God Is Red - Liao Yiwu [79]
I was fed up with my parents and their ideology. That was why I sought a spiritual rebirth in the church. When I was baptized, I even changed my name. My current name was given to me by Father Zhang Gangyi. It took me a while before I found my path. God changed my fate and I found meaning in life. It’s not easy. I was married once and strayed for a long time.
Liao: Don’t forget that I was a friend of your ex-husband.
Liu: How can I forget? When we lived on Reincarnation Lane, we tried writing stream-of-consciousness poems together. Remember we got so drunk? We turned on the tape recorder and talked gibberish into the microphone. We thought we were creating the most remarkable poetry. Only one line emerged from that experience: “A red wolf soaked in wine, his mouth dripping.” In 1986 when avant-garde poems took the country by storm, my home became a hotel—one group of crazies moving out, another waiting to move in. They slept all over the place, eating, drinking, and shitting in my house. I became a full-time cook, buying groceries and liquor. I just cooked and cooked. One night, I locked myself up in my kitchen and turned the gas on, trying to kill myself.
Liao: Why?
Liu: Those artist friends of mine were supposed to be the cultural elite, but they were a bunch of soulless good-for-nothing animals. One time, I saw them getting drunk and engaging in group sex. It was disgusting. Where was the artistic vision in that? Everything became so meaningless. I started to hear voices . . .
In 1989 I was teaching at a university, and when the student movement started, I became excited and saw hope for China. I offered a lot of support to my students. But then the government crackdown happened. I became seriously depressed. I stopped socializing, broke off contact with my poet friends. I would aimlessly wander the streets. One Sunday morning, I passed the Catholic church on Zouma Street. I could hear singing and, out of curiosity, went in and saw hundreds of people under that beautiful high-arched ceiling singing along with the choir and the organ. I stood at the back, with my head down, and soon realized I was humming along with them. I felt someone touch my elbow. An old woman was smiling at me. Her face was creased like the bark of a thousand-year-old tree. She gestured for me to lift my head and sing. I felt embarrassed. I had never heard hymn singing before. I had never heard such pure and heavenly music. Tears welled up in my eyes. That old grandma handed me her hymn book. When she smiled again, I noticed that she had only one tooth left. She stood there, sticking out her dry, flat chest and singing her heart out. The whole church was under the spell of Jesus, not a shred of distraction. Everything was so bright and pure. I’ll never forget the first hymn that I sang:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me . . .
I didn’t dare sing too loudly, for fear I would spoil the harmony. I was possessed with happiness, like a strayed child who found her path. I looked up at the cross above the altar and at Jesus who bore the sufferings of humans. I felt touched; my body felt electrified. I wanted to compose poetry, but not the avant-garde garbage I used to write.
Liao: I’ve been to the church you described—the Sichuan Provincial Catholic Patriotic Church.
Liu: At that time, I had no idea that there were government-sanctioned