Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [44]
“What has Liberation brought us?” Party Secretary Feng Jin asks, and then he goes on to quote Chairman Mao. “ ‘Everybody works so everybody eats.’ What does this mean? Today those same brave women work in power stations. They climb pylons to change porcelain insulators to maintain ultrahigh-tension transmission lines. One day, they will bring telephones and electricity here. Other women work in cotton and flour mills or serve as machine-tool operators, geological prospectors, welders, forgers, pilots, and navigators. Women are educated—whether in a literacy class like the one we have here in our collective or at a university.”
A discussion follows, with several men raising their hands to speak. Again we’re reminded of the things Chairman Mao has promised in the New Society: Women hold up half the sky. Everyone—men, women, and children—must plunge into political struggle to brave storms and face the world. We all must adhere to the Marriage Law. Party Secretary Feng Jin ends the session with a song. The whole room reverberates with good feeling as the voices of Green Dragon Village Collective join him.
Later, during the art lesson, I’m still aware of Tao—how could I not be with his taste still in my mouth and his touch on my lips, neck, and breast?—sitting next to me. I refuse to look at him outright, but I peer at his hand and try to draw it.
“Something has opened in you, Joy.” I look up to see Z.G. Blood rushes up my neck to my face. “Your technique still needs polishing, but I believe your calligraphy lessons have given you a delicate touch.” He stands back, with his arms folded, staring at my work with true appreciation. “The hand is the hardest to draw,” he adds. “I think you could be good, if you actually wanted to learn.”
I smile. What a strange and wonderful day this has turned out to be.
When the lesson ends, Tao leaves with the other villagers. Z.G., Kumei, and I collect the art supplies and return to the villa. Kumei says good night, and Z.G. and I walk through the courtyards to our adjoining rooms. Z.G. disappears into his room, while I put the supplies away. He returns a few minutes later with a sketchbook.
“This is for you,” he says. “You’ll need a lot of practice if you ever want to draw a hand properly. Always try to depict the inner world of the heart and mind. That is the essence of Chinese artistic striving. You could get there, I think.”
He says nothing more and returns to his room. I’m left with my first two gifts from my father—his words and the sketchbook.
AFTER THAT NIGHT, I still wake up early and work in the fields as I did before. In the afternoons, Z.G. still works by himself by the side of the fields with his charcoal, pencil, and sketchbook or with brushes, paints, and paper. People still stop to look at his drawings, but he increasingly keeps a lot of his work private, often flipping down another sheet of paper, especially when I approach, so I can’t see what he’s working on. This hurts my feelings, but what can I do?
At the end of the day, Tao and I lag behind, gathering everyone’s tools and securing them for the night. Then Tao and I head back toward Green Dragon Village. We’re careful not to hold hands or touch, because we don’t want anyone to look out a window or door and see us. We walk to the villa’s front gate, pass it, cross the little bridge, and then hurry along the path paralleling the stream until we reach the turnoff to the Charity Pavilion. I’ve grown stronger. Now I can get to the top of the hill and still have enough breath to kiss Tao right away. Later, we go separately to the political meeting and art lesson in the ancestral hall. We don’t sit together any longer, but I sense him nearby, knowing that tomorrow we’ll have our secret time in the Charity Pavilion.
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