The campus smelled of ink and spoiled flour paste. The school seemed another world where wall-to-wall news columns on Mao study discussions were published every other day. Before the first layer of the poster paper dried, the second layer was applied. The traces of dripping ink looked like tears. When the wind blew, the torn papers were swept up in the trees. When it rained, walls of calligraphy were washed away. The lines bled into each other so that the characters were unreadable. The waste was tremendous. No one really read the posters anymore because all of them sounded the same.
We were seventeen years old. We were still studying nothing but Mao. One teacher suggested adding a course of world history, and he was immediately suspected of having an interest in becoming a foreign spy. In geography, we were still on the route that Mao's Red Army traveled during the Long March in 1934. The class dwelt on the same map semester after semester. For tests we had to memorize the names of the villages. We studied no other countries besides Russia, Albania, and North Korea. We didn't know where America was when we shouted "Down with U.S. imperialism!"
"A well-disciplined party armed with the theory of Marxism-Leninism, using the method of self-criticism and linked with the masses of the people…" I sat in the classroom bored to death. We had been listening to a broadcast reading of the central party Politburo's latest instruction. "…a united front of all revolutionary classes and all revolutionary groups under the leadership of the Communist party-these are the three main weapons with which we have defeated the enemy…" I heard the sound but my brain didn't register. The only thing that registered was that the announcers had been changed three times after having exhausted their voices.
Wild Ginger's seat was vacant. She had been absent often since she became the commander in chief of the Red Guard. Owing to lack of sleep, she had grown thin. However, her spirits still seemed high. She spent her day going from school to school promoting Maoism. She lectured around neighborhoods, markets, factories, on public buses, and wherever there were people. She displayed her skill by reciting hundreds of quotations and sang the quotation songs. Her grades in math dropped. It didn't bother her. She believed that if one was a Maoist, one would naturally possess the power to cope with the world. Her best speech continued to be about her meeting with Chairman Mao. Although she had recounted the story hundreds of times, she never grew tired of it and told it vividly. Her emotion affected the audience so much that people were in tears by the end. The crowd rushed to shake hands with her. By touching her, they felt that they had touched Mao.
When night came, Wild Ginger wrestled with her other self. Each evening she returned to the same field to combat her "human weakness." She and Evergreen read hours on end and worked on the papers and speeches. They behaved as if the night of passion never existed. It was hard for me to tell what was on Evergreen's mind. I noticed that something had changed inside me. I couldn't explain why I not only returned to the closet but wanted to stay! I could have walked out for good. All I had to do was to say no to Wild Ginger. But I didn't. I couldn't. I had to be here to find out who I was and what I wanted for myself.
Sunday night Wild Ginger's exhaustion overcame her will-she fell into a dead sleep during the reading. The ink pen she was holding smeared. Struggling to mark the lines in her notebook, her face fell flat onto the page. Evergreen tried to wake her, but it was impossible. He then tried to wipe her nose. Still she wouldn't wake. After holding her head up for a while Evergreen carried her to the bed. Again he tried to shake her. She slept like a dead person. He laid her down and covered her with a blanket. Then he went back and sat on the bench. For the next few minutes he stared at the Mao book.
I became nervous. I sensed something. Before I could think further I heard him say, "Would you come out?"
Involuntarily I uttered a no.
"May I come in?"
I jumped away from the peephole. My duty told me that I ought to say no, ought to go and wake up Wild Ginger, or simply run.
But I didn't do any of these.
I let him walk right into the closet, right into my soul, and change me forever.