"Are you all set?" Her voice was charged. "He could be here any minute."
I had mixed feelings about doing this. I didn't feel comfortable spying on Evergreen. Reason one was that I respected him. Reason two was that I was, to be frank, jealous. Although I hadn't had the good fortune to attract Evergreen's attention, I was not without feelings toward him, so I felt awkward watching him pursue Wild Ginger.
Yet I couldn't say no to her. The moment she rescued me from Hot Pepper's umbrella, I was determined to repay her kindness. To lend her a hand when she needed it was my duty. And I wanted to protect her.
Finally there came a light knock on the door. Evergreen showed up with a Mao book under his arm. A comrade handshake. They both looked uneasy. "Make yourself comfortable," she said and walked away to fetch him water. He stared at her new soft-soled black sandals. A skillful shoemaker, she had made them herself. I made crooked shoes. My biggest problem was that when I stitched the sole and top together, the right shoe always ended up looking like a poorly wrapped wonton. I had to hammer the shoe to get it to match the other.
Evergreen settled down on the bench. He was wearing slacks and a blue sweatshirt with the number 8 on the front. On the back was THE GREAT WALL CLIMBER. He wore a pair of white tennis shoes.
"Have you eaten?" he asked Wild Ginger almost nervously.
"I've eaten," she replied, flushing.
He scratched his head, then wiped his brow.
She sat down on a bench across from him. "Shall we start?"
He nodded, opening the Mao book.
"By the way, what do you think of the place?" she asked, flipping the pages of the book.
"Neat. It reminds me of the warehouse where my father used to work. I like the space."
"I ordered the four walls painted deep red, did you notice?" she said proudly. "I did the Mao portraits myself. They aren't perfect but they're from my heart. I intend to make the space an ongoing Mao exhibition."
"Well, you have it." He got up to admire the calligraphy of Mao poems.
"Be careful with the statue," she warned as he turned. Toward the entrance there stood a life-size glow-in-the-dark Mao sculpture, its right hand waving above the head in the air.
"Does it really glow at night?"
"It comes alive."
"I can see you talking to him."
"I do."
He went back to sit down. He looked at Mrs. Pei's old clock on the wall, which had been damaged by one of the Red Guards during the looting. After Wild Ginger's meeting with Chairman Mao, the district party secretary was personally ordered to locate the clock and bring it back to Wild Ginger fixed.
"This is really fancy!" Evergreen pointed at the gas stove. "What a luxury!" He played with the knob and was amazed to see it work. "You never have to visit the filthy coal shop and carry the heavy loads again. Your mother would have enjoyed it if she had lived."
"She would." Wild Ginger lowered her head and looked at the plants on the floor. The camellias, red grass, orchids, and thick-leaved bamboo-all Mrs. Pei's favorites.
"'To be good at translating the party's policy into action of the masses, to be good at getting not only the leading cadres but also the broad masses to understand and master every movement and every struggle we launch-this is the art of Marxist-Leninist leadership. It is also the dividing line that determines whether or not we make mistakes in our work…"'
They were taking turns reading Mao's paragraphs. Next was Evergreen's turn. He had a great voice, and his Mandarin was perfect. "'…However active the leading group may be, its activity will amount to a fruitless effort by a handful of people unless combined with the activity of the masses. On the other hand, if the masses alone are active without a strong leading group to organize their activity properly, such activity cannot be sustained for long, or carried forward in the right direction, or raised to a high level.'"
Wild Ginger took over again. "'Production by the masses, the interests of the masses, the experiences and the feelings of the masses-to these the leading cadres should not only pay attention but great focus…"'
I wished that I could be more interested in the content. Bored, I waited impatiently for their break.
Finally, after the clock struck ten, there was the sound of a movement.
I glued my eye to the peephole. And I saw Evergreen put down his Mao book.
Wild Ginger raised her head.
They stared at each other.
Evergreen picked up the cup and drank down the water. "Page five hundred four, paragraph three. Ready? Begin." He read almost angrily, '"Communists must be ready at all times to stand up for the truth…"'
She looked distracted but followed the reading,"'…because truth is in the interests of the people… Communists must be ready at all times…"' He suddenly got up, then sat down frustratedly. "'… to correct their mistakes, because…"'
"'…mistakes are against the interest of the people.'" She took a deep breath.
He stopped turning the page.
She closed the book.
He looked at her.
She turned her face away.
"I have to go," he uttered, standing up.
"One more paragraph," she said. "We must meet our day's goal."
He sat back down.
"Page five hundred six, paragraph three, Chairman Mao teaches us…"
"'Communists must always go into the whys and wherefores of anything,'" he recited. '"They must use their own heads and carefully think over whether or not it corresponds to reality and is really well founded…"'
She stole a glance at him, then continued, "'…On no account should they follow blindly-"'
At that he rose and rushed toward the hallway. Without saying goodbye he ran out and slammed the door behind him.
Wild Ginger sat still like the clock on the wall.
"Thank you, it's a success," she said weakly.
"Do you wish that he had stayed?"
She turned to me and recited, '"Provoking positive thoughts is just as important as battling the negative. Encouraging sentimentality is just as bad as selling national secrets to the enemy.'"
I detected tears behind her voice.
That night I went home and asked my mother about men for the first time.
"Shame on you," was Mother's reply. "Why don't you think of something better to do? We're out of food again. Why don't you go to the market with your brothers and sisters and pick some leaves from the trash bin?"
"It's afternoon, the edible leaves are long gone." I felt depressed.
"Well, try to go early in the morning while everybody is still asleep."
Wild Ginger and Evergreen had been practicing the same ritual for three weeks now. They sat head to head and acted like poorly made puppets whose movements were stiff. They didn't even say hello to each other when Evergreen arrived on the last day. The experience of being together seemed to offer no joy, yet neither of them called it quits. It was as if they were catering to an addiction.
I was getting sick of the closet. I was losing patience. In the dark, my thoughts raced. My mind was a jar of marinated pictures. Pictures of unrelated events, past and present blending into each other. Pictures of my swelling imagination, which produced horrifying results. I became obsessed with what could happen and was determined to stay in the closet until I saw "it."
I couldn't pinpoint when my focus began to change. I peeped through the hole one night and realized that I had been looking at Evergreen. I was examining him, in the most disgusting way: I memorized the number of pimples on his face, their location and size, how they changed day by day, and how his old skin flaked and grew new skin. I paid attention to the shape of his wide shoulders, big hands, and thick fingers. I indulged in the movement of his lips. My ears picked out his voice from their duets. Something rotten was infesting my insides.