I was put to work as the town’s slave.
To those who were sympathetic toward me, Vanguard warned, “The word mercy doesn’t exist in our proletarian dictionary!”
When Vanguard decided to lead Chin-kiang to “enter Communism overnight,” he eliminated the use of chamber pots. Everyone was to use the public restrooms, but because restrooms didn’t belong to anyone, no one cleaned them. They became a breeding ground for maggots, flies, and mosquitoes. It became my responsibility to clean them.
I labored day and night. Rouge helped when she could. Her old job as a textile worker had been given to a relative of her boss, and now she worked as a concrete mixer for a construction company. Close to the Chinese New Year in 1970, Rouge was ordered to work both the night and day shifts. I made my rounds of the public restrooms alone. As my tired hands scrubbed the walls of the feces-filled pits, I felt helpless and exhausted. I asked myself, “What is the point of going on?”
I had to restrain myself from crying or I would wake everyone. Papa was asleep. Rouge was working. The shadow of Dick’s secretary-nurse would not leave me alone. I had finally learned her name, Daisy. My mind’s eye saw that she had a full-moon face, big eyes, and a cheery mouth. She and Dick were embracing in the bed that used to be mine.
“Papa,” I called.
No answer.
I got up, climbed down, and landed on the floor. Papa was not in his sleeping box.
I went searching for him. I checked the washing area and the dining area. Passing the stacked firewood and coal buckets, I arrived in the kitchen. I heard a noise over my head. It came from the storage area behind the kitchen. Standing still, I listened carefully. It was the sound of a radio-someone was tuning through the channels.
Like an old monkey, I climbed the rope ladder. My legs were shaking and I was out of breath. I lost my balance and my shoulder hit the storage door.
The radio stopped.
After a long moment of silence, the door opened.
Holding a candle, Bumpkin Emperor stuck his head out. “What are you doing here?”
“I am looking for Papa.”
“He is not here.”
“I heard the sound of a radio. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Can I come in?”
“No, you can’t.”
“Don’t make me wake up everyone,” I threatened.
“I said no.”
“Let me in, please.”
“No.”
“You are hiding something, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your business…”
“Let me in!”
“Don’t make me push you…”
“Willow!” Papa’s voice came from inside.
Bumpkin Emperor pivoted his body, and I entered.
Papa’s face was lit by candlelight. He was holding a brick-sized box. It was a radio of a fancy make, better than the one Dick had owned. Papa turned the radio dial. Static filled the shadowy room. The scene reminded me of a propaganda film in which criminals gathered in conspiracy. Papa was in his pajamas. He was calm and focused. I had never seen him concentrating like this. He tilted his head to the side as he searched for a signal and listened. I looked around and saw more faces. Besides Bumpkin Emperor and his sworn brothers, there were Carpenter Chan, his sons, and a few others. They all looked nervous but excited.
“What are you listening to?” I asked.
“Sh-sh!” Bumpkin Emperor pushed my head down.
Papa kept adjusting the dial. Finally there was a human voice. Papa was ecstatic. “I got it, I got it!” The signal didn’t last. It turned to static again. Papa kept trying while the others waited patiently. After a long while the signal returned. A voice speaking foreign-accented Mandarin came on. “This is Voice of America broadcasting from the United States.”
CHAPTER 30
The radio had belonged to Bumpkin Emperor. It had been a gift from Chiang Kai-shek when Bumpkin Emperor was at the peak of his power as a warlord. The two men had joined forces against Mao. What made the radio valuable was that it had been made in America for military use. Bumpkin Emperor had donated the radio to the church after Papa had converted him.
Papa no longer felt isolated since he’d mastered the radio. He was obsessed with it. Papa shared the latest world news with carefully selected church members. Life became more bearable, although not better. The Cultural Revolution continued and Mao worship intensified. Food shortages became the worst they’d been since the Great Leap Forward. Vanguard loosened his grip on me in order to catch people who were selling vegetables they grew in their backyards.
One day, a stranger visited me. His name was Chu. Although I didn’t recognize him, I remembered the name. He was the Beijing general Dick had talked into surrendering in 1949. Dick had been proud when he saved the Imperial city and avoided a bloody battle in the streets of Beijing. Dick had negotiated with General Chu. Mao had promised Chu a high-ranking position in the People’s Liberation Army.
The man who stood in front of me was sick and thin. He had wax-yellow skin and sunken eyes. He spoke in a whisper and his words confused me. He said that he had been Dick’s cellmate in prison. He then explained that he was on a medical release from the national prison. I told him that Dick was working for Mao. He said that it was no longer the case.
“What do you mean by ‘cellmate’?” I asked. I hadn’t talked to Dick for two years. I knew nothing about his life.
General Chu produced a wadded paper on which ink letters the size of ants were written.
Dear Willow,
This letter gives me a chance to explain everything, which I consider a blessing.
I am writing from the Southwest Labor Prison near Tibet. You might wonder what I did to offend Mao. Well, again, the story has to do with Pearl Buck. But truly my own ambition is to blame.
Mao summoned me on the evening of May 30, 1969. Madame Mao was there and unusually friendly toward me. Mao didn’t seem to be aware that it was the middle of the night. He was dressed in a white bathrobe. His hair was wet and he was barefoot.
Once I was seated he simply said, “Pearl Buck wants to come to China. Premier Chou En-lai thinks we should make an exception and open the door for her. What do you think?”
Out of the corner of my eye I was aware of Madame Mao’s wooden expression. A slight smile quivered on her lips.
Given all my personal history with Pearl Buck, I marveled at Mao’s audacity. Had he forgotten that you, my wife, had gone to prison because of your refusal to denounce your friend? But I also knew that Mao’s desire for international recognition had only grown stronger over the years. No matter how strong he was at home, his reputation had not kept up abroad. He would do anything to gain the prestige that had eluded him. I saw at once that he was willing to rewrite history if it would fulfill his ends. I wasn’t so sure about his wife.
I sat there sweating in my chair as Mao went on. He asked me to cultivate Pearl Buck and convince her to change her mind about China. “Tell her we now rule a quarter of the human race on earth,” Mao said.
Mao revealed that his intelligence agency had recently reported that Pearl Buck had been a consultant to President John Kennedy. Mao believed that she had the potential to be his bridge to America.
Looking back, my fate was set. Madame Mao was jealous of any female Mao was interested in. She had made secret arrests, tortured, and murdered in order to gain Mao’s affection back.
Unfortunately, my own ambition made me willfully blind. Connecting Mao and Pearl Buck would be the best thing I could do to advance my career. Going down in history tempted me so much that I played with fire. The wind was in my favor, I thought, and I’d be a fool not to ride it. I planned on making a case to back up Chou En-lai’s position.
I translated Pearl’s recent articles on China and carefully edited out her negative comments. But before I submitted the material to Mao, the wind changed its direction. Madame Mao got ahead of me.