Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [47]
“We no longer suffer from famine,” Sung-ling declares. “Freed from the bloodsucking landlord, farm profits have increased and even our children are chubby.”
She bows and receives great applause. She raises her head and continues. “Land reform and the Marriage Law came to us at the same time. This is not like learning to brush your teeth or clean your ears. As you will see, we still face much resistance …”
In the next skit, Tao and a girl from the propaganda team portray a young couple. They walk across the stage together, not touching. Tao has just eight lines, and not once has he gotten them right in rehearsal.
“I should ask my father to arrange a marriage for us,” Tao recites in a dull monotone. I tried to help him with his delivery, but obviously I didn’t get through. “Our fathers will negotiate the bride-price and dowry. Then you will come to my home.”
The girl primly steps away from him and shakes her finger from side to side. “No, no, they cannot do that. I am not to be bought or sold.”
Tao garbles his next line, which is supposed to be “But I’ve told you I’m happy to make you my second wife.”
The girl playing opposite him goes on with the show, as Aunt May would say. “No more multiple wives, child brides, or concubines.” Her voice grows sterner as she repeats, “And no more buying of women.”
Tao, the unsuitable suitor, persists, awkwardly gesturing at his would-be bride with about as much ardor as cold taffy. “You’ll be safe with me. You’ll never have to leave the house or the yard. You know the old saying”—and here Tao beams, relieved to be back to something he actually knows—“ ‘Men go to market to sell their wares, but a woman belongs in her home with her mother-in-law and children.’ ”
At this, murmurs of approval ripple through the audience, which surprises me given the wholehearted way people accepted the story of land reform. What I understand in this moment is that many families here—like Tao’s—still keep their wives, mothers, sisters, and grandmothers inside. I’m so distracted by my thoughts about this that Sung-ling jabs me in the back to push me forward into the scene.
I’ve been assigned to play Tao’s sister, just returned from military service. I raise my arm to the sky in the inspirational style found in government posters I’ve seen. “Brother, it is time you understand that women can no longer be oppressed or exploited. Look at me. I fought with the army. Today I’m liberated from the four walls of my home.”
I have a long monologue, and I’ve worked hard to memorize it. So far I’m really pleased with how I’m doing.
“Brother,” I continue, “ask your bride to go with you of her own choice to the Party leaders of our village to get permission to marry. If she agrees, my sister-in-law will enjoy equal status in your home. If you have a baby girl, you will welcome her. Female infanticide is strictly forbidden! Remember, you are building the New Society. If you persist in following the old ways once you’re married, I myself will take my sister-in-law to court to ask for a divorce. You’ll be struggled against by the people. They’ll weed you out for your counterrevolutionary ways and gladly grant her a divorce if you continue to follow the bourgeois road.”
The people from the propaganda team insisted I use that phrase, but I wonder, what do these villagers—as much as I like them—know about the bourgeois road?
The propaganda team’s director strides to the front of the stage to spell out the lesson. “The groom has realized his mistake and promises to join the right path,” he proclaims. “Our young couple will keep their eyes on their own interests and return radiant from their marriage registration.”
As dusk turns to night, members of the troupe set small saucers filled with bean oil and lighted with cotton wicks at the foot of the stage. This darker atmosphere seems right for what comes next. Comrade Feng Rui, the dead woman’s husband, is brought onstage to make a self-criticism.