Becoming Madame Mao (13 page)

Fairlynn and I are assigned to live with a peasant family. I have developed a crick in my neck from sleeping on the ground. When the master of the house comes to say good morning one day I mention my pain. The next day the master brings in two straw mats.

My hope for a good night's sleep is ruined by Fairlynn. It's our job to overcome bourgeois weakness, she says, and picks up the straw mats and sends them back to the master.

After a week of poor sleep I begin to feel sick. Fairlynn tosses all night long too. One morning after breakfast, the house master comes with a neighboring woman, who is a tailor. The master explains that he has asked the tailor to lend out her sewing room. It has beds, the tailor says. The city comrades who have fragile bones may prefer beds more than the ground.

This time Fairlynn accepts the offer without a word. We pack up and follow the tailor to her room. We are presented with two beds. One is a single bed made of bamboo and the other hangs down from the ceiling. It is actually a board. Fabrics and miscellaneous rags are laid over it. It is about four feet wide and eight feet long. And it is about seven feet up from the floor, nearly at the ceiling.

Fairlynn suggests that I take the board and she the bed. I'm not like you, light as a bird, she says. The board won't hold my weight—I will crush your bones if it falls.

When I look at the board, I immediately develop a headache. To reach it, I have to step on her bed first, then part my legs to climb onto a wooden stud. Then I have to reach out one foot as a support and lift the other onto the board. Once I lie down I will not be able to sit up, for my head will hit the ceiling if I do.

At night she rests her body against the wall and is afraid to turn. There are no railings to prevent her from falling. Many times she dreams of rolling toward the edge and falling. It takes her weeks to get used to the fear. In order to avoid getting down at night she dares not drink water after three o'clock in the afternoon.

After the dry corn is collected, the squad is sent to transport the field stalks with a single-wheeled cart. It takes Lan Ping a while to learn to use the cart. Once she figures out the tricks she holds the handles steady with both arms bent inward to gain control. She walks on her heels. When going downhill, she pulls the handles and squats down. The weight of her body serves as a brake. Sometimes she squats all the way and her rear end drags on the ground. Unlike her, Fairlynn tumbles over when making sharp turns going down the hill.

Lan Ping begins to feel the distance. The distance between her and the role she wants to play. She is not grasping it. She wonders when she will meet people of significance.

If you are a soldier, act like one. Fairlynn's tone is serious. You don't pop out with questions like a civilian. You don't ask to see Mao, for example ... Suddenly Fairlynn farts. It is a loud fart. Comes in the middle of her sentence. The smell is strong.

Too many yams, observes Sesame.

Gas pills? Lan Ping offers.

Fairlynn is straight-faced as if someone else had farted. Then she starts to fart again. The girls begin to laugh. One of the farts is so long that it lasts a minute. The group bursts with joy when the fart modulates down a couple of notes before it finally dies out.

When I have to go to the bathroom I must squat over a manure pit. It is about three feet in diameter. There is only a wooden board across the pit. On rainy days the surface becomes extremely slippery. Even thinking about it makes me more depressed than I already feel. I have learned to operate guns, throw grenades, roll through bushes, over rocks. I fight and I labor. Communism to me is a moon-in-the-pond and a flower-in-the-mirror. Everything else tells me that I am in the wrong place.

It is midnight and I again have diarrhea. I don't want to climb down in the cold and wake up Fairlynn. But after an hour of tossing I can no longer bear it. I put on my clothes and begin to climb down. Fairlynn is sound asleep. The darkness wraps me as I get out. I have a hard time imagining myself balancing on the wooden board. I think about waking Fairlynn. But I change my mind. I don't want to be called Miss Bourgeois again.

I walk, my hands touching the wall. When I reach the gate, the discomfort in my stomach increases. I push the gate but it won't open. The rings won't budge. In a hurry I make a turn and finally manage to open the door.

I am lost. In front of me is a deserted courtyard. I can't remember where the manure pit is, I only know that it is not far.

***

It is not like what she later told people, that she never doubted the path she had taken. She doubted seriously, as now.

In tears she visits Kang Sheng. It is on a clear afternoon that she comes to his cave office.

Comrade Lan Ping! How have you been? he welcomes her. How are you getting along with life in Yenan? Come on. Have you eaten? Join me for lunch, please.

She hasn't seen meat for months.

They talk over the meal. She is humble, begs for advice.

Well, my knowledge of things is no better than yours, he replies. It is only that I am older and have tasted more salt. Have you tried the opera troupe here? Yenan has a lot of opera fans. The Party bosses are opera fans.

I want to try, but my squad head wouldn't allow me a day off. How would I explain the reason?

Well, let me see. I can transfer you in the name of the personnel department. I'll tell your squad head that the revolution needs you.

She almost wants to stand up and give him a kowtow. Holding herself back she asks for the names of the persons in charge of the Yenan opera troupe.

The people you will work with might be politically advanced, he says, as he tears off a piece of paper and quickly writes a list of names. But they can't sing, can't play roles. You will stand out. So put your mind to it. Would I bring people to see your show? If you are good I'll bring Chairman Mao.

The subtle hint in the words. He reminds me that time doesn't allow me to wait. Youth counts. How easily city girls' fine skin fades into sandpaper here. The harsh wind doesn't argue. It whispers ancient wisdom. While many receive advice, only the wise profit by it. Use your head. Put it this way. There is a different garden of love in Yenan. A woman loves a man for what he can do for China.

A local woman comes in with a teapot. She pours Kang Sheng and me tea. She is young but she has heavy wind-carved wrinkles. Kang Sheng adds, In Yenan, a woman's height is her husband's rank. He laughs as if joking. I am sure a girl of your quality attracts admirers. You should save yourself. Of course this is not our subject today. Here, take it. He pulls out a file from his drawer. Advance yourself with knowledge of the Party—read Mao's works. Remember, only when one's life intertwines with history will one be truly great.

She begins to read what Kang Sheng recommends. Books and papers. The stories fascinate her. They are about the history of the Communist Party, but more about one man's success. One man who single-handedly established and led the Party. One man who three times fell out of the Party's favor and three times made his way back to a role of leadership.

It is the story of Mao Tse-tung.

He is a self-taught man, a son of a Hunan peasant. He established the Hunan Communist group when he was a student in 1923. His mentor was the chief of the Communist Party, Mr. Chen Duxiu. In 1927 after Chiang Kai-shek massacred the Communists, the teacher-student relationship soured. They developed opposing views. Mao believed in the power of force, while Chen believed in the negotiating table. Chen had the say at the time. Yet history proved Mao right. After Chen's negotiations failed he furthered his mistake by ordering positional warfare—building body-walls to block Chiang Kai-shek's bullets. The result: the Red Army lost ninety percent of its force.

Frustrated, Mao took a small peasant force and moved to the remote Jing-gang Mountain to hide. Mao was determined to develop and train his men into an iron force. For his action Mao was accused as a traitor and an opportunist. He was fired.

But Chen had no luck and the Red Army was on the verge of being completely wiped out. Mao was offered back his job, for he had already developed his force into thirty thousand well-equipped men. Taking the new job, Mao battled with Chiang Kai-shek's force, ten times his number. Mao played cat and mouse with his enemy. Then he faced another internal blow. The central Communist Party Politburo believed that the Red Army was so strong that it was time to claim Chiang Kai-shek's main cities. Mao pleaded to withhold action. Again he was labeled a narrow-minded bumpkin and again he was fired.

Mao fell ill but he didn't give up. By the time the bad news came—the Red Army sent to attack the city was destroyed—Mao was ready to sit back in his commander's chair. Like an ancient strategist he applied his art to war and magically turned the situation around. The Red Army not only survived but also began to win again.

Yet Mao's problems were far from over. The Russian-trained army experts expressed their doubts about his guerrilla style. They convinced the Politburo that Mao's conservative tactics were ruining the Party's reputation. The Politburo was convinced that it was necessary to launch a second attack on Chiang Kai-shek's stronghold. When Mao fought again he was criticized as losing confidence in the revolution and was named a coward. This time Mao was not only fired from his job, he was ordered to leave the base. In 193 2, as a form of exile, he was instructed to establish a Party branch in a remote province.

Mao didn't wait for his turn. He actively lobbied, talked to his friends and connections. His prediction was proven right every step of the way. The Red Army lost key battles and finally was blocked by Chiang Kai-shek's force, unable to break out.

Mao was called back the third time. Yet he didn't want to be a dispensable bridge just to save the army from its troubled waters. He wanted a permanent position in the power-house—he wanted complete control over the Communist Party's leadership including removing his political enemies.

He was satisfied.

In 1934 the god led his followers and performed a miracle. It was called the Long March.

The girl sits in front of a stack of paper. She can see her thoughts forming. The syllables pop in the air, the sense falls into place. It's overwhelming. The birth of a sudden vision. Its vital energy. The combination of forbidden intimacy and illicit understanding.

I want to be a place on his map! the girl cries.

Kang Sheng tells her that there are women who have invited themselves to Mao's cave. Domestic and exotic alike.

I am not going to turn into a rock because of that, the girl replies.

***

By the hill the sun begins to set. Companies of soldiers arrive and line up. They sit down in rows in front of a makeshift stage, built with bamboo sticks against the deepening blue sky. The orchestra is adjusting its instruments. The girl from Shanghai has made herself the leading lady of the Yenan Opera Troupe. She is about to play a solo called "Story of a Fisherman's Daughter."

The girl prepares herself in a tent. She wraps her head with a bright yellow scarf. She is in her costume, red vest with green skirt-pants. She picks up an "oar," pretends to be on a boat and starts to warm up, stepping in a pattern of one step forward, one step back and one step across. She rocks, swinging her arms from side to side.

The sound of clapping tells her that the leaders and their cabinet members have arrived. The stagehands rush the performers to the curtain. The beat of drums thickens moment by moment. The actors' faces are masked with powder. The eyes and eyebrows are drawn like flying geese.

Looking into the mirror the girl recalls her life in Shanghai. She thinks of Dan, Tang Nah and Zhang Min. The men who traveled over her body but never found the jewel inside. She thinks of her mother. Her misfortune. Suddenly she misses her. Only after the daughter had experienced her own struggle was she able to comprehend the meaning of her mother's wrinkles and the sadness sealed under her skin.

The cartwheels fly across the stage. The actors crack their voices on the high notes. The enthusiastic audience screams excitedly. The sound breaks the night. The actress is told by the stagehand that Mao has arrived. He is sitting in the middle of the crowd. The girl imagines the way the Chairman sits. Like the Buddha on a lotus flower.

She enters the stage in
sui-bu,
sailing-sliding steps, and then
liuquan,
willow-arms. She picks up the "oar" and makes graceful strokes in the imaginary water. Up and down she bends, then straightens her knees to depict the movement on a boat. The beats of the drum complement her motion. She toe-heels from the left side of the stage to the right showing her "water-walking" skills. She makes
liang-xiang
—flashing a pose—and then opens her mouth to sing the famous aria.

Mao's face appears solemn, but inside his mind wind rises and blows through the trunks of his nerves—the girl's voice is like a strong arrow shooting straight toward his mind's estate. His world turns. Seaweed grows in the sky and clouds begin to swim in the ocean.

I would ride with thee on the Nine Streams
With winds dashing and waves heaving free
In water cars with lotus covers...

His mind is now a shackled horse running against the gale, whipped, kicked, winding up toward a mountaintop draped in thick fog.

I mount Quen-Rung cliffs to look about
My heart feels flighty and unsound
Dusk falling
I feel lost and lorn
Thinking on faraway shores
I come round...

He smells damp air. The air that carries the weight of the water. He hears the rhythm of his own breathing. He blinks his eyes and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

After the curtain descends Kang Sheng guides Mao onto the stage and introduces him to the actress. Handshake. The grace of an ancient sage. He is taller. He has thick black hair, longer than anyone else's in the crowd. It is combed to the sides from the middle—a typical Yenan peasant style with the touch of a modern artist. He has a pair of double-lid almond eyes, gentle but focused. His mouth is naturally red with great fullness. His skin smooth. A middle-aged man, confident and strong. His uniform has many pockets. There are patches neatly sewn on both elbows and knees. His shoes are made of straw.