Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [92]
She is unable to utter another word, so happy that she feels that she must bid good-bye to hide her emotion.
He takes a drag on his cigarette and walks her to the door. Just a moment, Jiang Ching, he says and waits to have her full attention. You have complained that I have caged you. You might be right. It's been twenty-some years, hasn't it? Forgive me. I was forced to do so. I am in a tough position. At any rate, I am putting an end to it. You have paid enough. Now go out to the world and break the spell.
She throws herself on his chest.
He holds her and calms her.
In her tears dawn comes to display its extraordinariness.
***
The secretary tells me that Mayor Ke has come two hours earlier to wait for my arrival. It is ceremonial. It is to show his courtesy. I tell the secretary that the mayor's hospitality is appreciated.
The noiseless car takes me to number 1245 Hua-shan Road. Mayor Ke sits next to me and writes down every word I say. I send him Mao's regards and tell him that I need to find writers.
Can't Madame locate good writers in Beijing? Doesn't the imperial city attract fine intellects?
I smile. A smile that demonstrates absolute secrecy. A smile Mayor Ke reads and understands. The mayor is from peasant stock and has a head that reminds me of an onion. He is in a white cotton garment. A pair of black cotton sandals. A costume the Party cadres wear to show their revolutionary origin. Antileather shoes means anti-bourgeois. I am sure you'll produce results that will be to Mao's satisfaction, I say. I let him take his time, let him count his fingers and figure out his profit margin.
Mayor Ke asks me to answer one question. One question and that will be all. I nod. Are writers in Beijing no longer dependable?
I don't say a word.
He gets it. Gets that Mao regards Shanghai as his new base. Gets that Mao is ready to flatten Beijing.
The next morning Mayor Ke calls and says that he is sending a writer named Chun-qiao to my villa. Chun-qiao is the editor-in-chief of the newspaper Shanghai Wen-hui. He is the best I have ever known, he says.
Send Comrade Chun-qiao the Chairman's warmest hello, I say.
Two hours later Chun-qiao arrives. Welcome to Shanghai, Madame Mao. He bows to shake my hand. He is walking-stick thin and a smoker. After a few minutes of conversation I find his mind scissor-sharp.
Shanghai can do anything Madame desires. He smiles with all his teeth sprouting.
My first night in Shanghai I have difficulty sleeping. The city reminds me of how I used to eat my heart out over Tang Nah and Dan and how I longed for Junli's attention. There was not a spot of unbroken skin on my mind's body. How heroically I fought fate. My youth was a splendid bonfire with herbs of passion that smelled strongly. I have never forgotten the scent of Shanghai.
The night is bittersweet and tearful. I can't help but recall the past. My suffering. The struggle, the feeling of being entangled in my own intestines, crouching, but unable to fight back. Slowly, the dirt track of memory disappears into the flat of the horizon. I watch my sentiments burn and I scatter the ashes. I realize that if I can't live a life tending my vineyards in the sun, I have to learn to trust my own instincts. In that sense I am truly my name. Jiang Ching. Green comes out of blue but is richer than blue.
Chun-qiao proves himself to be a good choice. He has a clear sense of who I am. He treats me as Mao's equal. With the same regard he fights for my ideas, my thoughts and extends my strength. People say that he never smiles. But when he sees me he blooms like a rose. Behind his thick glasses, his eyes look like polliwogs. The pupils are never still. He tells me that I have given him a new life. I think he means a ladder to political heaven. He tells me that he has been waiting for a moment like this for many years. He is born to devote his life to a cause, to be a faithful premier to an emperor.
She appreciates