Part 17 (1/2)

”It was too heavy,” said my sister.

”Too heavy?” my father sneered. ”In 1957, your seventh uncle was sentenced to twenty years in jail just because he was a policeman before the Liberation. They said that he served the wrong government. Thank heaven that other family members were not dragged in and thrown into jail or forced into exile. That could have happened; it is an old tradition brought down from ancient rulers.”

”The government doesn't need a reason to put anyone in jail or shoot them these days,” Mother sighed. ”I wonder why Evergreen did what he did. Maple, do you have any idea?”

”Mama, he didn't do it.”

”But he was caught, wasn't he?” my brother said. ”The tools were found in his bag.”

I tried to control my tongue.

”Was it a trap?” My sister turned to me.

”Who did it?” my brother pressed.

Everyone's chopsticks stopped moving and all eyes turned to me. I buried my nose in the bowl and sealed my lips.

”You weren't involved in any way, were you?” asked my sister.

I shook my head.

”Was it ... Oh, I am afraid of my own thoughts.” Mother put her hands over her mouth. ”Wild Ginger is a good kid, although she has tried to play rough. I am sure it was only to show her loyalty to the party and earn political credit. She is not an evil kid, but ... What do I, an old lady, know about today's kids and their minds? Misery and sadness don't necessarily breed an angel.”

Father put down his chopsticks and turned to me.

I got up before Father had a chance to order me to tell the truth. I made up an excuse, saying that I had to attend a Mao study session at school, and dashed out.

The next morning I got up early. I went to the city hall and asked to see the head of investigation. After I told them that I was an anti-Maoist and had been involved in the incident I was led to an interrogation room.

An armed man appeared. He introduced himself as Mr. w.a.n.g, an a.s.sistant to the investigator. ”The party and the people are glad that you have come to your senses. Welcome back to Chairman Mao's line.” He told me that I had to produce a written confession before the investigator would see me. ”You will have one week to draft a statement.”

”Do I write it here?” I asked.

”That's right.”

”May I go home at night?”

”No.”

”But...”

”I am sure you have prepared yourself for a hard journey.”

”Well, do I get any credit for turning myself in?”

”Who do you think you are? A heroine?” He turned around and slammed the door behind him.

I was put in a room without windows. I began to compose my confession. I didn't have much to say except that I had supplied Evergreen with the pliers and the bag. To weave a lie was not as easy as I thought. If I didn't make myself compelling, my plan would fail. If I said too much, I would expose Wild Ginger. I decided to simply call myself an anti-Maoist and write abstract words around that label.

It sounded stupid. But what else could I possibly produce? The trick was to make up facts and stretch logic. For example, we all believed that we could endure atom bombs. The fact was that we had no idea what an atom bomb could do. Chairman Mao had said that we needn't be afraid. So there was no reason to be afraid. And we weren't. We were told that if we dug deep enough into the earth, we could generate an earthquake in America. We had no doubt about that. How could Chairman Mao be wrong?

It was the easiest thing to arrest an anti-Maoist and blame the country's misfortune on him. People relished making discoveries. And people enjoyed putting villains in prison. Without learning the bad luck of the others, how could one realize one's own good fortune? An elderly lady in our district was convicted because of her anti-Mao crime. Her cat ate up her lard and she chased the cat out of the kitchen and into the lane. She shouted, ”Kill the cat! Kill the cat!” She forgot that the word for cat (mao) (mao) sounded the same as the Chairman's name. It was too late when she realized her mistake. She should have shouted, ”Kill the one whom mice fear!” Another anti-Maoist was an old man. He had stomach problems and farted during a Mao reading. When he refused to publicly criticize himself, he was sent to a forced labor collective for the rest of his life. In contrast, there was a young boy who was considered a hero because he cried ”A long, long life to Chairman Mao!” when he drowned in a flood. sounded the same as the Chairman's name. It was too late when she realized her mistake. She should have shouted, ”Kill the one whom mice fear!” Another anti-Maoist was an old man. He had stomach problems and farted during a Mao reading. When he refused to publicly criticize himself, he was sent to a forced labor collective for the rest of his life. In contrast, there was a young boy who was considered a hero because he cried ”A long, long life to Chairman Mao!” when he drowned in a flood.

I could no longer make sense out of life.

There had been no sign that my case would be brought to light. I was given a bowl of water and two buns every day. I had turned in my papers and was told to wait for a response. I became frustrated as the days went by without any news. I began to realize that I had done the dumbest thing in my life. I was cold at night lying on the bare floor. A plastic container served as a chamber pot. It had no lid. I breathed my own waste. I banged on the door on the tenth day and asked to speak to the investigator. The guard came and said that my food of the day would be taken away as punishment.

After two months of isolation my wait ended. Mr. w.a.n.g came and read me the news from a yellow paper. He read in a slurred, impatient, and careless voice, as if he had been reading this all his life and was sick of going through it again.

I learned that my fake confession would have no effect on Evergreen's case. I was sentenced to life in prison as an anti-Maoist.

”The sentence will be effective immediately after a public rally.” Mr. w.a.n.g threw me the paper and walked off with his hands locked behind him and a cigarette between his fingers.

I had killed a hen in trying to fetch an egg. I was foolish. But I did what I had to. The prosecutors didn't even bother to interrogate Evergreen to check whether I had told the truth. Maybe they did check and Evergreen had respected my wish. Maybe, who knows, Evergreen knew the truth. Otherwise why didn't he claim his innocence? Maybe he wanted to protect Wild Ginger. Maybe he understood her jealousy and felt guilty about his betrayal. By remaining silent he compensated for her loss.

Anyway I was the fruit of victory for the prosecutors. Now they could go to the general party secretary and be rewarded as heroes. There would be promotions and medal-giving ceremonies. The secretary could be confident that the party's face had been saved. The ma.s.ses would be warned and the lessons learned. This had always been the purpose of public executions.

I wondered about Wild Ginger. I wanted to know her feelings before I was locked away from the suns.h.i.+ne for good, and before the prosecutor put a bullet in Evergreen's head. I needed to hear Wild Ginger's thoughts on the show she had originated.

I didn't hate her. I hated myself for pus.h.i.+ng Evergreen to attend the singing rally.

I now realized that it was the old Wild Ginger I had been trying to reach. The irony was, at least it seemed, that when it came to my choice of whom to rescue, Wild Ginger was the only one on my list. I was still amazed at the fact that I didn't turn in Wild Ginger in exchange for Evergreen's life. What drove me? With whom was I in love?

I couldn't hear my heart's answer. Yet I did what my heart bade me. What was the confusion? Was it because Evergreen was not mine to begin with? Was it always in the back of my head that he was her lover? Was it my fear? Was it the doubt that I could never make Evergreen mine which stopped me from loving him fully? Or was it something else? Something completely opposite. Something like, if I took Evergreen away from Wild Ginger then might she focus her attention on me? For the first time I began to wonder, Was I in love with Wild Ginger? How else could I explain my sacrificing Evergreen to her safety? Was it easier to convince myself that Evergreen had never been able to stop loving Wild Ginger? Was it the fact that Wild Ginger and Evergreen continued to love each other that hurt me, hurt me so deeply that I had to destroy Evergreen and myself?

24.

I spent my eighteenth birthday in jail. I had no regrets. At eighteen I had long been trained to extinguish regret. To die for a cause was glorious. We were brought up on the farewell letters of the revolutionaries. Jiang Jie, Hui Dai-ying, and Sheng Bao-ying, to name a famous few. I began to prepare myself, to serve my sentence like a War captive. I began to accept the fact that Evergreen would be shot and I would spend the rest of my life mourning the loss. It could have been worse. It seemed better to remain in jail than to face Wild Ginger and the question of why I had concealed the murderer of my lover. Prison had become an escape. To avoid seeing Wild Ginger was to avoid the stain of my memory.