Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [38]
We were expected to memorize every word in Mao’s Little Red Book and relate them to our daily activities. In fact, we spent more time on Mao than we did on ballet and all other subjects combined.
We were rewarded for reporting when a fellow student’s behavior wasn’t in keeping with Chairman Mao’s great political vision. We were even told by one of the political heads that one brave and faithful young Red Guard loved Chairman Mao so much that he informed the police that his parents had Taiwan connections. Both parents were arrested, and their son was upheld as a national hero.
I too would have done anything for Chairman Mao. Anything, except tell on my parents. I loved my niang and my dia too much to betray them.
Madame Mao also wanted us to spend three weeks each year with the farmers, the workers, or the soldiers. These were called the “Learning Three Classes” sessions. We had to live and work among the peasants, workers, or soldiers and at the same time keep up our dance training. At the end of each “learning session” we put on a performance.
Our first three-week summer holiday was spent in one of these learning sessions, with the peasants in a nearby commune. How I welcomed the wheat and the cornfields, the smell of manure, the sound of the crickets! But it made me homesick too. I wanted to go back to my village and catch my beloved crickets again. I wanted both worlds: the good food of the academy and the freedom of my home.
I was surprised that my classmates from the city had little idea about how to work on the land. I truly believed Chairman Mao was right: if these kids didn’t come to the commune and work with the peasants, they would have no idea where their food came from.
We continued to practice our ballet, acrobatics, and Beijing Opera Movement every day while we were living with the peasants. We used wire poles and walls for our barre. The dirt ground was uneven and our ballet shoes wore out quickly and were always filthy with mud.
We slept and ate at different peasants’ homes during our stay, but by the third day so many students suffered stomach cramps and diarrhea that the school officials had to call in our academy chef to cook for us.
The weather was still hot when we returned to our university, and now came the dreaded visit to the swimming pool.
“Students who can’t swim, raise your hands!”
A few hands went up—mine was one of them.
“Where is your swimming suit?” the political head asked me. Everyone looked at my practice shorts.
“I don’t have a swimming suit.”
“Didn’t I tell everyone to buy one yesterday?”
I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t afford one.
He gave me an annoyed look and shook his head. “Students who can’t swim, follow me.”
He took us to the shallow end of the pool and demonstrated the so-called “frog-style,” or breaststroke. Following his instructions, I tried to swim, but my body sank as soon as I started to circle my arms. I kept swallowing water. I looked across and saw my classmates swimming and diving like fish and wished I could be like them.
By the end of that summer I did learn to swim, even though I was still afraid of the water.
That summer was so hot. We had no air-conditioning or fans, and for relief we slept on the floor in the dance studio. In spite of the many windows, it was still difficult to sleep. Mosquitoes would zoom around like little vampires. We slapped about frantically, trying to chase them away all night long.
Throughout that first year I labored through the days with no aim, no self-confidence. I couldn’t keep up with the pace. It was too much for an eleven-year-old peasant boy. I felt that not a single teacher liked me. I longed for my parents’ comfort and love. There was no one to go to for help. So I pulled myself further inward, desperately trying to stay afloat but constantly sinking.
We’d been at the academy for about nine months when our teachers organized another day trip for us, this time to the Great Wall. Again, fear of motion sickness terrified me,