Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [46]
“We three women have found new lives in the New China,” I say, addressing the audience. “We’ve fought against the feudal systems of political authority, clan authority, religious authority, and husband authority. We’ve fought against class oppression and foreign aggression.”
“I’m a girl from feudal times,” Kumei announces nervously. When we first started rehearsals, Sung-ling insisted that Kumei play this part. It’s pretty hard to imagine Kumei—with her ruddy cheeks and loud voice—playing a demure maiden. I would have been much better at the part, having once played an emperor’s daughter as an extra in a movie. Besides, my aunt always said to take the role with the better costume.
“At age five, I was sold by my parents to the landowner,” Kumei continues. “In time he dressed me as a present and opened me every night. Oh, how I cried. I had a mouth but no right to speak. I had legs but no freedom to run.”
Kumei’s arm movements are clumsy, and she has zero stage presence. Still, I’m surprised she’s doing as well as she is. She’s illiterate, so she couldn’t read the script. I worked with her this past week, trying to help her memorize the words, but Sung-ling kept saying that Kumei’s version was fine.
“The Kuomintang soldiers did nothing to protect the people against the Japanese soldiers or the elements. Fifteen years ago, drought dried the fields. Eleven years ago, famine took hold of our country. Millions of people went hungry.”
Kumei hesitates, stumbling over the words. Then she freezes. People in the audience titter and point. I had thought this would be fun, but I wish she’d never volunteered to help. Sung-ling hisses the next line, and Kumei repeats it.
“My owner hoarded his rice. People left our village to beg. They sold their children. Too many died. When the War Against the Japanese Aggressors ended, we had the War of Liberation.”
When the audience erupts in cheers, Kumei takes a few steps across the stage and brings her hands together in a prayerful manner. Her recitation is amateurish, but now she goes on with more strength. “After our great leader liberated the masses, the people accused my owner of terrible crimes. They killed him and ordered me to make self-criticism. I did this before the whole village. And you”—here she spreads her arms to take in the audience—“remembered my red past as the daughter of a peasant family. You let me live!”
The audience is mesmerized, but I could have done a much better job with the monologue. I would have memorized the actual text sent by the government and not spoken so loosely.
Now Sung-ling strides across the stage. She’s been typecast as a model village woman. “Our great Chairman sent people to teach us. The first lesson: brush my teeth! I obeyed. Later, he instituted land reform. Everyone got a piece of land. Even women like me had our names on land titles and deeds. At last we were free from feudal landlord oppression.”
This isn’t exactly a hard part for Sung-ling to play, since she spouts this stuff every day. Now she leans forward to confide knowingly. “But Chairman Mao was not done. He put us on a path from socialism to communism, and we’ve obeyed. Five years ago, we formed mutual-aid teams. Two years ago, we gave our land, animals, seed grain, and tools to the collective.”
I’ve heard all this before, but for the first time