Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [81]
Suddenly he wound down, like a broken bicycle.
She felt herself living inside a clock, watching her own body in a strange motion. She tried to block her thoughts from shooting toward the future.
The late afternoon light continued to cut the Peony Room wall into shapes of rectangles and triangles. The burgundy carpet smelled of smoke. The ancient painting of peonies looked like spooky figures poking out of the wall. The sound of an underground pipe running mixed with the sound of a wok being scrubbed in the kitchen at the far end.
She listened for a long time. The sound of water running through the pipes tapped upon her skull. Then came the sound of steps. It was the guard on duty. The march stopped with a yell. Something fell. Some heavy bag. The guard ran. Then came the sound of two men talking. A truck driver, who was here to deliver live fish. The guard told him that he was in the wrong place. The driver asked for directions to the main kitchen entrance. The guard answered him in a strong Shan-dong dialect. The driver asked if he could use the restroom and the guard replied that he had to do it outside. Gradually the noise in the hallway died down.
She thought how strange it was that she had been married to Mao for seventeen years.
Do you know what secret it was that got us married? Mao asked as if reading her thoughts and then answered himself. It was the fascination with ourselves. We once were each other's mirror that reflected our own beauty. We sang hymns to ourselves ... and that was all.
Getting up, he fastened his pants. A smoker who burned his pillow with his own cigarette butt. His tone was filled with irony.
You're wrong! she blurted out.
Come on, our life has been spent in battling the feudalists, Chiang Kai-shek, the Japanese, the imperialists, the mother earth and each other. Never mind the past. For your future's sake I advise you to remember the reason the willow blossom flies higher than a bird—it is because it has the wind's support.
Well, something you'd better remember too. You and I are two sides of one leaf—there is no way to split—your godlike picture depends on me to hold it in its place.
Play out your drama any way you like. He walked toward the door and paused. But don't assign me to any role.
The door slammed behind him.
The hall echoed.
***
No syphilis. The report from my doctor comes back. I let out a long breath. I was scared. Curious, I decide to telephone Mao's physician, Dr. Li. I ask if Mao has syphilis. After a nervous hesitation Dr. Li explains that he needs a letter of permission from the Politburo to reveal information on Mao's health. Doesn't it count that I am his wife?
I was instructed not to answer any question regarding the Chairman's health, Madame.
The line is silent for a while. I press on. If I am to sleep with him tonight, will it be safe?
No reply.
I will charge you with first-degree murder if you lie, Doctor.
I let the threat sit for a while and then repeat my question.
No. The man finally cracks. It won't be safe.
So he's got syphilis.
I didn't say that, Madame! He suddenly acts hysterical. I've never said that Chairman Mao had syphilis!
***
With his medical bags in hand Dr. Li flies in on a military jet at seven-thirty in the morning. Madame Mao receives him in a cottage surrounded by the West Lake in Hang-zhou. She is in a skylighted drawing room taking photos of roses.
Dr. Li wipes his brow and begins to unpack his equipment. She stops him. I sent for you to answer me one question. What have you done to cure Mao?
The man's fingers begin to play nervously with the zipper on his equipment case.
You see, Doctor, I don't exist if Mao gets chewed up by bugs.
Dr. Li lets out a breath. Forgive me, Madame ... The Chairman ... he is not particularly fond of my treatment.
She laughs as she takes apart her tripod. That's typical!
Dr. Li smiles humbly. Well, the Chairman is always busy. He has a country to run.
He is an old smelly-rotten-stone from the bottom of a manure pit, she says loudly. I know how you feel, Doctor. I have been