Since Meilan didn’t want to speak to him, Bin left without a word for the post office, with the letter in his pocket. He knew her temper well and was sure that in a day or two she would be herself again.
At seven-thirty the next morning, Bin set out for his new position. He carried a shiny attaché case that Liu and Ma had presented to him as a souvenir from the plant; in the case were a bunch of brushes, the ink slab, and a book of aphorisms by famous authors and scientists. His first task was to paint a mural at the thoroughfare in town, supporting the national campaign against bourgeois liberalization. The paints and ladders were all ready in his office; he was given two helpers, hefty young men, for the work.
On his way to the Commune Administration, he couldn’t resist smiling and whistling. In the sky a flock of geese were drifting south and gradually merging into the cotton clouds. Joyously Bin stretched up his right arm, as if he too had wings.