by Wai Chim
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. What was this? I stole a quick glance at Ming, who was eyeing me carefully.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Um, did you … did you use Mao quotes?’
Ming blushed. ‘I wasn’t sure. I copied them because they looked good. And, well,’ he hung his head, ‘I don’t really know anything about women.’
I heaved a sigh and reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘Believe it or not, they’re just like us. Just … softer, maybe.’ To be honest, I didn’t have the first clue about women either, but I was pretty sure this letter was a disaster.
‘She’s never going to like me,’ Ming moaned, collapsing on the sand beside me. ‘What was I thinking? There’s no hope.’
I clapped him on the back, filled with brotherly affection. ‘Of course there’s hope. She wrote to you first,’ I reminded him. ‘What did she say?’
‘She talked about her family. And the time, she and I, well we …’ his voice trailed off and he laid his forearm across his eyes. ‘You must think I’m such a fool.’
‘Nonsense, I don’t think that at all. But I do think you’re going to have to sharpen up this letter if you don’t want to look like one.’
Ming pulled his arm away enough so he could peer up at me. ‘I wrote something else.’ His voice was muffled but I could just make out the words. ‘But I thought it was stupid.’
‘Show me.’ Anything had to be better than what I was holding.
Ming was quiet for a while, his eyes on the waves while he searched his mind. When he spoke, the words were strong and sure, like his strokes in the water.
I see.
The glittery sparkle of your shores.
I listen.
To the spirit of the words that fall from your lips.
I taste
The salty sweetness of my tears as I suffer.
I smell
The stench of decay that I cannot rub from my being.
I yearn to touch
Your beautiful wet sand, like soft supple skin.
I ache to become
My true self that I can see through your eyes.
‘That’s beautiful.’ I didn’t think about the words, but I knew they were true. But there was something else. ‘It’s not about Fei is it?’
Ming shook his head. I knew this poem was laden with dangerous secrets that I would normally have buried, for Ming’s sake as well as my own. Its very existence was counter-revolutionary. But my curiosity got the better of me. Here, with the ocean’s murmuring to drown out our fears, it felt like we could be alone with our true thoughts.
‘Is it, is it about your father?’ I hazarded a guess. Ming was tight lipped about his past, but I had overheard some of the villagers whispering.
‘It’s Hong Kong.’ Ming’s voice was so low I could barely hear it. Those words were laden with danger and promise. ‘My father dreamed of going there. He said, “The ocean is a powerful force that can carry your hopes or crush your qi”.’ He stopped but I knew that wasn’t the whole story. I knew I shouldn’t press, but I couldn’t let it go.
‘Your father was escaping to Hong Kong.’ I’d heard about people who did this, escapees who had been captured along the shores of the peninsula, sent to labour camps, condemned and denounced for their betrayal. In a village like this, it would have marked Ming and his family as undesirables, fan ge ming who had to be persecuted for their crimes.
‘It was during the famine, the Three Years of Natural Disasters. We knew he’d dreamt of it, we could see it in his eyes even when Ma wouldn’t let him talk about it. But he told me in secret, how he would do it, about how I could join him. Ma never believed it, she always thought he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t leave us behind, but I guess she was wrong.’
Despite my earlier curiosity, I felt rage bubbling from deep within me. How could this reactionary not only abandon the Party, but also his family? But I didn’t want to upset Ming and set aside my emotions to listen to my friend. ‘Why do you think he left?’ I asked.
Ming considered this, I didn’t think anyone had asked him before. ‘It was … different then. Times were hard, we did what we could to – to survive.’ His face was stony, his mouth twisted in regret as he continued.
‘My father said he had a cousin there. Uncle Po would give him a job and he would send us money. That was the plan. To help our family. He said I could join him when I was older.’
He looked out to the sea. ‘He left in the middle of the night after the first harvest. Didn’t say goodbye. When Ma woke up, she knew. She was furious at him, but I was … I was secretly pleased.’
I was fascinated, in awe of Ming’s belief. It was so naïve, but a part of me was jealous that this village boy could have big dreams that didn’t involve the Party or any of Mao’s teachings. It left me feeling empty inside. What did I want?
‘What happened to him?’
Ming bowed his head. ‘He didn’t … he didn’t make it. We got a letter from Uncle Po. He never registered. He never set foot in Hong Kong. A few days later, his body washed back up on shore. Ma wouldn’t let me see it. He had been shot by the guards and left to drown. He died at sea.’
I had one more question but it was too dangerous to consider.
Do you still want to go?
I was pretty certain I already knew the answer.
‘What were you two doing out there?’
We’d almost reached the dormitory when the voice came above the crunch of gravel beneath our bare feet. I hadn’t bothered with shoes for weeks now. It was remarkable how quickly we were all losing the marks of our urban upbringing, and becoming the hardworking peasants we were supposed to aspire to be.
Ming blushed, as though Feng would be able to read the conversation we’d had in our faces.
‘Comrade Ming has been teaching me to swim,’ I said evenly.
Feng snorted. ‘Swimming? I didn’t realise comrades had time for such leisurely activities. ’
‘How can you say such a thing?’ I cried in mock horror. ‘What about the Great Chairman’s swim in the Yangtze? All my life, I have felt severely lacking because I didn’t have this discipline, and now my dear comrade is granting me this gift.’ I gave Ming a wink. ‘And I must say, I have never before heard anyone use Mao quotations so ingeniously; he recites them to make sure my strokes are in rhythm.’
Feng snorted again. ‘I’m pleased to hear Comrade Ming is studying hard, but reciting Chairman Mao’s words means nothing if he does not live truly and wholly by their intentions.’
I was taken aback by Feng’s irritable mood. Since that first night when he and Tian exchanged verbal and almost physical blows, he’d become more withdrawn and sullen, hasty to point out others’ flaws, especially when it came to their outward devotion to Mao’s teachings. But he’d never used such retorts before. I wondered if he was disapproving, or even jealous of my friendship with Ming.
Embarrassed, Ming mumbled a hasty reply but Feng ignored him. ‘Squad Leader wants to see you,’ he said to me as I went inside to drop my towel on my bed.
I noticed the small bundle of papers on his bunk. ‘Is that mail?’
Feng only grunted in reply. I took off to find the Commander.
Most of the other city boys were living in groups in abandoned houses in the villages, while only the four of us were staying with local boys. Our comrades called us heong haa zai or ‘country hicks’ when they’d first made the assignments but I think they eventually realised that we all actually liked the locals. Well, maybe with the exception of Feng as I recalled his snappish attitude towards Ming.
I picked my way through the village towards the small house where Commander was living with three other youths. I entered without bothering to knock. ‘How are you, comrades?’ I called out to the room.
‘Oi, pretty boy,’ a boy named Qiang called out. ‘You ready to lose your coupons this week? Join in.’ A lot of the boys seemed to have picked up gambling to pass the time.
I smile
d and shook my head. ‘Maybe next time, Qiang zai,’ I said, calling him by his nickname. He winked and went back to his cards. ‘Where’s Hongbing? Feng said he was looking for me? Is there mail?’
There was a soft thud as a pair of worn boots landed beside me. ‘Comrade Li,’ Hongbing said, jerking his head towards his bunk, made with military precision. Hongbing was more muscular than the rest of us, and with his sleeveless shirt and buzz cut he looked a bit like a Western soldier. Hongbing was the leader of our Communist Youth League, partly due to his fervent political activity, and partly thanks to his father’s position in the Guangzhou Cabinet Ministry.
‘The village life treating you too rough, comrade? You’re tan as an African.’ Hongbing sifted through the piles of letters on his bunk. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, while mine were still crusty with mud.
‘Well, it’s taken some adjusting, but it’s important to make the most of our time here.’ I said carefully. ‘You know, for the cause.’ I always watched my words around the Commander and the other senior officers because you never knew when something could be misconstrued and counted against your record.
Hongbing pulled a tan envelope from his satchel and waved it at me. ‘You’re a good worker, Li, and a dedicated comrade. I’ve had my eye on you. If you keep this up, maybe we can make a request for you to be promoted to second in command. It’ll put you in good stead for your future in the Party.’
My eyebrows shot up. Second in command? ‘Really, Commander Hongbing. That would be … that would be a great honour.’ I kept my voice even, not finding it hard to muster the enthusiasm and humble pride he would expect. The conversation with Ming on the beach seemed like it had happened to someone else. I had a future in the Party, how could I even consider abandoning the cause?
I took the letter and Hongbing gave a little grunt. He straightened up, although even at his full height he barely came up to my shoulders. I resisted the urge to salute.
‘Haiyo! Sik si laa nei!’ It sounded like Qiang zai was cleaning up in the card game. There was a chorus of moans as the boys reached into their pockets and dug out the scraps of paper they were using to keep score. Even with the Commander keeping a close eye on things, I wondered if there were actual coupons or even money on the line.
‘Come on, Li,’ Qiang zai called out to me again. ‘You’re missing all the fun!’
I shook my head and flashed him a smile. ‘I couldn’t deprive you.’
Qiang zai chuckled and scooped together his winnings.
The air was cooler, less sticky than it had been since we arrived. Summer was finally over, and I wondered what winter had in store for us. Guangzhou had relatively mild winters and I’d been told to expect the same here with the added balminess from the open sea. Maybe Ming and I could continue our nightly swims.
The envelope in my hands was crinkled at the corners where it had been shoved into a mail bag and thrown on the back of a truck. I recognised my father’s beautiful neat hand, the strokes of his letters coming together like painting.
I ripped open the flap, smiling as I unfolded the many sheets of paper. My father was expressive and full of ideas and musings, not known for brevity.
My son,
It is pleasing to hear you are well and that life in the countryside suits. You and your comrades are doing important work for the Party and the country of China – you must apply the same dedication and commitment to your work there as you did to your studies, in particular the field of mathematics.
I smiled at my father’s dry wit, even on paper. He knew very well that maths was never my strong suit. I was much more inclined towards literature and the arts. A wave of longing to be with my family passed through me.
Your mother and I are well, as are your sister and brother. I must apologise that it has taken me a while to write back to you. The city council has chosen my team to oversee the planning for our section’s new plumbing infrastructure. It is a great honour to be leading such an important project as government sewage.
I smiled again as my father went on to talk about my family. Mother was well, tending the household and working on her embroidery. I pictured her nimble fingers flying over the lines of gold thread. Her stitches were neat and tight; she accepted nothing less than perfection. I wished Father had described what she was working on, so I could imagine the beautiful birds or dainty flowers meticulously stitched into crisp white handkerchiefs.
My brother, Tze, had started working at a garment factory. A pang of guilt went through me as I read about how he was steaming Party uniforms and ladies’ undergarments. Shy, and quieter than I was, Tze should have been taking the university exam this year, just a year behind me. But since the Red Guards had taken over, entrance exams had been cancelled. Somehow, as I stood beside my comrades, chanting the slogans and waving banners, I’d never really considered what people like my brother would do if they had nowhere to go to school.
Of course, as a good Communist, it was better to be doing good honest labour than being corrupted by the institution.
I pushed aside thoughts of gentle Tze puffing and sweating in a haze of steam and read about my sister. Little Pearl, the jewel of our family, beloved by all. She was pretty, smart and had a quick mouth, just like my father. We knew that out of all of us, she was the one destined for greatness. She had been chosen when she was only ten to join the Young Pioneers movement, and had impressive political and career aspirations. When we were in school, she had outshone me despite being three years my junior. She was on the basketball team and the school newspaper. My parents could not be prouder, although Father would sometimes joke that his only desire was to marry Pearl off to a wealthy old businessman. She would always pout, even though she knew he was teasing. With the start of the Cultural Revolution, Pearl had been selected into the Little Red Guards straightaway. Unsurprisingly, Father wrote, Pearl was now writing revolutionary articles for the Little Red Guard magazine.
She says she deeply misses her favourite brother, though she is pleased you are doing the good work of the Party.
I blinked away the threat of tears and hoped that the university exams would be reinstated in time for her to sit them.
Stay strong and true, my son, and never forget your great purpose to the Party and the Benevolent Leader.
I re-read Father’s letter three times, soaking in every word, every description. Being so far from my family had felt like a constant emptiness in my bones.
I feared for my brother and sister’s futures. They were working, carrying out their duties to the country the same as I was, but they should have been at university, pursuing their own dreams instead of the Party’s causes. I couldn’t silence the niggling voice in my head. All of this for what? I strode back towards the dormitory, trying to will away the heaviness in my heart. I thought of the goodness of the people, Mao’s strong face and his bold visions of the future. But the little voice asked again.
All of this for what?
Chapter 8
LI
My palms were sticky despite the cool weather. I ran them down my pants legs, feeling Ming’s letter crinkling in my pocket. I sucked in a breath before rapping on the door.
Fei swung the door open, a laundry basket resting on her hip and a rag pulled tightly around her head. A strand of hair had escaped, curling over her forehead. I could see why Ming was so smitten with the girl. She smiled brightly and ushered me inside.
Last week, Hongbing had called the newly rusticated youths together to discuss an ‘educational exchange’ program. ‘The villagers have been very generous and patient in teaching us the traditions of farming and agriculture; we are doing the honest work of the people,’ Hongbing declared, gesturing as though addressing eager masses and not thirty bored boys. ‘We want to repay our debt by sharing what we, as Chairman Mao’s educated youth, have that is of greatest value and importance: the teachings of our benevolent leader, Chairman Mao Zedong.’
There was a groan behind me. ‘It is throug
h his teachings that we may all further ourselves to be better comrades and to better serve the Party and its mission. But for our village brethren, while they have been working hard to serve the Party in their own right, for which my comrades and I are grateful, they have had to make the ultimate sacrifice when it comes to education.’
He bowed his head respectfully.
‘But today,’ he boomed, lifting his chin. ‘The Cadre and I are happy to announce a new program, where we will share our mutual gifts in the true Communist spirit. Starting tomorrow, the city youths will visit homes here and in nearby villages to dispense the wisdom of Chairman Mao’s teachings and help local families fully comprehend the impact of his words so that all may understand their truth.’
‘Hou ye!’ When they made the wider announcement to the villagers and townsfolk, the Cadre and the other Party officials had burst into wild applause, raising their hands above their heads and nodding to the crowd. Slowly, a scattering of unenthused clapping rose. Something told me that this was not the first time they had sat through one of these self-important speeches.
So that was how I found myself standing in the Shu house in Long-chi, clutching my well-worn copy of Mao’s Red Book. I was aware of Ming’s letter, and kept fiddling with a frayed thread just above the pocket. Inspired by his poem, Ming and I had worked together on another verse that was dedicated to Fei’s beauty and kind heart. We both hoped she would like it.
Fei set the laundry down by the door before closing it behind me. ‘Please come in,’ she said gesturing to a wooden stool, the only place to sit in the sparsely furnished room. The one room was used for eating, sleeping and receiving guests while the cooking was done out the back in a little alcove similar to the one we had in the dorm. ‘Pardon the mess,’ she said, ducking her head. ‘Aunt Shu, the tutor is here.’
I glanced towards the kitchen alcove, where an older woman, who must have been her aunt, was busying herself over a pot. She had a hand over her mouth and nose, desperately fanning the flames beneath the brick stove. Thick black smoke snaked out of the vents and stretched through the room.
