Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [48]
“Remember,” Sung-ling warns, “leniency to those who confess and severity to those who refuse.”
Comrade Feng Rui quietly begins. “I was a bad husband. I didn’t follow the red way.”
That’s as far as he gets before people start jeering.
“We always thought you were a reactionary,” someone yells.
“Your wife called you a wicked element, and she was right,” accuses another.
Sung-ling holds up a hand for silence so she can address Comrade Feng Rui directly. “Your wife was a woman, but she was also a person. Still, you treated her like a dog. You beat her and cursed her. You let your mother torment her. What do you have to say? Tell us your bad history so we can know who you are.”
Feng Rui mumbles something unintelligible. A part of me feels sorry for him being humiliated in front of the collective. Then an image of his wife’s injuries and her waxy flesh in death comes into my mind. He’s lucky to be getting off so easily.
“You behaved so badly toward your wife,” Sung-ling continues, “that she threw herself into Comrade Bing-dao’s hay cutter. And how do you think he feels now? He took a life, but it wasn’t his fault.”
“It was yours!” people shout from the audience.
I’m at the side of the stage. I’ve changed into my next costume, and I’m supposed to be preparing for our big finale. Instead, I find myself joining the others in their chanting condemnation of Comrade Ping-li’s husband. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as a white ribbon is pinned to Comrade Feng Rui’s chest.
“From now on you will wear this ribbon of denunciation,” Sung-ling declares. “Everyone will look at you and see you for the rightist element you are!”
With that, Feng Rui is led away, ending the struggle-session portion of our show. I’m excited, ready for my starring role. I give my cheeks quick pinches to bring in color, since none of us wear makeup. We must end the evening on an up note, and our last scene will do that.
I take my place at a table with one of the actors sent by the county. His name is Sheng. I don’t have to look all that closely to see that he hasn’t followed the lesson about teeth brushing, and it’s pretty clear he hasn’t washed recently either. We’re playing a husband and wife in an unhappy marriage. We’re both fishermen. We argue about who does the chores, who minds the children, who sews, and who washes the clothes. Then the accusations shift from domestic to public life.
“So you like to go to sea to show your strength, do you?” Sheng mocks me. “That’s like asking a baby chick to swallow a soybean. You’ll choke on it eventually.”
“But I haven’t choked! I’m sailing the seas of revolution like all the people of China. I’m standing against the wind and waves and breaking a new path for women! My female comrades and I have applied Mao Tse-tung Thought to fishing. My boat has caught over seven hundred tons of fish. Everybody works so everybody eats!”
My husband isn’t satisfied with my response, and he’s even less satisfied with me. I may have beaten my husband at fishing, but now he physically beats me. He won’t give me food. He locks me out of the house so that I have to sleep outside. As a girl on movie sets, I was praised for my ability to cry when the director yelled, “Action.” I let the tears flow now. I’m so sad, so pathetic, it seems I have no way out. I take a butcher knife and prepare to drive it into my heart. Even men in the audience weep in sympathy for my sorry life.
Just then I look up and see a poster about the Marriage Law. I study the pictures, explaining what I see: “A hurried marriage is not a solid basis for a marriage. Suicide is not a solution to unhappiness. Divorce will be granted when husband and wife desire it.”
When I turn around, a panel of judges sits at my kitchen table. I tell them my unhappy tale. My husband gives his version. In the end, I’m granted a divorce in accordance with the Marriage Law. My husband and I part as friends. I go back to my fishing vessel and he goes back