"Without any?"
She nodded, in full confidence.
"What about Evergreen? Will he accept your condition?"
"He has to, if he is what he says ... if he cares about me."
"What if he discovers that love has to be expressed beyond spirituality?"
"Then he has to go."
"Would you let him?"
"Like I said, my loyalty toward Chairman Mao comes first."
"What about your desire?"
"That's where I need you, Maple. I am determined to fight the beast inside me and win. It will be hard at the beginning, but I'll pull through. Evergreen and I will get used to being with each other like—"
"A brother and a sister?" My tone was ironic.
She didn't mind. "We will have to work on reforming our thinking. Any bad thought will be nipped in the bud. We will conquer ourselves and then the world."
"What about impulse?"
"You'll be the one to help me to hold the leash."
"Well, I'll do my best to help, but—"
"You'll be all right."
"Describe my duty."
"Just be there."
"Be where?"
"Be where we are."
"We? You mean you and Evergreen? You want me to be a big bright bulb hanging in between you and him—"
"Exactly. With your presence, my instinct will be caged."
"But Evergreen will throw me out!"
"He won't know that you're there."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll hide you."
"Where?"
"In the closet."
13
After dinner she hurried me into her closet, which stood in the middle of a long wall. She had rearranged its colored glass panes so I could peek through without being seen. The closet was originally a living room fireplace. The remodeling knocked down the bedroom walls and turned the whole house into one big space. There were sets of red panels elegantly calligraphed with Mao poems. Wild Ginger said that these would be used to divide future Mao study groups into small discussions. The living area occupied a quarter of the space. Her bed was on its left, kitchen on the right, and her dining table with a set of benches was in the middle.
We were waiting for Evergreen.
"It's such a relief to think that there will be a real skeleton in the closet," she said excitedly. "I feel that I am protected." She was full of spirit. She wore a clean white cotton shirt with red plum flowers around the collar. Her developing chest made the shirt look tight. She had been using the smallest-size bra. I thought, She doesn't have a Chinese body.
"Are you all set?" Her voice was charged. "He could be here any minute."
I had mixed feelings about doing this. I didn't feel comfortable spying on Evergreen. Reason one was that I respected him. Reason two was that I was, to be frank, jealous. Although I hadn't had the good fortune to attract Evergreen's attention, I was not without feelings toward him, so I felt awkward watching him pursue Wild Ginger.
Yet I couldn't say no to her. The moment she rescued me from Hot Pepper's umbrella, I was determined to repay her kindness. To lend her a hand when she needed it was my duty. And I wanted to protect her.
Finally there came a light knock on the door. Evergreen showed up with a Mao book under his arm. A comrade handshake. They both looked uneasy. "Make yourself comfortable," she said and walked away to fetch him water. He stared at her new soft-soled black sandals. A skillful shoemaker, she had made them herself. I made crooked shoes. My biggest problem was that when I stitched the sole and top together, the right shoe always ended up looking like a poorly wrapped wonton. I had to hammer the shoe to get it to match the other.
Evergreen settled down on the bench. He was wearing slacks and a blue sweatshirt with the number 8 on the front. On the back was THE GREAT WALL CLIMBER. He wore a pair of white tennis shoes.
"Have you eaten?" he asked Wild Ginger almost nervously.
"I've eaten," she replied, flushing.
He scratched his head, then wiped his brow.
She sat down on a bench across from him. "Shall we start?"
He nodded, opening the Mao book.
"By the way, what do you think of the place?" she asked, flipping the pages of the book.
"Neat. It reminds me of the warehouse where my father used to work. I like the space."
"I ordered the four walls painted deep red, did you notice?" she said proudly. "I did the Mao portraits myself. They aren't perfect but they're from my heart. I intend to make the space an ongoing Mao exhibition."
"Well, you have it." He got up to admire the calligraphy of Mao poems.
"Be careful with the statue," she warned as he turned. Toward the entrance there stood a life-size glow-in-the-dark Mao sculpture, its right hand waving above the head in the air.
"Does it really glow at night?"
"It comes alive."
"I can see you talking to him."
"I do."
He went back to sit down. He looked at Mrs. Pei's old clock on the wall, which had been damaged by one of the Red Guards during the looting. After Wild Ginger's meeting with Chairman Mao, the district party secretary was personally ordered to locate the clock and bring it back to Wild Ginger fixed.
"This is really fancy!" Evergreen pointed at the gas stove. "What a luxury!" He played with the knob and was amazed to see it work. "You never have to visit the filthy coal shop and carry the heavy loads again. Your mother would have enjoyed it if she had lived."
"She would." Wild Ginger lowered her head and looked at the plants on the floor. The camellias, red grass, orchids, and thick-leaved bamboo—all Mrs. Pei's favorites.
"'To be good at translating the party's policy into action of the masses, to be good at getting not only the leading cadres but also the broad masses to understand and master every movement and every struggle we launch—this is the art of Marxist-Leninist leadership. It is also the dividing line that determines whether or not we make mistakes in our work..."'
They were taking turns reading Mao's paragraphs. Next was Evergreen's turn. He had a great voice, and his Mandarin was perfect. "'...However active the leading group may be, its activity will amount to a fruitless effort by a handful of people unless combined with the activity of the masses. On the other hand, if the masses alone are active without a strong leading group to organize their activity properly, such activity cannot be sustained for long, or carried forward in the right direction, or raised to a high level.'"
Wild Ginger took over again. "'Production by the masses, the interests of the masses, the experiences and the feelings of the masses—to these the leading cadres should not only pay attention but great focus..."'
I wished that I could be more interested in the content. Bored, I waited impatiently for their break.
Finally, after the clock struck ten, there was the sound of a movement.
I glued my eye to the peephole. And I saw Evergreen put down his Mao book.
Wild Ginger raised her head.
They stared at each other.
Evergreen picked up the cup and drank down the water. "Page five hundred four, paragraph three. Ready? Begin." He read almost angrily, '"Communists must be ready at all times to stand up for the truth..."'
She looked distracted but followed the reading,"'...because truth is in the interests of the people ... Communists must be ready at all times..."' He suddenly got up, then sat down frustratedly. "'... to correct their mistakes, because..."'
"'...mistakes are against the interest of the people.'" She took a deep breath.
He stopped turning the page.
She closed the book.
He looked at her.
She turned her face away.
"I have to go," he uttered, standing up.
"One more paragraph," she said. "We must meet our day's goal."
He sat back down.
"Page five hundred six, paragraph three, Chairman Mao teaches us..."
"'Communists must always go in
to the whys and wherefores of anything,'" he recited. '"They must use their own heads and carefully think over whether or not it corresponds to reality and is really well founded..."'
She stole a glance at him, then continued, "'...On no account should they follow blindly—"'
At that he rose and rushed toward the hallway. Without saying goodbye he ran out and slammed the door behind him.
Wild Ginger sat still like the clock on the wall.
"Thank you, it's a success," she said weakly.
"Do you wish that he had stayed?"
She turned to me and recited, '"Provoking positive thoughts is just as important as battling the negative. Encouraging sentimentality is just as bad as selling national secrets to the enemy.'"
I detected tears behind her voice.
That night I went home and asked my mother about men for the first time.
"Shame on you," was Mother's reply. "Why don't you think of something better to do? We're out of food again. Why don't you go to the market with your brothers and sisters and pick some leaves from the trash bin?"
"It's afternoon, the edible leaves are long gone." I felt depressed.
"Well, try to go early in the morning while everybody is still asleep."
Wild Ginger and Evergreen had been practicing the same ritual for three weeks now. They sat head to head and acted like poorly made puppets whose movements were stiff. They didn't even say hello to each other when Evergreen arrived on the last day. The experience of being together seemed to offer no joy, yet neither of them called it quits. It was as if they were catering to an addiction.
I was getting sick of the closet. I was losing patience. In the dark, my thoughts raced. My mind was a jar of marinated pictures. Pictures of unrelated events, past and present blending into each other. Pictures of my swelling imagination, which produced horrifying results. I became obsessed with what could happen and was determined to stay in the closet until I saw "it."
I couldn't pinpoint when my focus began to change. I peeped through the hole one night and realized that I had been looking at Evergreen. I was examining him, in the most disgusting way: I memorized the number of pimples on his face, their location and size, how they changed day by day, and how his old skin flaked and grew new skin. I paid attention to the shape of his wide shoulders, big hands, and thick fingers. I indulged in the movement of his lips. My ears picked out his voice from their duets. Something rotten was infesting my insides.
I told Wild Ginger that I would like to quit.
"I'd call it a betrayal if you dare." Displeased, she threatened to terminate our friendship.
I pleaded, almost begging.
Wild Ginger held my hands with great concern. "Let's talk."
I shook my head. "You must release me from this before something terrible happens."
She laughed. "You are just bored."
"Let's take a break," Wild Ginger said at nine o'clock. She looked at Evergreen. There were butterflies in her smile.
Evergreen had acted oddly since his arrival. He had been struggling with himself from the moment he sat down. He kept changing his sitting position. "Have we read enough?" he finally asked.
She avoided his eyes. "Would you like to have some tea?"
He got up and followed her to the stove. She lit a match and put on the pot.
Standing behind her, he examined the stove.
"Try it." She turned the gas off and threw him the matchbox.
He lit the match.
She turned on the gas. "Now!"
He reached out.
The flame ring looked like a blue necklace:
He turned to her with the match still burning between his fingers.
"Whooo!" She bent over and blew. "Are you thinking about burning my hair?"
They were inches away from each other.
His hands went out, as if by themselves.
She was held, her head, her neck.
He held the pose in shock, didn't dare to move.
She struggled, but didn't run away.
He bent down toward her lips.
Her mind seemed to halt.
He let his mouth fall.
My heart raced.
Gradually their kisses turned into a wrestling match.
His hands went to free himself from his clothes.
He moved her toward the kitchen counter.
His clothes began to fall on the floor piece by piece. First the jacket, then the shirt. His chest was now bare.
Her will seemed to be paralyzed. She let him wrap her with his arms.
Pushing her against the corner of the wall he rocked himself against her.
My chest swelled.
There was no air in the closet.
My sweat steamed. I tried to hold my breath and tried not to blink.
I saw his hand reaching down to his zipper.
The pants peeled off like banana skin.
His butt was dark brown, tightly muscled. It reminded me of a horse's.
"Evergreen," Wild Ginger cried.
He didn't answer. He got down on his knees, pressing her onto the floor.
"Evergreen!"
He reached one arm out, lifted her, and spread his jacket beneath her. In one motion he laid himself on top of her and began caressing her.
I was completely rapt.
Wild Ginger cried. I couldn't identify whether it was from pain or pleasure.
His hands unbuttoned her shirt. Her breasts popped out, and he threw himself onto them.
"No!" she screamed as if waking up from a dream.
He locked her back into his arms.
"No!" she repeated, pushing him away. Then she sat up and looked in my direction.
He seemed confused. He followed her stare toward the closet.
I became nervous. In a hurry to pull myself away from the peephole I accidentally knocked down a tiny piece of decorative wood frame.
"What is it?" He was alarmed.
"My neighbor's cat." She turned him away. "It likes to visit the closet."
The night ended. Evergreen went home frustrated. I came out of the closet exhausted. Wild Ginger thanked me. She was proud of herself and promised that she would not be needing me much longer.
I felt somehow manipulated and said that I would like to go home.
"You don't want to chat?" Her cheeks were rosy red. She was stunningly beautiful. "You don't want to know what I feel? You saw everything, didn't you?"
"It's kind of late."
"Your mother knows that you're at my house." She followed me to the door.
"So how do you feel?" I stopped and turned around.
She didn't seem to detect my emotion. "I almost regretted that I signed that letter to give up my personal life."
"You two ... fit."
"What do you mean?"
"You make a good pair."
"He possesses a strange power. It is hard for me to fight it. He almost made me drink poison."
"Would you?"
She smiled. It was splendid. "I have made my commitment—Chairman Mao comes first."
"Then why do you fool around?"
"I wish I knew the answer. Part of me just can't resist Evergreen. I know I'm playing with fire. But I'm on guard. I have you, the fire extinguisher, on hand."
I wanted to point out that she was selfish, but instead I said flatly, "It was quite educational."
She giggled. "Was it your first time seeing a man's body?"
"A woman's body too, besides my own."
"That ... thing, his instrument, is rather ugly, isn't it?" I stood up, feeling uncomfortable. "I must leave now, Wild Ginger."
"May I count on you next time Evergreen is here?"
I tried to gather my courage to reject her.
"Oh, please." She threw herself at me, arms wrapped around my neck. "I have no one else."
"It'll be the last time."
"All right, the last time."
I was reluctant to get up the next day. I felt dispirited. Than
kfully, it was Sunday. I stayed in bed until noon. My mother thought that I was coming down with something. She sent my sister Erh-Mei to the market to buy ginger so she could make soup for me. It took Erh-Mei a long time to get back.
"What took so long?" Mother asked her in a whisper, assuming that I was asleep.
"There was a parade," Erh-Mei reported.
"Don't tell me the Red Guards are trying to teach the zoo dance again."
"That is exactly what's going on. By the way, Mama, it's Zhong dance. 'Zhong,' for loyalty, not 'zoo.' You can get yourself in serious trouble if you mispronounce the word. They will name you a reactionary and treat you like Mrs. Pei."
"Well, I just won't say that word again."
"I am afraid that you have to. The Zhong dance in structors are coming to teach in this neighborhood this week. Everyone has to show up. It's a public service you must attend. It's going to take up the whole week. The bosses at your work units have already been notified. All the workers will be given the work time to participate in the dance."
"I'll take the time to sneak home," Mother said.
"No, you will be punished if you do that," Erh-Mei warned. "There will be a performance at the end of the learning session. If you don't pass, your loyalty toward Chairman Mao will be questioned."
"But I can't dance! I have never danced in my life!"
"It's not a matter of can or can't dance. It's a matter of showing loyalty toward Chairman Mao. It's a matter of showing that all the people in the neighborhood are mobilized. We sing in one voice and dance in one style. It's a political demonstration to our enemies domestic and international. There is a competition among districts, and the instructors are already feeling very pressured."
"Who are these people anyway?"
"The Maoists."
"Well, to teach me to dance would be like teaching a mute to sing."
"You are lucky, Mama. The instructors are Maple's best friends, Wild Ginger and Evergreen. They'll let you take all the time you need. It might be fun."