GU HUA A SMALL TOWN CALLED HIBISCUS ============================ Part 4 The New Mood of the People (1979) -------------------------- Hibiscus River and Jade-leaf Stream Time is a river, a river of life, flowing through men's memories. It flows slowly, silently, glinting. But who knows how it wells up through the cracks in granite? Despite all the obstacles put in its way, it pressed steadily onwards, twisting and turning. It plunges over sheer cliffs into abysses, throwing up clouds of mist. Then it gathers its strength again to surge forward with roars of defiance, proclaiming that no force on earth can hold it back. Monkeys can drink its water, deer bathe in it, herons preen their plumage, poisonous snakes dart through it, and wild beasts fight on its shores. Men punt their rafts along it, build vast dams to generate hydro-electric power. None of this will stop it from flowing on to the great ocean. Life is a river of happiness and grief, beset by dangers yet endlessly fascinating. All manner of people play their different parts and strike their different poses. Wives denounce their husbands; sons accuse their fathers; the best of friends turn into deadly foes. Virtues turn into vices: humanity and human warmth are labelled bourgeois. Mass movements move the masses, till those pulling the strings become a target themselves. How can the earth stop rotating? We must fight to the bitter end. In the struggle for power how can everyone survive? If Rightists didn't stink, how could Leftists smell sweet? The unprecedented "cultural revolution" saw a huge swing to the Left, and nets had to be spread everywhere to capture the Rightist devils. Documents, reports, endless meetings large and small and frenzied political movements were all to wipe out what was bourgeois and foster what was proletarian. It was bourgeois to grow pumpkins or paprikas by your cottage. You should grow sunflowers facing the glorious sun, but were not allowed to crack and eat their seeds. Who said there were no capitalists? A stall-holder could develop into one. Private plots and free markets were hotbeds of capitalism which must be attacked; for capitalism should be wiped out in its cradle before reaching disastrous dimensions. If every household sold paprikas or pumpkins, which could be made into liquor, wouldn't the collective's fields go untilled? So paprikas and pumpkins were threats. If everyone had money and lived better than landlords before Liberation, with plenty to eat every day, who would make revolution? What would happen to the class ranks? Who would the cadres going down to the grassroots rely on? The poor and lower-middle peasants should always remain the majority. If they became rich that would cause complete confusion. China had endless problems, being an ocean of bourgeoisie and petty-bourgeoisie. The key for these problems was to have fierce struggles every few years. yes, struggle was the key, their national treasure. But it was no substitute for Marxism. Social changes were determined by ruthless historical laws. In October 1976 (the time of the arrest of the "gang of four"), history imprinted a big exclamation mark on China's sacred soil. This was followed by a series of big question marks. The Third Plenary Session of the Party saved the country from disaster. The ice was broken; the river of life raced on exultantly. It should be noted that even during the days of blind adherence to the ultra-Left line, the river of life flowed on. There was progress in Hibiscus tucked away in the Wuling Mountains. A bridge for motor traffic was built and a new highway for carts, tractors, trucks and buses. Occasionally a jeep drove along it which the children of Hibiscus chased after, wide-eyed, knowing that Deputy Secretary Li Guoxiang of the county revolutionary committee must have come back to her "base" to inspect the work. Some factories were started. A paper mill to make use of the inexhaustible supply of bamboo. A distillery making spirits out of cassava, the roots of kudzu vine and grain. An ironworks and a small power station. The population of the town more than doubled. And so there appeared a bus station, hospital, inns, shops selling soft drinks, hairdressers, tailors, a Xinhua Bookstore, a post and telegraph office.... A new road intersecting the market-place was called New Street, while the flagstone street became Old Street. Hibiscus had its revolutionary committee and local government, which overlapped to some extent with the commune. The revolutionary committee's chairman was Wang Qiushe. Under the committee were a police station, a broadcasting station and several other sections. So the place though small was a going concern. The police station was in charge of every household, of checking profiteering and training the militia. It had dealt with many "reactionary slogans". Some loudspeakers were fixed up in New and Old Streets, and later each household put up a square box which three times a day relayed model operas and revolutionary songs, the announcements of the revolutionary committee and local news. There was plenty of local news, all highly political. Earlier on there had been the campaigns to repudiate Lin Biao and Confucius and to praise the Legalists, to exercise complete dictatorship over the bourgeoisie, and to publicize the achievements of Hibiscus in the "cultural revolution"; then there had been the campaign to repudiate Deng Xiaoping and the Right-deviationist plot to reverse correct verdicts. Now the woman announcer was exposing the heinous crimes of Lin Biao and the "gang of four", denouncing their ultra-Left line and the ten years of turmoil. She explained the tasks of this new period and called for a new Long March to modernize China. Her broadcasts drowned out all other sounds, including the din of the traffic and the factories. Neighbours hardly able to hear each other speak stopped confiding in each other, and this was good for public security. These developments were naturally accompanied by new problems. The traffic on the highway raised clouds of dust which hung in the air like a pall. Old Street was not so bad, but the buildings on New Street were smothered in dust which could only be washed away by heavy rain. As New Street had no sewers, people emptied their slops on the dirt road. In fine weather the soil could absorb it, but on rainy days the road was a mass of puddles, and truck drivers spattered mud over all the buildings and windows. Well, that saved folk the trouble of putting up curtains. When Wang Qiushe and his colleagues had planned New Street's construction, they had forgotten sewage. Urged to remedy this, Wang said, "What do we need sewage for? We can have a gutter. We don't want to westernize like Guangzhou or Shanghai." All the Five Categories were given a deadline, ordered to dig a gutter. There were contradictions between different factories. Most of them were built by the river, where it was easy to pump up or drain away water, or ship out their products by boat. They dumped waste into it too. The paper mill, though four-li away from the distillery on Jade-leaf Stream, hadn't foreseen the trouble of pollution. When they started discharging alkaline water into the stream, which flowed down to Hibiscus River, that gave a bitter taste to the distillery's liquor. The distillers complained to high heaven and demanded damages, whereupon the paper mill urged them to move away. The case was taken to the county for arbitration, but the county referred it to the Hibiscus Revolutionary Committee. What would Wang Qiushe do? The town could not afford to move the distillery. For fear that some workers would fight and maybe get killed, he rushed to county town to beg Secretary Yang Min'gao and Deputy Secretary Li Guoxiang to organize a study class for the factory managers. Finally they adopted the "Doctrine of the Mean" of Confucius whom they had repudiated. With the paper mill supplying funds, the distillery labour, a cement pipe was laid to bring in clear water from the hills three li away. Of course behind the backs of both secretaries the tow factory heads came to a tacit agreement: the cadres of the paper mill would be allowed to buy liquor at cut prices from the distillery. And what of Hibiscus River and Jade-leaf Stream with their pea-green water, their verdant banks? Already the townsfolk were up in arms about this. However, it had not yet been put on the revolutionary committee's agenda. Because of all the industrial waste in the water, no vegetation grew on the cliffs, which were crumbling. And refuse was choking the channels, enlarging the banks, which were being enclosed as new fields. White alkaline bubbles floated on the placid water. Hibiscus had once been known for its red carp, but now not even many prawns or crabs were left. Some averred: Pollution is a by-product of modernization. The advanced industrial countries of the first and second world all went through this phase. According to the news a few years earlier, there was hardly a sparrow left in Japan or America. England had to import oxygen. So how could Hibiscus, tucked away in the interior of China, a third-world country, steer clear of pollution? Anyway they still had sparrows and oxygen. Indeed, sparrows were such a pest that in early summer the commune members put scarecrows in the wheat fields to scare them away. If science and democracy went together, feudalism and ignorance were the attendants of Buddha. After repudiating capitalism for over twenty years it had dawned on them that capitalism was more advanced than feudalism; in fact deep- rooted feudalism had been attacking new-fledged socialism. Li Guoxiang's Transfer A few years before this a prestigious university in Beijing had planned to set up a department of class struggle as an unparalleled feat in the revolutionization of education. Evidently they couldn't see the wood for the trees. For class struggle had long been the main course for the whole country, and schooling in it had taken many forms, its students ranging from old to young. Virtually all our cadres were trained or steeled in this school by means of bitter soul-searching and sedulous study. A few years earlier, a woman leader in Beijing had tried to follow in the steps of Lu Zhi, Wu Zetian and the Empress Dowager Cixi. During the campaign to repudiate Lin Biao and Confucius she stressed the need to train able women successors. "What's so wonderful about you men?" she demanded. "You just have an extra prick." This showed her thoroughgoing materialism. Her favour was extended throughout the country, manifested in all revolutionary committees. And so Li Guoxiang, the secretary of the commune, was made the woman secretary of the county commune. Not that this was such a very high position. Many women of her age and experience were provincial heads whose names were frequently broadcast and whose photographs appeared in the newspapers. One even became a deputy premier and while speaking to a Japanese medical delegation made the gaffe of asking, "Has Comrade Li Shizhen (a famous Chinese physician who wrote Materia Medica) come back yet from the cadre school?" All these women officials had been trained in class struggle. So had Li Guoxiang had access to the Forbidden City, she too might have been made a deputy premier. But promotion had not come easily to her. She had had to adjust herself to stormy upheavals. She was now the wife of a middle-aged leading cadre in the provincial capital, a man widowed at the start of the "cultural revolution". They were still living apart, for she hoped to make quicker progress by a few more years of tempering at the grassroots. At a meeting of county cadres after the fall of the "gang of four", her denunciation of their ultra-Left line and the crimes of their followers brought tears to many eyes. She, a cadre in her thirties, secretary of the commune, had actually been lumped together with the Five Categories and paraded with all those monsters, a black placard and old shoes hung round her neck. She had been forced to do heavy physical labour building a bridge, yet when she asked for more rice and couldn't dance a "black devil's dance", they had forced her to crawl like a dog. This filled her hearers' hearts with indignation. What a way to treat a good woman Party member!... Of course, she had been wrong to speak of "Leftists suppressing a Leftist". The "Leftists" of that faction had been fascists whereas she was a genuine revolutionary, utterly different in nature. And when she had ordered the breasts of the new rich peasant Hu Yuyin to be wired, she had been prompted by righteous indignation. One could show no mercy to class enemies. Naturally she did not say this at the meeting, as it had nothing to do with the "gang of four". Besides, who didn't sometimes go to extremes? Even the revolutionary teachers were men, not gods; so of course she, Li Guoxiang, was only human. After the Third Plenary Session of the Party's Eleventh Congress, the county committee put her in charge of righting all wrong verdicts in the county, re-habilitating Rightists, and changing the status of landlords and rich peasants. As women always paid careful attention to detail, she seemed suited to this task. Of course injustices should be set right. All those unjustly killed must have their names cleared, and work should be found for their families. It was easy to understand how in 1957 certain cadres who expressed wrong views had been labelled Rightists; but they were not class enemies, and now that they had been re-educated all they had to do was adopt the right attitude to the Party. Modernization needed science and culture, so why shouldn't use be made of intellectuals? As for taking off the labels of landlords and rich peasants and improving their children's status, this was too much for Li Guoxiang. Who would be the revolution's target in future? Who could be used as negative examples? Without taking class struggle as the key how could they run the countryside? What could they say at meetings? To throw away class struggle was like a blind man throwing away his cane. Was all the experience gained in thirty years of political movements now obsolete? To be scrapped? Would they have to start from scratch, racking their brains and studying agricultural techniques and factory management? This made no appeal to her. Indeed, she felt an instinctive aversion to the idea, afraid that it spelt regression. In the daytime she hid her feelings, but at night in her sleep she gnashed her teeth. Li Guoxiang's judgement was based on her own experience, position and interests. Her uncle, Secretary Yang Min'gao, soon noticed this unhealthy tendency. One evening he talked to her like a father. "Well? Do you have doubts about the Party's line and policy? Wavering, are you? Can't keep in step with the new policy? That won't do. The history of our Party's two-line struggle proves that cadres who can't adjust to each major change in tactics are bound to be eliminated by the Party and the age. Haven't you seen many such cases? You've been given the task of carrying out this policy, so don't let yourself be swayed by personal feelings. We must always obey the Party. We are low-ranking cadres, not policy-makers. Even if this decision is later considered a mistake, the responsibility won't be ours. We;re a long way from the centre of power. We just carry out instructions. That applies to rehabilitating landlords and rich peasants and improving their children's status. We can always label them again if we're told to. Come what may we must be loyal to the Party." Well, her uncle knew all about the rules of struggle. Our people with such a high level could swim freely in the sea of politics. This was how he came to be deputy secretary of the prefectural Party committee and first secretary of the county committee. She wasn't up to him, wasn't fully seasoned. That was why she was still only a deputy secretary of the county committee. But one day she would learn to swim freely too. Yang Min'gao was annoyed and worried by his niece's failure to comply with this new change of line. She was too set in her ideas! As her superior and uncle he saw further and took the whole situation into account. There had recently been more talk in the county committee about his niece's affair with Wang Qiushe. It wasn't good for her to live too long apart from her husband. He should point this out to his nephew-in-law and together they could pull strings to get her transferred to the provincial capital. Then when she came down again to inspect the work she would have a higher status - what was wrong with that? He insinuated this to his niece, who was quick to grasp his reasoning. As soon as she went to her office the next morning, Li Guoxiang looked at the files dealing with cases of injustice from the security bureau. She took out the one on "Qin Shutian, wrongly labelled a Rightist in 1957, now a criminal in custody" and on "Hu Yuyin, wrongly labelled a new rich peasant in 1964". These two sheaves of material weighed heavily in her hands. She picked them up, put them down, picked them up again, unable to make up her mind. She twiddled her pen, which felt as heavy as iron. How was it that this pen, with its power over life and death, sometimes raced over the paper like a dragon, at others dried up and lost its incisiveness? She fiddled with it for a while without writing a single word. Then decided that first she would ring up Hibiscus to put Wang Qiushe in the picture. "What? Clear them? Rehabilitate them both?" Wang bellowed furiously over the phone. "I don't get it! I'm dead against it! When you chop and change up up there, there's the devil to pay down here!" Mayor Wang "Fuck it! A damn fool they've made of me! What face, what prestige will I have left in Hibiscus?" Wang Qiushe was used to being addressed as "mayor", not knowing that behind his back the townsfolk referred to him as the Autumn Snake. There was no silencing people's dirty talk. Although Secretary Li Guoxiang had rung him up to notify him that Qin Shutian and Hu Yuyin were to be rehabilitated, when instructions to this effect came from the county he flew into a rage. Shutting himself up in his office he pounded his desk, so that his glass crashed on to the cement floor. He was wrong, of course, to blame Li Guoxiang. How could someone in her low position block the Central Committee's directives, which had shaken the land like spring thunder, to right the wrongs done in previous political movements? Li Guoxiang knew how Wang would react, for though their affair had ended they still felt close to each other. He could have found himself a wife, but because of his devotion to her all these years he had gone without a family of his own. Just for this she was grateful to him. So a few days later she rang him up again to talk him round. As it was a special line, the exchange operator dared not listen in and no one knew what was said. But after receiving this call Wang flopped back in his wicker chair, his forehead wet with cold sweat. This time he did not shut the door, pound his desk or smash a glass. But inwardly he was fuming: "Shit! Clear them, take off their caps, treat them as targets of dictatorship within the ranks of the people.... It's all very well to talk like that, but you're shitting on me and expect me to lick your arse! You're sitting pretty, going to work in the province, leaving me in the lurch here to right all wrongs.... You've chosen the best way out. Go on, go. You and me, a hen and a gander, can't sleep together long." Wang's affair with Li Guoxiang had benefited them both. Each had gained and also lost out. So why complain? Besides he had gained more than he lost. A muddy-footed oaf, he was now the mayor of Hibiscus. All thanks to the boosting given him by Li Guoxiang and Secretary Yang Min'gao. Had it been left to Yang, he would never have promoted a lout like Wang, a nobody who kept backsliding. Take the case of Li Mangeng. Because he hadn't listened to Yang in 1956, he was doomed to wear straw sandals and a coir cape all his life. How about Wang Qiushe then? His moral character and ability were nowhere near as good as Li's. But an incident just before the Spring Festival during the campaign to denounce Lin Biao and Confucius had made Yang revise his impression of him completely. Yang Min'gao's whole family, the secretary himself in particular, loved to eat winter bamboo shoots. They couldn't do without those succulent crisp shoots fried with lean pork, braised with chicken or duck, stewed with mushrooms, and crunched them with an indescribable relish. Besides, bamboo shoots grew in the mountains and weren't such rareties as swallow-nests, silver mushrooms, sea slugs or bear's paws; so what was wrong with a county head eating a couple of hundred pounds of them in winter and spring? Unfortunately that year all the bamboos flowered, then withered. Winter bamboo shoots became as rare as shark's fin. One evening Li Guoxiang hinted to Wang that here was his chance to prove his loyalty and win promotion. The next day there was a market in Hibiscus and, with her tacit consent, on the pretext of suppressing speculation and upholding public order he sent militiamen to clamp down on it. As it was just before the Spring Festival, the commune members had brought in mountain products. To their surprise they were allowed to take them in but not to take them out. They were searched by militiamen in yellow armbands, and all the winter bamboo shoots in their crates were confiscated. Nothing else was taken though. No one could query this - it was a top secret. The pedlars looked at each other in dismay. Then someone claiming to be in the know spread word that a reactionary gang, the Bamboo Shoot Party, had been found in the mountains. Its members hid secret messages in bamboo shoots. So a trap had been laid for them, and there was no telling how many of their ring-leaders and followers would be caught at this market. The pedlars whose bamboo shoots were confiscated did not mind the financial loss. They only wished they could grow wings to fly home where they could live quietly all the year round; stirring out landed them in trouble. Who made up the top secret about the Bamboo Shoot Party? Was it some militiaman who wanted to embarrass Mayor Wang? Or someone at the market? At all events Wang and Li Guoxiang exchanged worried glances, afraid the business might be blown up and exposed. They held meetings large and small to scotch this rumour and assert that this search of the market had simply been to clamp down on speculators. So the trouble was smoothed over. But to return to the night of that market in Hibiscus. Wang Qiushe put the precious bamboo shoots - over a hundred pounds of them - in two sacks, tied them on his bicycle and rod sixty li in the dark to the county town to deliver them to Secretary Yang's kitchen. Not a soul knew about this. When Yang discovered them first thing the next morning, he knitted his brows and read Wang Qiushe a lecture. This was no way to show respect and consideration for his superiors. Giving away local products was a vulgar, unhealthy tendency. It was wrong for those in leading position to have special privileges. He even linked these two sacks of bamboo shoots with understanding of the Party line and the prevention of revisionism. He made Wang weigh them with him, then worked out their cost, but for the time being did not pay him. Wang's heart sank. He blamed Li Guoxiang for misleading him, not relaxing till Yang said, "Well, don't do this again. Watch your step." Thereupon he invited him to breakfast, a simple meal of steamed bus, soy milk, preserved eggs, strong-smelling beancurd and a saucer of white sugar. During this meal Yang asked Wang about his work and his living conditions - had he any difficulties? Of course Wang made no mention of that damaging rumour about a Bamboo Shoot Party, so Yang knew nothing about it. All he knew was that winter bamboo shoots grew in the mountains, and when the peasants dug them up with their hoes that affected the growth of the bamboos in spring. Before long Li Guoxiang was recalled to the county, where she gave Yang a detailed report on the commune cadres. This naturally included an account of Brigade Secretary Wang Qiushe, his repentance and progress in the lass few years, and his loyalty to his superiors. As Yang of course did not believe in damning a man for a single mistake, he forgave Wang for parroting the charges against him in the early days of the "cultural revolution". His subsequent bahaviour was more important. Some days later word went round Hibiscus that to train and give responsibility to grassroots cadres who had a firm stand, the county committee was promoting Wang to be deputy chairman of the commune committee. But the truth will out, the road to happiness is strewn with setbacks. Someone denounced Wang Qiushe to the provincial authorities for confiscating those bamboo shoots. Who was the informer? The crowd at the market that day had been very mixed with all kinds of different backgrounds and social connections. Impossible to investigate them all. According to the current normal procedure, indictments sent by the masses to the provincial heads had to be sent down to the district and the county, then to the commune concerned. So this one ended up in Li Guoxiang's hands, with the recommendations, "Please investigate and deal with this case", "Handle this according to the relevant Party policies" or "Let the commune deal with this". Different dates had been written on each, the round seals of authority varied in size and some were brighter than others. This indictment had some effect. For the time being the county committee did not authorize the district to promote Wang. Even Secretary Yang could only shake his head and sigh over the stubborn way in which the diehards kept down newly emerging forces. Later, when the situation had changed, the county committee decided to designate Hibiscus as a small town one degree smaller than a commune, and to appoint Wang Qiushe chairman of its revolutionary committee, still earning workpoints and drawing a subsidy. Since this came under the county's jurisdiction they did not have to get it approved higher up. If Wang steeled himself well at the grassroots level his prospects were excellent.... "Shit! Were we wrong to struggle for over twenty years? Now they say Crazy Qin should never have been convicted, never made a Rightist in 1957! He's to be released and given back his old job! He'll be earning much more than me - the mayor.... And Secretary Yang is selling me short. I've run this place for years yet I'm still not on the state pay-roll, still earning work-points with only a subsidy of thirty-six yuan a month...." In the office of the revolutionary committee Wang stared blankly at the files of Qin and Yuyin, unable to make up his mind. Rehabilitate them or not? Use delaying tactics? But each day the papers and radio announcers reported cases of injustice righted throughout the country. What could the mayor of a small town do? "Fuck them! This means Crazy Qin will no longer be a Rightist or Hu Yuyin a rich peasant; the head of the co-op will be reinstated, the head of the tax-office cleared ... and Gu Yanshan that 'soldier from the north'. They'll all be cleared. Who hasn't made some mistakes up here in the mountains in the last twenty-odd years? Gu Yanshan seems to have done less badly than the rest. And if not for all our struggles year after year, would I have climbed up to my present post? I'd still be a nobody, the stilt-house owner. You have to see both sides." What worried him most, however, was an urgent financial problem. They would have to return that storeyed house confiscated when Hu Yuyin was declared a rich peasant. They had long ago stopped using it for their Class Struggle Exhibition and turned it into a hostel. That small hostel brought in a hundred yuan or more a month, tax-free. When the higher-ups came to inspect their work, or when friendly units came to co-operate with them, this sum was used to feast them. "We'll explain this to Hu Yuyin and ask her to be public-spirited. The property rights of the house will be hers, but we'll go on using it for the time being as a hostel, paying her a few dollars rent. That shouldn't be a big problem." Another more pressing problem was how to return Hu Yuyin the one thousand five hundred confiscated from her. After all these years that money had melted away. To start with he'd had no subsidy; later on he got only thirty-six yuan a month, not nearly enough for food, drink, sundry expenses and presents for different people. It was not as if he could print notes for himself! "Shit! Where's that money to come from? Leave it in arrears? That's right, just stall. All these years of political movements have messed up the economy.... Who was that money given to first? Was there any receipt? Hell no! No account was kept.... Hu Yuyin, the Party and government have cleared you, given you back your status as a small trader as well as your storeyed house, and allowed you to live lawfully with Qin Shutian - what more do you want?" Still, Wang found it harder and harder to muddle along. All sorts of talk was going round the town, all detrimental to him. It was said that the higher-ups were going to make the "soldier from the north" the Party secretary and chairman of their revolutionary committee. No official announcement of this had yet come down, but already the townsfolk were gloating. Wang was not such a fool that he did not realize this. He felt a sword was hanging over his head. And he could no longer call meetings to investigate and debunk rumours. He had rung up the county committee several times to find out the situation, but was always given an evasive answer. His thoughts in a whirl, he was off his food, couldn't sleep soundly. He sat woodenly in his office, his face rather puffy, his eyes fixed, muttering incoherently. His mind was so confused that one day he bellowed: "I won't stand for it! So long as I'm in power, don't expect to be cleared, to be rehabilitated!" Gu Yanshan As Foster-Father During the years of turmoil when people accused, sold out and destroyed each other or tried to save their own skins, morality, kindness and integrity did not die out but simply took different forms. Gu Yanshan the "soldier from the north" viewed the world with tipsy eyes. When Qin Shutian was sent to a labour camp and Hu Yuyin ordered to work under supervision, Old Gu had been jittery for some days, having acted as go- between for that black couple. However, they proved to have some fellow- feeling and to be trustworthy: they did not report him or let him in for another investigation. If they had he would have lost his post and his Party membership. One evening towards the end of that year, a howling north wind was whirling down big snowflakes when Old Gu, tipsy again, passed the old inn. He heard groans from inside and heart-rending cries, "Oh, mother, help.... This is killing me!" His hair stood on end. "Has Yuyin's time come?" he wondered. At once he mounted the steps, shook off the snow on his boots and coat and tried the door. It wasn't bolted. Groping his way through the pitch-black hall he made for a little room which had been partitioned off. There, by the dim light of an oil lamp he saw Yuyin lying on her bed clutching desperately at the bed-posts, her face beaded with sweat and almost fainting with pain. The shock sobered Old Gu, who had never seen such a sight. "Yuyin, you, are you near your time?" "Chairman Gu, do help me ... help me to sit up and give me a drink..." Old Gu shivered, sorry that he had come in. He managed to find some warm water for Yuyin to drink, and she asked him for a towel to wipe her sweat. Then she caught hold of him like a drowning woman clinging to a rock. "Chairman Gu, you've saved my life.... I'm thirty-three ... that's old for the first baby." "I'll go and fetch a midwife." Old Gu was sweating too with desperation. "No, no, have a heart ... don't leave me!... The women in town spit at me. I'm scared of them.... Do stay with me, I'll soon be dead anyway. Me and the baby, we're done for.... Oh, mother, why did you leave me to go through this!..." "Don't cry, Yuyin. Stick it out. If it hurts, just yell...." His heart ached for her. Compassion gave him the courage to do his best to save mother and child. What if she was a new rich peasant - bah! Wasn't there an old saying: Saving someone in danger is better than building a pagoda for Buddha? At worst he could only be reprimanded and punished. His mind made up, he took heart. "Don't you worry, Yuyin. I'll do what I can...." "You've saved my life.... If only all the cadres sent by the government were like you.... You're so good, coming to my rescue.... With you here I may pull through.... Boil a pan of water, will you, and make me some egg soup.... I haven't had a bite to eat all day. They say a woman in labour should eat to keep up her strength...." As briskly as he had obeyed orders to charge when a guerrilla, Gu boiled water and made soup, listening anxiously to the groans from the bedroom. For some reason he felt exhilarated, clear-headed. Buoyed up with confidence he longed for this birth. His face with its stubbly beard glowed red in the firelight. He felt he had been assigned a most important mission, a rather mysterious one, yet could not account for his exuberance. After Yuyin had finished a big bowl of egg soup, her pains seemed to ease off a little. A strange, somewhat sheepish smile appeared on her face. The maternal pride of a woman about to bring a new life into the world makes her utterly fearless, able to keep death at bay. Leaning back with her legs stretched out, she indicated her rounded womb and said, "This little creature kicking and punching me is a real imp - most likely a bouncy bay! Doesn't care if he kills his mum...." "Congratulations, Yuyin. Old Man Heaven will bring you through safely, mother and son...." Old Gu, a veteran soldier, was actually talking like someone superstitious. "With you here ... I'm not afraid. If not for your coming this evening, I'd have died in agony and nobody would have known." With that her eyes closed and she fell asleep. Perhaps after her pains all day the child in her womb was exhausted too. Or perhaps this was a lull before even worse pains. Now Gu Yanshan grew frantic. He had been listening for traffic outside. Once Yuyin fell asleep he left the inn and trudged through the wind and snow to wait by the highway. He would stop any vehicle that came along, even if he had to lie down to block the way. The snow stopped presently and the wind died down. The white snow all round lit up the darkness. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his old army coat, he paced up and down anxiously ... as if on sentry duty. Yes, he had worn this same army coat in the Beiping-Tianjin Campaign, standing in the snow waiting for the signal to launch an all-out offensive and longing for the dawn of victory.... How time had flown, and what great changed he'd seen! A man's life is sometimes a riddle even to himself. Over twenty years before, he had stood in the snow on the north China plain ready to shed his blood to usher in a new society. Now he was standing on the snowing highway of a small mountain town in the south, waiting for a truck to give a lift to a woman about to have a child. But what kind of child? The child of two members of the Five Categories, of a couple living in sin, whose very birth was a crime.... Life was too complex, too rich for him to fathom. From time to time he looked back at the old inn. How he longed to hear the rumble of a truck and see its powerful headlights sweep over the snow. He had cursed trucks before for scattering dust and mud; but now he thought of them as a means to save Yuyin and her child and rescue him from his dilemma. At last he was able to flag an army truck on its way to a big army depot near by. When the PLA driver heard what this local cadre with a northern accent wanted, he told him to get in and backed to the end of Old STreet. By the time Old Gu helped Yuyin into the driver's cabin, her pains had started again and she kept groaning. The driver drove fast but steadily straight to the army hospital in a valley. At once Yuyin was carried to the consulting room on the second floor. The long quiet corridor was brightly lit. Doctors and nurses in white coats shuttled in and out of its glass door, as if her condition were very critical. Old Gu waited by the door, not stirring in a step. To him, the consulting room seemed a palace in fairyland, with doctors and nurses in it as immortals, but from which he was debarred as a mere mortal. Before long a doctor with red army insignia visible beneath a white collar brought him a form to fill up. Only when this doctor took off her mask did he see that she was a young woman. "Are you the patient's husband? What name? What unit?" Old Gu's cheeks burned. In a fluster he just nodded. What else could he do? It was saving Yuyin that mattered. He stammered out his name and unit. The doctor wrote them down, then told him, "Your wife's no longer young. She has been undernourished and the foetal position's wrong, so she'll have to have a Caesarean. Please sign." "A Caesarean?" Old Gu stared in dismay. He was red with embarrassment, but never mind. His heart palpitating he stared for a while at the doctor before getting to grip on himself. He had served in the PLA. It had always loved the people and been responsible to them. In spite of the changes in the last twenty years, he knew that in this respect their attitude hadn't changed. With another nod he took the pen from her and scrawled "Gu Yanshan". Never mind this misunderstanding. For the time being he would take the responsibility of a husband and father. Yuyin was wheeled out on a stretcher. In the corridor she gripped his hand tightly as he accompanied her to the operating-theatre. As soon as the doctors and nurses had gone in, the door was closed. Again he waited outside, pacing up and down, burning with anxiety. He listened eagerly for the infant's first cry. Yuyin must have lost so much blood.... How great life was, how wonderful to be a mother, giving birth to a new life. It was people that filled the world with joy and grief. Why should there be grief and hatred? Especially in our Party, in the society the workers and peasants had fought for and of which they were the masters? Why have these endless struggles year after year? Some bloodthirsty careerists made it their job to do others down. Why? He couldn't understand this. He hadn't much education, didn't know what was meant by the "theory of human nature". His level was too low. Yet he had been poisoned by it and the theory of the dying out of class struggle.... Four hours dragged by filled with these bitter reflections. At dawn Yuyin was wheeled out. Besides her lay a little creature in snowy white swaddling-clothes. But her face was as white as paper, her eyes were closed. "Is she dead?" Old Gu blurted out, his eyes filling with tears. The nurse wheeling Yuyin noticed his despair. "All's well," she said. "The mother hasn't come to yet after the anaesthetic...." "So she's come through!" he exclaimed, forgetting even to ask the sex of the baby. "She's come through!" This cry re-echoed through the quiet corridor or the hospital. It was the hospital's rule that mothers and infants must be separated. A paper slip marked with a number was attached to the baby's swaddling- clothes. Gu Yanshan was allowed into the ward where Yuyin was being given an intravenous drip. Not until noon did she come to. At once her eyes fell on Old Gu. She reached out a feeble hand and laid it in his. Like a fond, overjoyed husband he was stroking her hand when a nurse came in to tell the "couple" that their baby was a plump, vociferous boy. His number was 7011. This news reduced Yuyin to tears, and Old Gu's eyes reddened too. To the nurse this was nothing unusual: when middle-aged couples had their first child they always wept for joy. She gave Yuyin an injection to make her sleep and asked, "What name are you going to give your son?" Yuyin glanced at Old Gu, but without consulting him said, "Gu Jun - the jun for army." Then she dozed off. To give her time to recuperate, and because the roads were drifted over with snow, Old Gu made Yuyin stay in hospital for more than fifty days. He went there from Hibiscus every morning and stayed until the evening. Luckily he was only a nominal adviser in the grain depot with no real responsibilities. Soon the whole township heard that the new rich peasant Hu Yuyin had a plump boy fathered by Qin Shutian, now in a labour camp. But this news left them cold. Still, after her return to the inn some kindhearted old ladies went secretly to have a look at her ill-starred boy, and left her some boiled eggs. Gu Yanshan was summoned to the grain bureau and security bureau in the county to account for what had happened. But both the grain commissioner and the head of the security bureau had come south with the army with him and were well-disposed to their old comrade-in-arms. They knew he was a decent sort, not likely to shine but incapable of doing anything really wrong. Besides, being impotent he couldn't have if off with a woman; so after cracking some jokes at his expense they let the matter drop. And when later more material on Old Gu was sent in by the revolutionary committees of Hibiscus and the commune, it was ignored. Even Secretary Yang Min'gao simple scoffed, "This is piddling, not worth reporting." However, Old Gu was penalized by not being allowed to attend his Party branch meetings. And so Old Gu was acknowledged to have the right to care for Yuyin and her son. Right up to the fall of the "gang of four", by which time the boy was seven or eight, Old Gu and Yuyin took good care of each other although not even related. Old Gu said, "Soon Qin Shutian will be back, we must give the boy another surname Qin." Anyway the child was "black", not recognized by the commune or the brigade or given a residence card. Gu Yanshan was "foster-father" to this little "black devil". This was one of the wonders of Hibiscus in the later stage of the "cultural revolution". "Dad," said Yuyin one day, addressing Old Gu as her son did. "There's talk in town that folk have sent in a petition asking to have you made secretary and chairman of Hibiscus. And the higher-ups have approved. Wang Qiushe will have to scuttle back to that rickety stilt-house of his! In fact, in our new society with a people's government, it's old cadres like you who ought to be in charge." "Don't you believe it, Yuyin." Old Gu shook his head with a wry smile. "I'm still not allowed to attend Party meetings. I'll be left dangling like this, unless Li Guoxiang and Yang Min'gao are dismissed or transferred." "We're to blame, dad, sonny and I.... All these years you've been under a cloud because of us...." Yuyin burst into tears. "My, your eyes are like springs never running dry," he scolded affectionately. Caressing the boy he went on reassuringly, "There's been a change for the better. Instructions have come from above that you and Shutian must be cleared. If they really were to put me in charge of Hibiscus, I wouldn't be able to cope. The place is a shambles. We'd have to start from scratch. First of all we'd have to deal with the problem of water contamination in Hibiscus. Keeps me awake at night...." Before taking up his post the "soldier from the north" had insomnia. Yuyin smiled through her tears. Her small son laughed, then exclaimed: "Mum! Dad! They say Uncle Mangeng's to be secretary of the brigade again. Yesterday evening he promised to give me a residence card - I won't be black any more!" The Collapse of the Stilt-House Life often plays cruel tricks on people who break faith. These years shame and remorse had flayed Li Mangeng like an invisible yet ruthless whip. He had a guilty conscience because he had sold out the love of his youth, gone back on his word. When Hu Yuyin was proclaimed a new rich peasant and Li Guigui killed himself, he had joined in denouncing them. In his distraction he sometimes raised his hands to sniff at them, as they still reeked of blood. But Mangeng's life was a blend of loyalty and betrayal. He had betrayed his sister Yuyin whom he had truly loved, broken the promise he made to her by the river. Yet when he gave the work team from the county the one thousand five hundred yuan she had left in his keeping, that showed his loyalty to the Party. What a complex contradiction! Back in 1956, when working in the district government, to prove his loyalty to the Party he had sacrificed his love. For when it came to choosing between the Party and an individual, the revolution and love, his reason always triumphed over his emotions. He obeyed the Party implicitly, quite blindly, without any doubts whatsoever or any attempts to analyse its line. His level was too low for that. Obedience was second nature to him. True, he knew of many higher-ups with bad class origins and complex social connections who had succeeded in the war years in combining revolution with love and reason with emotion - some had even married on the execution ground. Working for the same cause had determined what they loved and hated. But that was during the war when blood had to be shed; so of course they had to enlarge their ranks, and anybody could join - the door was wide open.... Now the country was theirs to hold on to. The ranks had to be purified. The revolution needed incessant struggles and purges inside the Party. To ensure that a man was sound, his forbears and family must be investigated. And so a revolutionary might have to give up the girl he loved and act against his conscience. What was this invisible conscience anyway? Only the petty-bourgeoisie set store by it.... So Mangeng had sold out Yuyin, shoved her into a fiery pit. But now history had drawn a conclusion, had proved that Yuyin should not have been classified as a rich peasant, or Li Guigui hounded to death. You contemptible informer, Li Mangeng, you selfish swine, you stooge whose hands reek of blood, do you count as a Communist? Are you up to being a real Communist? Which Party rule or directive told you to do such things? You can't blame it on other people. There are thirty-eight million Party members in China, but few have sold out their own sisters or supported tyranny. Who can you blame, you brute? Mangeng often swore at himself like this. But was he entirely to blame? Was he born a wicked bully? Had he never done anything good for Yuyin and the townsfolk? Never been sincere and honest? Apparently not. Ah, Hu Yuyin the old innkeeper's darling daughter had been the bane of his life. Even when she was paraded in the streets with a black placard as a rich peasant widow, made to go up on the stage to be struggles against, he had never treated her roughly or jeered at her.... For that he had been criticized many times by the brigade Party branch and revolutionary committee of the town. They denounced his Rightist tendency, his denial of the class character of human nature, his failure to take an active part in class struggle. He was dismissed from his post as secretary, all but expelled from the Party. What was the class character of human nature? He had only been to primary school, hadn't much of a brain, and very little imagination. This theory of human nature stuck in his throat like a hunk of chaff and wild herbs which he couldn't chew up, swallow or spit out - it might give him throat cancer. Wretched and unable to describe his frustration, he was detested both by Yuyin and the Party. Like the soil squeezed into a crack in the rocks, all he asked for was to survive. You didn't know where you were with all these movements and struggles. You tried to keep in step with them, to be loyal, but they kept you dangling like a performing monkey.... "You worm, Li Mangeng! You worm!" For years he had suffered from depression. A big brawny fellow able to carry a hundred pounds and walk a hundred li, his broad shoulders now stooped as if under a great load. Finally even his wife Peppery was afraid that he was ill. Peppery herself was a complex character. When Yuyin did so well with her beancurd stall and Peppery suspected her husband of still hankering after her, jealously kept her scolding like a shrew. She later made a great scene over that one thousand five hundred yuan, sobbing and screaming till Mangeng was forced to hand it in. She had even gloated over Yuyin's misfortune, which increased her own sense of security. Now her husband should lose interest in the Hibiscus Fairy. But as time went by and Yuyin was paraded year after year with that black placard, Peppery felt this was wrong. No woman, however bad, should be victimized all her life.... Her husband pulled a long face the whole time, but she knew without being told what was on his mind. She sometimes felt guilty herself. When Yuyin had a baby, she went to the inn like a thief in the night for a look. He was a plump bonny baby, his hands and feet as pudgy as lotus roots. Was he a bastard? No, people called him Junjun and his father was the Rightist Qin Shutian, now doing time in a labour camp. When Junjun was big enough to romp, Peppery would call him into their house to give him a sweet. The little scamp had more than his share of good looks, with big bright eyes like his parents. Peppery had a weakness for him, because her last two children had been two more girls - she had six daughters now. And gradually she noticed that Mangeng had a soft spot for Junjun too. He smiled whenever the boy came in, took to hugging him and making much of him. Well, she was glad to see him in a good mood. If he went on moping all the time he would really go into a decline; then she and her six daughters would have to beg for their living! "Here, Junjun, have some fruit." Sometimes when Mangeng had goodies for his daughters he kept a share for Junjun. "No, mum would scold me. She says if I eat in other people's homes they'll look down on us." The boy rattled this off without reaching out for the fruit, though he had fixed his eyes on it longingly. Already he had begun to be town between his feelings and reason. Peppery, watching him, took pity on the boy. "Junjun," she said, "you and your mum have only one grain ration between you. Do you get enough to eat?" "Mum always makes me eat first. Then eats what's left. If I won't eat she spanks me, then hugs me and cries...." His eyes turned red. So did those of Mangeng and Peppery. They knew how hard it must be for a widow forced to sweep the streets every day under supervision to bring up a growing boy on one grain ration. They themselves had been much better off since Mangeng stopped being a cadre. A good farmer, he earned many workpoints in the brigade and grew enough vegetables on their own plot to feed their family of eight and sell the surplus every market-day. Peppery and the girls had done so well raising pigs and poultry, they made a lot of money. Husband and wife had won through hardships to share better days. Now that they were old and had so many children, she had got over her jealousy and they had achieved domestic harmony. After the fall of the "gang of four", in retrospect people had gained a better understanding of themselves - something no money can buy. Each had kept tabs on all those years of political movements and struggles. Now some corrected their mistakes, repented of their crimes. Those with nothing on their conscience could sleep in peace. Those who had been too vicious could not escape retribution. Mangeng and Peppery often kept Junjun to a meal or to play with their girls. "Junjun, does your mum know where you're eating?" "Yes." "Has she scolded you?" "No, just called me a little beggar...." Apparently Yuyin gave her tacit consent. Once Peppery called in a tailor to make New Year clothes for her six girls, and a suit for Junjun too. When this was ready she wrapped it up in paper and told him to take it home to show his mum. Very soon he was back, dressed in his brand-new suit, to show Mangeng and Peppery. "Did your mum tell you to wear it?" "Yes. And to come and thank uncle and aunt." At the start of spring the ice melted. Spring thunder rumbled earlier than usual and rain came pouring down. One afternoon Li Mangeng and Wang Qiushe were summoned to an enlarged meeting of the commune Party committee convened by the commune and municipality. The new Party secretary of the commune gave the stilt-house owner a sharp reprimand for failing to rehabilitate Hu Yuyin and Qin Shutian, and for not returning her new house and one thousand five hundred yuan. On behalf of the county committee he removed Wang from his posts as Party secretary of the brigade and chairman of the Hibiscus revolutionary committee. The brigade was to come under the leadership of the town's revolutionary committee, and for the time being, pending an election, its Party branch would be headed by its former secretary Li Mangeng. The county would appoint a new head for the Hibiscus Party committee and revolutionary committee. Wang Qiushe scuttled away in consternation before this appointment was announce, forgetting to take his cape and hat but rushing off bare-headed through the rain. For a while the clapping and cheering at the meeting drowned out the sound of the pelting rain and thunder. The meeting did not break up till the evening. It was ten li to Mangeng's home and, in spite of wearing a bamboo hat, by the time he got there he was drenched to the skin. But he felt warm, exhilarated though rather chastened. He had been reinstated as secretary and Wang Qiushe's dismissal had rid the town of a pest. The townsfolk in their jubilation might even let off fire-crackers to send off his ghost. "So you've got your old job back?" Peppery demanded as she watched him change his clothes. "You've picked up that rotten official cap other people would chuck away, and stuck it on your head, eh?" "How did you hear so quickly?" "When you went with the Autumn Snake to that meeting, it was the talk of the town. People came to ask me the reason, but what did I know? Well, it's no business of mine, so long as you sow our private plot and chop firewood. If you don't we won't let you into the house. Don't think you can loaf about here the way you used to." "All right, whatever you say. Don't worry, I have a yen now for tilling our private plot.... Besides, a piddling little official like me has to take part in production. The higher-ups have told us to fix farm output quotas for each team, in some cases for each household, so no one can slack." "Did you know that Wang Qiushe, that lazy snake, came rushing back in the rain, ranting and raving?" "Raving about what?" "He kept screeching, 'They've let the big shots go, but nabbed the small fry!' and 'Never forget class struggle.... There'll be new cultural revolutions every five or six years!' Well, he's got what was coming to him - it's driven him round the bend!" "No wonder. When output quotas are fixed, which team will want him? Give him a few fields, he'd only grow weeds on them.... He can't go on living off being an activist!" As they were talking, over the roar of the storm outside their window they heard a deafening crash. "Whose house is that?" Mangeng shuddered. Peppery turned white. Most of the wooden houses on the old flagstone street had not been repaired for years. Which of them had collapsed? Mangeng rolled up his trouser legs, put on his coir cape and bamboo hat and was preparing to go out when they heard a yell from the street. It sounded like the announcement of good news: "It's the stilt-house! The stilt-house has collapsed...." "He Will Love Her All His Life" Hu Yuyin swept the flagstone street alone first thing each morning. For how many years now? She swept away in silence, never pausing to look up. What was she thinking? Of the way Qin Shutian had wielded his broom as if rowing a boat on stage? Of the trick they had played on Li Guoxiang and Wang Qiushe when they lorded it over Hibiscus? Was she looking for Qin's footprints, which had made each flagstone shine? She could not tell his footprints from her own, but they were engraved on the flagstones and on her heart. She drew strength from her memories of the man she loved. Strange, in all these years, shamefully treated as a class enemy and hard put to it to survive, she had never thought of committing suicide. She had learned from Qin how to cope. When summoned to a struggle meeting, she went as calmly as if setting out to work, hung her head before others could yank it down, knelt before they could kick her from behind.... All these struggles had turned her into another "old campaigner", deserving a gold medal. In all those years of ultra-Left contests, why were no gold, silver or bronze medals issued? This way she got off more lightly. At each struggle meeting she knelt motionless facing the townsfolk with no expression on her face as pale as alabaster. Sometimes she raised her big bright eyes to look sadly at the crowd. Was she hoping to arouse their sympathy, to undermine their fighting spirit? Was this a silent protest: "Look, neighbours, I'm Sister Hibiscus who once sold beancurd. I'll kneel to you until you take pity on me and let me go...." Indeed, each time she knelt on the stage during a struggle meeting, the atmosphere was less militant than usual, smelt less strongly of gunpowder. Some people hung their heads unwilling to watch, or the rims of their eyes reddened. Others made an excuse to leave early, though there were militiamen on guard at the doors. The birds in the trees, the plants in a ditch all have their own fate. And so did Hu Yuyin. Everything in life is fated. Otherwise with so many women lazier, more spiteful or more vicious than she was, why had she got into such trouble for working so hard from dawn till dark to sell beancurd? What good were those people who asked for relief every year? Yet the authorities thought highly of them. The magistrates in the old days had despised the poor and pandered to the rich; but now they had gone to the other extreme, victimizing the rich and pandering to the poor, without asking how they had made or lost their money. And a fellow like Wang Qiushe was considered an activist. Well, Yuyin, you've made a fine mess of this life; in your next you'd better be a greedy slacker and hold out your hand for relief. Follow the example of Wang Qiushe, who propped up his rickety stilt-house with wooden buttresses and held on to his poor-peasant status to please higher-ups and be petted by them as an activist in every movement. Well, she had no intention of dying, she would live on shamelessly even though they treated her like a black-hearted devil. She had a true love now, Brother Shutian still in the labour camp, and he had left her their precious little Junjun. So she wouldn't die. Life was worth living no matter how hard. She had raised the boy with kisses and caresses, and now he was eight years old. His dad had been sentenced to ten years' hard labour. Now nine had gone, so he should soon be back. He had written her every month from the labour camp by Dongting Lake, ending each letter with "kisses fro little Junjun". Were they only for Junjun? She knew what her husband meant.... She wrote to him every month, "Junjun sends you a kiss. look after your health and remould yourself well so that you'll be let out earlier. We long for you every day. I've nearly worn my eyes out watching for you. But don't worry, Junjun's growing bigger each year and I'm not all that old. My heart's still young, I've kept it young for you. Don't worry, you mustn't worry." Yes, she still remembered the hundred-odd songs of Wedding Songs, could still sing them all. She and Qin would sing them together when he was released. Did you tell him that in your letters, Yuyin? Don't be afraid, those songs are no secret code, they're just against feudalism, so the warder should give him your letters. Yuyin was up at dawn every day to sweep the street in silence. She wasn't just sweeping but searching for their footprints on the flagstones.... Two years after the fall of the "gang of four" she was notified by the brigade: "Hu Yuyin, you needn't sweep the street any more." But she went on just the same. For one thing she was afraid they might change their minds and accuse her of reversing the verdict against her; for another, she was used to it and wanted to show the townsfolk that she meant to go on until her husband's return. She said nothing, but her heart was brimming with love. In the spring of 1979, the town's revolutionary committee sent a man, who had denounced her and notified her that she was a new rich peasant, to announce: "You were classified wrongly, now we're changing back your status to that of a small trader. The property rights of the new house are yours again, but we want to borrow it for the time being." Yuyin covered her eyes in fright, unable to believe this. Impossible! It must be a dream.... Tears trickled through her fingers, but she held back her sobs. She was afraid to uncover her eyes and find that it was a dream. Impossible.... After being a rich peasant for fifteen years, struggles against so often and forced to kneel, to put up with endless hardships - how could they just say "you were classified wrongly"? Besides they liked playing tricks, and he was one of those who had made her a rich peasant. They were capable of anything. How could they be wrong? So Yuyin did not believe it. She did not believe it till she was shown the directive from the county government, with the bright red seal of the Public Security Bureau. Heavens! She very nearly fainted away. She staggered but did not fall. Those hard years had toughened her. Her face suddenly flushed crimson. Widening her eyes she held out her arms and cried in a ringing voice which even startled herself: "I'm in no hurry for the house or that money. First give me back my man! It's my husband I want!" The cadres of the town's revolutionary committee were astounded. They thought this woman so silent all these years was asking them for Li Guigui who had killed himself in 1964! They blenched. What a woman! Just cleared, her cap removed, instead of kowtowing her thanks she made such an unreasonable demand! Her arms still outstretched, Yuyin went on more quietly, "Give me back my husband.... You put him in prison, sentenced him to ten years - he's only got one more to go. He's not guilty of any crimes...." At that they sighed with relief and hold her with smiles, "Qin Shutian has been cleared too. It was wrong to make him a Rightist. He's to get back his old job. Two evenings ago the provincial radio station broadcast his Wedding Songs." Yuyin laughed hysterically. "So it was all wrong! Brother Shutian's case too! What a joke! heavens, we're back in the new society! The Communist Party's come back - its policies too...." Yuyin in all her forty years had never made such a scene in the street, never laughed so wildly or uncontrollable. She danced for joy, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Thinking she had gone mad, the townsfolk pitied her. When her small son came to tug at her sleeve she picked him up, whirled him round and kissed his cheeks before taking him back to the inn. Once home she threw herself on the bed and sobbed. Why? One should cry for despair not joy! Human beings are strange creatures, for they shed tears to vent both grief and joy. The next day, bright and early, Yuyin took her bamboo broom to sweep the street. Hitherto she had done this in subdued silence, but today she was in high spirits. Now that she was cleared there was no need for her to go on with this sweeping, but she wanted in this way to express her thanks to the townsfolk for not hounding her to death but leaving her a way out. She hadn't come to grief because of them, but because of the policy decided above. And now that her luck had changed, what was shameful about going on sweeping the street? The people who should feel ashamed were the ones who in the new society begged for food, for relief, for subsidies. She had heard that in big cities like Beijing and Shanghai street-sweepers were called sanitation workers, and some of them were people's deputies whose photographs appeared in the newspapers. In fact, Yuyin had another secret reason for getting up so early to sweep the street. She knew that as soon as Qin was notified that he had been cleared, he would hurry back day and night as fast as he could. He had never seen his son, and must wonder how much his wife had aged in nine years. She knew how frantic he must have been feeling. At night she couldn't sleep. But little Junjun slept so soundly that even when she hugged him he didn't wake. Night after night she listened in vain for footsteps, for knocking at the gate. She had a hunch that Qin would come back in the morning. She had heard that the bus from the district to the county arrived in the afternoon. It was sixty li from the county to Hibiscus, and rather than spend a night in town he'd walk along the highway. Yes, walk all night.... By the time the street was swept the sun was up, but still no sign of him. She thought resentfully: Men are so thoughtless. If you can't leave because of some red tape, you should at least write me a letter or send me a wire. I've cricked my neck looking out for you, you wretch! Can you be waiting in the county town to get back your old job? Pah, men set too much store by their careers. She didn't want him to go back to that job which could so easily land him in trouble. Just stay here with Yuyin and look after Junjun. We can till our private plot, raise pigs and poultry and work in the brigade; spruce up our storeyed house and live in comfort.... These years of victimization had left Yuyin rather fearful and suspicious. She was afraid of another change in line and fresh cries of "Down with the new rich peasant!" Militiamen might suddenly hang a black placard on her again, hustle her off to a struggle meeting and force her to kneel. She lived in fear and trembling, hardly able to wait for Brother Shutian to come back. Even if these good times lasted a few days only, they could hold up their heads and walk side by side in the street like other couples, laughing and chatting together. Do hurry up and come back, what's keeping you, brother? If they put those labels on us again before we meet, we can't fight against fate.... This morning was misty with hoarfrost, rather chilly when she went to sweep the street. She felt limp, not having slept well. She had grown tired of watching for her husband. She cried with disappointment every night, and had to change her pillow-case the next morning. If he didn't come back, how could she count as cleared? Life was so futile without him. She felt tempted to go and make a scene, to ask the town's revolutionary committee: Why is my husband still not back? Why haven't you carried out the policy?... She swished her broom over the flagstones, stopping at the corner of the co-op wall to lean against it and rest. Instinctively she peered round at the side gate where Wang Qiushe had come a cropper that year. It was now blocked up with bricks. Who cares! Why think about the past.... As she took up her broom again, she saw a figure with a hold-all striding towards her. He must be hurrying to catch the first bus. Well, should have asked the way. The bus station was in the opposite direction. Still he came striding towards her. She'd wait till he came closer, then direct him.... Her broom swished over the flagstones.... "Yuyin? Yuyin, Yuyin!" Who was calling her so early? She couldn't see too clearly. A tall, lean bearded fellow in new clothes was standing in front of her. He had put down his hold-all and stood stock-still.... Yuyin fell back a step. "Yuyin, Yuyin!" he cried, then held out his arms. To her annoyance she could not make out who he was. She felt dazed. Was he Brother Shutian? Or was she dreaming again? Was he her husband for whom she had been longing? Surely not. How could he appear so easily out of the blue? She trembled, nearly choking. Then at the top of her voice she cried: "Brother Shutian!" Qin threw his strong arms around her, hugging her tight and lifting her off the ground. Yuyin clung to him like a vine, her eyes closed, her face white as carved jade. She let him hug her, pricking her cheeks with his beard, conscious only that her man was back. It wasn't a dream, he was really and truly back. The broom had fallen across the flagstone street. Qin carried Yuyin to the co-op steps to sit down, holding her close to him. "Brother Shutian! You, you...." she sobbed. "Don't cry, Yuyin! Don't cry...." "You didn't write to tell me. Day and night I've been waiting.... I knew you'd hurry back." "What time did I have to write? I was busy catching a steamer, a train, a bus, and then I walked all night, cursing myself for not having wings. I covered a thousand li in only three days. Are you still not happy, Yuyin?" "It's for you I've kept living, brother." "That goes for me too. If not for you, I'd have drowned myself in Dongting Lake." Yuyin suddenly stopped crying, threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. "My beard's too long, I didn't stop to shave it." "How does a man know what's in a woman's heart?" "I know your heart." "Each morning sweeping the street I called your name and spoke to you - did you know that?" "I knew. Each morning cutting reeds or dredging mud from the lake, I answered you. I knew you were sweeping the street, starting up at that end and stopping here to rest. I could hear the swish of your broom." "Hold me! Hold me tight! I'm cold." She nestled up to him as if afraid he might suddenly let go of her and vanished. "Yuyin, Yuyin ... what a hard life you've had, love...." It was Qin's turn to cry. "You've been through hell because of me.... I shall never able to make it up to you. All these years my one wish was to come back to see you once more.... I never dreamed Old Man Heaven would open his eyes and let us start living as human beings again...." Yuyin stroked his unkempt hair and said smoothly, "I'm not crying, brother, so why should you? 'He will love her all his life.' I remember mum telling me: Someone who's loved can win through any hardships.... That's what I've felt all these years - we've come together again. Let's get up now. If early risers see us sitting on the co-op stops like this, how they'll laugh!" Qin was still shedding tears as they stood up. Like a young couple head over heels in love they went back arm-in-arm to the inn. "Junjun's eight now, isn't he? Will he call me dad?" "I taught him to long ago. Every day he asks when his dad will be back, he can hardly wait.... But listen to me, I won't have it if you dote on the boy and leave me out in the cold." "What nonsense you do talk!" The Knell of an Age This spring saw a great change in the Hibiscus market. In the past when folk from the hills had gone there to peddle furs, herbs and other mountain products, they had to have eyes in the back of their heads to see which way the wind was blowing. It was forbidden to sell grain, tea oil, peanuts, soya beans, cotton, timber, pigs, cows and goats, of which the state had the monopoly. As for pork and beef, they rarely tasted these from one end of the year to the other, being forced to sell even their suckling-pigs. The townsfolk's meat ration was half a pound per head a month, sometimes only obtainable through the back door. Oddly enough this shortage was used by the press to publicize modern medicine. Animal fat had a high cholesterol content, conducive to hardening of the arteries, high blood pressure and heart disease; thus many countries had cut down their meat consumption to eat more coarse grains and vegetables, the cellulose of which was good for the health. Someone plump and ruddy might suddenly drop dead; being lean could lengthen your life. What amazing tricks time played! Little over two years after the fall of the "gang" a completely new age started for the townsfolk. Now Hibiscus had a market six times a month. To it flocked gaily dressed Yao and Zhuang girls with sparkling silver trinkets, smartly turned out Han youngsters, housewives and householders with bulging purses, beaming with satisfaction. Some came in couples or small groups, carrying loads of lush shallots or crisp, fresh cabbages, cratefuls or basketfuls of speckled eggs and pale green ducks' eggs, or pushing barrows loaded with live fish. Some cycled there with a smiling girl on their carrier.... They came streaming in from all sides by highways and byways, and set up their stalls along New Street and Old Street. The little town rang with their voices.... Today what aroused most attention were a new rice market and a meat market. White rice, red rice, coarse rice, polished rice - you could take your pick then haggle over the price. For the new policy allowed commune members who had sold their quota to the state to sell their surplus products in this market. The meat market was an impressive sight, like a display of home-raised pigs where you looked for the biggest sides, the thinnest skin and the most succulent pork. "Reckon that pig weighs about three hundred pounds, eh?" "Three hundred! Not worth fattening any more." "Ha, it's run to fat, too little lean, the wife dislikes too much grease...." "No pleasing you, is there, comrade? Think back two years to that half a pound ration a month, when you'd no oil to fry your vegetables. Now you don't like fat, want more lean!" Yes, the times had certainly changed. Even on days when there was no market, the butchers in Old Street and New Street sold pork from morning to night. A new contradiction cropped up in the co-op: the commune members delivered more pigs than they could take. The town was too small to have a refrigeration plant, the commune members couldn't get rid of their pigs, and how could the state sell so many? The supply exceeded the demand - a far cry from the old days. The townsfolk did not know what exactly was meant by the "four modernizations", but already they were having a taste of their advantages. They also had cause for concern. With memories of the past fresh in their minds, some of them wondered uneasily if the ultra-Left line would make a sudden come-back and stamp out these hopeful new developments. Would their lives be filled again with slogans, theories, struggles and political movements instead of oil, salt, fuel and rice for their daily needs.... This seemed a real possibility. Since Wang Qiushe went mad he had slouched through New Street and Old Street every day, bright golden Chairman Mao badges on his ragged tunic, howling like a banshee: "Never forget class struggle!" "Every five or six years we'll have a new cultural revolution." His eerie shrieks could be heard all over Hibiscus. In the daytime when the townsfolk saw him coming, they ran indoors and shut their gates. After dark his howls made their hair stand on end. Yuyin, now an attendant in the beancurd shop on Old Street, would spill a bowl of soup at the sound. In the homes of the tax-officer and head of the co-op, just reinstated, these yells made the grown-ups shed tears, the children cry. It was hard to sleep at night. The stilt-house owner was still plaguing Hibiscus. The apprehensive townsfolk swore at him. As Sister Hibiscus fondled her little son's head she worried, "Crazy Wang isn't going to starve or freeze to death, how many years will he live?" Li Mangeng's wife Peppery demanded, "Does that crazy Wang, stark bonkers, expect to be mayor or secretary again, forcing us to recite quotations and dance the loyalty dance?" Her husband, brigade Party secretary, told her, "Never mind that lunatic! In our new society led by the Party, hoodlums like Wang Qiushe won't get anywhere. We've learned a bitter lesson." Gu Yanshan the "soldier from the north", now secretary of the town committee, was too busy cleaning up Hibiscus River and Jade-leaf Stream to express any opinion. Instead he decided to have Wang sent to the district's mental hospital for treatment - sending off the God of Plague. Qin Shutian, the deputy head of the county's cultural centre, had recently come back to Hibiscus to collect folk-songs. His comment showed the wide range of his experience and understanding. "Nowadays aren't there raving lunatics wandering through most cities and towns? They're sounding the knell of a terrible, tragic age."