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12

Farewell Beijing, Farewell Dear Ones

We spent Spring Festival in a 24-hour hubbub. Director Wu and Comrade Huang came to wish F a happy Spring Festival. Then they got round to the purpose of the visit: we were to leave Beijing and make a new home in Chengdu in Sichuan. F’s face fell and any trace of a smile vanished from it. I was also shocked.

Seeing us dumbstruck, Director Wu gave a small lecture: ‘Chengdu is, as you know, a land of plenty, with a good environment and beautiful scenery. It’s a far better place than here. We’ve made arrangements. They’ll find you a nice house. As for work,’ he said, pointing at me, ‘we’ve arranged for you to join the archive section of the Provincial Cultural Bureau. You’ll be a cadre under the Ministry of the Interior. There’ll be no problem about your son changing schools, he can join any school you want. Sichuan University is very famous.’

He had probably already discussed it with Xiaogu, our elder son, who said, ‘Sichuan University is famous nationwide. I can travel down from Xi’an to see you.’

Younger son said, ‘It’s only a few months before I finish school, I want to complete my senior high here.’

Everyone waited for F to speak. He said, ‘I would prefer to stay in Beijing, even on a reform-through-labour farm. Beijing is the heart of the nation, here I can feel its beat. It’s easier to study in Beijing, it will help my thought reform. The southwest is a long way away, we would have to start from scratch. I’m already 64. My remaining years are precious, I would like to do some research and translating. In Beijing there are libraries I can use. If I go to the southwest, I will be old and useless, an old criminal.’

‘We’ve thought about it from every angle. We can create excellent conditions for you to work and study. The provincial Department of Public Security can help you.’

Comrade Huang said, ‘If there are problems, you can write to us.’

They asked me what I thought. I said, ‘It’s good of you to find me a job, obviously I’m grateful. But I too would prefer to stay in Beijing. If it’s not convenient for us to live here, we can go somewhere more remote. I don’t need to be a cadre, I would like to be a worker.’

‘We want to ensure your safety. This is a decision of the Central Committee.’

Xiaogu said, ‘It’s true, mum, you should have a new life, you shouldn’t stay at home looking after us. You’ve spent half a lifetime caring for us. Dad’s still in good health. The time has come for you to serve the masses, to give free rein to your talents.’

F felt as if he were being banished. He would never again be able to do literary work. In his lonely cell, he had continued to recite poetry to himself and had worked out in his mind drafts of the articles he intended to write. Now all his hopes were shattered. There were no words to describe his grief. I understood, but had no way of consoling him.

I made a suggestion. What about if he wrote a personal letter to Premier Zhou Enlai asking to be allowed to stay in Beijing? He didn’t accept my proposal. Instead, he said I should insist on not going to Sichuan. ‘I’ve lost my freedom. I’m not qualified to make requests. But you are a free person.’ I was also reluctant to go to Sichuan, where I had no one. And I had an additional reason: the police station had promised to remove my hat, but I had stopped attending the study sessions after F was let out and didn’t know where I stood. Here it would be easier to remove the hat. So I had good reason not to want to go to a place where I would have to start all over again.

We spent the whole time moping. It was snowing, and although it wasn’t cold indoors, we no longer took pleasure in sitting together by the stove. When the weather cleared up, I suggested F and I climb the Jingshan. He had never been to Jingshan Park, and had never seen the scholar tree from which the Chongzhen Emperor hanged himself. We followed the path to the Wanchun Pavilion. He hadn’t walked or climbed for ten years, but he was not in the least exhausted, and he even out-walked his elder son. The red bricks and green tiles of the Forbidden City were covered in snow. Some of the shrubs that grew out of the cracks between the roof tiles were still upright, their withered branches fluttering in the wind, as if announcing that ‘Spring is coming, and I’ll put out new leaves, emerald green, towering proudly over you’, because it’s a shrub growing on an imperial roof. But little does it know that one day it will be hacked down and uprooted.

Old Chen suggested we visit the Art Gallery to see Rent Collection Courtyard. The Ministry of Public Security had got us some invitation tickets. During the war, we had spent six or seven years in the countryside in Sichuan. Now that they were again talking of sending us to Sichuan, it was interesting for us to see Rent Collection Courtyard. I don’t like clay sculpture, but it re-awakened my wish to re-study old issues and materials. The tenant farmers’ life of cruel exploitation reappeared before our eyes, together with the sight of girls and boys labelled for sale on market day. We had never seen the illegal punishments meted out by the landlords or the dungeons filled waist-high with water.

In the afternoon, we went to see The East Is Red. Old Chen told F to write down his feelings about it. He wrote, ‘Ancestral country, I heard your heartbeat – thoughts after my visit.’ He added that to study even better and strengthen his thought reform even further, he hoped to be allowed to stay in Beijing, under whatever mode of life.

Director Wu came to see us, accompanied by Comrade Huang. He said, ‘The leadership has concluded that it would be best for you to go to Sichuan. Originally the idea was to send you to Yunnan, but then it was judged unsafe, because of the Vietnam War. But Chengdu is a lovely place, and a house has been arranged for you there. They’re even preparing a toilet. You can do your writing. But the main thing is to strengthen your thought reform. You can look up old friends, as long as you tell the organisation.’

F said, ‘The people I’d like to see would not necessarily want to see me; and I don’t want to see those who would like to see me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m afraid of implicating them.’

‘You worry too much. Isn’t Nie Gannu your old friend? You can see him.’

After that, he took me aside. I was looking for a chance to explain why I didn’t want to leave Beijing. The main thing was my hat. I even said let him go, and I’ll join him when the hat has been removed.

‘This is a directive from the organisation, you must obey it. We can send on the materials. They can remove your hat there. You must help us talk Hu Feng round. You can write to me directly if anything happens.’

‘I’m already over 50. It would be better not to work at all than make mistakes and get criticised.’

They had separate talks with the children. We were left with no room for doubt: ‘Don’t be irresolute, forget your misgivings. Go to Sichuan. It’s been decided, the Central Committee has agreed – what’s more, they hope you can go a bit earlier.’ Looking out of the window, ‘This isn’t safe, we’re doing this for your sake.’

The children, including our new son-in-law, all urged us to go. The son-in-law even said that he and our daughter would also go, that Director Wu would help them get jobs and they could look after us. Younger son would finish school here and elder son would go back to Xi’an. I was in a fluster, unable to make a decision. The children wanted me to get a job, but F suspected that I wanted to go to Sichuan so I could become a cadre, that I didn’t want to help him stay in Beijing. He didn’t realise it was a Central Committee decision.

I suggested that F see Old Nie and Big Sister Ying and hear their views. Big Sister Ying promised to come the next afternoon.

When old friends meet for the first time in ten years, it can be both happy and bleak. Each has gone through hard times. Each has progressed from the promise of youth to the decline into old age. Each says, you’ve grown old. The wrinkles and white hairs of a decade, the bitter memories.

F said to Old Nie, ‘I never thought you would be implicated, that they would take your Party card away. I should have been less gullible. My friends paid a big price!’

‘There’s no escaping fate.’

They talked about things that had happened after their separation, and started discussing poetry. I steered Ying away and poured out my worries. Perhaps she could help me find a way of talking F round.

She thought aloud for a while, unable to make up her mind, and then surprised me by saying, ‘I think you should go to Sichuan. Beijing is not a good place. They may launch another movement – those left behind could easily get into trouble. If you have the chance of leaving, take it – the further the better.’

She saw how surprised I was. ‘You don’t know. The row surrounding Hai Rui Dismissed from Office might deepen. The Beijing Municipal Party Committee might not be able to stay out of it. It’s not a simple issue, that’s obvious from the Editorial Note.’

We returned to the small room. Old Nie also thought it would be better to leave Beijing. He even said, ‘When you’re settled, we’ll come too.’

F told Old Nie with deep feeling, ‘You should continue with your Zhuangzi and write your novel, for example by adapting Journey to the West or Legend of the White Snake. Bai Suzhen is a strong woman opposed to feudalism, she is worthy of a book. Research Dream of the Red Chamber from an aesthetic point of view.’

Big Sister Ying butted in, ‘Don’t be so pessimistic. You’ve been beaten and punished, what else can they do? If they let you out, they’re bound to let you work. Look at those war criminals, some are commission members and even commissioners. I spend all my time filing away materials for them, can you believe that?’

Everyone was moved by what she said. Our pent-up feelings seemed to dissipate.

‘Old Hu has one big fault, he thinks too much, and ends up creating anxieties for himself.’

The two men who in the past had drained glass after glass now sipped sparingly. I had bought a bottle of their favourite bamboo-leaf wine, but neither showed much interest. They were old men, in their sixties. When they talked of old friends, each sighed. Quite a few of them had been branded rightists. Big Sister Ying said, ‘You stayed out of trouble in 1955 but in 1957 you couldn’t escape. There are so many movements, it’s not surprising. I felt my heart was in the right place. By raising criticisms, I was trying to help the Party rectify itself. How was I to know I would be called anti-Party? But I learned from the experience. Old Hu, in future do as you’re told and you can’t go wrong!’

‘What do you mean, do as I’m told? Don’t you listen to the Party?’

‘Of course! But listen or not, we don’t understand, so we’re bound to go wrong.’

All things considered, we enjoyed a lively evening.

Before leaving, Old Nie said, ‘Old Tian would love to see you. Is that all right?’

‘No! His situation is not much better than ours. Don’t get him into trouble again on my account. He can write a letter.’

Shortly afterwards, I phoned to tell Old Nie and his wife the date of our departure. The same evening, Old Nie arrived, to see us off.

He and F had a long talk. From it, I sensed Old Nie had changed a lot. He thought deeply about things and boldly expressed his opinions, which was not easy. He had learned caution and was no longer negligent and unworldly. He had become a thinker.

From a paper wrapping he took out a poem he had written. It moved F greatly, and the two of them discussed it. He also gave F a set of the 80-chapter Dream of the Red Chamber edited by Yu Pingbo and some volumes of Romances of the Red Mansion and The Resolution of the Dream of the Red Chamber, for F to do some studies on it.

They took affectionate leave of one another. I watched Old Nie vanish into the cold air, a windcheater on his thin, tall frame, along the sparsely populated road.

F was depressed at the thought of going to Sichuan, and suggested visiting the Lu Xun Museum. I hadn’t dared go ever since it opened, but now was an opportune moment.

He inspected the photos from which his image had been erased. He betrayed not a flicker of emotion. He asked the guide some questions. Where were the manuscripts kept? Were all the books kept here? How many visitors came? Did they include young people? It was midwinter, and the exhibition hall seemed deserted. But the guide said students usually came in groups and quite a few people came from outside the capital. That cheered F up.

Finally, F agreed to go to Sichuan. All that remained was to fix the date. The Ministry of Public Security pressed us to leave at once and said letting the family spend Spring Festival together had been a special favour and there could be no extension.

I saw off elder son and then got some bedding and luggage ready for younger son’s school. It was heartrending, especially for Xiaoshan, who had been alone for more than five years following his eighth birthday. I had only been able to dream of him, and would wake in tears. For the last few years, we had depended on each other for survival, and now he was off to fend for himself and I was to follow F to far-away Sichuan, to face an uncertain future. Packing his clothes, I wept.

I only intended to take a few clothes and books, and then request a permanent transfer back to Beijing once F had completed his sentence. However, he was determined not to return to Beijing and wanted to take everything. I couldn’t deal with his extremist attitude, so we even took his four shelves of books. The Ministry of Public Security engaged some packers to help. Four women packers packed dozens of pieces of luggage in wood and cardboard. I admired their efficiency and sense of duty. The only thing I worried about was whether the glass bookcase would survive. It had cost 80 yuan and was F’s favourite possession.

On February 15, the Ministry of Public Security sent a station wagon to take us, our daughter, our son-in-law, Comrade Huang, and two other comrades to the station. On the platform, our younger son rushed up to us. We were escorted to a soft-sleeper compartment. Two men jumped down from the upper berths and introduced themselves. They had been sent from Sichuan to fetch us. I could speak Sichuan dialect, and we had a friendly chat. Comrade Huang went to say hello to the carriage attendant, and then politely took his leave.