I HAVE NEVER SAILED, never imagined that sailing could be this awful. I am seasick and have been throwing up. Ten days ago I boarded the Pellet, a cheap cargo ship going down the coast from Shan-dong to Shanghai. I have never been to Shanghai. I felt that I had to do something to escape my situation. What do I have to lose? When I am not retching over the side I watch the sea. I forbid myself to think of Yu Qiwei. At night I sleep on the cargo floor among hundreds of low-class passengers and their animals. One night I wake up with duck shit all over me.
Leaving seemed to be my only choice. After I got back to Shandong from Beijing Yu Shan came to see me. She tried to be a good friend. But her brother was between us. Yu Shan came again the day I left for Shanghai. I had asked her and Mr. Zhao for contacts in Shanghai. They were kind enough to provide me with a name, a man called Shi, a film-maker originally from Shan-dong. Yu Shan wished me good luck. She seemed relieved to see me go. She didn't tell me that her brother was about to get married.
Yu Qiwei never wrote after he left me. Not a word. It was as if we had never been lovers. He didn't care to know where I was or how I felt. He didn't know I once wanted to quit living because of him.
The girl is determined to leave the pain behind. Toward the future she stares hard at the horizon. In her weakest moment, she still believes that she has the power to bring life to a new role. She feels this with every fiber of her being. She has decided to return to acting-it is what she does the best. If she can't fulfill her dream of being a leading lady in life, she can realize it on stage.
It is early morning and the fog is thick. The ship finally makes its way into the East China Sea and heads toward the Huangpu River. The ship's wake is a sweeping arc of white in the dark water. When the girl turns around and faces the bow of the ship Shanghai is there, its skyline touching the clouds. The ship slips clumsily into its berth. The gangplank is lowered. The crowds rush and press. Halfway down the walkway a foreign dialect strikes her ears. Everything will be different here, she thinks to herself. Above her neon signs blink like dragon's eyes. BRITISH SOAPS, JOHNSON TOOTHBRUSHES, FRENCH VELVET ROSE LIPSTICK. She is fascinated.
Mr. Shi is a man in his early thirties. He has the features of a typical Shan-dong man, tall and broad shouldered. His laughter sounds like thunder. He welcomes me warmly and lunges for my luggage. Before we have walked two steps he tells me that he is a producer in theater and film. Yu Shan has told me as much, but I have not heard of his work myself. By the way he talks I gather that he is at least well connected. He seems pleased to see me. He calls to a pedicab.
Mr. Shi keeps talking as we pile into the cab. I can hear the faint traces of his old Shan-dong accent. Shanghai is Asia's Paris, he says. It is heaven for adventurers. It can excite as well as break people. As I listen to Mr. Shi I notice the fashion in Shanghai. Women are stylish. They dress in rather short skirts and pointed shoes with high heels. The designs are creative and bold. Our pedicab wheels though the crowd. I hold tightly to the bar to prevent myself from falling out. The buildings on each side of the streets are much taller than any I have ever seen. I get the sense that Mr. Shi plans to show me the entire city right now, but I am not in the mood. I am tired and filthy.
As kindly as I can, I ask Mr. Shi to tell the driver to take the shortest route to the apartment he has secured for me. Mr. Shi seems a little disappointed but leans forward to speak to the driver. Leaning back, he offers me a cigarette. He is surprised when I decline. Everyone smokes in Shanghai, he says. You have much to learn, and I shall be honored to be your guide.
We enter a poor neighborhood, turn onto a shabby street and come to a stop before a two-story house. The building seems to lean in on itself and is encrusted with dark soot. Mr. Shi pays the cab and collects my luggage. We make our way into the building. There is no light. The stairs are steep and some are missing. Finally we stand in the second-floor hallway. Mr. Shi struggles with the key in the lock. Turning the key back and forth, he apologizes for the condition of the apartment. For your budget this is the best I could get. I tell him that it is all right. I had expected worse. He is relieved. Finally he gets the door open. A bad smell hits my face. In the dark I can feel the cockroaches skitter across my feet.
The girl sits on the floor in the middle of the small room. Outside, daylight fades. A strange kind of peace descends. She feels as if she has found a new home. It's not going to be easy but right now she feels calmer and considers it a good sign. Even the sounds coming from beyond her walls seem soothing. The family to her right has a brood of noisy children, a father that screams to shush them. On her left, there is an out-of-tune piano, a player who is just beginning. Across the hall is the public kitchen, with its noise and smells. The clanking of pans and the aromas of garlic and soy sauce. She feels as if she has awakened from one dream and is about to enter another.
Mr. Shi doesn't quite know how to handle the girl. Every time he comes to visit she is out. A few times he catches her and convinces her to have tea with him. She reports her latest activity-she has already checked out all the contacts he had given her. Her mind seems to race constantly in every direction. One moment she asks him about how the buses work, how to get from one point to another by the most economical route; the next moment she wants to know where Tien Han, the playwright of The Incident on the Lake, lives and if she could visit him soon.
After only a week, Mr. Shi has lost his ability to track the girl. He is surprised to learn that she has already made a visit to Tien Han and is calling from his house. Not only is she staying at his house for the week, she has also gotten herself a job selling tickets at a left-wing theater. She also mentions that she has enrolled in classes at Shanghai University.
I rush from one side of town to the other. I am moving so fast that I barely have time to remember where I have been. I believe that if I meet as many people as possible something will come of it. I shoot for the top, arrive unannounced in the offices of producers and directors-I can't be rejected. I would like to star in both film and theater, I tell anyone who will listen. Some are annoyed by me. They are taken aback by my presumption. She is pretty, yes, but who is she? Others, like Mr. Tien, whose play I starred in in Shan-dong, find me attractive, and are charmed by my daring. Mr. Tien is flattered by my admiration for his work and takes an interest in me. When he learns where I am living he offers his home to me. He feeds me, gives me more contacts, and off I go again clutching my bus map.
A number of producers are encouraging. They promise to keep her in mind for their next projects. Through clouds of smoke, they describe their projects in detail and renew her hope. Attractive men with attractive ideas. There are hints of ways to "secure" her place in line. She sees it in their eyes. But she will not sleep with them. She is cautious, still nursing her lost love. She doesn't want to get involved in a relationship that will end in her being nothing better than a concubine. She sees no harm in a little flirting, though, and accepts as many invitations as come her way.
After a few months without any real offers, she gets anxious. She is back in her apartment. The noises from beyond the walls irritate her now. She is tired of being nobody and tired of being poor. She is sick of people telling her that her look is not bankable. She sits on the floor and examines her face in a palm-size mirror. She hates to confront her imperfections: her lower jaw is too protruding and her lips are thin; the distance between her nose and upper lip is a few millimeters too long.
She calculates her chances and looks for alternatives. She has heard stories of stars whose careers have soared because of their participation in small-budget political films. The idea appeals to her. She is ready to combine her acting interest with her background as a Communist. She doesn't tell people that she is a Communist, not yet. She trusts no one. At the moment she simply feels the need to separate herself from the pretty girls who are known as rich men's pets and layabout starlets.
I have little money, but I would starve myself in order to buy good theater tickets. I watch movies and operas so I can learn from the finest actresses. I can't do without going to a performance for too long. Every time I walk out of an opera I feel magically charged and all my frustrations disappear. I tell myself that lack of willpower has led to more failures than lack of intelligence or ability. I push myself to meet more people so I can advertise myself. My audience must know that I have a soul and that I live with a sense of purpose.
The girl is disappointed in her contacts. She doesn't want to see Mr. Shi anymore. She finds herself wasting her time running from place to place and meeting one useless person after another. The part-time job she has at the theater only makes her more hungry for acting. But nothing is working. She can't make herself stand out.
I was a one hundred percent Communist when I was young. I risked myself, Madame Mao recalls. I spread anti-Japanese leaflets throughout the city for the Party. I was in Shanghai to reconnect myself with the Party. We took patriotic plays to the streets. I taught at night school where I preached Marxism. I encouraged workers when they put on a strike. Working at the grass-roots level has always been my interest. Just like Yu Qiwei, I stuck my neck out for China. I very well might have been a martyr. I might have died.
The truth is that she ceased her membership after Yu Qiwei's arrest. The truth is that she hides her identity as an ex-Communist. Mr. Shi and Tien Han think that she is merely sympathetic toward Communism. When she has no luck getting roles in the theater she assigns herself a role: a patriot. It makes her feel less fearful about her inability to make things work.
She plays her real-life role with the same passion she brings to the stage. She catches attention and develops an audience. She does her job creatively, with flair. She puts leaflets on men's backs and makes them walking posters. In the Chinese class she teaches she asks her students, What makes the word "heaven"? She writes the character on the board and explains: It's the combination of two words, "slave" and "man." If we treat ourselves like men, and insist that others treat ourselves as such, not like slaves, we become heaven itself. She illustrates and animates. Soon her class becomes the most popular class in the school. In the meantime, she attracts unwanted attention: she is now on the list of the police as a suspected Communist.
She is not aware of what's coming. She is at peace with her life: looking for a role on stage during the day and playing a patriot at night. She sees her name mentioned in left-wing papers. It's better than nothing, she comforts herself. She keeps praying, hoping the paper will catch the attention of the studio heads. Why not? She is different. A true-life heroine, like those the studios have begun to portray in their new movies. For a movie to be successful it now has to be political. China is under invasion. The public is sick of ancient romance and is ready for inspiring roles from real life.
She is waiting, making herself available.
The night is windless. The air is moist. She is wearing a navy blue dress, walking out after the Chinese class. She is happy. The students, especially the women textile workers, have developed a close relationship with her. They trust and depend on her. They make her feel that she is a star in their lives. They have brought homemade rice cakes for her. The pieces are still warm in her bag. She will not have to make dinner tonight. Maybe she can use the time to catch the second half of her favorite opera at the Grand Theater on the way.
When she makes a turn onto a dark street she suddenly notices that she is being followed by two men. She becomes nervous and walks faster. But the men follow her like shadows. Before she is able to make a sound, she is handcuffed and pushed into a car parked down the street.
At the detention house she is dragged out of the police car and thrown into a cell with a crowd of women. The inmates are waiting to be interrogated. One cellmate explains the situation to her. Until there is a confession, we won't be released. The women cough raggedly. The cell is cold and damp. Yunhe observes that every fifteen minutes one person is thrown back into the room and another person taken away. People gather around them trying to get information. Lying naked on the ground, the women are beaten and bruised. Water drips from their hair. In choking gasps they describe the interrogation. Head dunked in hot-pepper water. Blows to the back. I don't know any Communists, one woman sobs. I wish I did so I could go home.
Yunhe is scared. Yu Qiwei had a rich uncle to bail him out and she doesn't. She feels sick. She is sure that the woman who keeps coughing has tuberculosis. The blood-streaked spit is everywhere.
Two weeks pass. Two weeks of terrible sleep. Two weeks of living in terror, knowing that her head might be removed from her shoulders at any given moment. Where is the Party? There has been no sign of rescue.
Finally it is her turn. The interrogator is a man whose face is a mask of scars. He has a massive upper body and tiny legs. Before questioning he soaks her head in a bucket of hot-pepper water.
Yunhe shuts her eyes and endures. She confesses nothing. Back in her cell she witnesses the death of a cellmate. The body is dragged out to be fed to wild dogs.
At her next interrogation, Yunhe seems to be having a nervous breakdown. She laughs hysterically and lets saliva drip from the corner of her mouth.
It's my fifteenth day in prison. I am very sick, running a high fever. I pick up my trade and begin to play the convincing role of an innocent. I sing classic operas. The entire opera from beginning to end. It is for the guards.
The autumn moon is half round above Omei Mountain
Its pale light falls in and flows with the water of the Pingchang River
In the night I leave Chingchi of the limpid stream for the three canyons
And glide down past Yucbow, thinking of you whom I cannot see
The guards feel sorry for me. They begin to respond. One suggests to his supervisor that I seem to have nothing to do with the Communists.
Yes, sir, I reply at the interrogation. I am lured by evil people.
The girl is told that she can be released under a condition: she must sign a piece of paper denouncing Communism. She hesitates but convinces herself to proceed. I'm just playing a trick with the enemy.
I have never lowered my head to an enemy, Madame Mao later says. I have never dishonored the Communist Party. The truth is that she never admits she signed the paper. Her claim is consistent for the rest of her life. People who doubt her words are put in prison.