Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [51]
He nods, takes her hands, holds them and continues. My father gave us no money whatsoever. He fed us the most meager food. On the fifteenth of every month he made a concession to his laborers and gave them eggs to go with rice, but never meat. To me he gave neither eggs nor meat. His budget was tight and he counted by pennies.
What about your mother? the girl asks. His face lights. My mother was a kind woman, generous and sympathetic, who was always ready to share what she had. She pitied the poor and often gave them food. My mother didn't get along with my father.
Again the girl responds that she shares the feeling. What could a woman do but weep and endure under such circumstances? The comment let Mao speak of rebelling against his father, of his once threatening to leap into a pond and drown himself. The beating must stop or you will never see me again. He demonstrates the way he yelled at his old man. They laugh.
He describes his turbulent years as a student. He left home at sixteen and graduated from the First Normal School of Hunan. I was an omnivorous reader and I inhabited the Hunan Provincial Library.
To her embarrassment, none of the titles he mentioned has she heard of. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, Darwin's Origin of Species and books on ethics by John Stuart Mill. Later on she would be required to read these books but she would never be able to go beyond page ten.
He seems to enjoy talking to her tremendously. The girl is grateful that he doesn't ask whether she has ever come across one of his beloved books. She doesn't want to go into poetry. She has no sense of it. She is afraid, of a name, Fairlynn. She decides to quickly change the subject.
Sounds like you skipped a lot of meals, she interrupts gently. You didn't take care of your health.
He laughs loudly. You might not believe this, but I was more than fit. In those days I gathered a group of students around me and founded an organization called the New Citizen Society. Besides discussing the great issues, we were energetic physical culturists. In winter we tramped through the fields, up and down mountains, along city walls. We also swam across rivers. We took rain baths, sun baths and wind baths. We camped in the snows.
She says that she would like to hear more.
It's late, I should not keep you from sleep.
Her eyes are bright like morning stars.
Well, I'll tell you one last detail of my story. He takes off his coat and wraps her shoulders with it. No more after this, all right?
She nods.
It was one over-rained summer when all the plants outgrew their sizes. A giant honeycomb constructed by horse bees was discovered on a tree in front of my house. The object was like a mine hung in the air. In the morning the tree was bent over because of the comb's weight—it had absorbed the moisture of the previous night and gotten heavier. After noon, the tree straightened itself back up.
This was a very strange honeycomb. Instead of being filled with honey and wax, it was filled with fiber of all sorts: dead leaves, seeds, feathers, animal bones, straw and rags. It was why the honeycomb smelled rotten at night. The smell attracted bugs. Especially lightning bugs. They swarmed in and covered the comb. By this time the horse bees had gone to sleep. The light of the bugs turned the comb into a glowing blue lantern.
Did you know that when lightning bugs get together they turn on and off their lights in unison?
Every night, the girl goes to sleep with the same fairy tale in which she always sees the blue lantern described by Mao.
The desire to meet in the dark increases. Mao begins to send the guard away. One evening Lan Ping is determined not to be the one to invite affection. She bids good-bye right after dinner. Taking his horse he offers to walk her a mile.
They are silent. She is upset. There are rumors about my spending time with you alone, she tells him. I am afraid I can come no more.
His smile disappears.
She starts