KEEPING UP WITH MAO has exhausted me although the tactics of the game have become simpler. The struggle to get ahead has come down to three parties. Premier Zhou, Marshal Lin Biao and I have become the only rivals. In April 1968, my strategy is to ally with Lin and isolate Zhou.
It is not that I enjoy the slaughter game. Given a choice I'd rather be with Yu and spend time in film studios and theaters. But my rivals are waiting to knock me out. I smell blood in the air of Beijing.
She tries to break down Premier Zhou's system. Her first objective is to replace Zhou's National Security Bureau, run by the old boys, with her own. Mao plays a delicate role here. He encourages and backs both sides. He believes that only when the warlords are involved in constant infighting will the emperor achieve peace and control.
With Mao's silent permission she allies with Lin Biao and the two finally paralyze Zhou's National Security Bureau. Pleased, Mao asks if Jiang Ching can crack the rest of the country. Excitedly she accepts the challenge. Although Premier Zhou tries every way to derail her action, she is aggressive and powerful.
The tragedy of her life begins officially. Blinded by passion she keeps going, unaware that her role is being set up to be destroyed. She has never completely given up faith that she will one day win Mao's love back. For that she refuses reality, refuses to believe that Mao will eventually sacrifice her.
When Madame Mao's forces grow too fast and too strong, Mao bends toward Premier Zhou and the old boys. In July Mao gives permission to Zhou to publish within the Party the numbers of the dead killed in the fights among factions of the Red Guards. It's time to beat the wild dogs before they become a threat to the nation. Zhou's action to reestablish order follows.
I have been kept in the dark. And I have no idea why Mao is displeased with me. He won't speak to me although I have been trying to reach him. Has Premier Zhou been the evil hand behind this? Sometimes Mao can be so insecure that he senses a storm in a breeze. And Zhou's words have an effect on him. The last time he saw me he quoted a saying, The taller the tree, the longer its shadow. I regret that I didn't pay attention. I hope that it is only his hysteria. Once it runs its course his mind will be back on its track.
To isolate me, Mao cuts off my association with Marshal Lin. Mao orders Lin to take the army to "clear the mess left by Jiang Ching's Red Guards."
I feel crushed. I immediately write a letter to Mao claiming that I have been working only under his instruction.
Mao makes no response. It is his true character acting. A moment in which he recognizes no feelings or memory. He lets himself be taken by fear.
Once again I am betrayed and shit upon. I'm shaken, yet I don't have a place to beg.
Mao dismisses my cabinet. He sends my people away. Saws off my limbs. A national migration of youth. Two hundred million Red Guards are chased to the countryside in the name of "spreading the seed of the revolution all over China." And yet I am not allowed to say a word. His purpose is to make me see how ill built my power is. There is no foundation. I am no different than Liu. This scares me to death. I am afraid to think about the future. If I can be stripped like this while Mao is living, what about when he dies?
But no, I can't get off the tiger. It is either eat or be eaten.
Lin Biao sees his chance to succeed both Premier Zhou and me. He races on. In the Party's Ninth Convention Mao officially pronounces Lin Biao his successor.
Believe me. History is full of tricks. Real-life drama is better than any playwright's imagination. Marshal Lin has no confidence that his own health will last. He fears that Mao will change his mind and decides to act. He plots a coup d'état. At the same time as he flies Mao live lobsters he sends his son to bomb Mao's train. Well, Mao is the bigger witch in the temple of magic-Mao has two security trains of four cars apiece run in advance. Lin has no luck in catching him.
She is sitting next to Mao, opposite Lin Biao and his wife, Ye Qiun. On the other side of the table sits Premier Zhou and his wife, Deng Yin-chao. She doesn't realize what is going on until the next morning. At the table she observes nothing unusual. Mao begins the ceremony by opening a bottle of imperial wine sealed in its original Ming dynasty porcelain vase 482 years earlier. He then lights incense. Let's celebrate the Moon Festival.
The dinner is elaborate, with sea cucumbers and other land and ocean delicacies. Mao uses his chopsticks to heap Lin's plate with tendons of tiger shot a week ago in Manchuria. The atmosphere is pleasant. She is not aware that her husband is starring in a live opera. She is in a sentimental mood. Mao had his secretary tell her that she must leave the banquet by exactly ten-thirty. She took it as an insult but nevertheless came to dinner. During the meal, she feels her heart ache over the courtyards, flowers and bamboo tree. She used to live here with Mao. The liquor makes the animal statues on the ancient stone tablets and fountains come to life. She turns to the other side. The little vegetable patch is a picture of a harvest. Beans are green and peppers are red. Again she is reminded of their life in Yenan.
The group is dressed casually except for Mao. He is oddly formal tonight, wearing a starched jacket buttoned up to the chin. After a toast he turns to Lin. How's the army doing?
Can't be beat.
Nice job you did in Wuhan.
It's nothing to squash the rebels.
The People's Liberation Army under your command has shown itself a good model for the people, Premier Zhou says, finally inserting his comment.
Lin has been working too hard, Lin's wife cuts in. His doctor begged him to stay in bed. But we all know that he is out of himself when he hears the Chairman call. He breathes for you, Chairman.
Very kind, very kind. Mao heaps two pieces of fried pork rib on Lin's plate and then fills his own cup with more wine. Ye Qiun, you must take good care of your man. He is the only one I've got-he has to run the business after I'm gone.
Premier Zhou seems to have no appetite, but tries to eat to please his host. His wife carefully picks oily fish skin out of her husband's plate and replaces it with green vegetables. Once in a while she watches her husband with concern. He eats slowly and is paying close attention to Mao.
So, what have you been doing, Premier?
Zhou wipes his mouth and states that he has just come back from a trip to Northern Three Province. I went there to check on the Red Guards who were sent there a year ago.
Oh, looking after the kids. Mao laughs and nods. And how are they? I have been wondering myself. Have they adapted to the situation well and have they been productive? I assume they know how to run tractors better than the peasants. They are educated and can read instructions, can't they? I expect them to produce a great harvest. It is a good year in terms of the weather.
Well, the picture is not so good, Premier Zhou answers. The youths and the locals don't get along. The youths don't know much about the importance of catching the seasons. They thought the machines could do everything at any time. But it was the rainy season. Hundreds of tractors entered the field-they were like frogs with their legs chopped off. They got stuck and couldn't move an inch. And it was too late when they realized their mistake. With the help of the locals they collected as much wheat as they could with sickles and left the rest of the grain to rot in the fields. The last day I was there, the kids used their clothes and blankets to bag up the grain and lay it out on their beds to dry-
Always a price for lessons, Mao interrupts. As if no longer interested in Zhou's details he turns to Jiang Ching. You are doing well, aren't you?
She doesn't know where he is heading so she quickly answers, Yes, Chairman, the opera films are doing beautifully. The troupes are making new ones. It will be an honor if the Chairman can inspect the troupe.
He throws her a mysterious smile and then goes on to comment on the wine. She is having a hard time following him-on one hand he tries to generate a conversation, on the other, he is not listening. It is the first time she plays a role without knowing that she is even on a stage.
The group keeps drinking. Don't expect too much. The truth is, no cripple will lend you his stick. In between sips and toasts Mao throws comments as if drunk. The mouse's greatest happiness is to steal away a fistful of grain.
Oh look, the host exclaims, I totally forget the time. We should do this more often, right? Premier Zhou? Jiang Ching, are you full?
I look at my watch. It is ten-thirty. I get up. Mao comes over and gives me a comrade-style handshake.
What am I supposed to say? Thank you for dinner? I leave silently.
We'll leave with Comrade Jiang Ching. Premier Zhou and his wife get up.
We will too. The Lins follow.
Mao holds up his hand to Lin. No, do stay at least for another half-hour. We haven't really gotten a chance to talk yet.
When the Lins sit back down Mao chats freely. He asks about Lin's family and health and suggests places for him to vacation. He listens tentatively and recommends to Lin his own herb doctor. He then asks Ye about her dream for their son "Tiger." Ye is flattered and starts to babble about Tiger's achievement.
Your son is talented and deserves a high position in the army. Mao lights up a cigarette. The people need him. Listen, Lin Biao, have you ever thought of promoting your son as the commander in chief of the entire army? That way you can free yourself to take up my job.
Well, Tiger is only twenty-six…
If you are not going to do it, I will. He owes the people his gift.
At ten fifty-four the Lins bid farewell.
Allow me to walk you to the door, Mao offers. I'd like to see you off personally.
At midnight, the phone at the Garden of Stillness rings. Jiang Ching picks up the receiver half asleep. It is Kang Sheng.
The Lins are dead, he reports. The mission was completed neatly and quietly within the compound of the Forbidden City.
To hide her shock Madame Mao asks Kang Sheng for the details of the execution.
One of Mao's table servants is a transportation expert, and another an explosives expert. Aren't you glad?
She is, but she is also scared-again, will Mao do the same to her one day?
How are you going to break the news to the world? she asks, barely controlling her voice.
Here, I've just finished my draft: September 15, 1971, from New China News Agency: People's enemy Lin Biao was caught in an action attempting to murder Chairman Mao. Lin took a small plane and flew to Russia after his evil plan was exposed. Lin's plane crashed in Mongolia when the fuel ran out.
With Lin Biao out, Premier Zhou and I have become the only rivals for the position as Mao's successor. I must hurry. I must battle against Premier Zhou's men as well as my own husband.
I am anxious and can hardly sit still. In my dreams I hear steps. I get nervous going near closets. I fear assassins are behind the clothes. I skip meals to reduce the chances of being food-poisoned. I change my secretaries, bodyguards and servants once every two weeks. But the new faces frighten me even more. I know it's foolish but I can't help suspecting these people as Premier Zhou's spies.
The golden autumn views of the Forbidden City and Summer Palace no longer interest me. I used to love walking across the five-hundred-stone dragon bridge, but now I fear that a mysterious hand will come out of the water to pull me down.
I decide to go to Shanghai where my friend Chun-qiao has become the head Party secretary of the southern states. I have come to depend on Chun-qiao. We select my future cabinet members together. Again he recommends his faithful disciple, now the famous "Marshal of Pens," Yao Wen-yuan, and two other men of talent. One is Wang Hong-wen, a handsome thirty-eight-year-old, who very much resembles Mao's late son, Anyin. Wang is the chief of the Shanghai Workers Union. Chun-qiao points out that the union has been recently adapted into a military force and it is under my command.
Excellent. I congratulate Chun-qiao and his men. This is exactly what we need. I'd like to take all of you to Beijing. I'd like to introduce you to Mao. And of course, I shall take Composer Yu, my dearest friend, along. Mao is a fan of his work and he should be working in a much more important position than he is now. So what if Yu is an artist and a slob who often catches himself wearing two different socks? I adore him. There is no one who understands the artistic part of me more than Yu. It's all right that Yu dislikes politics. I dislike it too. The point is that you can't enjoy composing if your head and feet are going to be in different places. Anyway, Chun-qiao, I shall leave Yu to you to enlighten.
Gathering up all her courage, she brings her new political talent to Mao. The old man's movements are stiff and his hand trembles and half his front teeth are gone. Nevertheless he is once again charmed by his wife. He is particularly impressed by the handsome pine-tree-like Wang Hong-wen. As toward a son, he draws Wang to his side and invites him back to spend time. A few months later Mao names Wang the vice chairman of the Communist Party replacing Lin Biao. Mao announces the promotion at the Party's convention.
There is a condition. To my shock Wang Hong-wen tells me that Mao wants him to be his pet and not mine. In fact, Mao wants him to "stop being nursed by Jiang Ching."
This is a robbery. I speak to Wang and demand his loyalty. But Wang is a man of no honor. He goes for the bigger breast. I ask Chun-qiao to tell Wang that if he continues to be disloyal to me, I shall "leak" the information of his true background-he is not a man of any talent. He was a high school dropout and his is a made-up story.
After that Wang repositions himself. Soon Mao finds out that it is in my voice Wang speaks. The old man begins to doubt his arrangements. He calls us "the Gang of Four," meaning Wang, Chun-qiao, his disciple Yiao and me.
January 10, 1972. At Marshal Chen Yi's funeral Mao acts sentimental. He had originally declined to attend but changed his mind at the last minute. To the nation it is a clear sign that Mao is picking up the old boys.
By the time Mao arrives, the funeral has already begun. Getting out of the car Mao rushes toward the casket. His appearance surprises everyone. The detail is immediately caught by the cameras: Mao is in his black coat with the tail of his white pajamas showing underneath. It suggests Mao came here in such a hurry that he didn't have the time to change. It hints that Mao couldn't make himself not come. To the host, Premier Zhou, Mao's arrival has not only honored the old buddies, but also denounced Jiang Ching and her gang.
Following the ceremony Mao conducts a closed-door conversation with Premier Zhou. Days later a document entitled "Putting Things Back in Order" is issued from Premier Zhou's office.
What can I do but wash my face with tears? If Mao places his trust in the old boys, I simply have no future. Although Premier Zhou has recently been diagnosed with cancer, he won't rest until he sees his comrade Deng Xiao-ping secure the premier's seat. Even on his hospital bed Zhou conducts a media show. He asks people to pass their affection for him on to Deng. It is quite a moving show. Deng is now grabbing the headlines. Rely on Comrade Deng to revive the nation's economy has become a household slogan.
She resists diminishment. She believes in her network and in her loyalists in the media, who in the past months have printed the manuscripts of all her operas. For a decade, she has worked to create a perfect image of herself through the operas and ballets. A heroine with a touch of masculinity. The woman who came from poverty and rises to lead the poor to victory. She believes that the minds of the Chinese have been influenced. It's time to test the water-the audience should be ready to embrace a heroine in real life.
I have it all planned out, she phones Kang Sheng. I am in the middle of a grand project. I am preparing myself to enter a real scene.
Whatever you do, Kang Sheng whispers, put poison in Zhou's rice bowl before he puts it in yours. Mao is losing his mind and you'd better hurry.
I can't breathe. My worst nightmare has come to seize me. I am stuck in a classic story of the Forbidden City. The setting is called the Forgotten Yard. The characters are limbless imperial concubines. They visit my dreams and won't leave me in the morning.
I see no chance to turn back Mao's clock.
I am going apple-picking at Coal Hill, Jiang Ching says to Mao. Would you like to join me?
I am hopping on my last leg, the seventy-nine-year-old man coughs. I can feel my bones decay by seconds.
Why don't you call your doctor?
No! Put the phone down! A cockroach can be an assassin these days.
She stares at him.
He perspires heavily and then moves slowly back to his bed.
He is more than tired, she thinks to herself. The man is fading. Although he has an appetite, he has been starving. He is toothless but refuses to install plastic teeth. He is so weak that he sank in the pool.
He calls her in for no particular reason. He did the same yesterday. When she arrived he had nothing to say. She waited patiently. But he couldn't get his point across. He mumbles about high blood pressure and minor cuts that don't heal. The doctor says that I have ulcers. They are everywhere. In my mouth, down my throat, on my stomach, intestines and anus. Look here. He opened his jaw. See the ulcer? Here, under my tongue, the sores. They come regularly and stay around the clock.
She smells death on his breath.
It's about time. The words accidentally slip out of her mouth. He turns toward her in a quick motion.
Sorry, what I mean is that it's never too late to take good care of one's health.
I try to get up and walk nowadays, Mao gasps. I just keep walking. I am afraid that if I stop walking, I'll never walk again. I love the way my feet touch the ground. I love to feel its solidness. The smell of earth comforts me. Only while I am walking am I able to experience my day and know that I am living and my organs are functioning. Oh, how wonderful the way my lungs pump. A healthy body walking on a healthy ground! It's the connection between me and the ground. It's the only thing I can trust and depend upon. And it's what I am breathing for. You see, when I stretch out my legs, the ground receives me. It greets, supports and praises me, no matter how terrible I am. I stand, the ground lies beneath me, sincerely and silently. It extends all the way from my feet to infinity…
She pictures a makeup artist polishing the nails of the dying.
As if fascinated by his own thoughts Mao takes hold of her arm, then goes on. I haven't been doing much because I dream of walking all night long and I wonder if I have been sleepwalking… I don't remember whether there were stars last night. It was… as if someone had kicked me to the road. I was tired but I couldn't stop. Because I don't want to die. There have been bad signs. Another murder has been plotted against me-do you know anything about it? Do you? I have sensed it. I trust my instinct. It is by someone who calls him- or herself my comrade in arms, someone who knows my habits and secrets, someone who sees what I am doing now. Do you know that person?
He lets go of her arm and crashes back into his rattan chair.
She takes off her glasses, wipes the oozing sweat from her forehead. Then she puts the glasses back on. But they don't stay. They keep sliding down-there is moisture on her nose. She tries to hold the glasses with her fingers. Still they won't stay. Finally she decides to take them off.
You know, Jia-zei-nan-fang-The house thief is the hardest to guard against. I am sure you know what I am talking about, don't you?
Her eyes widen. Clearing her throat she responds, Dear Chairman, you have everyone's love in this nation. You have accomplished more than any human being on earth. You've captured and redefined our nation's rage and longing. You have given us the best example of the true spirit of a patriot. Your fellow countrymen idolize you the way they have never before-
Shut up! Mao springs up. Make sure Huang-mu-niang-niang-the Mother of Heaven-empties no chamber pot of her majesty's on my funeral day!
The night leaves smell like the breath of a child's mouth. Jiang Ching's mind goes back to the scene of the morning. She wonders if all is but a sleepwalking. As she passes the courtyard, she hears cats wail outside the deep walls and a loud sneeze comes out of a bush.
Leaning on his bed Mao doubts the safety of his pool. He calls the chief of the security force and asks if the pool is missile-proof. When the answer is uncertain, Mao orders the entire pool torn down. Turn it into an underground bomb shelter!
A team of doctors are summoned for Mao's sleeping disorder. Yet nothing they prescribe works. It worsens after the summer. Mao refuses to get out of bed, let alone brush, wash or dress. He is in his pajamas twenty-four hours a day. He grows more restless. He mistakes his secretary for an assassin and throws an ink bottle at him when he comes to deliver the news of American president Richard Nixon's visit.
Mao describes his symptom to a doctor. I hear drizzle. Day and night this ceaseless rain inside my head. It sweeps me away.
She can no longer wait. She wants to get Mao to write a will. She is sure that a stroke or a coma is on its way. She visualizes its coming. The flood that bursts the brain.
Mao doesn't want to see her. But she keeps presenting herself, making excuses to break into his bedroom.
He fires a guard who fails to stop her by the gate.
As the acting head of state she hosts and escorts the Nixons to her operas and ballets. It makes her feels proud and finally compensated. But in the meantime she feels danger approaching. She talks nervously and the translator has a hard time following her.
I don't feel my age although I am sixty years old. My strength gets exercised every day. Mao has failed to hide his ill health from the public's eye. In the hands of the best cameraman and film editor Mao's saliva drools helplessly in a documentary called Greeting Imelda Marcos. His eyelids drop low, his chin sags, and his mouth and jaw are out of place. Eighty-two years old. The sun can't help setting. What frustrates me is that he won't acknowledge his fate. He refuses to quit. He is not passing me the business. I tell myself that he is too old to think of me.
It's been too long a battle to give up now. A few years ago I asked Chun-qiao to draw up a proposal in the name of the Party's Committee of Shanghai and send it to Mao. Brilliantly, Chun-qiao described me as "the initiator of the Cultural Revolution" and "the key contributor of the Communist Party." At the moment of crisis, Comrade Jiang Ching puts her personal welfare on the line. She leads the Party and the Revolution single-handedly. She fights against the toughest enemies such as Liu Shao-qi and Deng Xiao-ping. There isn't a better person than Comrade Jiang Ching to lead the nation and carry on the Mao Tse-tung flag.
To my great disappointment, after three years of collecting dust on Mao's desk, the proposal is turned down. Not only that, Mao writes a nasty comment on its cover: Discard.
I am lying on the ground breathless. I don't even have the strength to kill myself. If Mao had proven to me that he was the king of Shang, I would copy Lady Yuji and knife myself gladly. And there would have been dignity. But it is too late. Everything is a mess.
Dawn is coming and I have not slept. I recall my youth. The first moment we laid eyes on each other. It still amazes me. The moment of pure magic. The happiness. The way he and I stood in front of the Yenan cave, unable to part.
Now I am a cornered and beaten-up dog. I bite in order to escape. The irony is that my character refuses to give up its idealism. My character tries to save my soul. It pushes me to live, to survive and to create light in hell. Every time I sit in the theater I see a fleeting ghost of myself. I hear my voice in the heroine. The way she conquers fear. I pray for the spirit to stay with me. And I am fine. Hope once again fills me. It keeps telling me that there will be life after Mao. When love exhales there will still be something for me to live for. It is myself. The image of Madame Mao. Mao's death will help define my role.
But the moment she walks out of the theater she is weak again. She feels strange about the way she talks and moves. The underdog is coming through her. She breathes the dirty air and smells the trash. The feeling is like discovering a rotting body with a swarm of flies on it at five o'clock in the morning by the shore of a beautiful spring river. There is nothing she can do to change the course of her fate. She is led.
The voice in which she speaks is not familiar. She presses on nevertheless. There is no map, and she doesn't know if she will ever find her way. She keeps walking. She has to tell Yu. I have survived rapids and now simply moving on has become the journey itself. She no longer makes requests to see Mao. She misses Nah, but leaves her alone. It's better not to be reminded of her failure as a mother. She is too fragile to bear any more loss. Every day she changes hotels, every day she wears the uniform and conducts battles of propaganda promoting herself. In November she launches a campaign for Chun-qiao as the premier. She waits for Mao's response. There is no move. She assumes that Mao is considering. She prays. She goes around the country and praises Chun-qiao like a cheerleader.
Personally she is not a fan of Chun-qiao. A man full of hatred. But she needs him. She needs a strong head. A man who is as powerful and determined as Mao. Chun-qiao is good at plotting. His character mirrors Kang Sheng's. Chun-qiao is an eloquent Communist theorist by trade. His works have greatly added to the flames of the Cultural Revolution. His ability to convince is incomparable. He and his disciple Yiao work well together. Like musicians, Chun-qiao sells melodies and Yiao sells arrangements. They have been working on The Great Quotations of Comrade Jiang Ching.
She can't say that she hasn't expected Mao's mind to change on her. But when the moment arrives, she finds herself unprepared.
July 17, 1974. Mao orders a meeting of the congress held at the Purple Light Pavilion.
Without warning he pronounces Deng Xiao-ping the new premier. Mao looks tired and uninterested. His cigarette drops from his fingers several times. He dismisses the meeting while tea is being served.
Before Jiang Ching has time to adjust to the first shock a second hits her. The day following Deng's promotion, Mao issues a public document criticizing Jiang Ching as the head of the Gang of Four. The press in Beijing immediately follows. Rumors turn into official news. Jiang Ching thought she had been in control of the media, thought that she had loyalists, but she is now proven foolish. She has no instinct for politics. She has been in it for the wrong reasons. It has always been the case. It was the way when she was with Yu Qiwei and Tang Nah. She was in it to get close to the man she loved but ended up losing herself. She doesn't know when Mao's joke about her being the head of the Gang of Four became an official criminal title.