of honour!’
‘Maybe they’ll let him go to a farm to do manual labour. That wouldn’t be so bad. He only has another three and a half years to go. But I’m afraid it will affect the children. Can they cope? Youngest son finishes high school next year. Will they let him go to University? Our daughter is getting married. This might be a big blow to them.’
‘Yes, our daughter suffered because of us. She missed her chance to go abroad.’
The waitress was waiting to clear the table, so we left. Ying went to buy tickets for the cinema. I realised she didn’t want me to stay at home moping. We weren’t in the mood to watch the film, we just wanted somewhere to sit for a while. After the show, I suddenly remembered the woollen vest. She was delighted, and I cheered up a bit.
After dinner, I showed the verdict to our youngest son.
‘I didn’t expect this,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You’re not responsible for your family background, you can choose your own way forward.’
‘If I can’t continue with my studies, I’ll be a worker or a peasant, it’s all the same to me. Don’t worry, it’s no problem.’
But I knew it was a blow to him. How could it not be, with a father labelled a ‘counter-revolutionary’?
I remembered an incident I had witnessed in prison. I was feeling miserable and unable to sleep. One of the menials started quarrelling. He felt he was being unfairly treated, and spewed out his grievances. But he said, ‘Who cares, it’s not such a big deal, you can overcome anything if you want to.’ This inspired me. Nothing was so terrible you couldn’t get over it. I had developed a capacity to gloss over criticism or ridicule. Perhaps that’s what my son was doing.
My next task was to prepare for F’s departure for the reform-through-labour farm. I dug out the cotton-padded trousers the Government had given him when he was working in the liberated areas in the northeast and a heavy woollen pullover I’d knitted for him. I also made him a cotton-padded jacket. Being busy calmed me down.
I asked the Ministry of Public Security whether I was right to assume that his case would be administered by the court, now that he had been sentenced. Which farm would he be sent to? Would the arrangement be for monthly visits? What preparations should I make? What did he need? They replied that his case would still be administered by the Ministry of Public Security.
Out of the blue, I was notified of a phone call. That very rarely happened. It was from a Comrade Huang in the Ministry of Public Security. He told me to go to the Ministry. He would be waiting for me at the entrance. I said I don’t know you. He said you will recognise me. I said all right, I’ll carry a black briefcase so you know who I am. Actually, I was extremely naïve. When I arrived, he came out to receive me. He was in his thirties. He had been present at the first interrogation.
He took me to the reception room, where the cadre responsible for maintaining contact with me was sitting. Huang introduced him to me, as Director Wu. The fact that I was being treated as an equal overwhelmed me.
Director Wu came straight to the point: ‘I’ve read your letter. We passed on your letter to Hu Feng. We’ve decided not to send him for reform through labour. How about if we send him home?’
I must have looked astonished, for he added, ‘Our Party’s policy has always been to treat people leniently. Leniency and severe punishment mutually combined. So we’re going to release him and create the conditions for him to reform. That requires your cooperation.’
Comrade Huang said, ‘When you get home, prepare some clothes for when he comes out. Don’t tell anyone. We’ll let you know what happens next.’
They asked me about my home circumstances and the other members of my residential unit. They said they would come to see me the next day. Then they politely escorted me from the building.
Shortly after I arrived home, Big Sister Ying rushed in, carrying a big fish. I told her what had happened. She was delighted, but unable to fathom the outcome. Would he be allowed to stay, or would they send him somewhere else?
After dinner, she left, although she had planned to stay the night. She said, ‘I must go back to tell Old Nie the news. Perhaps in future it won’t be so easy to come. If you need anything, phone me.’ She took a big bundle of wool from her bag and said, ‘The vest fits perfectly. It will soon be Spring Festival. The child will continue growing. If you have time, knit him a jumper.’
As I looked at the ball of fiery red wool, my depression lifted.
I hadn’t told my son about F’s imminent release, because he was busy with his end-of-semester exams. I didn’t want to distract him. Better if I undertook this venture on my own.
The next day, they didn’t turn up, but in the afternoon they phoned to say they would fetch me by car the following morning.
Such were the last two days of 1965. At eight o’clock the next morning, a black sedan car stopped opposite the building, a rare sight in our neighbourhood. I had slept barely a wink. When our son was helping me lift the chest containing his father’s overcoat, I told him what was happening. He said, ‘Daddy’s coming home, that’s wonderful!’ That’s all he said.
Dragging a suitcase and dressed in an old cotton suit and a long scarf, I hurried out.
I noticed that the Director was also in the car.
‘Why the suitcase?’
‘Didn’t you say I should bring some clothes?’
To the driver, ‘Hurry, we have some formalities to go through after we arrive.’
Even though I was travelling in a luxury vehicle, comfortably upholstered and air-conditioned, I felt uneasy. For more than half a year now, I had rushed through this same scenery, which swept through my head like scenes from a film. Would I really no longer have to toil back and forth along this route? There were practically no pedestrians. The countryside was bleak. There was no sign of vitality, just like in my heart. I was on my way to fetch my beloved from prison, but I couldn’t feel the requisite joy, because everything had happened too suddenly.
The car sped straight up to the metal gate. The guard waved us through. We got out, and I was escorted to a guest room. The others were led away by a cadre.
The guest room was tiny. There were two small sofas but no heating. My feet began to ache. This was the outskirts and much colder than in the city. Luckily, I had brought F’s thick cotton shoes and a leather overcoat. At least he wouldn’t freeze. Thinking this, I calmed down. I stood up and paced around, to exercise my legs.
Through the window, I saw him in the middle of a group of people headed my way. He was wearing the clothes I’d brought. He seemed to have become taller. From a distance, he looked like he had looked ten years before. I hurried out and helped him into the car. The others started putting the suitcase and various bits and pieces into the boot. We were alone. He gripped my hand, squinting and smiling like he used to, but without the sweet joyful smile I knew from the old days.
The car sped off. It
