In 1971 we turned fifteen. Wild Ginger and I graduated from July First Elementary School and entered the Red Flag Middle School. The curriculum was the same, with Mao study still the priority. Wild Ginger had learned the whole business of the seafood market. She knew the names of every wholesaler, fisherman, retailer, market employee, and employer in the market. She knew their habits, families, and relations. She even got to know her mother's ex-admirer, accountant Mr. Choo. After Mrs. Pei died, Mr. Choo appeared to feel guilty. He brought Wild Ginger food and presents, trying to reconcile. Wild Ginger was unmoved. The man explained that he had to betray his own conscience in order to survive. Wild Ginger spat in his face and walked away.
Wild Ginger took me to hang out at the fish market afternoons and evenings. We helped the employees stocking up the supplies. When asked why we were there, Wild Ginger quoted Mao's teaching, '"The youth should get themselves out of the classrooms and learn directly from the working class.'" She made friends with many of the fishwomen, who transported loads of seafood from the ports to the city on their tricycles. They were simple and delightful although poorly educated. They had large muscles and big feet.
Wild Ginger admired the fishwomen's spirit. She became very friendly with a young one named Jung, who was sixteen. She had a round face and heavyset body. She always brought Wild Ginger pieces of dried fish to chew.
Although I didn't particularly like the fish market-its smell bothered me and made me nauseous-I went for Wild Ginger's sake. After a while I found myself interested in the conversations between Jung and Wild Ginger. I learned a lot by listening to their discussions on the nature of the sea, seaweed, fish, squid, snails, and the techniques to catch them.
The year went by quickly. It didn't occur to me until summer that Jung looked worn down. She'd lost her cheerfulness, was nervous, and didn't seem to trust herself. Wild Ginger didn't tell me anything until I remarked on Jung's appearance.
"She hasn't been careful keeping track of her shipments," Wild Ginger said. "Accountant Choo found out that she often brought in less than she had loaded. It's the fifth time that she was missing two baskets of beltfish."
"Is it possible to lose them on her way?"
"It is. But since she's been paying attention she is sure there must be some mistake. But still, she was short of baskets when she passed Mr. Choo's scale."
"That's odd."
"Something is smelly about Accountant Choo," Wild Ginger said. "I have been watching him. I suspect that he is taking advantage of Jung. You know, Jung can't calculate. When Choo's butterfly fingers dance over the abacus in front of her and he tells her that two baskets are missing, she has to believe him. Jung is like a mute who has swallowed bitter grass but is unable to voice it. It's a setup. Before Jung can argue with Choo all the people around her-the squid seller, the cigarette seller, and the liquor seller-act as witnesses for Mr. Choo. In one voice, they say that Jung is wrong. It is… as if they already knew the answer before Accountant Choo's fingers even touched the abacus… I need your help, Maple. I must figure this out."
It was eight o'clock in the evening. We found Jung sitting on her tricycle sobbing. She had been accused again. She was afraid of losing her job if the mysterious mistake kept repeating itself. Accountant Choo was firm that there had been no fault on his part. Jung's fellow fishermen were upset, but they were unable to prove Jung's innocence.
The baskets filled with seafood were distributed to each booth. The market employees came and began to sort the fish. I was hungry and wanted to go home. But Wild Ginger insisted that I stay. She was spying on Mr. Choo. She moved her stall toward the east corner where she could keep Choo in sight. She pretended that she was sharpening her scissors.
"It looks like he is getting ready to take off." Wild Ginger quickly pulled me to her side. "I want you to follow me, Maple. Keep at a distance but keep me in your sight."
"You're not going to do something dangerous, are you?"
"Of course not," Wild Ginger replied without looking at me. She quickly put down her scissors and closed her stall.
I watched Accountant Choo. He locked his abacus away in a cart and pushed the cart into a storage space next to a booth. Out he came carrying a black plastic bag. He crossed the street and entered a public restroom. After a short while he came out, followed by men with familiar faces. They were the discount seafood seller, the cigarette seller, and the liquor seller. They were pulling up their zippers and looking around at the same time. They walked separately but toward the same direction heading north. I backed a few yards from Wild Ginger and pretended that I was passing by.
The group of men formed a triangle with Accountant Choo at its head. After they passed the neighborhood they began to walk faster. We followed them across a construction site, a waste site, an abandoned plastic-tube factory, and onto the grounds of the cigarette factory, which seemed to be closed for the day. The doorman let the group in after he was thrown a pack of cigarettes.
"They are hitting the factory's storage area." Wild Ginger waved at me. Together we began circling the building. Finally we arrived at the back of the factory where tobacco was heaped high.
"How do you know?" I was watching Accountant Choo and his group disappear behind a wall.
"I have been following them but I have never gotten inside the storage area. I want to see what they are doing. Would you wait here?"
Before I could say anything Wild Ginger was gone. She had climbed the fence and leapt to the other side.
I was nervous. My stomach gnawed at me with fear. The sky was now very dark and Wild Ginger was nowhere to be seen. There was no light. The area looked so desolate that it seemed the perfect place for a crime. Suddenly Wild Ginger reappeared. She ran toward me but didn't cross the fence.
"Let's go," I urged.
"Maple, I want you to notify the police immediately."
"What?"
"They are distributing the money that they have stolen!"
"Are you sure, Wild Ginger?"
"Sure! Go now!"
"What about you?"
"I need to keep an eye on them."
"But-"
"Hurry!" She turned and ran back into the darkness.
I tried to envision what she would do. If they caught her they could murder her right here, easy, I thought.
I left quickly. For a moment I was disoriented, too nervous to recognize directions. Finally I managed to get back to my own neighborhood. I zipped through lanes and passed my own door. The light in my house was already off. My mother always shut the light off early in order to save electricity. I told myself to keep going until I arrived at the door of the neighborhood police guard. I knocked.
The guard opened the door. He was eating his dinner. His motorcycle was parked in the center of the room. Hearing my report he immediately phoned his headquarters. "The patrol is on the way." He wiped his oily mouth and put on his jacket. Starting his motorcycle he said, "Get on the back with me, kid."
By the time the police and the patrol arrived Wild Ginger's face was scratched and her right arm hung loose in front of her chest. Trying to stop Choo and his group from escaping she was almost strangled to death. The police chief arrested Choo and his group on the spot.
Wild Ginger was sent to the local hospital. Evergreen and I followed her into the large building. In an operating room, we sat by her side while doctors tended to her. They set her arm and wrapped it in a cast. They gave her blood transfusions and stitched up her cuts. I dampened her lips with a wet towel. She was in enormous pain. Evergreen offered his hand. She grabbed it and breathed deeply. I watched the sweat on her forehead turn into crystal beads. Evergreen kept talking to her, trying to distract her from the pain. It surprised me to see the usually quiet Evergreen chatting away like a young wide-eyed boy. He told Wild Ginger stories of his childhood, of his fathers adventures as a sailor, his achievements and accidents, and later his strokes and nerve disorders. He told her how he and his late mother helped the old man when he was paralyzed. And finally about his own early dream of becoming a captain. He got excited when mentioning a toy ship he made when he was ten.
"It's giant." He spread out his arms to show its length. "It's got a hundred and twenty-three compartments. It took twenty pounds of wood and six hundred empty matchboxes. I had collected matchboxes since I was seven. The ship took me two years to complete. I named it Victory:"
Wild Ginger was quiet. She looked, no, stared at Evergreen, as if it weren't her body the doctor's needles were going through.
"I used to make rainbow soap papers as a child," she told Evergreen after she was sent to the recovery room. "I was fascinated with the process. I went door to door to collect soap scraps. I scrubbed the leftover soap from soap boxes. After I had a bucketful, I melted it on the stove. I added fragrant jasmine petals. Then I divided the paste in different bowls and dyed it different colors. I stirred the paste under the sun until it became thick. Then I took pieces of cardboard and cut them into all kinds of shapes. I coated the papers with the paste. After they dried the fragrance became strong. There was nothing else like them. You could take the papers anywhere and wash your hands with them. I liked them so much that I didn't use them. I put them in my Mao books. I looked at and smelled them every day when I worked on my reciting."
"You must show them to me."
"When you show me your wooden ship."
Wild Ginger was visited by the district party secretary in the hospital. Overnight she was pronounced a heroine and a revolutionary model. She was interviewed by the People's Daily and the Liberation Daily. The next morning her story was on every household's breakfast table. The journalists asked if Wild Ginger had been directed by Mao's teaching during her brave exploit. Not only did she give a positive answer, she provided the details in the paragraph of Mao's teaching which had inspired her action. Her words were printed with quotation marks and underlines. She was now a true champion.
I was thrilled for Wild Ginger. But in the meantime I wondered if reciting Mao at the moment of being strangled was possible. Maybe Mao was the driving force behind her action. Maybe she had become a true Maoist.
I was interviewed as well. But when asked what was on my mind when fetching the policeman, I said that I was thinking about Wild Ginger's safety.
"Are you sure that you didn't think of Mao's teaching?" the journalist asked. "For example, 'It's our duty to help our comrade…'?" "No, not really." "Not a bit?"
"Well, I lost my way and was trying to find it."
"No Mao thoughts?"
"I wish-"
"Which paragraph?"
"I can't remember."
"You have to be honest."
"Well, no then. I am sorry."
"Wild Ginger's mind had only Mao's teaching at that moment. Why don't you think clearly before giving me an answer?"
"I was… too scared to think."
"Fine." The journalist closed his notebook and stood up.
"But I helped." I felt wronged.
"Well, that is not significant enough material."
The newspapers printed photos of Wild Ginger with her right arm in a cast. Her smile was proud. The title said MAO'S TEACHING GUIDED OUR HEROINE TO VICTORY. Wild Ginger was brought to meet the general party secretary of Shanghai. The secretary was on his way to Beijing and he wanted to introduce Wild Ginger to Chairman Mao.
The news brought honor to the city, district, and neighborhood. Wild Ginger's coming meeting with Chairman Mao was the glory of everyone. The school held a big ceremony in Wild Ginger's name. Evergreen was called to give a speech on the heroine's hard work in studying Mao quotations. I was called the heroine's "comrade in arms" and was asked to comment on her life. In the meantime I was rewarded with a wok-size Mao button.
My parents got emotional when thinking of Mrs. Pei. Had Mrs. Pei been alive she would have been so happy. My mother went to Wild Ginger's house at night and burned incense beneath the fig tree.
Our former teacher, Mrs. Cheng, was in joyful tears when she came and chatted with my mother. "Wild Ginger inherited her mother's character."
"I can't agree with you more," Mother responded. "Mrs. Pei was honorably stubborn. She would rather have had her head removed than give up her feelings for Mr. Pei. But how could she have any idea how Wild Ginger would turn out?"
"'A piece of real gold fears no fire,'" recited Mrs. Cheng. "When Wild Ginger was brought to my class I knew she was talented and would sooner or later distinguish herself."
The fishwoman Jung was brought onto the stage to tell her story. "It doesn't surprise me that Chairman Mao wants to receive Wild Ginger," Jung said. "Wild Ginger is the best of all his disciples. Serving the people with heart and soul is exactly what Wild Ginger has been practicing."
Hot Pepper pushed herself through the crowd and was trying to shake hands with the heroine. Wild Ginger paid no attention. She walked right past Hot Pepper to give an interview to a radio journalist. Her voice through the loudspeakers was resonant and filled with passion.
At the school gate, the general party secretary's jeep was waiting for Wild Ginger. The jeep was covered with red crepe-paper flowers. A crowd was cheering.
Wild Ginger emerged from the school principal's office in her uniform. She was surrounded by people. Before letting her get into the jeep the principal and the heads of the neighborhood and district competed to show their affection. They took off their own treasured Mao buttons and pinned them to Wild Ginger's clothes.
"Learn from our heroine, Wild Ginger!" Hot Pepper led the crowd to shout.
"Salute to our heroine, Wild Ginger!"
"Long live Chairman Mao!"
I followed the slogan and shouted. I thought of Hot Pepper's umbrella and Wild Ginger's broken abacus.
As a result of Wild Ginger's meeting with Chairman Mao a series of events took place.
First, our neighborhood committee put up a bulletin to notify all citizens that the late Mr. and Mrs. Pei's identities had been reevaluated. Instead of being called the "French spies," they were now to be called the "international Communists."
Second, a report of the conversation between Wild Ginger and Chairman Mao was nationally distributed. It read:
Wild Ginger: Chairman Mao, unfortunately I was born with a political defect. I am a quarter French.
Chairman Mao: The late Canadian doctor Norman Bethune was not a Chinese. But it didn't stop him from coming to China and participating in the Chinese revolution. It didn't stop him from opening a hospital to serve our Red Army. He died on duty, of a blood infection, but his spirit, his utter devotion to others without any thought of self, was shown in his work, in his warm-heartedness toward all comrades and people. We must all learn the spirit of absolute selflessness from him. One's background is irrelevant. One's performance counts and that is what makes one who he is. A man's ability may be great or small, but if he has this spirit, he is already noble-minded and pure, a man of moral integrity and above vulgar interest, a man who is of value to the people.
Wild Ginger: Dear Chairman, I thank you for the enlightenment.
Chairman Mao: Also, revolution is not only a Chinese subject. Karl Marx was not Chinese either. The Chinese revolution has inherited the great French Revolution's tradition. You should be proud that you have an internationalist's blood.
Wild Ginger: How should I continue to devote myself to your teaching?
Chairman Mao: Keep in mind that the duty to liberate the world rests on the shoulders of the young people.
Third, the whole neighborhood was mobilized to help remodel Wild Ginger's house. As a political project, the house was fixed in a week. The district party secretary personally came and rolled up his sleeves and trousers and worked on the walls.
Fourth, Wild Ginger was given not only a full scholarship for the rest of her school years but a monthly allowance as well. She was treated as an orphan of revolutionary martyrs and was granted a handsome martyr's pension.
Fifth, Wild Ginger was accepted as the youngest member of the Communist party and was pronounced the commander in chief of the Red Guard.
The day of Wild Ginger's return was made into a festival. A parade was designed to welcome her. From the airport the roads were crossed with banners. Hundreds and thousands of schoolchildren were lined up on each side of the road to greet her. The city's normal traffic was banned. The crowd extended throughout the city all the way to the east end-the bank of the Huangpu River.
I was given a big task-to be a human sculpture of the heroine. It was supposed to be the highlight of the parade. I stood twenty-five feet high, on top of a bus that had been converted into a stage. Behind me was a hundred-man drum team, all dressed in red silk gowns with their drumsticks tied with colorful silk strings. The drums were as large as backyard ponds.
I was dressed in a green army uniform tied with a belt at the waist. My hair was done in Wild Ginger's fashion: two short braids at the ears. I held a larger-than-life Mao Quotation Book made of cardboard. I was told to pose with my chest protruding and my head turned at a forty-five-degree angle. My right ankle was tied to a pole for stability. Under my feet were four boys on their hands and knees, posed as the villains. The one who wore dark-framed glasses was supposed to be Accountant Choo. The rest played the cigarette seller, the squid seller, and the liquor seller. Their faces were painted blue and purple while mine was powdered with red and pink. We were already sweating hard.
The bamboo poles supporting me swayed when there was wind. Although the bus driver drove slowly, it was still scary. I felt that I could be pitched into the air at any moment. The crowd cheered at the top of their lungs when they saw us pass. I tried to act as calmly as I could, but every time the bus made a jerky stop the poles bent to an impossible angle. I was so scared that I almost wet my pants. The boys beneath my feet begged me not to scream and promised that they would hold me. Gradually I got used to the sway. As our bus passed, the children cried, "Look! The heroine Wild Ginger! Wild Ginger!"
I was exhausted. The boys had abandoned their poses and came to lean on each other. As the poles swayed again I almost landed on the drummers' heads. When the poles swung back I let out a breath. The boys stuck out their thumbs to praise me-forgetting their roles as villains.
The sound of the drums shook the city. After the parade crossed Liberation Boulevard, I could see the riverfront. Behind me the drum buses were followed by accordion bands, the red-flag holders, and the sunflower dancers.
"Split the lines and yield to the side!" came the general party secretary's order, which was passed down through an electrical amplifier. "Let the heroine through!"
"Welcome home! The biggest welcome!" the crowd cheered.
To my excitement, a green jeep led by three motorcycles appeared.
Wild Ginger stood in the open jeep waving at the crowd. Next to her were four armed soldiers. She was in a full new army outfit with a red-star cap on her head. She was shining and gloriously beautiful.
Could she see me? Did she know that I was playing her? I clapped my hands so hard that my palms began to hurt. It didn't feel real. It felt like a dream.
Her new house was ordered to be completed the day before her return. Her favorite Mao quotations were copied onto the walls by the best calligrapher in the country. The roof edges were laid with ceramic tiles of sunflowers. The house stood out like a glistening castle among bleak rocks.
Would she miss her mother in the new house?