Neither he nor Manna would join a revolutionary organization, but they dutifully participated in political activities. Lin even lectured on three of Chairman Mao's essays, "Serve the People," "In Memory of Dr. Norman Bethune," and "The Old Man Moved the Mountain." His talks were so well received that some people borrowed his notes to read. Because both Lin and Manna were Party members and had a clean family background, the revolutionaries in the hospital didn't accuse them of harboring a reactionary motive.
Nevertheless, people began to gossip about them, saying they were having an affair. The hospital leaders were concerned, but they found no evidence that Lin and Manna had broken any rule. Never had they been together outside the compound; nor had their conduct revealed any intimacy, which lovers usually couldn't help showing, such as patting each other and signaling with glances. Yet beyond question, their relationship was more than camaraderie, because no two mere comrades of different sex would spend so much time together. Even those who were engaged wouldn't have to meet each other every day, but Lin and Manna were simply inseparable.
At the time Ran Su was the vice-director of the hospital's Political Department, and Commissar Zhang enjoined him to handle this case. Ran Su had been on good terms with Lin, because they both loved books and often talked about novels.
He summoned Lin to his office one winter afternoon and said to him, "My friend, I understand that your marriage was arranged by your parents, and probably you don't love your wife, but I want to warn you beforehand that your relationship with Manna Wu may affect your future, no matter what kind of relationship it is, normal or abnormal. In fact you're heading toward trouble."
Lin made no response. He had thought of that, but was unsure whether he could break with Manna, who was actually his first girlfriend. Never had a woman been so close to his heart. He believed that Manna and he, if not lovers in the physical sense, were becoming kindred spirits. These days he almost couldn't refrain from joining her whenever it was possible.
Ran Su combed his dark hair with his fingers, looking at Lin. A pair of little crinkles appeared under his triangular eyes. He smiled and said, "Come on, Lin. I treat you as a friend. Tell me what you think. "
Lin managed to say, "I shall keep the relationship normal. Manna Wu and I will remain just comrades."
"Promise me then that you and Manna Wu will have no abnormal relationship unless you have divorced your wife and married her." By "abnormal" he meant "sexual."
For half a minute Lin remained silent. Then he raised his head and muttered, "I promise."
"You know, Lin. I have to do this. If you break any rule, I won't be able to protect you. Now that you've promised, I'm going to assure my superiors that there's nothing unusual between you and Manna Wu. Don't break your word, or else you will get me into trouble as well."
"I understand." A coldness was sinking into his heart. How he regretted having agreed to meet Manna three months ago. Already deep in the relationship, how could he extricate himself without hurting her and filling his own heart with despair? He had his family and shouldn't have gone with a young woman this way.
Ran Su gave him a Peony cigarette and said he would return Lin's novel How Steel Is Tempered in two weeks. These hectic days made it impossible for him to finish the book. "I don't understand why the Russians always wrote such fat novels," he said. "They must've had a lot of time. I often skip the first chapters, too many descriptions, passage after passage. The pace is too slow." In fact, it was this little man who had notified Lin the previous year that he ought to close his library without delay to avoid having to forfeit his books.
When Lin told Manna about his talk with Ran Su the next evening on the sports ground, she made a long face and dropped her eyes, her elbow resting on a vaulting horse, which stood between them. Nearby were a set of parallel bars, a horizontal bar, and two jumping pits filled with sand.
After a brief silence, she lifted her head and asked testily, "What are your true feelings about me?"
He was puzzled by the question and asked, "What do you mean?"
"Who am I to you? Are we going to be engaged one day?" She looked him straight in the eye.
He took the question with composure. "If I could, I would propose to you. Actually I've thought about that."
Hearing his words, she melted into tears. Her right hand was holding her side as though she were suffering from a stomachache. Disconcerted, he looked around and saw only a few children playing the game "Catch a Spy" in the dusk. A cluster of tall smokestacks fumed lazily in the south. Fortunately none of their comrades was in sight.
He handed her his handkerchief, murmuring, "Don't be so upset, Manna. I love you, but we cannot be together. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. Oh, why is the Lord of Heaven so mean to me? I'm already twenty-eight."
Lin sighed and said no more. I'd be a happy man if she were my wife, he thought.
Manna was also summoned to Director Su's office a few days later and was made to promise the same as Lin had.
At the end of December, for the first time Lin was not elected a model officer. Some people complained about his lifestyle. One officer reported that Lin once had not stood at attention like others when the national anthem was broadcast, even though they had been in the bathhouse, all naked in the pool. A section chief remarked that Lin shouldn't keep his hair so long and parted right down the middle. The hairstyle made him look like a petty intellectual, like those in the movies. Why couldn't he have his hair cropped short like others? What made him so special? His college diploma? Then how come the other three college graduates in the hospital didn't bother so much about their hairstyles? How come one of them didn't mind having his head shaved bald?
Without delay Lin asked his roommate Ming Chen to give him a crew cut. Manna was troubled by his new haircut, which made him look nondescript, saying he now seemed like "neither a drake nor a gander." But he said it didn't matter, since it was winter and he wore his fur hat most of the time.
At political studies Lin often felt that people expected to hear more from him about his inmost thoughts, as though he were supposed to make a self-criticism. He was upset and for months remained gloomy.
7
For over a year Manna wanted to see what Shuyu looked like, but Lin wouldn't give her a chance. Whenever she asked him to show her a photograph of his wife, he would say he didn't have one. Manna was sure he did. In secret she had once searched through the drawers in his desk when she was helping clean the windowpanes of the office he shared with another doctor, but she had found no photograph in them. Her roommates often asked her about Lin's wife, and she felt embarrassed that she could tell them nothing. Without fail they would warn her that Lin might be of two minds about their relationship. So she should be more careful.
At the hospital's annual sports meet in the early fall of 1968, Manna won a third prize for table tennis. She was awarded a perfumed soap wrapped in a white towel. To please her more, that afternoon, in Lin's dormitory, he asked her to make a wish.
"My only wish is to see Shuyu's majestic face," she said, rolling her eyes, which lit up with excitement.
Since his roommates were not in, he picked up his dictionary, Forest of Words , took a photograph out of the vellum cover, and handed it to her. It was a new one, black-and-white and four by three inches.
Looking at it, Manna couldn't help tittering. Both Shuyu and Hua were in the photograph. The baby girl, in checkered overalls, stood on the ground with her knees bent, like a dog rising on its hind legs. Her hands were reaching out for the bench on which her mother sat. Shuyu was closer to the camera than Hua, her face gaunt and her forehead grooved by wavy creases. Her flabby mouth spread sideways as though she were about to cry. A small fishtail of wrinkles gathered at the end of her right eye, which was half closed. More surprising, she was dressed like an old woman: a short gown like a dark iron barrel encased her sloping shoulders and short upper body; her thighs were thin, both shanks wrapped in puttees; on the ground her feet were splayed in black shoes like a pair of mice. A fierce-looking goose was flapping its wings on Shuyu's left. In the background were water vats, the thatched adobe house, and half an elm crown over the roof.