Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [46]
I mount Quen-Rung cliffs to look about
My heart feels flighty and unsound
Dusk falling
I feel lost and lorn
Thinking on faraway shores
I come round...
He smells damp air. The air that carries the weight of the water. He hears the rhythm of his own breathing. He blinks his eyes and wipes the sweat from his forehead.
After the curtain descends Kang Sheng guides Mao onto the stage and introduces him to the actress. Handshake. The grace of an ancient sage. He is taller. He has thick black hair, longer than anyone else's in the crowd. It is combed to the sides from the middle—a typical Yenan peasant style with the touch of a modern artist. He has a pair of double-lid almond eyes, gentle but focused. His mouth is naturally red with great fullness. His skin smooth. A middle-aged man, confident and strong. His uniform has many pockets. There are patches neatly sewn on both elbows and knees. His shoes are made of straw.
She feels the pulse of her role.
***
Winter is leaving and spring has yet to arrive. Overnight the grass on the hill is blanketed with frost. Not until noon does the white crust start to melt. After four o'clock the ice begins to form again. The whole hill, the yet-to-turn-green grass, looks like it is under the cover of a crystal film.
It is at this time that Fairlynn becomes the editor-in-chief of Mao's newspaper, The Red Base. It is said that Mao has personally appointed Fairlynn to the position. The paper cheers the recent victories and calls Mao "the soul of China."
Miss Lan Ping is in her uniform. She wraps her neck with an orange scarf. It's the look she cultivates—a soldier with a hint of romantic goddess. It is the effect of a tiny rose among a mass of green foliage. She knows the way men's eyes seek and register. The camera of her future lover's heart. Her comrades, including the wives of the high-ranking officers, are gossiping. The subject is Madame Chiang Kai-shek Song Meilin. It is about her ability to speak a foreign language and more important her ability to control her man. They say she has brought attention to her husband's campaign. She spoke at the League of Nations and obtained funds for her husband's war. The girl is greatly interested.
For the next few weeks, the snow comes down with rain. One moment, the universe of Yenan is soaked, the rain turning the earth into a marsh. The packed ground becomes muddy paste. The pots and cups in the room flood like little boats. The next day, the sun is out. It dries the path and turns the wheel tracks hard as knives. When the rain comes again, the road is a slippery board. On the mile-long path she must carry yams along, Lan Ping falls like a circus clown.
The cafeteria is a large cave with leaking walls. Half of it is used to store carriages and tools. My comrades and I hold our rice bowls and squeeze toward one side where the ground is less pastelike. The rain drips into my bowl. To avoid the drips, I have to eat and move around at the same time.
My boots are heavy with mud. They drag as if trying to get away from my feet. I try hard not to miss Shanghai. The pavement, the pruned trees, the warm restaurants and the toilet.
The rain mixed with snow keeps pouring. The sky and the earth are wrapped in one giant gray curtain.
A crowd fills up the hall of Yenan's LuXiun Art College. Mao is expected to lecture here. The girl from Shanghai is sitting in the front row on a wooden stool. She has come early to ensure the best seat, the spot where she can see and be seen. Now she waits patiently. The air is exuberant. The soldiers sing songs with strong northern accents. The songs are composed from Mao's teaching with a folk melody.
We believe in great Communism
We are the soldiers of the Red Army
We punish looting and stealing
We live to serve the people
And to fight the Japanese invaders and Chiang Kai-shek nationalists
The girl likes the straightforwardness of the lyric. By the third time the song is repeated, Lan Ping