by Xinran
‘I am very traditional by nature, but, as you know, I was forced into leaving my marriage,’ she said. I had once been invited to a talk in which she had set out proposals for a policy on marital break-up, but I knew nothing about her personal experience other than what I had read in the papers.
‘My first marriage – actually there was just this one marriage – was just like many others in China. Friends introduced me to the man who became my husband. I was in Ma’anshan then, and he was in Nanjing, so we only saw each other once a week. It was an idyllic time: my mother had been released; I had a job and a relationship. When people urged me to take time to live and learn from experience before making decisions, I resisted, thinking their admonitions too much like those of the political workers who had interrogated me during the Cultural Revolution. My boyfriend and I were preparing to get married when he had an accident at work, and lost the fingers of his right hand. Friends and family told me to think twice about marrying him; he was crippled, and we would have many problems. In defence, I cited famous love stories, ancient and modern, from China and from abroad, and told everyone, “Love is unconditional, it is a kind of sacrifice. If you love someone, how can you abandon him when he is in trouble?” I gave up my job and moved to Nanjing to marry him.’
I had much sympathy for Zhou Ting’s decision. ‘Your behaviour was considered naive by people around you, but you must have been very proud of yourself, and very happy too,’ I said.
Zhou Ting nodded. ‘Yes, you’re absolutely right, I really was very happy then. I did not fear marrying a crippled man at all. I felt like a heroine in a romantic novel.’ She drew the curtain back slightly, and a weak ray of sunlight slanted in on the nape of her neck, glinting on her necklace to cast a bright spot on the wall.
‘When our life together began, I found that everything had changed. The leaders of my husband’s work unit at the Meishan iron mine in Nanjing had promised that they would give me a good job in the hospital to help us after we got married, but when I arrived, they only gave me a job as a primary-school matron. And they used the fact that I had no local registration documents as an excuse to stop me qualifying for a promotion or a pay rise that year. I had never expected those dignified, respectable leaders to go back on their word like that.
‘But my new job was not the biggest problem. I soon realised that my husband was an incorrigible womaniser. He slept with any woman who was willing, from women decades older than him to young girls. Even tramps with matted hair and dirty faces were not beneath him. I was distraught. When I was pregnant, he stayed out all night, and made all sorts of excuses, but he always gave himself away.
‘Eventually, I gave him a warning, and he agreed to stop. Not long after, he told me that he had to work late occasionally. When a colleague of his came to see him, I said that he was doing overtime. His colleague said, “He’s not on overtime.”
‘I realised at once that my husband was at it again. I was furious. I asked my neighbour to look after my son, and rushed off to the house of the woman I knew my husband had been having an affair with before he agreed to stop. Her house was only a few streets away. As I approached it, I could see my husband’s bicycle by the gate. I was shaking with anger as I knocked on the door. I waited a long time and knocked again, until a woman with her clothing in disarray eventually opened the side door, shouting, “Who is it, why are you making this racket so late at night?” The next moment, she recognised me and stammered, “You? What are you doing here? He . . . he isn’t here with me.”
‘I didn’t come here to look for him, I came to see you!’ I said.
‘“Me? What do you want me for? I haven’t done anything to offend you.”
‘“Can I come in to talk?”
‘“No, it’s not very convenient.”
‘“All right, we can talk in the doorway. I just want to say to you, please don’t carry on with my husband any longer. He’s a family man.”
‘The woman exclaimed, “It’s your husband who runs over to my place every day, I’ve never been to your house!”
‘“Are you trying to tell me you won’t refuse him? He . . .” I broke off suddenly, in a cold sweat. I was not used to confrontations.
‘“What a joke,” the woman mocked. “You can’t keep a man and you blame me for not shutting the door?”
‘“You? You . . .” I was speechless with anger.
‘“Me? What about me? If you haven’t got what it takes, don’t come round yowling like a cat on heat. You’d do what I do yourself if you had it in you!” She sounded like a common prostitute, but this was an educated woman, a doctor.
‘Suddenly, my husband appeared, doing up his flies. “What are you quarrelling about, you jealous bitches? Let me show you what a man is!” Before I could react, he picked up a bamboo cane and started thrashing me.
‘His mistress screamed, “You should have taught her a lesson before now!”
‘I felt a stabbing pain in my left shoulder where he had hit me. He was hindered by his crippled right hand, so I managed to avoid the next few blows.
‘Many people in the residential compound had been drawn out of their houses by the noise. They stood watching passively as I was chased around and beaten by my husband, while his mistress screamed abuse. When the police finally came, I was covered in cuts and bruises, but I heard an old woman saying, “Those yellow dogs [the police] are really meddlesome, sticking their noses into people’s family affairs.”
‘In hospital, twenty-two bamboo splinters were extracted from my body by the doctor. The nurse was so outraged at what had happened to me that she wrote a letter about it to the city newspaper. Two days later a photograph of me covered in bandages appeared in the paper accompanying an article about how women should be treated with respect. Many people, mostly women of course, came to visit me in hospital, bringing gifts of food. It was only several weeks later that I saw this article. I was wrongly described as a wife who had been abused over a long period of time. I did not know whether my situation had been exaggerated because someone had felt sorry for me, or because someone had wanted to strike back on behalf of all abused women by putting my husband in the dock.’
‘Did you try to correct the misrepresentation?’
‘No, I was all at sea, I didn’t know what to do. It was the first time I had been in the newspaper. Besides, in my heart I was grateful for that article. If it had simply been considered that my husband was “putting his house in order”, how would things ever get better for women?’
A man battering his wife or beating his children is considered to be ‘putting his house in order’ by many Chinese. Elderly peasant women, in particular, accept such practices. Having lived under the Chinese dictum ‘a bitter wife endures until she becomes a mother-in-law’ themselves, they believe that all women should suffer the same fate. Hence the people who saw Zhou Ting being beaten did not step in to help.
Zhou Ting sighed. ‘Sometimes I think I haven’t had it too bad. It would have been worse to be born a woman in earlier times. Never mind going to school – in those days, I would only have had my husband’s leftover rice to eat.’
‘You’re good at comforting yourself,’ I said, thinking to myself that many Chinese women consoled themselves with such thoughts.
‘My husband said too much learning had spoiled me.’
‘He didn’t come up with that himself. It was Confucius who said that lack of talent in a woman was a virtue.’ I paused, then asked, ‘Didn’t you later appear in the news in a case of attempted murder?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. The papers made me the villain of the piece and taught me the power of the media. To this day, nobody believes me when I tell them what really happened. They all think that anything printed in the newspaper is gospel.’
‘So you think that report was inaccurate,’ I prompted blandly.
Zhou Ting became agitated. ‘I believe in divine retribution – may I be struck by lightning if I tell a lie!’
‘Please don’
t feel you have to swear like that,’ I said soothingly. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to hear your side of the story.’
Mollified, Zhou Ting continued. ‘I applied for a divorce, but my husband grovelled for one last chance, saying that as a cripple, he couldn’t survive without me. I was torn: after he had beaten me up so badly, I didn’t believe that he could change, but I was afraid that he really wouldn’t be able to live without me. Affairs were all very well, but would his lovers go through thick and thin with him?
‘But one day I came home from work early to find my husband and a woman, both half naked. All my blood surged to my head, and I screamed at the woman, “Call yourself a woman, whoring in my house? Get out!”
‘I shouted and cursed madly. The woman stumbled to my bedroom and gathered up her clothes from my bed. I grabbed a cleaver from the kitchen and said to my husband, “You tell me, what kind of man are you?”
‘My husband kicked me in the groin in response. Incandescent, I threw the cleaver at him, but he ducked, and stood staring at me, shocked that I could have dared to attack him. I was trembling with fury; I could barely speak. “You – both of you – what – are you doing . . . ? If you don’t come clean . . . one of us will die right here!” I said.
‘I had grasped a leather belt hanging from the door. As I spoke, I lashed out with it like a mad thing, but they moved away. When I turned to hit my husband, the woman slipped out. I chased her all the way to the police station, whipping her with the belt as she screamed that she would never sleep with my husband again. As soon as she was through the gate of the police station, she rushed for the duty room shouting, “Help, I’m being attacked!”
‘I did not know that the woman was related to one of the policemen in this station, nor that one of her lovers also worked there. When a policeman ran up and twisted my arm behind my back, I shouted, “You’ve got it all wrong!”
‘“Shut up!” he said brusquely.
‘“You’ve really got it all wrong. That woman committed adultery with my husband in my home, do you hear?” I struggled in his armlock.
‘“What?” he exclaimed. The other policemen who had gathered were all shocked. As you know, sexual activity outside marriage was a serious offence then. It could lead to a prison sentence of more than three years.
‘The policeman released me. “What evidence do you have?” he asked.
‘“If I provide evidence, what will you do with her?” I asked, certain that I could find proof.
‘He did not answer my question directly. “If you can’t get any proof we’re going to detain you for a false charge and assault,” he said. There were no proper legal procedures then. Looking back now, I wonder if those policemen understood the law at all.
‘“Give me three hours,” I said, “If I can’t get the evidence, you can go ahead and lock me up.”
‘One of the older policemen, perhaps the head of the station replied, “All right, we’ll send someone with you to collect the evidence.”
‘My husband was sitting on the sofa smoking a cigarette when I arrived home with a policeman. He was surprised, but I ignored him and went straight to the bedroom, then to the toilet, but couldn’t find anything suspicious. Finally, I opened the kitchen bin, and saw a pair of women’s knickers, the crotch damp with semen.
‘The policeman looked at me and nodded. My husband, who had been watching anxiously as I searched, blanched and stammered, “You . . . what are you doing?”
‘“I’m going to turn you both in,” I said decisively.
‘“But you’ll ruin me!” he said.
“You are the one who has already done so much to ruin me!” I said, then I took the evidence and left with the policeman.
‘At the police station I was taken aside by one of the police officers who said he wanted to discuss something with me.
‘I was taken aback. “Discuss? What do you want to discuss with me?” I asked.
‘“Well, the woman you’re accusing of adultery is the sister-in-law of the station head. If this came out, it would look bad for him. The woman’s husband has also begged us to come to an arrangement with you. He says his wife is a nymphomaniac, and their daughter has just turned fourteen; if we imprison the woman, her family will be in a difficult position.”
‘“What about my family, what am I going to do?” I said, starting to get angry.
‘“Aren’t you getting a divorce at the moment? It’s very difficult to get a divorce; you’ll have to sit it out for three years at least. We can get someone to plead your case to the judge, and will even bear witness for you if you want, to speed up the process.”
‘I understood what he was getting at. “What sort of witness will you bear?” I asked.
‘The policeman seemed helpful. He said, “We can testify that your husband had extra-marital affairs.”
‘“What evidence will you provide?’ I thought of the bundle I held in my hands.
‘“Well, there’s so much gossip about your husband anyway. We can just testify that what is said about him is true.”
‘“Well you needn’t bother cooking up a story,” I said. “This is the evidence from tonight.” Naively, I handed him the stained underwear without asking for a receipt or insisting on a record of our agreement being signed and filed. I just wanted to get the whole thing over with quickly.
‘In the divorce court two weeks later, I stated that the police station would testify for me. The judge announced, “According to our inquiries, the said police station has no record of dealing with any matter concerning you.” How can the People’s Police swindle people like this?’ Zhou Ting exclaimed.
I was not surprised at the lack of scruples in the police force, but asked, ‘Did you report this to any government department?’
‘Make a report? To whom? Before I could even go back to the police station to beg them to testify for me, the local paper had published a report headlined, “A Wife’s Revenge”. I was portrayed as a violent woman who was being divorced by her husband. The report was reprinted in other papers and every time it appeared it was touched up: by the end I was a madwoman cackling in a pool of blood!’
I felt ashamed of fellow journalists who had distorted Zhou Ting’s story in this way. ‘How did you react?’
‘It was just one more thing to cope with then. My family had fallen apart, and I was living with my mother at the time.’
‘And what about your former flat?’ As soon as I asked this, I realised I knew the answer: in state-run work units, practically everything allocated to a family is in the man’s name.
‘The work unit said that the flat was in my husband’s name, so it belonged to him.’
‘Where did the work unit expect you to live?’ Divorced women were treated like dead leaves, I thought.
‘They said I would have to find somewhere temporary to live and wait for the next round of housing allocation.’
I knew that in official parlance, the ‘next round’ could take years to materialise. ‘And how long did it take for you to be assigned a flat?’ I asked.
Zhou Ting snorted derisively. ‘It still hasn’t happened nine years later.’
‘They did absolutely nothing for you?’
‘As good as nothing. I went to the president of the trade union, a woman of fifty or so, to ask for help. She said in a kind voice, “It’s easy for a woman. Just find another man with a flat and you’ll have everything you need.”’
I struggled to grasp the world-view of the Party cadre who could have said such a thing. ‘The president of the trade union said that?’
‘That’s what she said, word for word.’
I thought I had begun to understand Zhou Ting a little more. ‘So you never considered taking action against your treatment by the media?’ I asked, not expecting her to have done so.
‘No, well, I did do something about it eventually. I telephoned the newspaper office, but they ignored me, so I complained directly to the chief editor. Half joking and half thr
eatening, he said to me, “Zhou Ting, it’s all over now; if you don’t bring it up yourself, nobody will give it another thought. Do you want to be in the news again? Do you want to take on the paper this time?” Loath to put myself through any more unpleasantness, I agreed to let the matter drop.’
‘You had a soft heart underneath,’ I said.
‘Yes, some of my friends say I have a “mouth of knives and a heart of tofu”. What’s the use of that? How many people see through your words to your heart?’
She paused, then continued. ‘I’m not really sure why I got into the news the third time; I suppose it was because of love. There was a young teacher in my work unit called Wei Hai. He wasn’t a local man, so he lived in the school dormitory. My divorce was going through the courts at the time. I loathed the sight of my husband, and was afraid he would beat me, so I often stayed on in the office after work, reading magazines. Wei Hai often sat in the teachers’ office reading the newspapers. One day, he suddenly grasped my hand and said, “Zhou Ting, don’t suffer like this. Let me make you happy!” Tears were shining in his eyes; I’ll never forget the sight.’
‘I wasn’t divorced yet, but I had other misgivings besides this about starting a relationship with Wei Hai. He was nearly nine years younger than I; women age so quickly . . . we would attract so much gossip; I was scared. You know the saying, “The words of men are to be feared” – well, they can kill,’ Zhou Ting said fiercely.
‘When my divorce finally came through, I was already labelled a “bad woman”. Luckily, this was the beginning of the period of economic reform. Everybody was busy chasing after money so they had less time to poke their noses into others’ private lives. I started living with Wei Hai. He was very, very good to me, in every possible way. I was so happy with him, he became even more important to me than my son.’
This was no mean feat, I thought, given the traditional Chinese mindset of putting sons above all else.
‘After a year of living together, a trade union representative and an administrator from my work unit came to our home to ask us to get a marriage certificate as soon as possible. Although China was starting to open up, cohabitation was considered “an offence against public decency” by some, especially women. But the happiness and strength our life together had given me far surpassed my fear of others’ opinion. For us, marriage was just a matter of time. After the visit from the officials, we decided to request our respective work units to issue us with a certificate the following week, so we could register our marriage. Having lived together for over a year already, we did not celebrate or get particularly excited.
