Old Town

by Lin Zhe

  The section head himself opened the door. The doctor took out with his dirty hands the photograph that Old Wang had given him and introduced himself as Big Zhang’s father-in-law. The two men then pretended to move coal into the cooking area. The section head said that he had lent Big Zhang to the department to assist in breaking a case, but there was a specially trained guard by Big Zhang’s side, so he couldn’t talk and didn’t dare talk. Big Zhang was obstinate by nature and would rather die than to admit to guilt. Tomorrow he was going to be sent back to the detention center. If they didn’t get a speedy sentencing, he was going to die in there. The doctor said, “I’d like to see him. Once I see him I’m sure I could get him to change his attitude.” The section head stood by a pile of coal and smoked two cigarettes in quick succession. Pointing to the little building way off by the side of the wall surrounding the compound, he said, “That’s where he is right now. The people guarding him are in the outer room and may be having their noon doze. There’s a small barred window in the back. Just go ahead and give it a try. If he’s asleep too there’s nothing you can do about this, so please don’t come looking for me again, all right?”

  At this moment, Big Zhang was standing motionlessly up by the barred window, his mind in a daze. He couldn’t figure out why he had ended up in this cell. Nor could he figure out how his most revered leader could possibly be a secret agent. He himself was the son of a destitute peasant in a northern village, and ever since he was little had hired himself out long-term to the local landlords. In 1938, that cadre was leading the Eight Route Army when it liberated his village. Thus at only sixteen years of age Big Zhang became a soldier of the Eight Route Army. The party’s loving kindness to him had been higher than heaven and thicker than the earth, as they say. How could they make him admit that he was a secret agent plotting to overthrow the Communist regime?

  A skinny old geezer bearing a shoulder pole with two empty baskets walked onto the patch of weeds outside the barred window. Big Zhang gazed idly at the scene in front of him, but in his mind he was thinking of the year when that leading cadre taught him to read. Hazily he recalled the vastness of the great plain where he came from and its stretch after stretch of tall, new crops.

  The old fellow’s eyes were flecked with tears as he came up to the barred window. When their eyes connected, Big Zhang didn’t recognize his father-in-law. There was no way he would have expected Baohua’s father to appear at this place at this time. He didn’t have any good impression of Baohua’s family, especially that father-in-law with his holier-than-thou air about him who had done all he could to oppose Baohua’s marriage. Big Zhang had brooded over this and bore him a grudge. A few times Baohua had hopped a ride with Big Zhang back to Old Town and when the car stopped at the West Gate street crossing he hadn’t gotten out. Last year when the news of the doctor’s struggle session had reached P Town, his voice said to Baohua, “Bring your dad and ma to P Town,” but his heart couldn’t contain its pleasure at this other person’s misfortune.

  The doctor got right next to the window and said in a low voice, “Big Zhang, you’ve had a rough time of it.”

  Big Zhang was so astonished his scalp tingled, as if someone long dead was suddenly standing right there talking to him. He really couldn’t tell if it was a man or a ghost standing on the other side of the window. Then he saw Maomao’s picture. His son’s adorable face thoroughly demolished Big Zhang’s will. He lowered his head and, covering up his chin, his mouth, and his nose, wept with all his pent-up emotions.

  The doctor unfolded a note that he had written beforehand and read, “For Baohua and for Maomao, you have to go on living. With a good attitude you can return to P Town to serve out your sentence. ‘As long as the hills stay green, don’t fear for a lack of firewood.’”

  Big Zhang nodded, with tears in his eyes.

  The doctor folded up the piece of paper and from inside his shirt took out the cigarettes, matches, and a small bottle of liquor and passed it in to Big Zhang. Then he hastily picked up his shoulder pole and walked off. Like some mischievous child, he had been in an exciting game and now, as he headed toward West Street, his unsettled nerves calmed down a bit. He pondered over Big Zhang. The tears of this tough and boorish northerner were daggers stabbing into his heart. As he walked along he wiped his own tears until half his face was black with coal dust. Passing West Street he forgot to return the shoulder pole and the empty baskets to their owner. He also forgot to return to the study session. Feeling quite lightheaded, he walked to his own home.

  Ah Ming was just then with the Lins reporting to his “auntie” and “big brothers” the doctor’s odd behavior, when all of sudden he spotted the doctor coming home, face all black and still shouldering the pole with its two empty baskets. The four people sitting around the Eight Immortals table all came to the same immediate conclusion: He really has gone crazy!

  Would Ninth Brother walk the streets from now on bringing coal to people? Is he strong enough to do something like that? Second Sister’s heart ached as she wondered this.

  She called him over to drink some water and to clean his face. “If you’re thinking of doing labor reform, let Ah Ming assign you to sweeping the streets,” she said.

  Ninth Brother made no response. Utterly spent, he remounted his throne, closed his eyes and shut his ears.

  One month later, Baohua sent a letter saying that Big Zhang had now been transferred to the P Town jail.

  At the end of the 1970s, my stepfather held the position of deputy commissioner of P Town district. The personal misfortune of spending several years in jail hadn’t done anything to improve his temper. After his release he learned that his adopted son, Maomao, at age four had been kidnapped from the granny’s home and sold. This was really a great blow to Big Zhang. He left no stone unturned and experienced all kinds of setbacks in trying to find Maomao. Finally, he discovered that the child had fallen into a beggar band and within a few years had been thoroughly infected with all its evil ways. He was now a cunning and lazy little rascal. Disappointed to his very core, Big Zhang’s temper became more violent than ever. His home was in a constant uproar and my mother would frequently return to West Gate crying to the heavens. The Lin family’s relationship with Big Zhang stalemated at a new low point.

  When the news of my grandfather’s passing reached P Town, Deputy Commissioner Zhang was just then in charge of convening an important meeting. He immediately handed off this job and sent his secretary out to buy mourning apparel. My mother told him that hemp coverings and white sackcloth were not the fashion at Christian funeral services, but he insisted on this, and then rushed off, driving his own car the more than thirty miles to West Gate. There he fell on his knees with a thump, and, tears streaming down his face, knocked his head on the ground three times.

  At that time, the two Lin brothers had a falling-out with their brother-in-law because in a fit of temper Big Zhang had smashed a thermos and scalded my mother’s foot. When my two uncles raced in a fury to P Town to burst into his office and have it out with him, Big Zhang brought the police and police vehicles into play. At West Gate He paid no attention at all to Baosheng and Baoqing, but insisted on joining them in carrying the coffin in the funeral procession. His expression looked more imposing in its deep grief than anyone else’s in our family.

  5.

  WITH OLD TOWN folk, happiness lies in being contented. They have always been optimistic in their belief that Old Town is a place blessed with riches. Look, in the beginning of the 1970s, the schools began classes, work started up at the factories, and food wasn’t so scarce in the markets. All under heaven was peaceful and tranquil. Though the streets were still filled with slogans like “Vow to carry out the Great Cultural Revolution right to the very end!” in fact, the revolution no longer had anything to do with the citizens of Old Town. People had started to live orderly lives amid all the upheaval.

  The little vessel that was the Lin home had weathered the tempest, frightened but unscathed,
and like the rest of the people of Old Town, began a dull and contented life. Big Zhang was still in jail. Baohua returned to work in the maternity ward. With Old Wang looking after them, they were able to meet every week. Baosheng and Baoqing resumed work at their respective organizations. The lofty sentiments and grand aspirations of their younger years had long since felt like yesterday’s dreams. Now they endured life with equanimity as low-level functionaries. Young Li’s wish came true. He returned to his home village in Tongpan District where his fellow villagers chose him to be the local production brigade chief. Enchun was assigned to sweep and clean the school library and for him this was like putting a fish back in water. Everything went peacefully and smoothly. Everything exceeded what was needed and sought after.

  Women with perms now began to appear on the streets. Grandma also kept up with the latest fashions and went to get her hair done. I let my hair grow long. Every day before going to school I would comb it into braids and clip on butterflies of different colors and designs. The two uncles saw this but expressed no opinions. Perhaps they had simply forgotten the family revolution they had launched over my hair.

  At some point, I don’t know when, my grandfather retrieved that thick, calfskin book from Shuiguan’s home. Now openly and honorably he sat in the main hall reading it and writing notes, with no one feeling uneasy about this.

  At that time, my grandparents’ biggest worries were about Pussycat, getting old but still restless. More often than not it would be off somewhere, and frequently got hurt in cat gang warfare. Every time it came home more dead than alive, it would jump up on the wall but couldn’t get down. So Grandpa, himself over seventy years old, still had to move the ladder and climb up to carry Pussycat down.

  When Baolan and her husband, Ah Jian, came to West Gate to visit their Ninth Uncle and Ninth Aunt, the two old folks were treating Pussycat’s wounds and feeding it rice gruel with brown sugar.

  It was an afternoon in early autumn. Baolan’s face was lightly made up and she was wearing a pale violet-hued dress. As she stood there in the sunlight of the sky well, she dazzled everyone with her beauty. She was now a middle-aged lady over forty years old and though the past twenty years had been rough ones for her, she was still able to stay this attractive.

  Grandpa was delighted at his niece’s visit. As he dressed the cat’s wounds, he looked up and said all in one breath, “Baolan! I’m so happy to see you. Stay a while, both of you. I’ll boil a cup of good tea for you!”

  Over all these years, the doctor had quietly kept a hotline connection with Ah Jian. He had never spoken a single word of comfort to Baolan and to date had never told her that he knew she had been designated a rightist and sent to do coolie labor in a factory, or that at the start of the Cultural Revolution both her legs had been broken by the rebel faction. In the cowshed she had insisted on treating her own wounds and doing her own physical therapy. She refused to end up as a cripple. His niece’s indomitable character gained his admiration but also distressed him. Actually, he very much wanted to comfort her. He wished that she could be like Baohua and cry herself dry of all the injustices and heartbreaks she carried inside her. But every time he saw her she always appeared so cheerful and happy. It was as if all the information from Ah Jian were just so many rumors that didn’t stand up in the light of day.

  The doctor washed his hands and started the complicated tea ritual. Performing this was his highest level of hospitality to guests. Apart from Young Li, no one could enjoy the same level of courteous treatment as Baolan received.

  Since that particular day was neither New Year’s nor any other festival, Baolan and her husband’s visit with gifts for her uncle must be “the arrival of good luck when misfortune has reached its limit.” Perhaps Ah Jian has returned to his teaching job or maybe Baolan has been transferred back to her newspaper. The comfortable sight of Old Town’s ordinary people enjoying whatever peace and ease they could had clouded the doctor’s mind and he too turned into an optimist. He didn’t even notice that Baolan wasn’t laughing much on this day.

  After three rounds of tea, Baolan said, “Uncle, from what I know, Christians have eternal life. The life they vest in Jesus is immortal, is that not so?”

  It was as if a lightning bolt split the doctor’s head in two. His feelings at this very instant were complex in the extreme. Ever since the West Gate church had been closed, he almost never talked about Jesus with anyone. For over two years now, he hadn’t even the strength to pray. Right up to recently he would reread the Bible and still not sense he was in touch with God. Baolan’s questions filled him with guilt and remorse.

  “Oh, to be sure. Believe in Jesus and gain eternal life. Ninth Uncle owes so much to Jesus. Who knows when the day comes whether Jesus will be willing to take me to my heavenly home?”

  Ah Jian said, “Ninth Uncle, you have given your love and warmth to so many people, Jesus surely loves you very much.”

  Oh, is this God telling me through them that he has not cast me aside? Baolan said, “Ninth Uncle, Ah Jian and I have come to see you today to ask you to give us to Jesus, and thereafter we will have immortal life.”

  O God, is this real? Very excited, the doctor took hold of Baolan and Ah Jian’s hands. “From this moment on, you are Christians. The Bible tells us if only we believe in Jesus in our word and in our heart, and we accept Jesus as the savior of our lives, we are Christians!” Then he closed his eyes and prayed, “O Lord, Heavenly Father, I bring Baolan and Ah Jian before you. Please receive them as your children, and grant them eternal life.

  Only after eating dinner did Baolan and Ah Jian leave West Gate. Before their departure, Baolan embraced Ninth Uncle and Aunt with great affection. “Ninth Uncle, Ninth Aunt, after Dad and Ma departed from us, you have been my dearest relatives. Now that we have eternal life we will never be separated from you again. Even if tomorrow we should no longer be on this earth, we will be parted for only a short time, right?”

  The doctor smiled lovingly and nodded his head. At that moment he thought of his own three children. When will they suddenly come to their senses and repent?

  A few days later, Old Town’s marketplace was rife with the story of the man and the woman who killed themselves in a double suicide south of the city on Black Mountain. The great tempest of the Cultural Revolution had passed. Suicide no longer would have happened for political reasons, so this couple’s action caused a sensation in tiny Old Town. People gave full rein to their imaginations and came up with all kind of interesting tidbits.

  Early one morning my grandmother went to the vegetable market and heard this news. On my way to school, I heard Rongmei give her own juicy account. Her father came to our house and babbled in deaf-and-dumb talk to my grandfather.

  It was a middle-aged couple. They had on their best clothes as if going to attend a grand and solemn banquet. The time, place, and manner had been meticulously set out. Black Mountain was an oasis of serenity amid all the hustle and bustle of life. The time was on the eve of Old Town’s return to life. They sprinkled one-fen coins from the foot of the mountain right to under the tree they hung themselves from. Early that morning, two middle school students on their way to school, book bags on their backs, discovered the coins at the road crossing. They picked them up all the way to the top of the mountain where they discovered the man and the woman hanging from the tree. At the time, their bodies had not yet stiffened and still held a trace of warmth.

  This couple who had decided to go to their deaths had been so concerned with appearances. Every last detail was planned so that after their deaths their appearances would remain dignified to the extent that they could achieve this.

  We are a family of intellectuals and scholars. From the time I was little that’s how Grandma taught and raised me. Thus, we never exchanged news of what we heard out in the streets at the dinner table. The story of this couple was just like many folktales and legends, merely a light breeze blowing by the ears. We had no interest in chasing after phantoms.
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  Who would have expected it, though? The man and the woman were actually our Lin-family relatives—Baolan and Ah Jian. In the beginning, being designated a rightist had not caused Baolan to lose hope. Nor did she do so when the rebel faction broke her legs. After she came out of the cowshed and returned to factory labor, it seemed as if the storms surrounding her had calmed down and people had gotten used to the absurd time when white was black and black was white. With black and white all topsy-turvy, they found balance and enjoyment. Numb Old Town, content Old Town—this is what made Baolan lose hope. People always say that the more you think, the more torment it brings you. Baolan was not only the girl genius of the Lin family; she was also the girl genius of Old Town. She could not, nor would she have been willing to just drift along resigned to life like the majority of Old Town people. I heard that Uncle Baoqing received a several hundred thousand character-long letter that she wrote him just before she died. In it she spoke of her views on the conditions of the country and on Marshal Lin Biao57 and Jiang Qing. He hadn’t finished reading it when his wife, my aunt, snatched it from him and stuffed it into the stove.

  This bad news overwhelmed Grandpa. For several days straight he neither ate nor slept. He just lay on his bed without getting up. Grandma persisted in bringing hot meals to his bedside three times a day, and she sat beside him groaning and sighing. She waited until the food had gotten cold before taking it away, untouched.

  My grandmother knew that Baolan and Ah Jian’s decision to become Christians was to console their Ninth Uncle, so that he wouldn’t take the news too badly. This husband and wife were so determined to end their lives, who could have held them back? In order to release my grandfather from his pain and grief, Grandma placed the Bible in his hand and said that Baolan and Ah Jian were now already in heaven and, compared to eternal life, this life today, long or short, was nothing. He took the Bible and shoved it into the cabinet drawer by the bedstead.