Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [19]
“Before you sit down,” Teacher Song continued, “we need to perform one more school rule: I’ll say ‘Good morning, students,’ and you will say ‘Good morning, Teacher.’ Let’s have a practice. Good morning, students!”
“Good morning, Teacher!” we replied in unison.
She smiled. “Good! Now sit down. Raise your hand if you have the Little Red Book.”
Most of us raised our hands.
“Those who don’t have one, please ask your parents to buy you one. I want all of you to have them tomorrow. This is very important. We should follow Vice-Chairman Lin’s example and never go anywhere without Chairman Mao’s Red Book. It will give us guidance in our lives. Without it we will be lost souls.”
Teacher Song continued: “Now you will learn how to read and write. Raise your hand if you can do so already.”
I looked around. Very few students raised their hands: mostly girls. I was relieved. I, for one, couldn’t recognize a single word in my textbook.
“Please open the first page of your textbook,” Teacher Song instructed.
A big colored picture of Chairman Mao stared out at me, occupying half the page, with shooting stars surrounding his face, as though Mao’s round head was the sun. The bottom half of the page had words on it.
“Can anyone read the words on this page?” the teacher asked. The same girls raised their hands again.
“What does the first line mean?” Teacher Song asked the girl sitting to my right.
“Long, long live Chairman Mao!” replied the girl in a proud voice.
“Good, very good!” Teacher Song paused. She glanced over the class. “Yes, we want to wish Chairman Mao a long, long life, because our great leader saved us. I’m sure your parents have told you many stories about the cruel life they lived under Chiang Kaishek’s Guomindang regime. Those were cold, dark days indeed. That government only cared for the rich. Children like you couldn’t even dream of sitting here, but Chairman Mao made it possible for everyone to have this privilege. Today, I’ll teach you how to write ‘Long, long live Chairman Mao, I love Chairman Mao, you love Chairman Mao, we all love Chairman Mao.’ I’ll now write this on the blackboard. Pay special attention to the sequence of the strokes.” She turned to the blackboard and wrote several lines with furious speed.
I was stunned. I didn’t understand the strokes at all! I turned to look at one of my friends. He drew a circle around his neck with his right hand and pulled upward, his eyes rolling and tongue hanging out, as though he were being hanged.
“Now I want you to repeat each phrase after me.” Our teacher pointed to the first line of words with her yard-long stick. “Long, long live Chairman Mao,” she read.
“Long, long live Chairman Mao!” we repeated.
“I love Chairman Mao!” she read.
“I love Chairman Mao!” we replied.
We repeated the phrases again and again until we had memorized them for life.
For the next hour, Teacher Song explained in detail how to write each stroke of the words and the sequence we had to use. I picked up my pencil and realized that I didn’t even know how to hold it. I looked to my right and copied the girl next to me, but I pressed too hard and broke the tip.
“Here, you can use mine,” the girl next to me said. “I have three.”
Three? She must belong to an official’s family!
“What’s the matter?” Teacher Song suddenly appeared in front of us.
“He broke his pencil,” my deskmate answered.
“Oh dear, and you haven’t written a single stroke yet,” she said.
My face swelled up like a red balloon. Reluctantly I took the girl’s pencil. Under Teacher Song’s gaze I carefully placed the tip on the paper. To my horror the strokes popped out of my uncontrollable pencil like popcorn, ugly and messy, in all directions. They looked nothing like what was written on the blackboard.
“Let me help you,” Teacher Song said. She placed her hand over mine and we finished “Long, long live Chairman Mao” together.
“Good. Now repeat these words five more times and you’ll be fine,” she said, and went to help some others. I quickly looked at my friend behind me. He shook