about the Hu Feng case. When she arrived home she discussed it with Old Nie and wrote down her opinions. They had got to know Hu Feng in 1929 in Japan. Later, they had worked together in the anti-Japanese movement and had helped F publish a mimeograph, New Culture, which propagandised for the resistance and the revolution. As a result, they had been arrested and deported. Later, they joined the League of Left-Wing Writers under Lu Xun. How can you conclude someone is a counter-revolutionary on the basis of a few brief notes? They were at a loss to understand. So Ying wrote down her views and Old Nie revised them. How were they to know that shortly afterwards some students at Beijing University also raised the Hu Feng case and members of the Democratic Party made a lot of criticisms of the Communist Party? The rectification campaign turned into an Anti-Rightist Movement. Ying had to go on stage and receive the masses’ criticism. Then the investigation switched to Old Nie, and the pair were branded rightists.
Nie was sent to the Great Northern Wilderness to do manual labour. Ying was removed from her leadership post and transferred to the People’s Political Consultative Conference to edit biographical materials written by pardoned Kuomintang officials.*
When I heard this, I remembered how Old Nie had invited me to meet him. I was suddenly overwhelmed with respect for what he had done. Would a lapdog or a coward have done it? He was not the man he had once been – he no longer had the carefree air of a literary celebrity. He had been tempered by hardship and become a man dedicated to justice and loyalty, a rarity.
Tian sat for a couple of hours and then said he had to hurry home, to cook for his child. I said:
‘I’m really grateful for your visit. But don’t come again. You’ll get into trouble.’
He gave me a mischievous smile. Gesturing at his aluminium mess tin, he said:
‘In it is a steel needle for doing acupuncture. If anyone comes in, I’ll say I’m your acupuncturist.’
I laughed.
A talented author ought to wield the pen, not the needle. A warrior on the literary front had become a kindly father who cooked for his child. What a change!
* The Kuomintang or KMT, sometimes romanised as Guomindang (GMD), was the dominant party in the early Republic of China, from 1912 onwards.
A Gaol Visit, Not a Family Visit
Carrying two string-tied bundles of Marx and Engels’ Complete Works in Japanese, I set out again on the journey to Qincheng. Having learned my lesson, I ate a bowl of noodles before setting out. But there were drawbacks: it was the rush hour, and I had to push my way on and off with my two bundles. Even though I managed to squeeze through, there were no seats left.
At Shahe, where I had to change, I didn’t dare leave the parcels unattended. I sat under the hot midsummer sun watching the watermelon sellers on the opposite pavement and the juice dribbling down the chins of their customers. But I couldn’t risk running over to buy a slice, so I just sat and watched.
When the bone-shaker from Shahe to Qincheng turned up, it was hard enough to stand, let alone get a seat, especially with the books. I had to keep a tight hold on them and at the same time sway and bob in time with the bus. By the time I reached Qincheng, my hands ached and my leg had gone numb. Luckily, it was the terminus, so I could take my time alighting.
There were some PLA men on the pavement greeting an old lady from the countryside. Some took her parcel, others took her basket. She was probably visiting a relative in the guards’ unit. One younger-looking PLA man, perhaps the leader, had nothing to carry and ran over and offered to help me. Without thinking, I declined.
Actually, I was tired and hot, so I dropped behind and hid in the trees. I put the books down and sat on them. Here, I was out of the sun, and in a while a breeze blew up and the sweat on me dried. I stayed sitting there until the PLA men had disappeared through the gate, and then I got up and walked over to it. It was ages before anyone called me in – perhaps they were having a midday nap. I also had to wait in the reception area. I flicked through a list of presents you were allowed to bring. On the last page it said, ‘Watermelons – one.’ I thought, next time I’ll bring one, he’s probably not eaten one for years.
The duty officer let him in and left. We sat opposite each other, just the two of us. It was almost like sitting together at home, except I felt so wretched. I told him the children’s news, and gave him daughter’s letter. He read it and flew into a rage.
‘So I’m supposed to learn from Puyi! Who’s Puyi? A feudal emperor, who lived a corrupt life exploiting the people. If the Government helped him become a new man, that’s because the Party and the people are lenient. Can I negate myself in the same way he did? Was I wrong to study Marxism-Leninism? I loyally followed the Party, everything I did was for the Party, was that wrong too? Of course I know the secret of how to survive under a big hat, but is that being responsible to the Party and the people? Or to oneself? Is that what I should do? I can’t admit to things I haven’t done, and whether what I have done is wrong or not can’t be answered in one sentence. I can only reach a proper conclusion by spending time studying Marxism-Leninism and going deep into the realities of life. That’s not something you can do in solitary confinement. Is that my fault?’
He was worked up, like when he used to argue with people in the past. I said:
‘Don’t get angry. The child means well. All she wants is for your problem to be resolved. Then we can all be together, as a family.’
It seemed like he was about to sound off again, but it was dangerous for him to speak his mind, so I distracted him.
‘Today I brought the Japanese Marx and Engels. Two big bundles, it tired me out.’ I told him about the journey, and about getting off the last bus, and how the PLA had welcomed the old lady visiting her family, and how difficult it had been for me, on a prison visit. I couldn’t help moaning a bit.
He looked surprised. Naturally, he couldn’t understand these things. Changing the topic, he asked:
‘Are you all right? You look thin. Your complexion is not good.’
‘Last year I had neurasthenia. I couldn’t sleep and was always dizzy. I took medicine, but it didn’t help. Then I learned tai-chi and my spirits picked up. I could sleep peacefully. That chart I brought, do you follow it each day? You’ve got to exercise to stay fit. Do you need anything else?’
‘Sometimes the food here is hard to stomach, a bit of chilli oil would help. What I really need is books. If there’s anything worth reading, give me it. You can read the books first. Then we can talk about them.’
‘Read? I stopped reading long ago. I subscribe to a couple of magazines, but I have no wish to go deeply into the sort of questions the press discusses, it’s enough to know a bit about what’s going on nationally and internationally.’
I wanted to talk about the children, the mainstay of my life.
‘Xiaoshan finishes high school next year. Last time you said you wanted him to be a worker. Obviously it’s something I’ve thought about. I wanted him to go to technical college. Elder sister was even keener. She sat the exam for university twice and was not admitted, it was wounding. But elder brother said he would go to senior high, where he would get a broader education. Things might change in future, and then he can try to get into university.
