“But God will know,” I cried.
“Consider the circumstance,” Dick said. “We must protect our public from Pearl Buck’s influence. Her books have damaged the Communist Party’s reputation worldwide. Pearl is no longer the friend you used to know.”
“Unfortunately, I have read The Good Earth,” I replied. “I read it when it was a handwritten manuscript thirty years ago. Pearl Buck didn’t insult Chinese peasants, as Madame Mao claims. On the contrary, she showed what we were truly like.”
“You are letting your personal feelings get in the way of your political judgment,” Dick warned.
“To hell with my political judgment!”
Rouge came. She sided with me.
Dick was upset. “Nobody says no to Madame Mao.”
“I can’t do it,” I said.
“Make up stories,” Dick suggested. “Lie!”
“I can’t tell the world how evil Pearl and her family were!”
“You have to do it to survive, Willow. You can tell Pearl that you didn’t mean it later.”
I looked at my husband and was overwhelmed by unspeakable sadness. Telling lies had become Dick’s way of life. I wished that I could bend with the wind the way he had.
“I don’t want to teach my daughter a lesson of betrayal by my own example,” I concluded.
Dick pleaded, “Because of you, Rouge is having a hard time finding a man who will marry her, and she’s already passed her thirtieth year!”
The words stabbed me like a knife. I blamed myself for ruining Rouge’s life. So many times my daughter had suffered a broken heart. Young men fell in love with Rouge at first sight, but as soon as they found out that her mother was a people’s enemy, they avoided her like a virus. To pursue Rouge would mean a lifetime of hardship and persecution.
My prison sentence was increased to ten more years and then reduced to five more because I was Dick’s wife. I was sent to a labor prison in a remote province near Tibet. I spent my days working in the fields planting wheat and cotton and my nights scavenging for food and fighting cold, heat, and vermin. Our family was spread out over hundreds of miles. Dick was in the north, Rouge in the south, and I in the southwest. Dick and Rouge took turns visiting me once every three months and during New Year’s. Rouge never complained about the hardship, but the pain was written on her face. She had become a quiet woman, more mature than her peers. After graduating from Beijing University with a degree in medicine, she was not allowed to practice. She worked at a textile factory as a laborer. Dick wouldn’t tell me his punishment, but I learned what it was anyway. He was demoted and sent to an obscure post in the provinces. After a year, Mao called him back. Dick worked hard to regain Mao’s trust.
Rouge and I tried to keep our perspective. We saw that ours was not the only family that suffered. Millions of others shared the same fate. By the end of 1969, the Cultural Revolution was showing itself to be one of the most destructive episodes in China’s long history.
After serving five years in the labor prison I was ordered to go back to where I came from, Chin-kiang. It was considered a continuing punishment. I was ordered to reform through physical labor as long as I lived. I was nearly eighty years old.
Rouge was given the option to stay where she was or come with me. She chose the latter and quit her job. She said that she had barely been earning enough to eat anyway.
We went home on a slow train. My skin was sun-beaten and my back was in constant pain. I couldn’t walk straight. I had injuries to my joints, spinal cord, and legs. But my spirit had not been crushed. I was proud of myself for paying the price for decency-I could honestly say that I had never betrayed God, and that God had never abandoned me.
Dick was given no option but to remain at Mao’s side in Beijing. For fifteen years Dick had been China’s chief propaganda director. He was the ghostwriter for both Mao’s and Madame Mao’s speeches and articles. When he begged for my release so I could join him, Madame Mao answered, quoting her husband’s poem, “Enjoy the beauty of snow while feeling no pity for the flies that freeze.”
I thought Dick had suffered from my absence and had been waiting for me. But I was wrong. One year after I was sent to the labor prison, the party provided him with a young woman one third his age to be his secretary and nurse. In the beginning, Dick was unaware of the trap that had been set for him. By the time he figured it out, he had fallen in love.
CHAPTER 28
Summer in Chin-kiang was hot and humid, like living in a steam bath. Papa came to pick us up at the Chin-kiang station. We hadn’t seen each other for many years. It was amazing that Papa was still alive. He had shrunk in size and was bald and stooped. Our tears fell when we embraced. Rouge was excited to see her grandfather, although she barely knew him.
“I have lost track of your age, Grandpa,” Rouge said. “How old are you exactly?”
“Twenty-nine!” Papa said.
“You must mean ninety-two,” Rouge said.
“You got the joke! Yes, but actually I’m even older,” Papa said, straightening his back to look taller.
“But you do look like twenty-nine!” Rouge said.
“I do?” Papa was pleased. “I feel like twenty-nine, too.”
“I don’t remember your being this short,” I said. “Four feet?”
“I used to be double the height,” replied Papa.
“What made you shrink?” Rouge asked.
“My body knew how to conserve when times were hard.”
Rouge laughed. “I can’t imagine myself shrinking like you.”
“Thirty years in the river east, and then the next thirty years in the river west,” Papa said, reciting Confucius.
“What does that mean?” Rouge asked.
“In the concept of feng shui, it means that there are equal opportunities in the circle of life.”
“What is the secret of your longevity, Grandpa?” Rouge asked.
Papa smiled and whispered, “Having faith.”
“In Buddha?” Rouge teased.
“How dare you forget who I am?” Papa pretended to be upset, but not very convincingly.
“What will our living arrangements be, Papa?” I changed the subject. “Where are we to stay?”
“In the church,” Papa said.
“The Chin-kiang church?”
“Yes, Absalom’s Chin-kiang church.”
“But the Chin-kiang church was not built for people to live in…” I immediately realized the silliness of my statement. Living conditions in China had deteriorated so much that people had turned animal barns into living quarters.
“To many people, it is no longer a church,” Papa explained. “It was the headquarters of the Nationalist troops during the war against Japan. When the Japanese took over, it became a barracks. After the 1949 Liberation, the Communists repossessed it. It has been put into different uses ever since. First it was a military headquarters, and then a utility storage for the new government. During Mao’s People’s Commune movement, it was a public cafeteria. After the communes failed, it was turned into a shelter for the homeless. At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards from outside the province took over. They broke my stained-glass windows and painted Mao’s picture over every image of Jesus on every wall. They climbed the roof and knocked down the cross.”
“Are there families living inside now?” I asked.
Papa nodded.
“How many?”
Papa stuck up two of his fingers.
“Two?” Rouge guessed.
“Twenty.”
“Twenty families?”
“Yes, twenty families, one hundred and nine people.”
“How can anybody manage?”
“Oh, we manage, like caged pigeons.”
Memories of Absalom and Carie rushed up at the sight of the Chin-kiang church. I had to stop for a moment to collect myself. The gray structure had faded, but the building looked sound. The stone steps at the entrance were so worn they looked polished.