tall frame, along the sparsely populated road.
F was depressed at the thought of going to Sichuan, and suggested visiting the Lu Xun Museum. I hadn’t dared go ever since it opened, but now was an opportune moment.
He inspected the photos from which his image had been erased. He betrayed not a flicker of emotion. He asked the guide some questions. Where were the manuscripts kept? Were all the books kept here? How many visitors came? Did they include young people? It was midwinter, and the exhibition hall seemed deserted. But the guide said students usually came in groups and quite a few people came from outside the capital. That cheered F up.
Finally, F agreed to go to Sichuan. All that remained was to fix the date. The Ministry of Public Security pressed us to leave at once and said letting the family spend Spring Festival together had been a special favour and there could be no extension.
I saw off elder son and then got some bedding and luggage ready for younger son’s school. It was heartrending, especially for Xiaoshan, who had been alone for more than five years following his eighth birthday. I had only been able to dream of him, and would wake in tears. For the last few years, we had depended on each other for survival, and now he was off to fend for himself and I was to follow F to far-away Sichuan, to face an uncertain future. Packing his clothes, I wept.
I only intended to take a few clothes and books, and then request a permanent transfer back to Beijing once F had completed his sentence. However, he was determined not to return to Beijing and wanted to take everything. I couldn’t deal with his extremist attitude, so we even took his four shelves of books. The Ministry of Public Security engaged some packers to help. Four women packers packed dozens of pieces of luggage in wood and cardboard. I admired their efficiency and sense of duty. The only thing I worried about was whether the glass bookcase would survive. It had cost 80 yuan and was F’s favourite possession.
On February 15, the Ministry of Public Security sent a station wagon to take us, our daughter, our son-in-law, Comrade Huang, and two other comrades to the station. On the platform, our younger son rushed up to us. We were escorted to a soft-sleeper compartment. Two men jumped down from the upper berths and introduced themselves. They had been sent from Sichuan to fetch us. I could speak Sichuan dialect, and we had a friendly chat. Comrade Huang went to say hello to the carriage attendant, and then politely took his leave.
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