Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [116]
In less than two days the cameras begin to roll. Within a month, half of the film is completed. Never again is there mention of faction conflicts. People work together as if operating a big family business. At the end of the day the exposed cans are sent to the lab to be processed and the next day the cuts are roughly edited and available to view.
Thrilled, Madame Mao inspects the set. She pats the shoulder of Commander Dee and praises his efficiency. If only I could get this kind of efficiency for all my projects! She begins to think about hiring Commander Dee for more jobs.
Don't confuse yourself. Mao holds his swollen cheek and speaks with irritation. You are not who you believe you are. The truth is that no one will take your orders if they don't see my shadow! When the air force commander in chief Wu Fa-xian answers your call his eyes are on the chair where I am sitting. When the Red Guards shout at the top of their voice A salute to Comrade Jiang Ching! it is I they want to please.
I understand, Chairman. I try hard to sound humble and non-argumentative. Please don't doubt that I have committed my life to helping you. And only you. I put my faith in my ability to get things done. Let me tell you about my recent creations. Let me show you the film cuts of the operas and ballets.
The operas are all right, Mao says. He picks up a hot towel from a steaming jar and places it against the swollen cheek. I am pleased with your work. The shows sound good. But don't ride them like a magic carpet. And this is my warning.
At this point he loses me. But I dare not mention my confusion. There are a lot of things we confuse each other with lately. We don't clarify. It is to keep peace. Probably confusion is better. I tell the public that I represent Mao but I am not in his life. I have no idea what his days are like. I don't enjoy chasing his mistress and I don't like the fact that he takes pleasure in intimidating me. He has been telling me how his commanders (and he won't spell out the names) would love to suffocate me in my own bed. It's tiring just to keep up with his imagination. Especially when he plays god and devil at the same time. Besides, he hates to be figured out.
The early spring is still chilly. In the morning the frost coats the Forbidden City white. This evening outside the window the vine frames shake violently. A storm has come—the winter's unwillingness to depart. Yet who can stop the spring from coming? After midnight, heavy clouds are swept from the sky. The moon is once again bare. The branches beat my windows like the knocks of spirits.
I don't know until Kang Sheng tells me later what happened on the night of the storm. April 30, 1967. Just before the clouds left the sky, Mao invited the old boys he had attacked previously to his study for a drink. He entertained them with deep-fried bear feet. He acted as if nothing had happened since February 18.
No wonder I was surprised to see all these old sticks show up happily at the celebration party on May 1 at the National Cultural Palace. I should have known that my husband was doing the two-faced trick. I should have understood that although Mao had been promoting me, my new power unnerves him and he needs to have another force to balance the game.
19
SHE GOES ON, LAUNCHING HERSELF aggressively into the future. On the surface she is the manager of Mao's powerhouse and she imagines herself above suffering like her opera heroines. But underneath there is no coming to terms with her feelings—she is exhilarated by her role, but also exhausted and nagged by doubt. Sometimes her love for Mao seems like desperation, sometimes like hate. And her sorrow about Nah has refused to go away. If she let herself, she could slip into depression. Every