Becoming Madame Mao (36 page)

My bodyguards come back emptyhanded. There is a security rule that no fireworks are allowed in front of the Grand Hall of the People.

Well, I don't care. I am Jiang Ching! Bring firecrackers to me in twenty minutes or you're fired! Steal them if you have to!

A half-hour later, the bodyguards arrive with cases of firecrackers.

The bullet sounds begin. The fireworks cover the sky. The crackers bounce up and down and side to side. I laugh to tears. I hate Mao. I hate myself for walking this path.

When the head of the hall's security comes and tries to stop me I throw an "earth dragon" at him. The firecrackers shoot out like magic ropes encircling him and leaving black burning dots on his clothes.

My bodyguards follow me. They "shoot" him in the chest and feet and finally he backs off.

***

She changes. The rhythm of her temper reflects Mao's mood and his treatment of her. In public she is more than ever a Mao zealot. She resides in Shanghai and makes all members of her opera troupes wear army uniforms. She tells them that every performance should be taken as seriously as a battle. To her it is more than true. She feels that she has to fight for the right to breathe. She becomes hysterical and nervous. Nothing lasts forever, she comments out of nowhere. When she has a good night's sleep she wakes up thinking about her past. One day she reveals a secret to her favorite opera singer. You know, this is the exact same stage where I played Nora.

She wonders where actor Dan has been. The last time she saw him was on the screen. He had been playing emperors and heroes of all sorts. The image is still magnificent and irresistible. Since the Cultural Revolution his name has disappeared from the papers and magazines. She suddenly desires him. She now understands why the empress dowager was obsessed with actors. Fed yet feeling hungry. Breathing yet feeling buried alive. There is this need to hold on to fantasies.

She can't touch them but keeps them as possessions. She is surrounded by handsome and intelligent men. Men in whose eyes she sees herself once again as a goddess. Her favorite men are Yu Hui-yong the composer, Haoliang the opera actor, Liu Qing-tang the dancer and Zhuang Zedong the world table-tennis champion. There is only one man who won't get down on his knees before her. It is Dan. She burns for him, for she appreciates his genius—compared to the emperors he portrays, Mao is like a fake. And yet she can't stand him. In front of him she feels defeated.

They meet again when she is taking a short break at West Lake. They happen to stay in the same hotel. Dan has been doing research for
Biography of Lu Xun
—a movie he dreams of making. They run into each other in the lobby. She recognizes him but he doesn't acknowledge her. She follows him to his room and he is surprised. They shake hands. She is restless that night. A handshake is no longer enough for her. The next time they meet she hugs him. Her arms circle his neck and then her lips seek his mouth.

He freezes but doesn't remove himself. The kiss lasts long seconds. He is a good actor. Finally she lets him go.

They sit facing each other in a teahouse. He compliments her on how good she looks.
The highest place is the coldest,
she responds, quoting an ancient poem.

His face turns pale but he goes along with the performance. She convinces herself that he is just as interested. They discuss art. She tells him that his role as the Ching dynasty marshal has been her favorite. He asks if she could lift the ban. There is silence. She asks if he has ever thought of her all these years. He smiles and gives no reply at first. After a while he says, Buddha always grants me the opposite of what I pray for.

She smiles. I'll grant what you have been praying for tonight.

He pauses and says, But I have become a man of empty guts.

In my eyes, you are forever the daring Dan. Tell me what happened to you after
Doll's House.
How is Lucy?

There has been a string of bad luck, he sighs. I was imprisoned as a Communist suspect by Chiang Kai-shek. I was sent to a prison in Xin-jiang Desert for five years. Lucy was told that I was dead and she married my friend Du Xuan. I—

Dan, I'd like to share tears with you tonight. We will drink the imperial liquor I brought from Beijing. We will have a good time. Here—my key.

She waits and imagines. She counts the minutes. Half past ten and Dan still hasn't shown up—he has checked out of the hotel.

The air bites and the water poisons. She feels like she is losing her own feet while plotting to possess other people's new shoes.

For his action Dan is put away. The excuse is a typical Cultural Revolution dunce cap label:
Chiang Kai-shek's agent.
The cell reminds Dan of a movie set he once was in while playing an underground Communist. The wall is three feet thick and thirty feet into the earth. He lives in total darkness and is given two bowls of thin porridge a day. He is also given tools to end his own life.

For fifteen years Dan fights to see the light. I couldn't even manage to walk a block after I got out, Dan says when he was released after Madame Mao's downfall in 1977. My second wife tried to divorce me. My children demonstrated their resentment by joining the Red Guards. At a public rally my son took a whip and hit me.

How can I tell life from a movie?

***

The footage is disappointing. The direction is stiff and the performance superficial. The lighting has too much shadow and the camera frames the wrong angle. Before lunch I order the production shut down. Everyone is terrified. It makes me feel a little better. But my good time doesn't last. Someone is sticking his neck out for my bullets. What timing! He is a producer. He says we should go on filming. Chairman Mao has instructed us to promote the operas. We shouldn't stop working on the assignment of honor. The biggest idiot in China now is the one who doesn't know how to read my mind. So I order him fired on the spot. You see, I can do this effortlessly. There is no need to beg anybody.

The key actress cries and thinks that she is the reason I am upset. I fire her too. I can't stand pitiful characters! I wish I could fire myself too. This is a horrible role I'm playing. There is no way to make it shine. Nothing is working. My role is laughable. I have the power to shut the nation down but I can't achieve one individual's affection.

Her mood starts to change drastically. Half of the crew members are fired within a month. The productions have turned into a mess. Finally the cameras stop rolling. Still she looks for the enemy. Trapped deeper and deeper in her own misery she sees poison in her bowl and a murderer behind every wall.

***

The lady of the mansion, Shang-guan Yun-zhu, has been trying to contact her lover Mao since morning. She wants to tell him that she has been reading poems about the Great Void. She is tired of her role as a mistress and is sick of the endless waiting. She wants to tell him how she misses acting. She has been watching movies produced by the Shanghai Film Studio and has recognized roles which originally were created for her. She wants to tell him about the threatening calls from Jiang Ching's agents asking her to "count her days." But she can't reach Mao—her phone has been disconnected and her maids have disappeared.

Shadows are cast over Shang-guan's mind. She senses her own ending. She imagines Madame Mao Jiang Ching's laughter as she recites a thirteenth-century verse:

Flower-gathering girls have dropped out of sight
Suddenly
For sightseeing I feel disinclined
Rover that I am
I rush through all the scenes
Grief deprives me of what pleasure I can find

Last year
Swallows flew away horizon-far
Who on earth knows in whose house this year they are
Stop, will you?
Don't listen to the rain at night in the third moon
For it cannot help blossoms to appear soon

It's time, she murmurs, slowly closing the book.

They were in the middle of lovemaking. Mao was sitting on a sofa and Shang-guan Yun-zhu was on his lap. He was enjoying photographs of her movies, the roles she had played. You are a pearl.

She smiled and bent over. A string of fresh jasmine dangled from her ears.

He grabs her and begins to undress her.

She feels him and feels her love for him.

Don't be sad, I'll make it work someday, he says.

She shook her head. I am afraid.

Oh, heaven! How I miss you! Have mercy. Come on. Oh, you cold beauty. You're stone-hearted.

The more he caressed her the sadder she became. What about tomorrow? Yet she dared not ask. She had asked before and it had driven him away.

Shang-guan was flattered but concerned when Mao first pursued her. At first she refused to be disloyal to her husband, Mr. Woo, an associate director, a humble man at the Shanghai Film Studio. But it didn't stop Mao. Soon the problem was solved by Kang Sheng. Mr. Woo offered his wife. The next problem was Madame Mao Jiang Ching. Shang-guan was not able to overcome her fear, to which task Mao again assigned Kang Sheng. Kang Sheng kept Shang-guan a secret from Jiang Ching until he learned that Mao and Jiang Ching had reunited—Mao didn't mind sacrificing Shang-guan in order to please Jiang Ching.

It was not that Shang-guan lacked perspective. She had entered show business at a young age and had learned its nature. She knew what she was doing. She was thirty-five years old when she met Mao. She had her own plan. Her career as a screen actress had peaked and she was looking for an alternative. She took up with Mao when Kang Sheng convinced her that Jiang Ching was out of favor and was unsuitable as a political wife. Kang Sheng's analysis was thorough and inspiring. The idea of becoming Madame Mao made Shang-guan Yun-zhu abandon her husband and career.

Shang-guan left Shanghai, stepped into Mao's palace and put on the costume of Lady Xiang-fei. However, she soon discovered that she was not the only one Mao kept.

Shang-guan had wanted to get out, but Kang Sheng's private eyes were everywhere. It is a national affair you are conducting, he warned her. We must guard you twenty-four hours a day. You ought to have no reason to be bored. Making yourself available to the Chairman should be the only goal in your life.

But Mao hasn't shown up for a long time! He has lost interest and has turned away, don't you see?

It is your duty to wait, the cold voice continued.

She waited, through the long winter and summer. Mao never came. When the Cultural Revolution began and Shang-guan Yun-zhu saw the picture of Mao and Jiang Ching standing shoulder to shoulder on the Gate of Heavenly Peace, she knew she was doomed.

Shang-guan's thought pauses. In front of a long mirror, she smiles wearily. Her residence has been quiet this morning. It is a single mansion sitting in rich meadows. A suburb of Beijing. Two nights ago Shang-guan discovered that her guards had been removed. A platoon of new men came.

Tomorrow has already begun to run its course, she mutters. Tomorrow will finish all my trouble. The feather of my imagination finally gets caught.

Shang-guan sits down and begins to write a letter to her husband. She resents him for giving her up. Although I understand that you were under pressure and had no option, I can't forgive you. My life is so hateful that I think it's better to stop it. But then she feels that she is not being honest. Mr. Woo was never her choice in terms of love. It was she herself who was lured by the idea of becoming Madame Mao.

She tears up the letter.

Shang-guan gets up and goes to the garden to lock the gate. She walks quickly and holds her breath as if to avoid the scent of spring. She hurries and slashes through the blooming plants. Her gown drags the petals along. She walks back into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. She looks around. Two windows facing east stand symmetrically like giant eyes without eyeballs. The dark gray rolled-up curtains look like two bushy eyebrows. A redwood ceiling-high closet stands between the windows. The floor is covered with a noodle-colored carpet. The room makes her think of Mao's face.

Shang-guan paces elegantly. She holds herself as if in front of a camera. She remembers how at ease she was with the most difficult camera movements. The sophisticated technical demands were never her trouble. She had good instincts and was always on line and on cue. The lighting and camera directors adored her. She lived up to the expectations of the audience and critics as well. The reviewers said it was her confidence that made her glamorous and her restrained performance that moved hearts.

She can feel the weight of her fake eyelashes. She has applied a rich layer of creams and powders. In the mirror, she rehearses the act. With her chin up she holds a distant expression. The breath of death hits her cheeks as she paints her lips for the last time. Afterwards, she takes a white blanket and covers the mirror with it. She stops in front of the closet. Opening the doors, her hand reaches in. She pulls a drawer and takes out an indigo-blue ceramic bowl, which is covered with brown waxed paper. A yellow string is tied around the rim. She unties the string and lifts the cover. Inside, a pack of sleeping pills.

Carefully, Shang-guan presses the edge of the paper. She folds it into a diamond shape. She then presses it flat again before she throws it into a waste bin under the table. She goes to the kitchen holding the bowl. She takes out a glass and a bottle of half-finished
shaoju
from the cupboard and mixes the liquor with the pills. She stirs and grinds, and takes time with her act. Afterwards she goes back to her bedroom and remakes her bed. She smoothes every wrinkle from the sheet. From underneath the bed she pulls out a black suitcase and takes out a set of dresses and a pair of shoes. She changes her blouse into a peach-colored dress—a gift from Mao. Then changes her mind. She takes off the dress and replaces it with a navy blue garment which she bought from a nun on location near Tai Mountain. She changes her slippers into a pair of black cotton sandals. She puts the peach dress and the slippers into the suitcase and pushes it back under the bed.