One Man Page 17

  "Do you feel it?"

  Does the joker want you to look at the rock or at your feet?

  The joker's finger suddenly moves upward; he's pointing above your head, and you can't help looking up to the sky.

  "The brightness and purity, transparency and boundlessness of the sky opens up the heart!"

  You hear the joker talking, but the sun is hurting your eyes.

  "What do you see?" the joker asks. "Try saying what you see, just say whatever you see!"

  You try to look at the sky but see nothing and only get dizzy.

  "Have a good look!"

  "What do I actually have to look at?" you find you have to ask.

  "The unblemished sky, the sky with its authentic, true light!"

  You say the sun is hurting your eyes.

  "That's right."

  "What's right?" You close your eyes and there are gold stars inside your eyelids. Your feet are unsteady, and you go to get down off the rock again, but hear him next to you, reminding you: "What is right is that you are dizzy and not the rock."

  "Of course…" You're getting confused.

  "You are not the rock!" the joker says decisively.

  "Of course I'm not the rock," you acknowledge. "Is it all right to come down?"

  "You are far from being as solid as this rock! I'm talking about you!"

  "Right, so I may as well-" You give him the answer he wants and go to step down.

  "Don't be in such a hurry. But standing on the rock you can see farther than if you came down, right?"

  "Of course." You again give him the answer he wants, without even thinking.

  "In the distance right in front of you-don't look at your feet, I said, look in front of you-what do you see?"

  "The horizon?"

  "What's the horizon? There's always a horizon! I'm talking about above the horizon, have a good look-"

  "At what?"

  "Surely you see it?"

  "Isn't it just sky?"

  "Look again carefully!"

  "It's no good," you say, blinded, "there are all sorts of bright colors…

  "That's right, you can have any color you want. What a brilliant, beautiful sky, everything to be hoped for is right before your eyes, and you may be considered as having opened your eyes."

  "Surely it's all right to get down now, isn't it?" You close your eyes.

  "Look at the sun again! This time look again at the sun in its golden brilliance, its magnificence! You will discover, listen to me, you will discover miracles! Unimaginable miracles, the most beautiful miracles!"

  "What miracles?" you ask as you cover your eyes with a hand.

  The joker takes your other hand, and you feel there is a bit of support as you hear wind pouring into your ears. The joker gives a clue, "The world has such brilliance!"

  The joker removes the hand you have over your eyes. You see in the sky an ink-blue-black bottomless pit and start worrying.

  "You're worried, aren't you?" This joker is experienced. "When people see miracles they always get worried, otherwise why would they be called miracles?"

  You say you want to sit down.

  "Hold on a bit longer!" he commands you.

  You say you really can't hold on any longer.

  "Even if you can't, you have to. If others can hold on, why can't you?" he reprimands you.

  Your legs give way, and, doubling over, you sprawl on the rock seeking his help and wanting to vomit.

  "Open your mouth! If you want to shout then shout, if you want to call out then call out!"

  So, following his instructions, you give a mighty roar but can't stop your nausea and chuck up a lot of bile.

  Whether the cause is justice, an ideal, virtue, the most scientific ideology, or a heavenly endowed mission, it will cause a person mental and physical anguish, endless revolutions and repeated sacrifices. And God or savior, or heroes on a lesser scale, or exemplars on an even lesser scale, and the nation on a grand scale, and the Party above the nation, are all built on such a rock.

  As soon as you open your mouth to shout, you fall into this joker's trap. The justice you seek is this joker, and you slaughter for this joker. So you must shout this joker's slogans and, losing your own voice, learn to parrot words; hence you are recreated, your memories erased. Having lost your head, you become this joker's follower and, even while not believing, you are forced to believe. Having become this joker's foot soldier and henchman, you sacrifice yourself for this joker, then, after he has done with you, you are discarded on the joker's altar to be buried alive with him or set on fire to enhance this joker's brilliant image. Your ashes must flutter along with the joker's in the wind until the joker is thoroughly dead, and, when the dust settles, you, like dust, too, will vanish.

  21

  Lin had her head down as she pushed her bicycle from the shed near the main entrance of the building. She had been avoiding him for some time. He blocked the exit and playfully bumped her bicycle with his front wheel. Lin looked up and forced a wry, apologetic sort of smile, as if to say it was she who had bumped into his bicycle.

  "Let's ride together!" he said.

  Lin did not get on her bicycle as in the past to take the cue and head off, cycling some distance in front, to a secret rendezvous. In any case, the Cultural Revolution had closed down all the parks at night. They walked for a while, pushing their bicycles, without saying anything. The walls along the road were now covered with university rebel Red Guard slogans naming members of the Political Bureau of the Party Center, and the Deputy Premier. These new slogans blotted out the old slogans by blood-lineage Red Guards that had called for the sweeping away of Ox Demons and Snake Spirits.

  YU QIULI MUST BOW HIS HEAD TO ACKNOWLEDGE HIS CRIMES

  BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY MASSES!

  TAN ZHENLIN, YOUR FUNERAL BELL IS TOLLING!

  Lin had removed her red armband and wrapped her head and face with a long gray scarf. She tried her best to cover herself, to make herself inconspicuous, and, mingling with pedestrians wearing gray and blue padded coats on the street, her graceful figure was no longer prominent. All restaurants had closed for the day, so there was nowhere to go; anyway, it seemed, there was nothing to talk about. The two of them walked with their bicycles in the cold wind, with a clear distance in between. Thrown up by gusts of wind and grit, fragments of posters drifted about under the streetlights.

  He was stirred by the solemnity of the impending all-out fight for justice, but could not help feeling miserable, because his love affair with Lin was on the brink of ending. He wanted to restore his relationship with Lin but how could he broach the topic and how could he make it a relationship between equals so that he was not simply the recipient of Lin's love? He asked about Lin's parents, expressing his concern, but Lin walked on in silence without answering. He could not find the words to get through to her.

  "There seems to be a problem with your father's history." It was Lin who first spoke.

  "What problem?" he said, alarmed.

  "I'm just alerting you," Lin said flatly.

  "He's never taken part in a political party or group!" he protested immediately, out of a basic instinct for self-preservation.

  "It seems as if…" she cut herself short.

  "It seems as if what?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

  "That's all I've heard."

  Lin kept pushing her bicycle without looking at him. She thought of herself as being superior, she was alerting him, showing concern for him, she was concerned that he might do something crazy. She was protecting him, but he could tell that it was no longer love. It was as if he had concealed his family background from her, and her concern was spoiled by her doubts. He tried to explain: "Before Liberation, my father was section chief in a bank and a steamship company, then he was a journalist with a private commercial newspaper. What's wrong with that?"

  What instantly came to his mind was the small cloth-covered booklet of Mao's On New Democracy, which his father hid with the silver co
ins in the shoebox under the five-drawer chest when he was a child, but he said nothing, it was useless. He felt wronged, primarily because his father was not him.

  "They say your father was senior staff-"

  "So what? He was still hired staff and lost his job before Liberation. He has never been a capitalist and has never represented the capitalists!"

  He was furious, but instantly he felt weak. He knew he would not be able to regain Lin's trust.

  Lin made no response.

  He put his foot on the bicycle-stop in front of a poster freshly pasted up, stood there, and asked, "What else is there? Who's saying this?"

  Lin steadied her bicycle and, averting her eyes, looked down to say, "Don't ask, just be aware of it."

  The youngsters in front of them collected their buckets of paste and ink, got on their bicycles, and left. The posters they had just written were still dripping with ink.

  "So you've been avoiding me because of this?" he asked loudly.

  "Of course not." Lin still did not look at him but quiedy added, "It was you who wanted to break off the relationship."

  "I miss you, I really miss you!"

  He spoke loudly but felt weak and helpless.

  "Forget it, it's impossible…" Lin said softly, avoiding his eyes. She turned, pushing her bicycle to go off.

  He grabbed the handlebars of her bicycle, but Lin put her head down and said, "Don't be like that, let me go, I'm just telling you that there is a problem with your father's history-"

  "Who said this? People in the political section? Or was it Danian?" he kept asking, unable to contain his fury.

  Lin straightened up and turned away to look at the cars on the road and the endless stream of bicycles on both sides.

  "My father wasn't declared a rightist-" He wanted to argue, but that, too, was something he wanted to forget. He remembered his mother saying that it was all over and in the past. That was when his mother was alive, he was still at university and had gone home for the New Year.

  "No, not that problem…" Lin turned her handlebars and put a foot on the pedal.

  "Then what problem is it?" He grabbed her handlebars again.

  "They say he had hidden a gun…" She bit her lip, got on her bicycle, and pedaled away hard.

  There was an explosion in his brain and he seemed to see Lin speed by with tears in her eyes; maybe he was seeing things or maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself. Cycling away with her head wrapped in the scarf, Lin merged with the others on bicycles and, as scraps of paper and dust flew into the air beneath the streetlights, soon it was impossible to make her out. It was probably at that point that he reeled and stumbled against the poster that had just been pasted on the wall, and got ink and paste on his sleeve, and, as a result, he firmly remembered how it was when he and Lin parted.

  His mind had seized up and he was in a quandary. He did not get on his bicycle right away because the weight of the words "hidden a gun" had made his head spin. When he came to his senses and thought about the implications of these words, he knew he had no option but to go all the way with rebelling.

  Their band of twenty or so charged into the hutong at the side of Zhongnanhai. At the red gate bristling with sentries, they demanded that the senior cadre representing the Party Center come to their workplace both to acknowledge culpability and to exonerate cadres and masses declared anti-Party. When they entered the office, the old revolutionary who held the rank of general before taking command of this important position actually received them, unlike the noncommittal and reticent senior cadres of their workplace who just hid away in their offices. The man had an extraordinary presence, and remained seated, majestic and dignified, on the high-backed leather chair behind the desk in that very spacious office.

  "I won't get up to greet you, I've had too many meetings with the masses. When I was taking part in the revolution and mass campaigns, who knows where you lot of youngsters were? Of course, I am not promoting seniority simply because I am much older than all of you." The senior cadre was the first to speak. His voice was loud without being pompous, but his attitude and tone sounded as if he was speaking at a meeting.

  "You young people want to rebel, and that's excellent! But I have had a little more experience. I have rebelled and carried out revolution against others, and others have done the same to me, and I have committed errors. Errors in what I said has upset some comrades and made them angry. I have already apologized to my comrades, what else do you want? Are you incapable of committing errors? Are you always correct? I would never dare say that of myself. It is only Chairman Mao who is always correct! And there can be no doubts about that! Who among you is not capable of committing errors? Ha-ha!"

  This motley group had been fired with righteous indignation and ready to fight, but now everyone was docile and, in fact, respectfully receiving a reprimand without a sound of protest. He had detected both resentment and a veiled threat in what the old man said; nevertheless, it was his own fault for being the leader of this motley group and he was obliged to go forward. He asked, "Are you aware that following your order to collect reports, that very night every single person was interrogated? Over a hundred people were branded anti-Party and many more now have records in their files. Would it be possible for you to direct the Party committee to declare a reversal of those cases and to have those records destroyed in public?"

  "People have their own jobs to look after, your Party committee's problems are its own. Don't the masses also have problems? I can't say for sure what your Party committee will do, but I have spoken to them about it. I have already retracted what I said, the very words I myself had spoken!"

  The senior cadre was getting bored and had risen to his feet.

  "Then would it be possible for you to say all this again when you make your report at another such meeting?" He couldn't back down now.

  "That would have to be approved by the Party Center. You see, I work for the Party and have to observe Party discipline. I am not free to say anything I like."

  "In that case, who approved your speech ordering the collection of reports?"

  This was prohibited territory, and he was aware of the weight of his words. The senior cadre fixed his eyes upon him, his eyebrows thick and graying, and said coldly, "I am responsible for whatever I say. Chairman Mao is still using me; I have not been dismissed! Of course, I am personally responsible for whatever I say!"

  "Then may we quote what you said on a poster so that everyone can read it? We have been delegated by the masses and this would help when we report back."

  Having said this, he looked at the masses by his side, but none of them had anything to say. The senior cadre was staring at him. He knew that this was a power struggle between unequal parties, but there was no way out for him, so he said, "We will write up what you said, then invite you to check if it is all right."

  "Young man, I admire your courage!"

  The senior cadre remained dignified. Having said this, he turned, opened a door behind his desk, and went out. The door, which earlier had not even been noticed, immediately shut; all that remained was the leather swivel chair and the motley crowd looking vacantly at him. However, that menacing and scornful sentence lingered in his mind.

  The paunchy Party secretary stood up to make his report at the meeting. He was mumbling and no longer held his back straight or his head high, as he did a few months ago sitting alongside the senior cadre of the Party Center. Instead, he was wearing reading glasses and held his notes in both hands farther away than the microphone as he read out a word at a time. He was struggling to make out the words: "I now understand that I had misinterpreted… the spirit of the Party Center. I gave… wrong instructions. I harmed… the revolutionary fervor of comrades and hereby earnestly-" At this point, Comrade Wu Tao paused, then raised his voice to continue, "Very earnestly apologize to all comrades present-"

  He lowered his big head in a token bow. He seemed to be senile, but sincere and humble.

  "What wrong i
nstructions? Be more specific!" someone in the meeting asked loudly.

  Wu left his notes and, head bowed, looked over the top of his glasses at the people in the meeting. At the same time, those present started looking around at one another. Wu immediately returned to his notes and went on reading methodically. He read even more slowly, enunciating each of his words with greater clarity. "When old revolutionaries encounter new problems, we deal with them according to old paradigms based on our experiences. But, under the new circumstances of today, this absolutely-will not-do!"

  It was all empty bureaucratic talk, and there was a stir in the meeting again. Probably thinking he was about to be interrupted again, Wu suddenly left his notes to say loudly and emphatically, "I gave wrong instructions, I committed an error!"

  "What old paradigms? You make it sound as if it's nothing! Do these old paradigms of yours refer to opposing rightists?" This time, it was a section head, a Party member, who had stood up. It was a woman nearing middle age, who had been labeled anti-Party. Not knowing how to respond immediately, Wu looked at the woman through his reading glasses, which had slipped down his nose.

  "What do those old paradigms of yours refer to? Do they refer to opposing rightists by luring snakes out of their lairs?" The woman was agitated and her voice was trembling.

  "Yes, yes." Wu hastened to nod.

  "Whose instructions were these? What were the instructions? Make yourself clear!" the woman followed up.

  "Comrades of the Party Center leadership, our Party Center -" Wu took off his glasses to try to see who the woman was.

  The woman was not intimidated, and, raising her head, asked loudly, "Which Party Center are you referring to? Which leader do you mean? How did you receive your instructions? Speak up!"

  The people at the meeting all knew that the sacrosanct Party Center had already split, and that even the Political Bureau of the Party Center was in the process of being replaced by Mao Zedong's Central Cultural Revolution Proletariat Command Group. Comrade Wu Tao's headquarters had lost control of the meeting, and a buzz of voices arose. However, as Party secretary, Wu Tao rigidly kept to Party rules. Without replying, and assuming an injured tone, he loudly silenced the meeting, "I represent the Party committee in apologizing to those comrades who have been subjected to criticism!"