That weekend Father moved the furniture and books out of the study. He jammed the books into the bookcases around the fireplace. Mother told me Comrade Li was going to live in Father’s study.
As Father nailed shut the door between his study and our living room, I asked, “Who is Comrade Li? Why are you letting him move in?”
With a serious look on his face, Father continued pounding at a long nail. “He is the new political officer for the hospital, and he needs a place to stay.”
“What does a political officer do?” I asked.
“He teaches Chairman Mao’s ideas. Now let me finish what I’m doing.” Looking stern, he screwed a brass latch onto the upper half of the study door. I knew better than to ask more questions.
So Comrade Li was a teacher? Would Father have to take lessons from him? But how could anyone be smarter than Father?
The following week, Father’s study became Comrade Li’s home. To get into his new apartment, Comrade Li knocked out part of the wall facing the stairway landing and installed a new door. He pasted Chairman Mao’s teachings all over the door. It looked like one of the political study boards that were hanging throughout the city.
I worried Comrade Li would often pick through our things, but he didn’t come to our home again that fall. He greeted me nicely when I passed him in the hallway. One good thing was that Mother stopped scolding me loudly. Soon I got used to him living next to us.
When the first snow covered the ground, Comrade Li wrote one of Chairman Mao’s teachings on a big poster and pasted it to the side of our building.
WASTE IS A GREAT CRIME.
SAVE RESOURCES TO BUILD A NEW CHINA.
The next day, someone shut down the boiler in the basement and we no longer had heat or hot water in our building. Our apartment was so cold we had to wear layers of heavy cotton jackets throughout the day.
The worst part was bathing. Once a week, Mother boiled hot water on the stove and mixed it with cold water in a big wooden tub for my bath. As soon as I took off my winter clothes, I was covered with goose bumps. If the water was too hot, I had to wait to get in. If the water was cool enough to get in, it turned cold before Mother finished soaping me up.
I fought taking baths until one day Mrs. Wong, our upstairs neighbor, heard our argument. She invited me to bathe in her bathroom, where they had a real tub and an airplane-shaped electric heater to keep the room warm. After that, every Saturday I was a happy little dumpling, floating in warm soup.
The Wongs were the only family in the compound who had an electric heater. Mrs. Wong had bought it after Comrade Li cut off the heat. Many neighbors from around the courtyard went to see it. No one had ever seen one before. Comrade Li was not happy about it. He never went to see the heater, and I heard him tell neighbors that someday he would take their heater. I thought that sounded silly. The Wongs wouldn’t let him take their heater. Whenever they passed each other, Dr. Wong looked past Comrade Li, and Mrs. Wong turned her head away.
When I asked Mother why the Wongs didn’t like Comrade Li, she said sternly, “Who told you that? Don’t ever talk like that again.”
“Can we buy a heater?” I asked.
Mother pointed a finger upward toward the Wongs’ apartment. “Only a family that has relatives overseas can afford expensive things like that.” Dr. Wong’s brother sent them money and packages from Hong Kong every week. We used to receive letters from overseas, too, but at the beginning of winter, after receiving a letter that had been opened, Mother became nervous and told Father to stop writing to his friends.
Why would anyone want to open our letters? Did they hope to find money? If they knew that Father’s friends never sent us money, would they stop?
One time when I walked by Comrade Li’s apartment, his door was open. I peeked in and saw a stack of letters on his chair. The one on top was addressed to the dentist who had fixed my cavity, and had recently been declared as a people’s enemy.
Comrade Li couldn’t be the one opening our letters, could he?
Bartering with Comrade Li
As the weather grew warmer in the spring of 1973, the power in our building kept going out. The second time this happened on a hot afternoon, I left our apartment to see if I could find someplace cooler. As I walked down the stairs, Comrade Li greeted me from the landing.
“How are you today, Ling?” he said with his monkey grin.
“Hello, Comrade Li.” Since Mother was not with me, I decided it would be all right to talk to him. “I’m so hot! The electricity is out again. Without the fan, my heat rash itches me to death.”
“You need to grow outside your greenhouse, little flower!” He scratched his neck. “We must endure small pains and hardships to build a new China.”
I wanted to tell him that my heat rash was not a small pain, but Mother had taught me that it was not polite to talk back to adults.
“The electricity saved is used to make more iron and steel for the Revolution.” He waved his hand like a magician. “Soon we will be the next superpower!”
“What’s a superpower?” I asked.
He laughed loudly. “A mighty nation that has everything we need, especially electricity!”
“Really?” I asked.
I was about to ask how soon we could be a superpower, when he said, “We can’t have our little flower drooping, can we? I will see what we can do to speed up our Revolution.”
I gave him my nice smile and thanked him. I couldn’t wait to have electricity again in our apartment.
By now, my English had improved and I knew how to write and say many short sentences. I had been cutting out pictures of animals, people, houses, food, and flowers from Father’s old magazines. I pasted them onto paper to make little books.
One night as Father listened to Voice of America, I read my little book A Story About a Happy Girl.
A girl lives near the Golden Gate Bridge.
She wears a pretty red dress.
She has curly brown hair.
She has big eyes.
She likes to eat ice cream.
She plays with her dog on the green lawn.
KNOCK! KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
It was the secret code I shared with Comrade Li.
As I ran to the door that separated our living room from his home, Father snapped off the radio.
The upper part of the brown wood door had a smaller door cut into it. We could unlock it using a latch on our side. While I opened the little door, Father slid his medical journal under his chair and picked up a newspaper.
A few months ago Comrade Li had lightly rapped on the door and gave me a folded paper swan. He asked for an apple in return. And that was how we started our “buying and selling” game.
Now whenever he needed a few eggs, green onions, cooking oil, or a needle and thread, he knocked on the little door. I gave him what he asked for, and he paid me with origami.
“Hello.” I stood on my toes. “What would you like to buy today?”
“Some eggs and a few green onions. How much do I owe you?” He spoke in Mandarin, blurred with a northern countryside accent. Comrade Li had magic hands. He could fold paper into anything—flowers, boats, birds, and even a bucket with two handles. He also knew magic tricks, like how to make a ten-fen coin disappear or turn into one fen.
“One bird, please!” I showed him my index finger. Sometimes I wished he would pay me with something besides origami. I already had a basketful. But I did not dare tell him that. Mother would be upset with me.
“Right away!” He blinked his tiny, black sesame seed eyes.
Standing on tiptoe, I peeked through the open door as Comrade Li went to the round table in the middle of his room. The table and its straight-backed chair were always covered with piles of posters, letters, rolls of paper, dozens of brushes, and bottles of red and black ink. He picked up a piece of white paper and came back.
“Keep your eyes open, so you can see the bird grow.” His laugh sounded like a happy goose.
> Comrade Li creased the paper to make a triangle and then brought up one corner to make the bird’s neck. Flip! Flip! Flip! And all at once, he was holding a lively bird.
“Hold it tight so it won’t fly away!” He handed it to me. It had a long beak and big wings.
“I will be right back.” Holding the bird with both hands, I skipped to my room next to the kitchen and set it in the basket.
As I dashed around the corner to the kitchen, I almost bumped into Mother. She was carrying a crystal plate piled with mango slices. I started to reach for a slice of sweet-smelling mango when Mother said in her low, firm voice, “Don’t run like that. Be a lady.”
I pulled my hand back, hoping Comrade Li hadn’t heard Mother scolding me. How could anyone like me if they heard my mother scold me all the time?
Mother set the tray on the dinner table and followed me to the kitchen. I was surprised to see her yellow rubber gloves floating in the soapy water in the sink. She must have taken them off in a hurry. She would have yelled at me if I’d left them there.
“I’ll get the eggs.” Mother bent over and snatched two eggs with one hand from a half-full bamboo basket. Small beads of sweat on her forehead shone in the kitchen lights.
I grabbed a few green onions from a vegetable basket on the counter. With my other hand, I reached down and picked up another egg. Last time, when I sold Comrade Li two eggs, he said he needed one more to make a meal.
Mother reached over to support the egg I was holding.
I wriggled out of her reach. I didn’t want Comrade Li to think I wasn’t even old enough to carry one small egg!
Mother gave me the squinty eye. I pretended not to see it.
When Mother and I came out of the kitchen, Comrade Li had stretched his head through the little door into our living room, like a turtle coming out of its shell. Father didn’t seem to notice Comrade Li. He tapped the fingers of his left hand gently on the arm of his chair, keeping his newspaper folded in half and close to his face.
When he saw Mother and me, Comrade Li drew his head back into his apartment.
Standing on tiptoe, I passed the egg through the door and peered again into his apartment. It smelled of garlic and ink. A bed stood against the white wall across the room. The wall above was covered with photos. On one end of his bed sat a green blanket, folded neatly into a square like a giant green mung bean cookie. His blue cap sat on top. Comrade Li had told me that in the army everyone could make his bed in less than three minutes.
Being in the army must have given him lots of friends. The wooden door between our homes couldn’t block out the loud conversations he had with his many visitors. He told them about his life in the army and the important people who stood beside him in his photos. He bragged the most about a large picture hanging in the center, a place of honor.
He had once proudly pointed it out to me and Mother. “This is Comrade Jiang Qing, the wife of our great leader, Chairman Mao.”
In the picture, Comrade Li and five other men stood around a small woman. They were all dressed in Mao-style blue army uniforms and wore caps with short visors. The woman had her hair cut above her ears. Even from my side of the door, I saw her fierce eyes behind the glasses. They made me think about a hungry ghost in one of my books.
Now Mother passed Comrade Li the other eggs and the green onions. “You haven’t had dinner yet?” Her voice had the same tone she used when scolding me, but she wore her smile for visitors.
“Not yet, Dr. Xiong.” Everyone used Mother’s maiden name. I guess it would be too confusing to have two Dr. Changs in one family. “We had to get ready to arrest an undercover enemy.” He cocked his head like a proud rooster.
“What’s an undercover enemy?” I asked.
Mother pinched me on the back of the arm. Ow! Comrade Li glanced at Father, then leaned forward. His tiny eyes glared into mine. “Someone who seems to be nice but works to destroy our government,” he whispered.
Why would anyone want to destroy our government? I wished to ask what he would do after he arrested the enemy, but I didn’t want to risk getting another pinch.
“Do you need anything else?” asked Mother, the smile on her face disappearing.
Comrade Li stretched his head out again. Mother pulled me to the side. He glanced around, then fixed his eyes on our dinner table.
“Some young revolutionaries are coming here tonight. They would enjoy the mangoes.” He pointed his chin toward the table and smiled, showing off his tobacco-stained buckteeth.
Without a word, Mother went to the table and carried the plate over.
I was too shocked to cry out. I loved mangoes! They were so expensive, and it had been a long time since we’d had them. If only Mother had hidden the mangoes, the way she hid the chocolate and coffee from him.
Comrade Li took the plate from Mother and carried it to the table in the middle of his room. As he walked back to the little door, he pressed his hand to his scalp, flattening a few greasy hairs that stood up on his monkey head. “Oh, come closer, Ling. There’s something in your ear.” He reached his arm out.
I stepped forward and held my breath as his greasy sleeve passed by my cheek. He plucked something from behind my ear.
“This is for you!”
He held a small red paper bag. My mouth fell open. This was the first time he had given me anything other than origami.
Inside was a portrait of Chairman Mao on a palm-sized metal button. Chairman Mao wore the same blue army jacket as Comrade Li. I had never seen a button like this one.
“Thank you! Thank you!” I jumped up and down. It almost made up for losing dessert.
Mother gave me a stern look.
All summer the children in the courtyard were showing off their button collections. I couldn’t wait to trade this one for the ceramic button of Chairman Mao holding an umbrella. Maybe from now on, Comrade Li would always pay me with Mao’s buttons instead of origami.
“It’s a new release. The whole hospital got only ten. Put it on your shirt.” Comrade Li stuck out his chest. He had the same button pinned on the right side of his shirt.
“Ling will put it on after her shower. Good-bye.” Mother took the button away from me. With one hand behind my neck, she firmly moved me away from him. I worried that Comrade Li could hear the upset in her voice. Mother closed the door and hooked the latch. She turned toward Father and wrinkled her face as if she had just eaten a moldy peanut.
Father quickly crossed the room. “You did fine.” He patted her shoulder. “Hopefully the mangoes will keep him busy for the night.” Father wrapped his arms around her.
I thought my parents did not like Comrade Li because he bought things from us. I was wrong.
Homemade Ice Cream and German Chocolate
We didn’t have a real shower in our apartment. Mother attached a hose to the faucet in the kitchen. She tied the other end to a water pipe that ran up to the ceiling. It hung over a drain in the corner of our concrete floor. This became our shower.
Each day of summer, I looked forward to getting in the cold shower after dinner. I stayed in as long as I could.
“Hurry up, Ling. I have the ointment ready for you.” Mother opened the kitchen door a crack.
“I’m drying off.” I quickly turned off the water and wrapped myself in a big towel decorated with a red rose print.
Mother came in. With a cotton ball, she swabbed a white, cooling mint ointment all over my neck, arms, and legs. It felt like she had blown magic cold air onto my heat rash. The itching stopped for a minute. I wished my skin could feel this way the rest of the day. In the mirror hanging next to the kitchen window, I saw an oval-faced porcelain doll with patches. I stretched wide my double-lidded eyes and wobbled my head. If we could just run our fan more often. What was taking the Revolution so long?
As I dressed, I heard Father greeting someone. “Come in! Come in, please!”
A soft voice asked, “Where is my sweet girl?” It was Mrs. Wong! I quickly buttoned my
cotton blouse and ran out of the kitchen. Dr. Wong, Mrs. Wong, and their son, Niu, were here. The Wongs had just returned from shopping. A big yellow straw bag sat by our front door.
“Here I am!” I stretched out my arms and wrapped them around Mrs. Wong’s waist. When she bent down to kiss my cheek, her long, wavy hair tickled my nose and smelled of jasmine tea. I once overheard her tell Mother she used pearl powder to wash her face and tea to rinse her hair. She had to be the most beautiful lady in the world. Today she wore a red silk top with ruffles all down the front and a big full skirt with red and green flowers.
Behind her stood Dr. Wong and Niu. Dr. Wong wore a light yellow shirt, white shorts, and a pair of white leather shoes. He was not as tall as Father, but had the same wide shoulders and dark skin. He looked like a tennis player from Father’s English magazines.
“Is this a good time to visit?” With one finger, Dr. Wong pushed up his gold-framed glasses. He glanced at Comrade Li’s apartment.
Father shrugged. “Let me show you this article.” He led Dr. Wong to our dinner table.
Niu’s short-sleeved white shirt was tucked into his long blue trousers. He walked over to Father’s bookcase and pulled out a music book. Mrs. Wong complained to Mother that Niu refused to wear shorts, no matter how hot it was. I guessed that was because he didn’t want his skinny chopstick legs to show.
“Let me take a good look at you, my little doll.” Mrs. Wong bent down on one knee. She pulled back my collar to examine my neck.
“My poor thing! You shouldn’t wear a blouse with a collar anymore, it makes your rash worse.” Her big brown eyes widened. “Come upstairs. We’ll pick out a fabric and I’ll sew you a new blouse.”
I felt as if she had just handed me a bag of ginger candy. I looked at Mother for approval. The smile faded from her face.
I hoped she’d let me go.
Mrs. Wong had told Mother many times that she dreamed of having a daughter like me. Sometimes I wondered if Mother would be as nice if she stayed home like Mrs. Wong did. Yet Mother often told Father she couldn’t imagine wasting her years of schooling to be just a housewife.
Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party Page 2
