I knew what awaited me. Year after year, I had witnessed so many men and women escorted by soldiers to the rallies at the People's Square. Their heads were shaved. When I was little I didn't doubt that they were villains. I was always happy to see them executed. I shouted slogans and threw rocks when their trucks passed through the streets. The city authorities loved to display the "revolutionary fruits." Twenty-three years ago when Chairman Mao's Liberation Army took over the cities they paraded through the same streets. Their "fruits" included U.S. tanks and other weapons. Today the convicts were roped like New Year's presents.
When the driver made a stop at a brick building without a sign and a number, more prisoners clambered on, including one I immediately recognized as Evergreen. It had been months since I had seen him. His head was shaved to the scalp. His features seemed hardened. He looked prepared. If I hadn't been roped, I would have thrown myself at him. He gave me a weak grin as our eyes met. There was no bitterness in his expression. I supposed that he too had chosen to sacrifice himself. I admired his determination but was jealous that he let himself be punished for Wild Ginger.
We arrived at the People's Square. As the truck cut through the oceanlike crowds, the young people were chanting Mao quotations. '"The reactionaries are hostile to our state. They don't like the dictatorship of the proletariat. Whenever there is an opportunity, they will stir up trouble and attempt to overthrow the Communist party and restore old China. As between the proletarian and the bourgeois roads, as between the socialist and the capitalist roads, these people stubbornly choose to follow the latter. They are ready to capitulate to imperialism, feudalism, and bureaucratic capitalism. Such people are extremely reactionary…"'
I felt spit on my face, then rocks. Someone got hold of my hair and wouldn't let go. The truck kept going. With a terrible tearing pain a patch of my hair was yanked off along with a part of my scalp. The crowd cheered. They shouted, "Down with the anti-Maoist!" I was enraged, but I couldn't move, couldn't wipe off the blood dripping down my face. I spat back at a youthful face. She ran over, clinging to the slow-moving truck. I felt her fingernails plowing through the skin on my face.
The crowd began to sing. It was one of my favorite songs-the Mao poem "Capture Nanking." "'Rain and a windstorm rage blue and yellow over the Bell Mountain, as a million peerless troops cross the Great River. The peak is a coiled dragon, the city a crouching tiger more dazzling than before. The sky is spinning and the earth upside down. We are elated yet we must use our courage to chase the hopeless enemy…"'
Suddenly I doubted my motivation. Maybe it wasn't as sacred as I thought. Maybe all I was doing was trying to beg for Evergreen's love. Look at me, I am willing to sacrifice my life for you. I am better than Wild Ginger. See for your own eyes. Look, Evergreen, here is the one who is willing to go all the way, to die for you, and there is the other who has ordered a bullet in your head.
The truck moved through the sea of red flags and banners. At every jerky stop I moved myself toward Evergreen. Finally, our shoulders touched. We looked at each other and I saw sorrow in his eyes.
The rally had begun. The People's Square was a small-scale Tiananmen Square. Since there was no Gate of Heavenly Peace, the bleak, flat-roofed, Russian-style city hall was the tallest structure in view. It was heavily decorated for the celebration with red flags and banners draped from every wall. A crowd of hundreds of thousands gathered around a makeshift stage and shouted, "We owe our life to the Communist party! We owe our happiness to Chairman Mao!"
I was pushed off the truck with the rest of the convicts. We were escorted to a dark room inside the city hall. I smelled shit. Several convicts had already lost control of their bowels. Others started screaming and making incomprehensible sounds.
Trying to shut them up the guards struck them with the butts of their guns. It didn't stop them. The guards pushed the convicts toward the stage when their names were called. Every time when the door toward the stage opened, the wavelike sound of slogan shouting hit our faces.
I began to look for Wild Ginger. My mind spun. Suddenly I couldn't accept this, couldn't allow Wild Ginger to murder Evergreen and imprison me. I needed to break my silence. I could taste the regret in my mouth. For the first time, I thought, Wild Ginger is not worth it.
"Wild Ginger! Wild Ginger!" I screamed. The guards came and kicked me. I rolled on the ground but kept screaming.
Wild Ginger wasn't hosting the rally. I assumed that she would appear later as an important speaker. She once told me that Chairman Mao always spoke last at meetings.
Evergreen's name was called. As the guards pushed him toward the stage he turned to look at me. I sensed that he was bidding me a final goodbye. "Maple, I'll come back a tree." He was in tears but he was smiling. "I'll keep your life green. If you ever get out, please visit my grandmother on Bei Mountain. She is ninety-three years old and lives in a temple on top of the mountain. It's called the Cliff Temple. Tell her to watch out for a cricket singing under her bed at every full moon. Give all my Mao buttons and books to Wild Ginger. Tell her that I was a proud anti-Maoist."
He was in a bloodstained white shirt and blue pants. In a few minutes he would be a martyr. I broke down.
"Down with the anti-Maoists!" The shouting came from the loudspeaker. "Down! Down! Down!"
I was already in hell. I saw a reason to destroy the world, the world in which Wild Ginger would go on living as a celebrated Maoist, and would feel no repentance. My conscience rebelled against my heart. My mind gathered its courage. My eyes sought the microphone and my voice prepared itself. The speech was already composed in my head. I knew exactly what I was going to say. I was going to say that I was sick of pretending. Then I would spit out the truth. The whole truth, starting with the closet and ending with the backstage conversation.
I gave myself permission to break the promise, to declare that my love for Wild Ginger was over.
"Convict Maple" was called through the microphone. The guards' clawlike hands came and grabbed my shoulders. They locked me in their grip and pushed me toward the stage. They lined me up with Evergreen.
I pivoted my head toward Evergreen. His eyes were closed and his chin protruded toward the sky. His face was a mask of sadness.
I stared at the microphone. I felt my legs shaking. My chest quaked.
A man with tiny eyes and fat cheeks appeared before me. He had a pair of scissors and an electric shaver. The guard pulled my arms behind my back and tied them there. I was pushed to my knees. Suddenly the sky was draped with the folds of skin under the fat man's chin. He started to shave my head.
The crowd boiled. It looked like a million termites.
My hair dropped in bunches. I thought of a hen being plucked in the market.
I told myself to wait for my moment to address the crowd.
Suddenly someone else's name was called. I was lifted from my knees and shoved down the stage.
I was exiting. No! I realized that I would not be given a chance to expose the truth. How foolish I was! The reason some convicts were given a moment to speak was because they couldn't talk-their vocal cords had been removed!
Despair overwhelmed me. I kicked and struggled with all my might. The guard hit my newly shorn head with the back of his gun.