"It's giant." He spread out his arms to show its length. "It's got a hundred and twenty-three compartments. It took twenty pounds of wood and six hundred empty matchboxes. I had collected matchboxes since I was seven. The ship took me two years to complete. I named it Victory:"
Wild Ginger was quiet. She looked, no, stared at Evergreen, as if it weren't her body the doctor's needles were going through.
"I used to make rainbow soap papers as a child," she told Evergreen after she was sent to the recovery room. "I was fascinated with the process. I went door to door to collect soap scraps. I scrubbed the leftover soap from soap boxes. After I had a bucketful, I melted it on the stove. I added fragrant jasmine petals. Then I divided the paste in different bowls and dyed it different colors. I stirred the paste under the sun until it became thick. Then I took pieces of cardboard and cut them into all kinds of shapes. I coated the papers with the paste. After they dried the fragrance became strong. There was nothing else like them. You could take the papers anywhere and wash your hands with them. I liked them so much that I didn't use them. I put them in my Mao books. I looked at and smelled them every day when I worked on my reciting."
"You must show them to me."
"When you show me your wooden ship."
Wild Ginger was visited by the district party secretary in the hospital. Overnight she was pronounced a heroine and a revolutionary model. She was interviewed by the People's Daily and the Liberation Daily. The next morning her story was on every household's breakfast table. The journalists asked if Wild Ginger had been directed by Mao's teaching during her brave exploit. Not only did she give a positive answer, she provided the details in the paragraph of Mao's teaching which had inspired her action. Her words were printed with quotation marks and underlines. She was now a true champion.
I was thrilled for Wild Ginger. But in the meantime I wondered if reciting Mao at the moment of being strangled was possible. Maybe Mao was the driving force behind her action. Maybe she had become a true Maoist.
I was interviewed as well. But when asked what was on my mind when fetching the policeman, I said that I was thinking about Wild Ginger's safety.
"Are you sure that you didn't think of Mao's teaching?" the journalist asked. "For example, 'It's our duty to help our comrade...'?" "No, not really." "Not a bit?"
"Well, I lost my way and was trying to find it."
"No Mao thoughts?"
"I wish—"
"Which paragraph?"
"I can't remember."
"You have to be honest."
"Well, no then. I am sorry."
"Wild Ginger's mind had only Mao's teaching at that moment. Why don't you think clearly before giving me an answer?"
"I was ... too scared to think."
"Fine." The journalist closed his notebook and stood up.
"But I helped." I felt wronged.
"Well, that is not significant enough material."
The newspapers printed photos of Wild Ginger with her right arm in a cast. Her smile was proud. The title said MAO'S TEACHING GUIDED OUR HEROINE TO VICTORY. Wild Ginger was brought to meet the general party secretary of Shanghai. The secretary was on his way to Beijing and he wanted to introduce Wild Ginger to Chairman Mao.
The news brought honor to the city, district, and neighborhood. Wild Ginger's coming meeting with Chairman Mao was the glory of everyone. The school held a big ceremony in Wild Ginger's name. Evergreen was called to give a speech on the heroine's hard work in studying Mao quotations. I was called the heroine's "comrade in arms" and was asked to comment on her life. In the meantime I was rewarded with a wok-size Mao button.
My parents got emotional when thinking of Mrs. Pei. Had Mrs. Pei been alive she would have been so happy. My mother went to Wild Ginger's house at night and burned incense beneath the fig tree.
Our former teacher, Mrs. Cheng, was in joyful tears when she came and chatted with my mother. "Wild Ginger inherited her mother's character."
"I can't agree with you more," Mother responded. "Mrs. Pei was honorably stubborn. She would rather have had her head removed than give up her feelings for Mr. Pei. But how could she have any idea how Wild Ginger would turn out?"
"'A piece of real gold fears no fire,'" recited Mrs. Cheng. "When Wild Ginger was brought to my class I knew she was talented and would sooner or later distinguish herself."
The fishwoman Jung was brought onto the stage to tell her story. "It doesn't surprise me that Chairman Mao wants to receive Wild Ginger," Jung said. "Wild Ginger is the best of all his disciples. Serving the people with heart and soul is exactly what Wild Ginger has been practicing."
Hot Pepper pushed herself through the crowd and was trying to shake hands with the heroine. Wild Ginger paid no attention. She walked right past Hot Pepper to give an interview to a radio journalist. Her voice through the loudspeakers was resonant and filled with passion.
At the school gate, the general party secretary's jeep was waiting for Wild Ginger. The jeep was covered with red crepe-paper flowers. A crowd was cheering.
Wild Ginger emerged from the school principal's office in her uniform. She was surrounded by people. Before letting her get into the jeep the principal and the heads of the neighborhood and district competed to show their affection. They took off their own treasured Mao buttons and pinned them to Wild Ginger's clothes.
"Learn from our heroine, Wild Ginger!" Hot Pepper led the crowd to shout.
"Salute to our heroine, Wild Ginger!"
"Long live Chairman Mao!"
I followed the slogan and shouted. I thought of Hot Pepper's umbrella and Wild Ginger's broken abacus.
As a result of Wild Ginger's meeting with Chairman Mao a series of events took place.
First, our neighborhood committee put up a bulletin to notify all citizens that the late Mr. and Mrs. Pei's identities had been reevaluated. Instead of being called the "French spies," they were now to be called the "international Communists."
Second, a report of the conversation between Wild Ginger and Chairman Mao was nationally distributed. It read:
Wild Ginger: Chairman Mao, unfortunately I was born with a political defect. I am a quarter French.
Chairman Mao: The late Canadian doctor Norman Bethune was not a Chinese. But it didn't stop him from coming to China and participating in the Chinese revolution. It didn't stop him from opening a hospital to serve our Red Army. He died on duty, of a blood infection, but his spirit, his utter devotion to others without any thought of self, was shown in his work, in his warm-heartedness toward all comrades and people. We must all learn the spirit of absolute selflessness from him. One's background is irrelevant. One's performance counts and that is what makes one who he is. A man's ability may be great or small, but if he has this spirit, he is already noble-minded and pure, a man of moral integrity and above vulgar interest, a man who is of value to the people.
Wild Ginger: Dear Chairman, I thank you for the enlightenment.
Chairman Mao: Also, revolution is not only a Chinese subject. Karl Marx was not Chinese either. The Chinese revolution has inherited the great French Revolution's tradition. You should be proud that you have an internationalist's blood.
Wild Ginger: How should I continue to devote myself to your teaching?
Chairman Mao: Keep in mind that the duty to liberate the world rests on the shoulders of the young people.
Third, the whole neighborhood was mobilized to help remodel Wild Ginger's house. As a political project, the house was fixed in a week. The district party secretary personally came and rolled up his sleeves and trousers and worked on the walls.
Fourth, Wild Ginger was given not only a full scholarship for the rest of her school years but a monthly allowance as well. She was treated as an orphan of revolutionary martyrs and was granted a handsome martyr's pension.
Fifth, Wild Ginger was accepted as the youngest member of the Communist party and was pronounced the commander in chief of the Red Guard.
The day of Wild Ginger's
return was made into a festival. A parade was designed to welcome her. From the airport the roads were crossed with banners. Hundreds and thousands of schoolchildren were lined up on each side of the road to greet her. The city's normal traffic was banned. The crowd extended throughout the city all the way to the east end—the bank of the Huangpu River.
I was given a big task—to be a human sculpture of the heroine. It was supposed to be the highlight of the parade. I stood twenty-five feet high, on top of a bus that had been converted into a stage. Behind me was a hundred-man drum team, all dressed in red silk gowns with their drumsticks tied with colorful silk strings. The drums were as large as backyard ponds.
I was dressed in a green army uniform tied with a belt at the waist. My hair was done in Wild Ginger's fashion: two short braids at the ears. I held a larger-than-life Mao Quotation Book made of cardboard. I was told to pose with my chest protruding and my head turned at a forty-five-degree angle. My right ankle was tied to a pole for stability. Under my feet were four boys on their hands and knees, posed as the villains. The one who wore dark-framed glasses was supposed to be Accountant Choo. The rest played the cigarette seller, the squid seller, and the liquor seller. Their faces were painted blue and purple while mine was powdered with red and pink. We were already sweating hard.
The bamboo poles supporting me swayed when there was wind. Although the bus driver drove slowly, it was still scary. I felt that I could be pitched into the air at any moment. The crowd cheered at the top of their lungs when they saw us pass. I tried to act as calmly as I could, but every time the bus made a jerky stop the poles bent to an impossible angle. I was so scared that I almost wet my pants. The boys beneath my feet begged me not to scream and promised that they would hold me. Gradually I got used to the sway. As our bus passed, the children cried, "Look! The heroine Wild Ginger! Wild Ginger!"
I was exhausted. The boys had abandoned their poses and came to lean on each other. As the poles swayed again I almost landed on the drummers' heads. When the poles swung back I let out a breath. The boys stuck out their thumbs to praise me—forgetting their roles as villains.
The sound of the drums shook the city. After the parade crossed Liberation Boulevard, I could see the riverfront. Behind me the drum buses were followed by accordion bands, the red-flag holders, and the sunflower dancers.
"Split the lines and yield to the side!" came the general party secretary's order, which was passed down through an electrical amplifier. "Let the heroine through!"
"Welcome home! The biggest welcome!" the crowd cheered.
To my excitement, a green jeep led by three motorcycles appeared.
Wild Ginger stood in the open jeep waving at the crowd. Next to her were four armed soldiers. She was in a full new army outfit with a red-star cap on her head. She was shining and gloriously beautiful.
Could she see me? Did she know that I was playing her? I clapped my hands so hard that my palms began to hurt. It didn't feel real. It felt like a dream.
Her new house was ordered to be completed the day before her return. Her favorite Mao quotations were copied onto the walls by the best calligrapher in the country. The roof edges were laid with ceramic tiles of sunflowers. The house stood out like a glistening castle among bleak rocks.
Would she miss her mother in the new house?
12
She was ahead of me. We had been apart for only a month but she seemed to have grown much taller than I. Her sunlit eyes were brighter than ever. She stood in a new pair of green army boots. We chatted endlessly, walking from her house to my house and then back to hers. Finally, we settled ourselves under the fig tree and carried the conversation into the night.
"You won't believe it, Maple. I am troubled." Her tune suddenly changed.
"Sure, you can't stand your luck."
"Seriously, I need your advice."
"Tell me, is it the frostbite that's bothering you?"
"Something terribly wrong has come between me and Evergreen."
"The last thing I knew about you two was you showed him your soap-paper collection and he showed you the wooden ship."
"That's exactly when it happened."
"What? What happened?"
"It's ... how shall I put it ... unhealthy."
"Unhealthy?"
"We were in my house."
"Yes?"
"No one was around."
"Yes?"
"You are sixteen."
"And he is eighteen. What are you afraid of?"
"Well," she sighed in frustration, "you don't understand."
"Well, talk to me."
"I don't know."
"You think I am an idiot."
"It's confusing."
"Did ... did he...?" I didn't want to think in that direction.
"No, of course not. How could we ... we are both Maoists!"
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's ... me. I wanted to ... I ... well, it's awful, bizarre and fantastic at the same time."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"So?"
"It's happening inside, in my head, everything changed from that moment on."
"I'm getting it."
"After we showed each other the collection and ran out of things to say, it was odd. We suddenly became awkward. He said that he must get going but he didn't move. I said goodbye, but my heart prayed for him to ask me to stay."
"Why didn't you talk about Chairman Mao? You love to talk about Chairman Mao."
"I was out of myself. I was not the same person I knew."
"I see."
"My eyes were eating him up. It was ... as if I were seduced. I could feel it coming, trying to pull me down to the water."
"What about him?"
"He stared at me like a criminal who heard his death sentence."
"What time was it?"
"I don't remember. It was getting dark. I was kind of afraid of myself. I felt I was going crazy. Because I wanted—"
"What?"
"I wanted him ... I wanted to have his lips on my mouth."
I stared at her.
"Shocking, isn't it?" she asked after seeing that I wouldn't or couldn't respond. "It was dreadful. Almost helpless. I couldn't stop myself. I knew it was not right. I am a Maoist. A model for the youth. I have promised the party and myself to be pure. But here I was, throwing my honor away, committing myself to a temptation."
"I envy you."
"Maple, what kind of nonsense are you uttering?"
"Our bodies are going to do what's natural."
Her expression changed. "Please stop it. You talk like a reactionary."
"Come on, Wild Ginger. You don't have to be on duty in front of me. I know who you are."
"You don't, really."
"Come on."
"I mean it."
I went quiet and turned away.
"Please, Maple."
"I can't tell you what you want to hear."
"Then don't."
"But I disagree with you."
"Everyone has to be guided by the principles of Chairman Mao."
"What about private matters? What about intimacy where you place trust in someone who will in turn guard it with honor?"
"Such intimacy doesn't exist in the world of the true proletarians. The rule is: we live for one thing, to serve and sacrifice for Chairman Mao."
"So you don't acknowledge love."
"That is a bourgeois word. You should delete it from your vocabulary."
We were standing by the garbage dump where Wild Ginger had stabbed her hand once. It seemed a safe place to carry on our discussion, where no one would be able to hear us.
The late autumn leaves were blown by the wind and danced in the air. In sandals, my bare feet were getting cold. To keep them warm, I crunched the leaves and hopped once in a while. Our discussion was going nowhere. We fought, trying not to raise our voices. I was surprised to learn that while she was in Beijing she had sworn her loyalty by writing a let
ter of promise. The idea was generated by the secretary in chief of the National Communist Youth League. The letter stated that she would give up her personal life, including marriage, to be a people's servant and a Maoist. The People's House of Letters and Literature had given her a contract to publish her diary of the next ten years. The text would be included in school textbooks and recited by students at all levels.
"It's such an honor that I was set to be an immortal," she said.
I asked if she believed that this was the right thing to do.
"No doubt I do," she answered.
"What about Evergreen?"
"I'll overcome my feelings for him."
"You mean you won't—"
"We are revolutionary soulmates."
"No, I mean, will you ever become ... involved?"
"You mean like—"
"I mean like ... lovers."
"Never."
"You expect me to believe you?"
"Chairman Mao teaches us, 'A true Communist is one who keeps her word.'"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Be proud of me."
"I am. But I also feel sad."
"Why?"
"I can't imagine your life being companionless. It'll be lonely."
"Loneliness doesn't belong to a Maoist. Don't you see I have people? I have one billion people loving me and looking up to me."
"You are missing my point."
"Grow up, Maple."
"You ... you don't want to be with Evergreen, is that right?"
"Wrong."
"I don't get it."
"I'll be with him. We will spend a great deal of time, even our lives, together, but without any physical contact."