessed with actors. Fed yet feeling hungry. Breathing yet feeling buried alive. There is this need to hold on to fantasies.