JIANG CHING IS MY NEW NAME. It is a thoughtful gift from my husband. I am no longer Lan Ping-Blue Apple. The new characters have straight lines like a boat sailing in full wind- Jiang as River and Ching as Green. Jiang Ching summarizes a traditional saying: Green comes out of blue but is richer than blue.
I have parted from my old role. I come out of blue and enter the richer color green. I am a butterfly out of the cocoon, spring belongs to me. My name has become part of my lover's poetry.
There aren't any photographs hanging on my wall. No books or reviews either. No souvenirs. Not even a poster of me as Nora. It's not that I wouldn't like to be reminded of my old days, my new role simply demands a different setting. I face a different audience.
I need to color my history red. This is what gives one true rights in Yenan. My future enemies hold an invisible mirror. It is said to reflect my political "birth defects." In the mirror they see a demon who has come to steal Mao's essence. They have already begun a war with me by trying to block my marriage.
The rumors and false accusations begin to spread the day Mao and I wed. I have broken many hearts. During and after the ceremony, a number of comrades and our guests of honor, including my husband's ex-brother-in-law Xia Zhen-nong, begin to gossip about Mao's "declining health." It is loud. Look at the Chairman, he has come to depend on liquor to boost his energy.
I am beginning to realize that I don't stand much chance to defend myself here in Yenan. Mao's divorce is considered a betrayal under my influence. What frightens me is that hatred for the actress is in the air before the play opens. It is a show people don't want to see but to which they are forced to come. Every line pricks their ears and every scene burns their eyes.
I am never able to reverse the image of a white-boned demon. Many envisioned my burial the moment I entered Mao's cave. The hatred deepens as the years wear on. So does my anger. The ancient saying goes, Ten thousand people's spit can make a well deep enough to sink a person. Well, I am in that well.
I am determined to carry on my show in hope of finding my true audience. Some of my critics say that I make them sick to their stomach. But the truth is that they can't take their eyes off me while giving me bad names. They are doing everything they can to ruin me.
In my costume I am the leading lady. I am described by Mao's visitors as pleasant, sweet and friendly. Yes, I have every reason in the world to be content and grateful, and I am. Inside, however, the sea is never calm. I have to watch myself, to make sure that I appear proper, obedient and tamed. I love Mao enough to leave behind a big part of myself, including my passion for drama and movies. I believe Mao's business is more important and I am trying to make it mine too.
Over the next six months Mao produces the most famous writings of his life. Among them are Basic Battle Tactics-Thoughts on Guerrilla Warfare and On the Protracted War. Mao's views fascinate and captivate the nation; as a result, the number of Red Army recruits increases dramatically. Enraged, Chiang Kai-shek secretly contacts Adolf Hitler for military advisors and orders the complete elimination of the Communists.
It is at this time that Madame Mao Jiang Ching gives birth to a daughter, Nah. She disappears from the public scene completely. As the new host of the family, she enthusiastically receives the members of Mao's previous families: two sons, Anyin and Anqing, from Mao's marriage to Kai-hui, and a daughter, Ming, from his marriage to Zi-zhen. Jiang Ching spends her days nursing the baby and making clothes and sweaters. Through Kang Sheng she learns that Zi-zhen has secretly returned from Russia with her illness worsened. Mao has arranged for Zi-zhen to live in a private mental hospital in a southern city.
The village tailor comes often to help Jiang Ching with the housework. The tailor brings news and gossip. Jiang Ching learns that her friend Sesame has been killed in a battle near Gan-jiang River. Another name that often surfaces is Fairlynn. Fairlynn has become the star of feminism and liberalism in Yenan. Her novels and essays are widely published and she is idolized by the nation's youth.
Fairlynn is working on a new novel when I knock on her door. I don't know why I've come here. I don't like Fairlynn. I guess I simply have to satisfy my curiosity. She is surprised to see me and greets me delightedly. Holding out her arms, the first thing she says to me is, Look, the mother hen is here!
What's her name? she asks.
Nah. I open my basket to reveal my daughter.
Nah? What do you mean, Nah?
She didn't say, "Don't tell me it's from Tang Nah" but I get the idea.
It is pure coincidence, I explain. My husband doesn't give a damn whom I married in the past. The name comes from Confucius's teaching on behavior. Nah for self-cultivation. It is all Mao's idea.
Welcome to the red base, little soldier! Fairlynn bends to touch Nah, then turns toward me. You look like you are loaded again.
You're nasty, as always, Fairlynn. I smile and sit down. You like to make me feel bad. You know you love to do that to me.
Oh, Lan Ping, you hate me just the same. We already knew that when we met.
Any progress in your personal life, Fairlynn? How old are you anyway?
She lights a cigarette. Thirty-six. I'm too busy.
It's a familiar excuse for those who can't attract. I laugh. Come on, get yourself a husband before it's too late.
A husband? Fairlynn puffs the smoke. I would rather flirt with a chimpanzee!
She throws a half-eaten yam into her mouth. By the way, how does it feel to be Madame Mao?
A dream come true.
Very clever, Miss Lan Ping.
No, Comrade Jiang Ching.
Very well, Comrade Jiang Ching.
The world is yours if you have the talent, Fairlynn. This is what my husband says to me: The street is filled with gold, but not everyone has eyes to see it.
Fairlynn smiles. Good. Get more babies and practice sewing.
You can't stop biting, can you? I think the problem is your Shakespeare hairstyle. I am sure it turns men off. I'll be happy to give you a new haircut.
Lan Ping, you can't make me feel unattractive.
Jiang Ching, please-Jiang as River and Ching as Green. You have no idea how wonderful it is to have children. Look at Nah, she is smiling at you. Come on, girl, go to Aunt Fairlynn.
Oh, it's warm. It's moving like a worm. Look at this fluffy hair. You smell like an overfermented sourdough bread.
Nah starts to lunge at Fairlynn's breast.
Milk time! I laugh.
Fairlynn passes Nah back to me in embarrassment.
Would you like to hear my new novel, Jiang Ching? It's entitled The New Nora. It's about how Nora walks out of house number one and enters house number two.
Leaning on the pillow I ask my husband's opinion of Fairlynn.
I don't take those bookworms too seriously, Mao responds. What do Fairlynn types know? Dictionaries? What is a dictionary but pages of dead words anyway? Can she tell the difference between rice shoots and weeds? What could be easier than being a bookworm? It's harder to learn to be a chef or a butcher. A book has no legs, one can open or close it at any time. A pig has legs that can run and a pig has vocal cords that can wail. The butcher has to catch and slaughter it. The chef has to make the stinky meat taste delicious. These are the real talents. What's Fairlynn? She plays in the school of thoughts only because we let her…
She cuddles under him. Boss, do you think Fairlynn is attractive?
Why do you ask?
Just curious. She's no beauty, is she?
Huh…
Let me tell you a crowd of men are trying to get her attention. They range from generals to soldiers. They fantasize about her as if she were the protagonist in her novel. Little Dragon doesn't even know how to spell, but he recites Fairlynn's poems.
What has been Fairlynn's reaction? Was she interested in our soldiers?
Well, she has said that she doesn't want to enter any house of Torvald's. She calls your men chimpanzees.
That's interesting. Mao's voice is fading.
Have you read her?
I have copies of her books which she sent me. Mao turns over and blows out the candle.
Did you know that Fairlynn hangs out with the local Bolsheviks? Jiang Ching suddenly asks in the dark.
I'm tired. I'll look into the matter after… after… I finish with the Party's convention.
May I take part in the convention?
No answer.
She asks again.
Mao starts snoring.
Beyond the harsh valley of Yenan, the world lurches toward the greatest conflagration of the century. The Nazi-Germans begin to move across Europe. The Japanese fan out over the Pacific. Closer to home, Mao begins his intense competition with Chiang Kai-shek for the ruling power of China.
Jiang Ching celebrates her next four birthdays in the small garden at the mouth of their cave. At thirty-one she has become an expert seamstress and is used to having their living room used as a war headquarters. Once in a while after an important battle is won, Mao sends away his comrades. He takes a day off to spend with the children. More rarely, he escorts his wife to a local performance to see an opera, an orchestra or a troupe of folk singers. Sensing his wife's frustration, he makes his horse available to her.
After only a few lessons from Little Dragon, I am able to ride out by myself. With a little practice, I soon become quite confident. The land surrounding Yenan is perfect for riding, open and rolling. I tie my hair up into a bun and speed the animal. I ride over the hills and along the riverbank. The breeze on my face makes me feel the spring. Smiling into the wind I think to myself, I am a bandit girl! I ride until the horse's nostrils are wide with panting and his sweat has soaked the blanket. And then I dig my heels in for one last gallop.
Madame Mao Jiang Ching is content yet bored at the same time. She is getting tired of her role as a housewife. She realizes that she cannot be satisfied with a house full of children, hens, roosters, goats and vegetables. Her mind needs stimulation. She needs a stage. She begins to exercise her role the way she sees it. She reads documents that pass across Mao's desk. She learns that the United States has entered the war. She learns that Hitler is being pushed out of the Soviet Union and that the Japanese are in retreat. The Chinese Communist Party has expanded and is the largest political group in the world. Her husband has become a household name and a symbol of power and truth.
What has become of me? the actress asks herself. Fairlynn occupies a seat in the Party's convention while she, as Mao's wife, can't even attend its opening.
Fairlynn sits among the delegation in the front row and is voted a speaker for the nation's intellectuals. During a break Fairlynn pays a visit to Madame Mao Jiang Ching. She congratulates her on her husband's rise to power and asks if Madame Mao compares herself to Madame Roosevelt. Fairlynn describes Madame Roosevelt, her achievement in American politics and Western history.
The wife of Mao listens as she washes her husband's and children's clothes in a bucket. The water is freezing. She washes the bowls, woks and scrubs the chamber pot. Her hands are swelling with frostbite. The soap slips through her fingers.
One night I try to discuss Madame Roosevelt with Mao. You are not Madame Roosevelt. He kicks off his shoes and blows out the candle.
Suddenly I am depressed. For the rest of the month I try to read.
But there is no way I can concentrate. An incident almost took place as I neglected my duty-Nah nearly fell into the manure pit-and it makes me put down the books.
The tailor comes to accompany me, but I send her back. I no longer want to hear the news.
Mao holds small meetings at home. He doesn't tell me ahead of time. He doesn't tell me who will be coming either. It's his style. He just sends Little Dragon for them on his terms. It can be three o'clock in the morning or midnight. They are expected to share a meal and discuss battles. I am supposed to put out food and go to war in the kitchen. Sometimes a cook or the guards help me. But it is my job to clean up afterwards.
I am playing a strange role: a queen who is a maid.
At the convention Mao is elected the Party's sole boss. Liu Shao-qi, who has built the Communist network in Chiang Kai-shek's white territories, is voted the second boss. Vice Chairman Liu Shao-qi has praised Mao highly in his acceptance speech. Little Dragon excitedly updates me with the details of the convention. Liu Shao-qi mentioned Mao's name one hundred and five times! The guard expects me to be thrilled, but I can hardly hide my misery.
At bedtime, afterwards, the wife again asks if she can be given a seat at the convention. The husband switches the tone of his voice.
I can't give anybody a seat. One has to earn it.
The wife sits up. You don't think I have earned it?
He doesn't answer but makes a sigh.
She wipes her tears. Well, I need a chance to earn it then.
Mao produces a list of books for me to read. He is giving me the prescription he gave to Zi-zhen. Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, The Three Kingdoms and The Record of History. But I won't be reading them. Not one of them. I already know what kind of pills are in his bottle. Not only do I refuse to become Zi-zhen, I am determined not to be a stagehand in his political theater.
As Jiang Ching tries to break onto his stage, Mao launches a movement called Rectify the Style of Work. The year is 1942. At first it is considered a routine political examination, then it turns into terror. All of a sudden "traitors," "reactionaries," and "Chiang Kai-shek's agents" are caught everywhere. What later surprises historians is that the movement is initiated by Mao and conducted by Kang Sheng-two masters of conspiracy who set up an imaginary plot against themselves.
The movement is narrowing. The focus has become the extermination of the enemies within. Panic sweeps through the entire base of Yenan. To make oneself stand out as a hard-core left-winger, a true Communist, one begins to put others down, even to accuse others as right-wingers. In the morning one can be thought of as a revolutionary activist, by noon an anti-Communism suspect, by evening an enemy. One can be seen in a day meeting forcing others to plead guilty, and in an evening meeting be oneself arrested and thrown into a dark confession room.
The drill for the movement is Ren-ren-guo-guan-"a critical juncture everyone has to pass." The meetings are like chemical jars-when enemies are dipped, they show disease.
It doesn't matter that she is Madame Mao. To show the Party's fairness she will be checked no differently. She is told that it is her turn to dip herself in the chemical jar.
She is nervous. She worries about her background, in particular, her signature on Chiang Kai-shek's paper denouncing Communism. Although her friend Kang Sheng has instructed her on what to do she is still unsure.
Would you please attend my spot? she begs Kang Sheng.
When her day comes Kang Sheng is among the crowd.
Madame Mao Jiang Ching is put in the center of the room, spotted by the eyes of hundreds. She gives a self-evaluation as the format requests. Taking a deep breath she begins the process of convincing. The description is smoothly prepared and stated in graceful Mandarin. Her background could not be more pure: a child of feudalistic abuse, a young Communist in Qing-dao, her time in Shanghai as a left-wing actress devoted to films against the Japanese invaders, and her final landing in Yenan as a mature revolutionary and wife of Mao.
She believes that her performance is seamless. However, a couple of people in the crowd question the period she had skipped. A witness is demanded to prove her bravery in prison.
Suddenly she panics and turns defensive.' Her lines become messy and words disconnected. What's the point? I have to produce a witness! Why? Are you saying that I am making up my story? How can I do this? I have been a revolutionary. And I will not be afraid of you!
For a while there is silence, but it is clear what is on everyone's mind. There is a desire to see the actress fail. To trip over herself, break a prop and fall off the stage. Soon the crowd begins to attack in one voice. What's this attitude, Comrade Jiang Ching? What makes you so nervous if you don't have anything to hide? Why the hysteria? Isn't it healthy for comrades to question when there are doubts? Especially about one's release from the enemy's prison? It is everyone's obligation to cooperate. Nobody is above the Communist Party in Yenan. Not even Mao's wife.
Gradually the nature of the event changes. Doubts grow heavy. The details, dates, hours, minutes are being questioned, compared and analyzed. Demands for an explanation grow more insistent. She is falling into a trap, set by her own previous fabrication. Her story begins to contradict itself. The holes in her lies begin to reveal themselves. She is cornered.
Her face turns red, veins on her neck popping blue. She looks horrified and turns to Kang Sheng, her eyes begging for help.
On cue the master actor breaks into the scene.
The Central Bureau of Security has already investigated the matter, Kang Sheng begins. The conclusion is positive-Comrade Jiang Ching's strength has been tested. It is proven truth that she has been loyal to the Party. She has done tremendous work for the revolution. She has risked her life.
Kang Sheng lights a cigarette. With a straight face he paints a picture of a Communist goddess. Finally he throws the ball to the crowd. How would you explain Comrade Jiang Ching's action in leaving behind the city of luxury and pleasure, Shanghai, for hardships in Yenan? If it is not her faith in Communism, then what is it?
The goat-beard man pauses, looks around and is pleased with his effectiveness-the way he confuses. To tighten the screw, he gives a final twist. Therefore, to trust the result of the Party's investigation is to trust Comrade Jiang Ching. To trust Comrade Jiang Ching is to trust the Party and Communism itself. Any doubts based upon assumptions abuse an individual's rights, which would be a reactionary act and evidence of right-wing activity, implying sympathy with Wang Ming's gang and the ultimate enemy.
The lips are clamped and the voices are silenced. The interrogation stops. I am sure this will get me through this crisis, although not necessarily the next. There are questions hanging on those people's faces. Why is Kang Sheng aggressive and merciless in handling other cases while spoiling this one?
Kang Sheng intimidates and never worries about how anyone thinks of him except Mao. And Mao keeps promoting him. In her marriage she discovers that only when she follows Kang Sheng's advice does she succeed. Kang Sheng is her education.
In the future there will be one secret Madame Mao and Kang Sheng never discuss but share knowingly. It is what makes them partners, rivals and enemies at the same time. Count every member of the Communist Party-no one has ever dared to think about surpassing Mao and taking over China but Kang Sheng and Jiang Ching.
Chiang Kai-shek's military equipment is supplied by Americans and is the most advanced in the world. Mao, on the other hand, works with primitive weapons. It is the end of World War II and the beginning of China's civil war. On the international front, Stalin has proposed a negotiation between Mao and Chiang Kai-shek. For Stalin, a united China is more powerful. Stalin sees China as a potential ally with which to oppose the Americans. To show broad-mindedness, my husband takes the risk and accepts Chiang's invitation to Chong-Qin-the capital city of Chiang's government-for a peace talk. Although his colleagues and aides suspect a conspiracy, my husband insists on going.
Midsummer Chong-Qin is a bathhouse. With an American diplomat as a host, Mao Tse-tung and Chiang Kai-shek shake hands in front of the cameras. Next they perform an agreement-signing ceremony. Mao is in his shapeless white cotton uniform while Chiang is in a starched Western-inspired suit with rows of medals glistening over his shoulders and across his chest.
There will not be two suns shining above the sky of China, Mao says to me on our flight back to Yenan. He sees civil war as unavoidable. I tell him that I admire his bravery. He says, Darling, it is the fear, the blindness toward death that drives me to win.
Angry, Chiang Kai-shek begins to drop his bombs over our roof again. Mao orders the famous Yenan evacuation. The Red Army soldiers and peasants are mobilized to move into remote mountain areas. Mao refuses to see anyone who complains about the abandonment of their homeland. To turn people away he invites Fairlynn to the cave for a discussion and chat.
My husband has been meeting with Fairlynn since the early morning. They chat from politics to literature, from ancient bronze to poetry. Bowl to bowl and pack to pack, the two toast in rice wine and smoke cigarettes. The room is a chimney.
After I put Nah to sleep I come out, making my presence a protest against the intruder. I sit next to my husband.
Fairlynn's spirit is fueled by alcohol. Under Mao's encouragement she is argumentative. She scratches her hair with her fingers. Her Shakespeare hairdo is now a bird's-nest. Her eyes are bloody red. She laughs with all her teeth showing.
Inhaling, Mao stretches out his legs, crossing one foot over another.
The history of China is the history of yin, he argues loudly as he pushes the ashtray toward Fairlynn. He then pushes his tea mug. He likes to share tea with women. He did it with Kai-hui, Zi-zhen, Jiang Ching and now Fairlynn. He adds water to the mug, then goes on. Our ancestors invented ammunition to use only for festival decorations. Our fathers smoked opium to avoid thinking. Our nation has been poisoned by Confucius's theories. We have been raped by the nations who are strong in yang. "Raped" is the precise word! Mao's fist punches the table. A few peanuts fall on the ground.
Chairman, I don't mean to challenge you. Fairlynn picks up the dropped peanuts. In your writings there is a sense of praising the war itself. I found that extremely interesting, or may I say disturbing? You praised violence itself. You believe in martial law. Your true purpose is to kill the yin element in the Chinese, am I right?
Mao nods.
So you kill, Fairlynn presses.
I kill to heal.
Fairlynn shakes her head. Chairman, you are making us the prisoners of your thinking house. You make us bite and chew on each other's flesh in order to exercise your ideal yang. Am I allowed to say that you're crazy to give our minds no pleasure to wonder and experience?…Sir, you're stir-frying an overnight dish-you are nothing original-you're copying Hitler!
If this wakes up the nation, I'll bear the shame! Mao pitches his voice like an opera character.
Mao! You are the most outrageous individualist I have ever met. You are fascinated by yourself! But what about the rest? What about their right to be as individualistic as you are? The great thinkers, journalists, novelists, artists, poets and actors?
Comrade Fairlynn, you have been poisoned. Mao laughs confidently. The westerners think that the authors and artists are supermen, but they are only men with animal instincts. The best of them are men with mental illnesses. Their nature is to sell tricks! How can you regard them so religiously? You must have spent a lot for this pair of artificial frog-eyes. Poor thing, you have been robbed!
Two o'clock in the morning and I see no end to the discussion. Mao and Fairlynn are on their third jar of wine. The subject has turned to beauty.
You are not unlike any other male creature on this earth. Look at Comrade Jiang Ching! Beauty of the red base! Mao, I thought you were not one of the Shakespearean characters. But look at what you are doing! You are stuffing Marxism into a flashlight-using it only to examine the others. Don't embarrass me with your so-called knowledge of Western literature. You remind me of the frog who lives in the bottom of a well who thinks the sky is only as big as the ring. You're selling your hot-pepper tricks to illiterate peasants. You are making yourself a fool in front of me. Yes, yes, yes. Sometimes I do think your writings on morality are a joke. After I read them, they lie on the floor of my mind in complete disarray and disorder!
What a pleasure to hear this! How daring that you come to my cave to burn my grains! Water! Hot water! Jiang Ching!
I get up, pick up the teapot and go to the kitchen.
In the kitchen I hear them continue. They laugh and sometimes whisper.
You're irresistible, Fairlynn. If…
Imagine that! The hoarse voice rises, laughing.
You're right, Fairlynn. Beauty does arouse me. It makes me sympathetic toward deformity. However, the drive to save this country makes me a true man. I have only one understanding of politics-it is violence. Revolution is not a tea party, it is violence in its purest form. I worship ancient politics, the politics of simple dictatorship.
Standing in front of the boiling teapot my mind travels to exile. When I return to the living room I find myself empty-handed. I have left the teapot behind. Politely I interrupt the conversation. I mention that I am tired. My husband suggests that I go ahead to bed.
It's the middle of the night, I insist, showing no intention of leaving the room-I am determined to kick Fairlynn out.
I know. He waves a hand.
You must be exhausted, I say to my husband, so must Comrade Fairlynn.
Don't you worry about me! Fairlynn stretches her arms upward. Leaning to the side she places her elbows on the table. I feel as charged as if it were ten o'clock in the morning.
Mao makes a muffled guffaw.
I try to contain myself but my tears betray me.
My husband stands up, goes to the kitchen and brings back the teapot. He then pulls over a chair for me to sit down. I look at Fairlynn in disgust. There will be a day, I promise myself, that I will make her go through what she is making me go through now.
Basking in Fairlynn's admiration my husband elaborates on himself.
Deep in the landscape of my soul, I am covered with the thick fog of the yellow earth. My character carries a fatalistic culture. I have been aware of this since I was a child. I have an instinct and a craving for travel, in the meantime I have an inborn disgust of living. The ancient sages travel in order to gain distance from men. We fight in order to achieve unity. People of the Ching dynasty, before Confucius, were warlords, very strong in yang. They fought, possessed and expanded the land. Horseback was their life. They had passion for the sun. In fables, one sun was not enough. Nine suns have to be created so the hero Yi can have a chance to shoot eight of the nine down in order to demonstrate his strength. The goddesses were sent way up, into the Moon Palace, so the males could be challenged.
Ching period is your period, Fairlynn responds.
Yes, and I still feel that I lack the knowledge of it. I'd like to hear the shouts of the Ching soldier lunge and enter the gates of their enemy's cities. I would like to smell the blood on the tip of their swords.
You have a vision seen through the eyes of a madman.
At three o'clock in the morning Mao and Fairlynn get up to part. Jiang Ching stands behind the cave's entrance and watches them.
Our argument has not ended yet, Fairlynn says, buttoning up her gray army coat.
Next time it will be my turn to satisfy you. Mao nods a salute.
The darkness is impenetrable, Fairlynn sighs.
I'm a pearl-seeker, Mao says, looking into the night. I work on the deep and airless ocean bed. I don't come up with treasure every time. Often I come back empty-handed and purple-faced. You have an understanding of that as a writer.
But sometimes I want to be wrapped in darkness.
Well, my point is that it is not easy to live up to what's expected of Mao Tse-tung.
Surely almost everyone is drawn to deception.
The irony, as we all understand, is that magic and illusion has to take place in the dark. Mao smiles.
And certainly with distance. I am with you, Chairman.
March 1947. Mao's force has been in and out of the mountain areas of Shan-xi, Hunan and Sichuan provinces. Mao toys with Chiang Kai-shek's troops. Although Chiang has sent his best man, General Hu Zhong-nan, who commands 230,000 men while Mao has only 20,000, Chiang has not been winning.
Like a war concubine I follow my lover. I abandon everything including my favorite record player. I insist that Nah come with us. We travel with the army. It's hard to believe that we survived. Every day Nah witnesses how the dead are buried.
The village artists paint the walls with pictures of Mao. My lover still has the look of an ancient sage, even more so now. It is because the artists are trained to paint the face of Buddha. They can't paint Mao without making him look like a Buddha. Maybe it is the Buddha they see in Mao. And I'm sure it is Buddha my lover is playing.
Sleep deprivation has weakened Mao. He has caught fever. Under the blanket, he trembles uncontrollably. The guards take turns carrying him on a stretcher. In his sickness my lover continues to conduct battles. This is how I become his secretary and assistant. Now I am the one who writes down Mao's orders and drafts telegrams. I am up when he is up, and keep myself up when he sleeps.
When he is better and sees his business is going well, he wants to play. We have time. But I am not myself. My heart feels no warmth-I can't forget Fairlynn. Although I feel my love for him, I still want to make him pay for humiliating me. He seems to be accepting the punishment. The pockets under his eyes have deepened.
The troops pitch camp in a small village. Mao is asleep. Jiang Ching comes out of the hut for fresh air. She has just finished copying a long document under candlelight. Rubbing her strained eyes, she notices that Little Dragon is standing nearby. Seeing her he salutes. She nods and takes a mouthful of fresh air. In front of her there is a patch of yams and a narrow path that leads to a river. The night is quiet and chilly.
She feels lonely so she walks to the guard and greets him.
Have you heard from your family? she asks the nineteen-year-old.
The man replies that he doesn't have a family.
How so?
My uncle was an underground Communist. Chiang Kai-shek massacred my family for helping him escape.
Do you like working for the Chairman? Will you be loyal to him?
Yes, Madame. The young man lowers his head and looks at his own shadow under the bright moonlight.
Do you hear anything at night? She clears her throat.
Well, a… a little.
Like what?
N… Noises.
Suddenly she feels sorry for him. The man who has never in his life tasted the sweetness of a woman. It is not allowed. It is the rule-soldiers are the monks of Mao's temple.
What kind of noises? she asks, almost teasing. Like a noise from an owl? A field rat? Or wind?
The young man becomes tongue-tied and turns away from her.
She gently calls him by name and makes him look back at her.
I don't like myself, Little Dragon says suddenly.
She feels a strange tension rise between them. She finds herself out of words.
Little Dragon swallows a mouthful of saliva.
After a while she asks, Would you like me to ask the Chairman to transfer you?
No, please, Madame. I'd like to serve the Chairman for the rest of my life.
Of course, she murmurs. I understand. And the Chairman needs you too.
The young man stands against the wall, his breath hardens. He is confused by his own reaction toward the woman. The mysterious power clothed under his uniform. She can see sweat glistening on his forehead. He looks intimidated, fraught and defeated. He reminds her of a young gorilla in frustration, the male who is given no chance to win female trophies, the male whose semen is deposited in the dustbin of history. Little Dragon's manhood is chewed up by the bigger, more brawny, aggressive and formidable gorilla, Mao.
December 1947. Mao finally exhausts Chiang Kai-shek's troops. Before the New Year Mao launches a full-scale counterattack. The Red Army soldiers shout as they charge forward: For Mao Tse-tung and New China! It doesn't take long for Mao to swallow his enemy completely. As spring turns into summer, the number of Mao's forces draws even with those of Chiang Kai-shek.
Chiang's loss starts to settle in. Mao changes the title of his army from the Red Army to the People's Liberation Army.
I have become the manager of Mao's makeshift office. And have sent Nah and her siblings away to live with villagers. I will miss them terribly but the war has reached its crucial moment. My husband sets up his headquarters once again in our bedroom. I have been sleeping in mule barns. I am bitten by mosquitoes, fleas and lice. One bite under my chin swells so much that it sticks out like a second chin.
To avoid Chiang Kai-shek's air raids, my husband orders the troops to travel after sundown. Long hours of working and lack of nutrition have taken their toll on me. I become sick and can hardly walk. When we advance Mao picks me up to ride with him on the only mule the army has left. Our relationship grows in a strange direction. It has been a long time since we showed affection to one another. The more territories he wins the more I am tormented. Despite all that I have done, all that I have suffered, I have been denied recognition. My nature refuses to live an invisible life. I demand acknowledgment and respect-but I get it from no one.
One day the dog-faced journalist Old Fish comes into my office with an urgent matter. Mao is in the inner room on the phone with Vice Chairman Liu.
I am in charge of the office, I say to Old Fish. But the man pretends that he doesn't hear me. So I try again. I ask if I may help him. He gives a smile but doesn't say anything else. He doesn't let me take care of Mao's business.
It is only my most recent insult. At a Politburo meeting a few days ago Mao encouraged opinions. When I spoke up, Mao was upset. Not only did he tell me to mind my own secretarial work, he ordered me to stay out of the Politburo meetings forever.
The table of history has turned, Fairlynn writes in her "Red Base" column. This time it is Chiang Kai-shek who plays an eager negotiator. From his capital city, Nan-jing, he sent Mao Tse-tung telegrams begging for a peace talk. In the meantime he has been trying to get the westerners to interfere. Britain sent a frigate, Amethyst, to the coast near the Yangzi River where Mao's force is in full engagement. Twenty-three Englishmen were killed and the frigate has been a dead fish for one hundred and one days. From Russia Stalin demands that Mao enter into peace talks with Chiang Kai-shek. Stalin's advisors follow Mao around attempting to stop him from sweeping through the entire South. In his war tent Mao is preparing for his final strike to take over China.
November 18, 1948. Hundreds and thousands of boats, captained by fishermen and soldiers, sail across the Yangzi River. The People's Liberation Army lunges toward Chiang Kai-shek's capital, Nan-jing. The Chiangs flee to Taiwan.
My lover listens to the radio while he finishes a yam.
Jiang Ching looks at Mao as she washes pots and bowls. She sees the expression of an emperor who is about to mount his throne. The couple haven't discussed their future. Not long ago, Jiang Ching found a piece of Fairlynn's writing on Mao's desk. It was an essay. Jiang Ching suspected that it was a love letter in secret code.
Chairman Mao was enlightened by the narration of the classic novel The Dream of the Red Chamber. The protagonist, Baoyu, couldn't be separated from a piece of jade he was born with. The jade was the root of his life. To Mao bis jade was the heart of the Chinese people. Why Baoyu the lover? Jiang Ching wonders. Is Fairlynn trying to be Taiyu, the only other soul in the mansion who understands Baoyu?
I had a terrible dream last night in which my lover's dark, stained fingers play at his throat as he reads Fairlynn's article. The fingers move tenderly up and down as if struck by a sweet mood.
The People's Liberation Army takes Yenan back. While the soldiers unite with the surviving family members the headquarters packs. Mao will leave this place for good. After a celebration rally Mao is finally left alone with Jiang Ching.
The cave is dark although it is daytime. The couple haven't been intimate since the evacuation. They sit by themselves quietly. It feels strange to Jiang Ching that her body has stopped missing his.
A ray of sunlight peeks in. It slants across the corner of the desk. Mao's old chair with its back leg wrapped with bandages stands like a wounded soldier. The wall is dirty.
After an awkward silence, Mao reaches out his arms and pulls Jiang Ching toward him. Without speaking he moves his hands from her shoulders to her waist. And then down he continues. She grows rigid. Heat drains from her limbs. Silently she lies in his arms.
He undresses and positions himself. And then he pushes in. She is motionless. He tries to concentrate on the pleasure, but his mind stirs.
I liked it better when we were illegitimate, she suddenly says.
He doesn't respond, but his body withdraws. He collects himself and lies down next to her.
Her tears begin to gush and her voice trembles. I don't want to be Zi-zhen. And I am not ready to retire. To build a new China is my business too.
He is silent, shows that he is disappointed.
I have talked to Premier Zhou, she continues. I told him that I deserve a title. He gave me no straight answer. I am not sure this is not your intention.
He lies with his eyes closed.
She goes on. Describes her feelings, how she has been submerged in water, the beating of her heart making circles on the surface. Doesn't know what happened to the love she lives for. She keeps going as though to pause would mean collapse. I am a dying seed inside a fruit. Everybody is polite to me because I'm your concubine. A concubine-not a revolutionary, not a soldier, not any part of this business. Your men disrespect me. While I'm everything I'm nothing. I've been following you like a dog. What more can I offer? My body and soul have been your resting place.
Why don't we finish this business before I get too tired? the lover demands.
She protests. My mind has its own pleasure and I can force nothing.
He grips her arms with tense fingers. Against her struggles he pulls her over and forces his way inside her. She shivers, feeling that she is pushed out of her body. He moves on top of her. She watches the event with a third eye. He feels her constraint and struggles against it. After a while he gives up.
Perhaps I'm not as sympathetic to your needs as I'd like myself to be. He sits down on the edge of the bed. Or perhaps it is just one of those things that time wears out. He sticks up a finger to stop her from responding. I'd rather not go into it. No matter what's said or going to be said, it's pointless. It will be an unreasonable demand. Maybe you and I have become the past. My feet are on the breast of victory. I live more intensely in the present than I could ever in the past. I have no time for misery.
She shakes her head vigorously.
He nods to silence her.
She tries to hold back her tears.
He gets up and collects his clothes.
No! Please don't go!
Buttoning up his uniform he takes out a cigarette. The smoke eddies about his face.
She feels the way horror corners its victim.
What time is it? he asks.
She doesn't answer but gets up. Her clothes are wrinkled. Matted hair falls to her shoulders.
Reality doesn't discuss, it simply is, he says in a harsh tone and extinguishes the cigarette.
The bitter lines on her face suddenly deepen.
We will settle in Beijing. He goes to open the door. It'll be by Zhong-nan-hai in the Forbidden City. I'll occupy a compound called the Garden of Harvest. I've saved the Garden of Stillness for you.