Becoming Madame Mao (27 page)

Yes. Was one of the articles titled "The Great Empty Words"?

He nods. It is an attack!

She tells herself to be patient. She sees the hand that is working to change her fate. She leans toward him, her voice filled with tears. Chairman, your enemies are getting ready to harm you.

He turns to her and smiles.

Unable to bear his gaze she looks away.

If there is a trade that I have mastered in my life it is that I crack people-nuts, he suddenly says. The harder the better.

I am ready to fight alongside you, Chairman.

Have you some ideas?

Yes.

Let's hear them.

She begins to describe her cultural troupes, describes the plays she has been working on. All the characters are symbolic. Although the conditions for creativity are poor—for example, actors work in their backyards and use kitchenware as props—their devotion, enthusiasm and potential are great. She tells him that she is ready to bring the troupe to Beijing to present to him.

Stay out of Beijing, he instructs. Do it in Shanghai. Talk to my friend Ke Qin-shi, the mayor of Shanghai, for production funds. He is loyal. I would go out myself to support you but it would be too obvious. Go to Ke with my message. You represent me. Get writers you trust. Call for a national denunciation and criticism of
Hairui Dismissed from Office.
It'll be a test balloon. If there is a response, we shall put our worry aside. But if there isn't a response, we are in trouble.

She is unable to utter another word, so happy that she feels that she must bid good-bye to hide her emotion.

He takes a drag on his cigarette and walks her to the door. Just a moment, Jiang Ching, he says and waits to have her full attention. You have complained that I have caged you. You might be right. It's been twenty-some years, hasn't it? Forgive me. I was forced to do so. I am in a tough position. At any rate, I am putting an end to it. You have paid enough. Now go out to the world and break the spell.

She throws herself on his chest.

He holds her and calms her.

In her tears dawn comes to display its extraordinariness.

***

The secretary tells me that Mayor Ke has come two hours earlier to wait for my arrival. It is ceremonial. It is to show his courtesy. I tell the secretary that the mayor's hospitality is appreciated.

The noiseless car takes me to number 1245 Hua-shan Road. Mayor Ke sits next to me and writes down every word I say. I send him Mao's regards and tell him that I need to find writers.

Can't Madame locate good writers in Beijing? Doesn't the imperial city attract fine intellects?

I smile. A smile that demonstrates absolute secrecy. A smile Mayor Ke reads and understands. The mayor is from peasant stock and has a head that reminds me of an onion. He is in a white cotton garment. A pair of black cotton sandals. A costume the Party cadres wear to show their revolutionary origin. Antileather shoes means anti-bourgeois. I am sure you'll produce results that will be to Mao's satisfaction, I say. I let him take his time, let him count his fingers and figure out his profit margin.

Mayor Ke asks me to answer one question. One question and that will be all. I nod. Are writers in Beijing no longer dependable?

I don't say a word.

He gets it. Gets that Mao regards Shanghai as his new base. Gets that Mao is ready to flatten Beijing.

The next morning Mayor Ke calls and says that he is sending a writer named Chun-qiao to my villa. Chun-qiao is the editor-in-chief of the newspaper
Shanghai Wen-hui.
He is the best I have ever known, he says.

Send Comrade Chun-qiao the Chairman's warmest hello, I say.

Two hours later Chun-qiao arrives. Welcome to Shanghai, Madame Mao. He bows to shake my hand. He is walking-stick thin and a smoker. After a few minutes of conversation I find his mind scissor-sharp.

Shanghai can do anything Madame desires. He smiles with all his teeth sprouting.

My first night in Shanghai I have difficulty sleeping. The city reminds me of how I used to eat my heart out over Tang Nah and Dan and how I longed for Junli's attention. There was not a spot of unbroken skin on my mind's body. How heroically I fought fate. My youth was a splendid bonfire with herbs of passion that smelled strongly. I have never forgotten the scent of Shanghai.

The night is bittersweet and tearful. I can't help but recall the past. My suffering. The struggle, the feeling of being entangled in my own intestines, crouching, but unable to fight back. Slowly, the dirt track of memory disappears into the flat of the horizon. I watch my sentiments burn and I scatter the ashes. I realize that if I can't live a life tending my vineyards in the sun, I have to learn to trust my own instincts. In that sense I am truly my name.
Jiang Ching. Green comes out of blue but is richer than blue.

Chun-qiao proves himself to be a good choice. He has a clear sense of who I am. He treats me as Mao's equal. With the same regard he fights for my ideas, my thoughts and extends my strength. People say that he never smiles. But when he sees me he blooms like a rose. Behind his thick glasses, his eyes look like polliwogs. The pupils are never still. He tells me that I have given him a new life. I think he means a ladder to political heaven. He tells me that he has been waiting for a moment like this for many years. He is born to devote his life to a cause, to be a faithful premier to an emperor.

She appreciates Chun-qiao's commentary. Day after day his paper calls her "the red-flag bearer" and "the guardian force of Maoism." The articles list her deeds as a revolutionary and the closest assistant to Mao. Chun-qiao places his emphasis on Mao's growing opposition. "Without a guardian angel like Comrade Jiang Ching, China's future will shatter."

The drum beats. The actress warms up to her role. Setting out to influence others, she is unaware how susceptible she is to her own propaganda. She has never lacked for passion. She begins to sound her role in daily life. It becomes her style to open her speeches with these words:
Sometimes I feel too weak to hold the sky of Chairman Mao, but I force myself to stand up, because to sustain Mao is to sustain China; to die for Mao is to die for China.

The more she speaks, the faster she blends into her role. Soon there is no difference. Now she can't open her mouth without mentioning that the People's Great Savior Mao is in danger. She finds the phrase binds her to the audience—the heroine risks her life for the legend. She is moved herself when she repeats the lines. Once again she is in Mao's cave; once again she feels his hands creeping up inside her shirt; and once again the passion finds its way back to her.

She grows energetic and healthy. The public's response to the media is feverish. Wherever she goes, she receives welcome and admiration. Shanghai's arts and theater circles come to embrace her. Young talents line up at her feet and beg the chance to offer their lives. Save your gift for Chairman Mao, she says. She pats their shoulders and gives them affectionate handshakes. Wasting no time, Chun-qiao develops loyalists and forms what he calls Madame Mao's Modern Red Base.

In the process of recreating herself, she studies Chun-qiao's writing and recites his lines at public rallies. In May she takes a trip back to Beijing to check on Mao.

***

My husband is not in. He has gone south and has disappeared in the beautiful landscape of the West Lake. When I send his secretary a telegram asking for an appointment to meet and update him with my progress, he sends me a poem about the famous lake as a reply.

Years ago I have seen the picture of this
I didn't believe such beauty existed under heaven
Today I am passing through the lake
I conclude that the picture needs work

I feel that he may finally be ready to reopen his heart to me. I can never forget the poem he sent to Fairlynn and how much it hurt me. The virgins I can forgive. Yes, I resented him, but I never hated him. Even in my worst times I never wished him overthrown. God makes strange twists. Here he is, put in front of me to be helped. I have never been superstitious until now.

We are floating on the West Lake. It is a golden autumn. Reeds are thick and the cattails are out. The dike is lined with hanging willows. Parts of the lake are covered by lotus leaves. Connected to the shore by a bridge are pavilions of various styles built throughout the dynasties. The place has intricate rocks and is surrounded with poplars, peach and apricot trees. The famous Broken Bridge is made of white marble and granite, has a thin arched beltlike body.

There is no one else but the two of us.

Mao seems absorbed by the beauty. After a while he raises his chin to feel the sun on his face.

My memories are rushing back to me. The Yenan days and earlier. I am in tears. It is not for love but for what I have endured. The way I have once again rescued myself. The triumph of my will and my refusal to give up.

Did I tell you how I first got to know the West Lake? Mao suddenly speaks, eyes focused on a faroff pavilion. It was from a painted ceramic jar of poor quality brought to me by an elderly relative who had visited the place. The print on the jar was a map of the highlights of the lake. The water, trees, pavilions, temples, bridges and galleries. They were all clearly illustrated and accompanied by elegant titles. As a country boy I had little chance to encounter pictures so I took the jar to my room and studied it. Over the years I became so familiar with the scenes that they entered my dreams. When I visited the lake later on as a grown man I felt that it was a place I knew very well. It was like reentering my old dreams.

***

What? Does anybody dare not to listen to Chairman Mao? Chun-qiao's voice is filled with shock.

Jiang Ching rocks her chin as her tone becomes mysterious. I have Chairman Mao's full support to counterattack. She repeats the phrase as if she enjoys hearing the sound of it.

Full support! Chun-qiao exhales and claps his hands.

Here is my analysis of the situation, Jiang Ching goes on.
Hairui Dismissed from Office
is the key.

Chun-qiao sits back and combs his hair with his fingers. For you, Madame Mao, I'm willing to soak my pen with the juice of my brain.

She offers her hand for him to shake and then gently whispers into his ear: Soon the seats of the Politburo will be vacant and someone has to fill them up.

I don't drink, but today I want to show that I put my life in your hands. Come on, Chun-qiao, bottoms up.

We drink mai tais. It is past midnight. Our spirits are still high. We are finalizing the details of our plan. We are picking partners for the job.

Chun-qiao suggests his disciple Yiao Wen-yuan, who is the head of the Bureau of Propaganda in Shanghai. I have been paying attention to this man. He began to show his political talent during the antirightist movement. He is known for his criticism of Ba-jin's book
Humanity.
He is a heavy-duty weapon. People call him "the Golden Stick." His pen has put down many unshakable figures.

Good! We need golden sticks, I reply. Iron sticks and steel sticks. Our rivals are tigers with steel teeth.

Her next meeting with Mao sets history in motion.

November 10,1965. The curtain of the epic of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution lifts. It is quiet in the beginning, like the changing of the tides. The sound pushes in from a distance. After eight months of round-the-clock preparation, Jiang Ching, Chun-qiao and Yiao complete their draft entitled "On the Play
Hairui Dismissed from Office.
"

Mao reviews and revises the draft. A week later it appears in the
Shanghai Wen-hui.

No one, from the Politburo to the congress, takes the article seriously. No one talks about it. No other paper reprints it. Like a rock thrown in a dry well, there is not a sound.

Jiang Ching enters Mao's study the nineteenth day after the publication. She tries to hide her excitement.

The resistance is obvious, she begins. Her voice is tightly controlled. It is an organized silence.

My husband turns toward the window and looks out. Zhong-nan-hai Lake is bathed in bright moonlight. The sea of trees is draped with silver rays. The shadows are velvet black. Not far in the distance, among the mists of fog, stand the pavilions of Yintai and Phoenix where every bit of grass, wood, brick and tile tells a story.

It is here Emperor Guang-xu was held hostage by the empress dowager. Mao speaks suddenly as he always does. The first vice president of the republic of China, Li Hong-yuan, was under house arrest on the same spot. Do you think they would dare?

We are all set to go, Chairman. Your health is the nation's fortune.

Have you printed the article as a handbook? Mao asks.

I have, but the bookstores in Beijing are uninterested. Only three thousand copies have been reluctantly stocked—compared to Vice Chairman Liu's
On a Communist's Self-Cultivation,
which has sold six million.

Did you relay the situation to the head of the Cultural Bureau, Lu Din-yi?

I did. His comment was "It is an academic issue."

Mao gets up and spits tea leaves from his mouth. Down with the Cultural Bureau and the Beijing City Committee! Let's stir the country. Tell the masses to shake the enemy's boats. The revolution must be renewed.

Your order has been placed.

The first couple of China utilize their power to its full capacity. Through the media Mao launches the movement.
Let the Cultural Revolution he a soul-purifying process,
the papers quote Mao.
The old order has to he abandoned. A foot worker should be able to enter an opera hall free of charge; a sick son of a peasant should receive the same medical care as his provincial governor; an orphan should be able to obtain the highest education; and elders, the handicapped and the disabled should receive free public health care.

In a few months, creating chaos becomes a way of life. Looting is not only encouraged, but called an act to "help one depart from evil seduction." To follow Mao's teaching becomes a ritual practice, a new religion. In Madame Mao's twenty-four-hour propaganda there is nothing left of Mao but Buddha himself.