Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [20]
The rest of the day went by excruciatingly slowly, and we only had a ten-minute break between each hour. Teacher Song’s sweet voice went in one ear and out the other. Instead, my thoughts were out on the streets and in the fields. I couldn’t wait for each ten-minute break to arrive.
During the final hour of our lessons that day, as I tried to write, I heard a bird chirping outside. I was always fascinated by birds. I would watch them and daydream. I admired their gracefulness and envied their freedom. I wished for wings so I too could fly out of this harsh life. But then I also thought of the constant danger of being shot down by humans or eaten by animals. And if I became a bird, I would leave my family. This would surely break my niang’s heart. Yet sometimes I thought I might be able to help them more as a bird, flying high in the air and spotting food for my family.
My thoughts were interrupted by Teacher Song’s voice. “All right, that’s enough for today. I want you to practice what you’ve learned at home. Tomorrow, I expect you to remember what we’ve done today. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” we replied.
“Good. Now I’m going to teach you a song. I’m sure you will have heard it before. It is called ‘I Love Beijing Tiananmen.’”
We’d heard this song many times over our village’s loudspeakers:
I love Beijing Tiananmen,
The sun rises above Tiananmen.
Our great leader Chairman Mao,
Lead and guide us forward.
The singing became my favorite part of our day.
On the way home we exchanged our feelings about that first day of school.
“So boring!” one of my friends said.
“It’s horrible!” said another.
“I hate sitting next to girls.”
“What about the bird?” I asked.
“What bird?”
“Didn’t you hear it on the windowsill?”
“I was struggling so much trying to write ‘Long, long live Chairman Mao,’ why would I hear a bird?” another friend replied.
We stopped at a sandy bank by the little stream south of our village and were surprised to discover that Yang Ping’s group of friends had beaten us there and were playing “horse fight.” We soon joined in. One person would sit on another’s shoulders and opposing groups would try hard to unseat their opponents. Yang Ping and I, physically similar, were the “anchor horses” at the bottom. That day we were the last two standing on each team. We fought one another tooth and nail until we dragged each other down in a draw, totally exhausted, muddy, and with our clothes torn. Yang Ping and I struck up a good friendship after that.
We spent our first two weeks of school in that temporary classroom until a room became available at the proper school. This consisted of single-story brick and stone classrooms joined to each other just like commune housing.
At eight that morning, the head of the school welcomed us and we were led by Teacher Song to our official classroom, a square room with two rice-papered windows on the outside wall. There was slightly more natural light here than in the temporary classroom; the ceiling was high and the air fresh. Pictures of famous communists—Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin—were glued on the back wall. Large pictures of Chairman Mao and Vice-Chairman Lin Biao smiled warmly at us from above the blackboard, which was already filled with the words we were to learn that day. Under the blackboard was a concrete platform, and we had desks and small benches to sit on.
My fourth and fifth brothers were also at the school. It was my fourth brother’s sixth and final year before he moved to the middle school. My fifth brother was in his third year.
After the first two weeks of school, I still had no idea what I’d learned or why I should study. Listening to Teacher Song babbling on just made me sleepy, especially in afternoon classes, which went from two until six. The only thing that kept me awake was the thought of playing with my friends during those ten-minute breaks.
After our second class one day, we were told to go outside for our first fifteen-minute physical education