Anthony Grey

by Peking- A Novel of China's Revolution- 1921-1978 (epub)

  Still holding up his hand warningly in Jakob’s direction, Chiao watched the guards march out of the watchtower into the dusty street, which was swarming with Red Army men hurrying to a rally in the town’s central square. Through the open door a distant platform decked with red bunting was visible and regimental commanders and political commissars were already marshaling their troops around it in closely packed ranks. It was the last day of September and the starving, mud-drenched skeletons who had staggered out of the Great Grasslands a month before had largely recovered their strength. On catching sight of hills and the first butted villages beyond the swamps, the men had danced and sung in relief; seeing stones in their path again after treading fearfully through the black, bottomless quagmire for days on end, they had picked them up and kissed them joyfully; encountering friendly Han Chinese peasants again in Kansu province after many weeks in the hostile Tibetan tribal areas, the Red Army soldiers had embraced the startled strangers and wept.

  With thousands of their comrades lying dead in the swamps behind them, their numbers had been further depleted when the conflict between Mao Tse-tung and Chang Kuo-tao reached a sudden flash point in the first week of September. Chang, apparently fearing defeat at the hands of Kuomintang divisions in Kansu, had abruptly radioed orders to his Thirtieth Army Corps and his Fourth Army Corps marching with Mao to turn back to Maoerhkai. He had first tried to order the unconditional retreat of the Right Column but Mao, convinced that his opponent was plotting to seize control of the entire Red Army, had broken away in the dead of night with his loyal First and Third Army Corps, under Lin Piao and Peng Teh-huai.

  Jakob had been taken with them, and he had noticed the soldiers’ spirits revive as they marched across the more hospitable counties of Kansu province, moving again among friendly Han Chinese peasants who sold them feasts of pork, chicken, and beef. Although reduced to a force of fewer than six thousand men, this remnant of the Central Red Army had broken through a ring of several Kuomintang regiments after a sharp encounter at the Latzu Pass, in the Min Mountains. Fighting off a series of running attacks by the Kuomintang’s Moslem cavalrymen, they had rushed headlong toward the Shensi border and their final goal — the small, stable Shensi-Kansu soviet which had first been set up by local Communist guerrilla fighters four years earlier. In every town along their route the political commissars began to organize inspirational rallies once more and the propaganda teams put on their political theater shows for a populace that had never heard of the Central Red Army. On arrival in Tungwei, a walled town lying southwest of the Shensi-Kansu soviet, a big evening rally had been planned to precede an early dawn departure next day, and from his seat beside the watchtower’s open door, Chiao watched the preparations in thoughtful silence before turning his attention back to Jakob.

  “Before I try to answer any questions you might have,” said Chiao, speaking very softly, “I’ve got something further to say. So far I’ve conveyed to you the decisions of Commissioner Chou and the Revolutionary Military Commission — but now I wish to say something on my own behalf. I don’t wish you to misunderstand. This is purely a private matter between the two of us.”

  Jakob studied the officer’s face carefully. Like all the other surviving marchers, Chiao still bore the marks of his ordeal in the grasslands. The sharpness of his intelligence was still evident in his quick, bright gaze, and the moustache he wore was trim and neatly clipped again — but the sallowness of his tightly drawn skin testified to the extremes of hunger and endurance that he and the rest of the other Red Army men had so recently experienced. Jakob could see also that a hint of uneasiness had crept into his expression because of what he was about to say.

  “The courage you displayed in the grasslands when you saved my sister, Mei-ling, was greatly to your credit. She’s a valued aide to Commissioner Chou En-lai and your actions may have helped the comrade commissioner decide to order your release without payment of fines . . .“ Chiao hesitated, twisting his fingers together on the trestle table before him. “But because my sister has confided in me, I also know that perhaps you had a motive which others are not aware of — I’m aware that her own child died in Yunnan and that for several months she has been secretly caring for your own infant daughter in its place

  Jakob stiffened. “I didn’t know she’d told anyone.”

  “I don’t fully understand my sister’s motives,” said Chiao, “but I respect them. And whatever your reasons were for going to her rescue, I’m grateful that you did.”

  To Jakob’s surprise Chiao rose from his seat and moved around the table. Reaching out, he grasped Jakob’s right hand and shook it warmly with both his own. For a moment they stood looking at one another in silence: then Chiao turned away, speaking over his shoulder. “I’ve informed my sister of your impending release and she’s asked me to pass you a message. She suggests you travel slowly when you leave your quarters in the peasant’s house at dawn tomorrow. Your daughter, she says, will be brought to you in secret by her orderly —“

  At that moment a storm of cheering broke out in the town square, and looking out through the watchtower doorway, Jakob and Chiao saw the tall, gaunt figure of Mao Tse-tung mount the rostrum and approach the microphone. Through loudspeakers the soft Hunanese vowel sounds familiar to Jakob from Chokechi sounded harsher and more high-pitched.

  “Comrade Commanders and fighters of the Chinese Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army, .I salute you,” yelled Mao above a fresh storm of cheering. “You’ve displayed great bravery and fighting spirit in journeying nearly twenty thousand Ii across China on foot from Kiangsi to Kansu. This ‘Long March’ of yours will go down in history as a unique achievement, the first of its kind -

  Mao laid great emphasis on the words Ch’ang Ch’eng, meaning “Long March,” and he drew the words out sonorously so that they echoed and re-echoed on the quiet evening air.

  “Soon this great Long March will end in triumph,” he continued, stressing the words heavily again and raising a tightly clenched fist above his head. “Soon we shall unite with our comrades in the Shensi soviet and begin the great task of fighting the Japanese occupiers of our country. . . . Soon the Long March will proclaim to the world that the Red Army is an army of heroes who encountered untold difficulties and obstacles in sweeping across the length and breadth of eleven provinces. . .

  Mao shook both fists above his head, drawing another surge of cheering from his troops. They too began to punch the air, in imitation, and chants of “Ch’ang Ch’eng! Ch’ang Ch’eng!” began to resound rhythmically from all parts of the crowd.

  “Soon the world will know that the Long March has spread enlightenment to the broad masses of China,” continued Mao, raising his voice to a higher pitch. “It has propagated great ideas that will sprout, grow leaves, blossom into flowers, bear fruit, and finally yield a great crop in the future!”

  Standing side by side inside the watchtower, Jakob and Chiao listened to the cheers rolling across the square. The townspeople of Tungwei, stirred by the speech, were hurrying to join the troops and Jakob noticed that they too were getting caught up in the excitement and were beginning to cheer.

  “I would like to speak privately with your sister before I leave, if that’s possible,” said Jakob, turning to Chiao. “I would like to thank her for what she’s done.”

  ‘That won’t be possible,” replied Chiao without taking his eyes from the distant platform. “She’s working with Commissioner Chou at present — and it’s important that you leave at once if you are to reach your resting place before dark.”

  Jakob felt a stab of acute disappointment strike through him. “Then perhaps you’ll thank her for me.”

  “I will, of course. . .“ Chiao nodded quickly and pointed through the open door. “Look, here are the mules.”

  The guards had appeared, leading three black mules. On one of them Jakob could see his bedroll and pack already strapped behind the saddle. When the guard halted the animal, Chiao helped Jakob swing up onto its bac
k. Taking its head, he led the animal toward the main gate of the town and the two guards mounted up and followed. Above the clop of the mules’ hooves on the cobblestoned surface of the street Jakob could hear the voice of Mao Tse-tung still ringing out above the crowd in the square.

  “. . . For almost twelve months we’ve been under daily reconnaissance and bombing from the air by scores of planes. . . . On the ground we were encircled and pursued, obstructed and intercepted by a big force never smaller than several hundred thousand men — but by keeping our feet going every day and every night we swept across a great distance to reach safety here in the northwest. . . . Our great Long March, in fact, has bankrupted the pursuit and encirclement campaigns attempted by the imperialists and Chiang Kai-shek!”

  At the gate Jakob turned in the saddle to look back: another great cheer was bursting from the throats of the soldiers in the square and they were waving their caps deliriously above their heads. Mao Tse-tung, motionless on the platform, raked one hand through his long hair as he gazed out over the throng, waiting for the noise to subside. For the briefest moment he seemed by chance to turn his head to look in Jakob’s direction; then he leaned close to the microphone again.

  “To sum up, Comrade Commanders and fighters, our historic Long March is ending in a great victory for us — and utter defeat for all our enemies!”

  At Jakob’s side Chiao reached up to offer a last handshake and spoke several words in parting. But the Chinese officer’s words were drowned in a final crescendo of cheers. Beside Chiao, another officer had appeared and was studying Jakob intently. He was small but stocky and confident-looking, and despite the fact that he was very pale and thin, apparently from illness, his eyes possessed an inner light of rare intelligence. An unkempt black beard curled on his cheeks and he wore frayed cloth sandals with his soiled uniform of field gray cotton.

  “This is Commissioner Chou En-lai,” said Chiao when the cheering had died down. “It was his decision that brought about your release.”

  The newcomer stepped up beside Jakob’s mount and to his surprise offered his hand in farewell. “Good luck, Mr. Kellner,” he said with the hint of a smile, speaking in English. “We hope you will tell the outside world that the Red Army is not composed entirely of barbaric ruffians, as the Kuomintang press insists. We wish you a safe journey.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner.” Jakob shook the proffered hand, taken aback by Chou’s friendliness. “I’m grateful for the help you’ve given me.”

  For an uncertain moment the two men continued to look at one another; then, realizing there was nothing more to be said, Jakob swung the head of his mule impatiently toward the open gate. Flanked by his two escorts, the missionary turned his back on the Red Army, which had held him captive for nearly a year, and moved slowly out into the dusk settling over the low line of hills beyond the town walls.

  16

  The red rim of the sun’s disk, lifting above the weirdly distorted loess hills of eastern Kansu, sent an avalanche of light flooding down the dark, silent valley along which Jakob was riding alone. Feeling the sun’s warmth strike his face, the missionary took off the tattered palm fiber cape he had wrapped around his shoulders against the predawn chill and in that hushed moment he felt fully free for the first time. For a few brief seconds the strangely shaped hills of yellow loam that had been blown south from the Gobi Desert centuries before glowed with the brilliance of fire, and the fast-running stream, which he was following southward, shone like silver in the shadows below. He closed his eyes, fearing suddenly that he might be dreaming, but when he opened them again the dawn-rouged valley still lay empty and deserted before him.

  Coming to a shimmering pool of clear water in a basin of rocks, he stopped to allow his mule to drink and caught sight of his reflection — his beard was thick and tousled, his hair long and unkempt, yet he felt a curious satisfaction at seeing his own image for the first time in conditions of freedom. Turning in a full circle, he gazed around in all directions, glorying in the space and emptiness of the stark landscape: a flock of small, dark birds rose up and sped across the shimmering hilltops but he was the only human figure in that enchanted vale. With narrowed eyes he searched the trails crisscrossing the slopes, looking for signs of the promised Red Army orderly bearing his daughter, but he could see no sign of movement.

  Long before dawn his two guards, who were strangers to him, had left the loft of the mud-walled farmhouse where they had slept at his side. They had taken no farewell of him and he had feigned sleep until they were clear of the house. As soon as they had gone, Jakob had slipped silently down to the stable and saddled his mule. He had given a silver dollar to the sleepy-eyed farmer who had been their host, led his mule out of the yard in the half-light, and set off down the valley, walking slowly, as he had been instructed, in a southeasterly direction. At first he had glanced repeatedly over his shoulder, fearful that at any moment Red Army hordes would reappear and take him captive once more — but he saw no living soul on the remote track. To his surprise he quickly began to find the sensation of being alone unnerving. The rearing loess hills seemed suddenly ominous and even the distant cries of birds startled him. Before long his earlier exhilaration left him; he began to feel tired and weak and he had to mount the mule and ride. On emerging from the grasslands the day after helping to rescue Mei-ling, he had collapsed from fatigue and had to be carried on a litter for a day or two. Over the next four weeks he had ridden a mule for part of each day because the swamp sores contracted in the grasslands had made marching difficult for him. The harsh starvation diet of the grasslands had weakened the majority of the marchers and Jakob, like the others, had found in the succeeding weeks that he had to be careful to conserve his strength.

  As he jogged along on the mule he began to consider what danger he might face, in his weakened state, from common Chinese bandits out to rob and pillage unwary travelers. He fell into the habit of scanning ahead for likely hiding places on hills overlooking the trail, and when two riders appeared suddenly, breasting a pass between the hills, he feared he might have been singled out for attack. But as they trotted down a winding path in his direction, he felt a sudden surge of elation. Both were slender, obviously female figures and almost at once Jakob recognized Mei-ling on the leading mule. She and her orderly, to disguise themselves in Kuomintang territory, had forsaken their Red Army uniforms for blue peasant cottons and as they drew near he saw that his daughter was traveling in a basket seat rigged on a pack mule trotting in their wake.

  Waiting on his mount beside the stream, Jakob felt his heart begin to beat faster: Mei-ling was cap less and her long hair blew loose about her face in the fresh mountain breeze. Although she too was thinner from the privations of the march, the soft, bright color of her face was enhanced by the dawn light, and amid the dramatic sweep of the loess hills he found that her beauty moved him more deeply than ever before. When they were only twenty yards away, Mei-ling motioned to her orderly to wait on the far bank and splashed across the shallow stream alone, leading the pack mule. As she approached he saw that a little frown of anxiety was crinkling her smooth brow, and her face was set in serious lines when she reined in beside him.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” Jakob’s voice broke, betraying the hidden intensity of his feelings. “I was told to expect only your orderly.”

  “I decided to come myself — at the last minute.”

  “How’s my daughter?” Jakob peered anxiously over Mei-ling’s shoulder at Abigail, who was strapped comfortably into the basket seat on the pack mule. Little of her face was visible inside a hood of padded cotton, but he could see that her eyes were closed.

  “Don’t worry, she’s asleep. The motion of the mule is very soothing for her. But you shouldn’t waste any time getting her to your mission. She needs proper care.”

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

  Mei-ling looked steadily back at him, sitting straight in her saddle. Her f
ace was expressionless but in her dark eyes he saw a depth of emotion which raised a sudden, frantic hope in him.

  “Now that you’ve come this far,” he said in a tense voice, “won’t you stay with me?”

  Although Jakob was astonished by his own abrupt invitation, Mei-ling’s face betrayed. no sense of shock or surprise: looking at her, he knew suddenly that she had already considered the question, but she made no attempt to reply.

  “Our meeting in the Great Snow Mountains was very beautiful, Mei-ling. You saved my life. It felt as if God approved and shared the love we found there. Didn’t you feel that too?”

  Mei-ling’s demeanor didn’t change but the quiet expression in her eyes showed that she understood the force of his passion — and he felt a sudden certainty that she shared his strong feelings. For a long moment they sat astride their mules, looking at one another; then she turned away and gazed up the valley toward the dragon- backed spikes of loess that glowed like dull gold in the strengthening light.

  “I’ve committed my life to the revolution, Jakob. It’s impossible for me to turn my back on it — as impossible as it would be for you to deny your faith.”

  “We’ve both suffered,” said Jakob desperately. “We’re weary and exhausted. When all this is over we might find there’s some way for us.

  Mei-ling lifted her hand to brush an errant strand of hair from her face. “You saved my life — and risked your own in doing it. Caring for your daughter in a time of great hardship has brought comfort to both of us — these bonds will always join us.”

  “But there could be much more than that.”

  “Sometimes during the ride here this morning I wondered too. But I know now there can be nothing more.”