You have been lonely, he suddenly said.
She stood up and walked toward the door.
Stay. His word halted her.
She knew she couldn't disobey him. She went to sit back down, but on another sofa.
I am too old for guerrilla war today. He got up and came to share her seat. His hands caught her.
No, please! The words almost choked themselves out of her chest.
He was not affected. He took pleasure in her struggle. He gently forced his way. God provides food for every bird, but he doesn't throw it into its nest, she heard him say. You have to come out and pick it.
I'd rather continue my path to dust.
He didn't respond but began to pump her.
Her body shut down and her mind withdrew.
Drops of his sweat curved their way down onto the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, down her ears and into her hair. Her rejection unnerved him. Holding her he kept lunging as if to push himself out of her.
We tryst ... she cried suddenly, grinding the words. We tryst in the dark. Our skin once glowed, our bodies swelled in rapture, our flesh was consumed with impatience. But how would I know ... that we were only to discover that this journey ... the journey which gulped the fire of our youth, was ... not worth traveling.
His right hand came to cover her mouth. His body beat her with its rhythm.
Suddenly he wound down, like a broken bicycle.
She felt herself living inside a clock, watching her own body in a strange motion. She tried to block her thoughts from shooting toward the future.
The late afternoon light continued to cut the Peony Room wall into shapes of rectangles and triangles. The burgundy carpet smelled of smoke. The ancient painting of peonies looked like spooky figures poking out of the wall. The sound of an underground pipe running mixed with the sound of a wok being scrubbed in the kitchen at the far end.
She listened for a long time. The sound of water running through the pipes tapped upon her skull. Then came the sound of steps. It was the guard on duty. The march stopped with a yell. Something fell. Some heavy bag. The guard ran. Then came the sound of two men talking. A truck driver, who was here to deliver live fish. The guard told him that he was in the wrong place. The driver asked for directions to the main kitchen entrance. The guard answered him in a strong Shan-dong dialect. The driver asked if he could use the restroom and the guard replied that he had to do it outside. Gradually the noise in the hallway died down.
She thought how strange it was that she had been married to Mao for seventeen years.
Do you know what secret it was that got us married? Mao asked as if reading her thoughts and then answered himself. It was the fascination with ourselves. We once were each other's mirror that reflected our own beauty. We sang hymns to ourselves ... and that was all.
Getting up, he fastened his pants. A smoker who burned his pillow with his own cigarette butt. His tone was filled with irony.
You're wrong! she blurted out.
Come on, our life has been spent in battling the feudalists, Chiang Kai-shek, the Japanese, the imperialists, the mother earth and each other. Never mind the past. For your future's sake I advise you to remember the reason the willow blossom flies higher than a bird—it is because it has the wind's support.
Well, something you'd better remember too. You and I are two sides of one leaf—there is no way to split—your godlike picture depends on me to hold it in its place.
Play out your drama any way you like. He walked toward the door and paused. But don't assign me to any role.
The door slammed behind him.
The hall echoed.
***
No syphilis. The report from my doctor comes back. I let out a long breath. I was scared. Curious, I decide to telephone Mao's physician, Dr. Li. I ask if Mao has syphilis. After a nervous hesitation Dr. Li explains that he needs a letter of permission from the Politburo to reveal information on Mao's health. Doesn't it count that I am his wife?
I was instructed not to answer any question regarding the Chairman's health, Madame.
The line is silent for a while. I press on. If I am to sleep with him tonight, will it be safe?
No reply.
I will charge you with first-degree murder if you lie, Doctor.
I let the threat sit for a while and then repeat my question.
No. The man finally cracks. It won't be safe.
So he's got syphilis.
I didn't say that, Madame! He suddenly acts hysterical. I've never said that Chairman Mao had syphilis!
***
With his medical bags in hand Dr. Li flies in on a military jet at seven-thirty in the morning. Madame Mao receives him in a cottage surrounded by the West Lake in Hang-zhou. She is in a skylighted drawing room taking photos of roses.
Dr. Li wipes his brow and begins to unpack his equipment. She stops him. I sent for you to answer me one question. What have you done to cure Mao?
The man's fingers begin to play nervously with the zipper on his equipment case.
You see, Doctor, I don't exist if Mao gets chewed up by bugs.
Dr. Li lets out a breath. Forgive me, Madame ... The Chairman ... he is not particularly fond of my treatment.
She laughs as she takes apart her tripod. That's typical!
Dr. Li smiles humbly. Well, the Chairman is always busy. He has a country to run.
He is an old smelly-rotten-stone from the bottom of a manure pit, she says loudly. I know how you feel, Doctor. I have been trying to change his diet for years without a single success. He loves fat pork with sugar and soy sauce. The greasier the better. But the syphilis bug is a different matter, isn't it? What will happen if he continues to be the virus carrier? Will the other parts of his body be infected? Will he die from the disease?
No, Dr. Li confirms. It does much less damage to a man than to a woman.
Are you saying that he'd be fine without taking any medication?
The doctor chooses to remain silent again.
Is it difficult to get rid of the bug?
No, not at all. All the Chairman has to do is to receive a couple of shots.
Did you explain this to him?
Yes I did, Madame.
What happened?
The man's mouth drops and he won't utter another word.
She passes him a towel to wipe his sweat. Again it's typical. My husband couldn't care less about what happens to his partners. Sit down, Doctor. You don't have to make a sound. Just correct me if I am wrong. Please believe that I know Mao inside out. Did he say that there was no way you could make him suffer the shots? I bet he said exactly that. Yes? You see. He has to continue the practice of longevity and you think what an awful human being he is, don't you?
No no no no. The man springs up from the sofa. I've never thought ... I'd never dare...
She smiles as if finding the situation comical.
Dr. Li continues like a bad actor reciting his lines. I would never think of Chairman Mao in such a way. I am a one hundred percent revolutionary. I devote my life to our great leader, great teacher, great commander—our Great Helmsman.
Poor man. Putting her camera into its case she teases, Then you must think that these girls deserve the bugs, don't you? No? Why not? It's their punishment, isn't it? I understand that some of the victims of syphilis can never bear children? Am I wrong? All right, I am right. Do you sympathize with the girls? I would be surprised if you didn't. I was told that you are a decent doctor. Do you believe in the Chairman's practice? Have you encouraged him? Then you discouraged him? No? Why? Why not? You are a doctor. You are supposed to cure, to heal, to stop the virus! What? You don't know? You see, you have come to understand my situation now. Because you are experiencing what I am experiencing. It is all about how a decent person gets stripped of his dignity.
15
UNLIKE MAO, WHO HAS LITTLE TASTE for art and architecture, Madame Mao Jiang Ching finds herself touched by the Forbidden City, especially its Summer
Palace. Her favorite spot is the Sea of Magnolia Fragrance, its forest of flowers behind the Hall of Happiness in Longevity. The plants were transplanted from southern China two centuries ago. During its blooming season Madame Mao spends hours wandering in what she calls "the pink clouds." The other spot is the Peony Terrace, built in 1903 by the old empress dowager. The flower beds are made of terraced carved rock.
In the winter, "Strolling through a picture scroll" becomes her favorite activity. She orders the guards and servants to make themselves "disappear" before she enters the "scene." The complex of buildings stands on the hillside west of the Tower of the Scent of Buddha. She loves the view: three towers, two pavilions, a gallery and an arched gateway. She listens to the wind and finds herself calmed. The third day of the snow she comes again to look at a magnificent building that has a large octagonal two-story open pavilion with a double-eave roof of green and yellow glazed tiles. It is now blanketed by snow. She weeps freely and feels understood—a great actress's disappearance.
The whiteness, the sorrow. Alone in the picture world.
***
I order servants to bring me cloth-bound picture books. I have begun studying the personalities of the Forbidden City. I share an interest in opera with the empress dowager. On splendid days I come to visit her glories. I walk directly toward the Hall of Health and Happiness. The hall stands opposite the stage at a distance of less than twenty meters. It was here that the empress enjoyed theatrical performances. I sit down on her throne. It is a gold-lacquered chair with a design of a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix. It is comfortable. The chair is kept like new. The spirit of the woman is touchable.
I come to adjust my mood. I come to dream, and to feel what it is like to be the empress dowager and to have true power. I don't need a troupe to play for me. I see myself as the protagonist in an imagined opera. The scenes are vivid as I leaf through the empress's opera manual. They are the classic pieces I grew up with, the ones I learned from my grandfather. The Diary of the Imperial Existence. I can hear the tunes and arias. It was said that the empress didn't sit on the throne to watch the performances but reclined in bed in her wing and observed from the window. She had seen the opera so many times that she had memorized every detail.
I get on that bed too. I imagine her watching Emperor Guangxu sitting on the front porch to the left of the entrance accompanied by princes, dukes, ministers and other high officials, who sat along the east and west verandahs. What kind of mood was she in? A woman born to a terrible time, who lost her territories each day to foreign and domestic enemies. Was the opera her only escape?
I find it soothing when facing the Great Stage, which was constructed in 1891. The largest stage of the Ching dynasty, it is a three-story structure, twenty-one meters high and seventeen meters wide on the lowest floor. There are chambers above and below it, with trapdoors for angels to descend from the sky and devils to rise up from the earth. There is also a deep well and five square pools under the stage for water scenes. In connection with the stage is the Makeup Tower, a magnificent two-story backstage building.
I miss my role. I miss my stage.
For a while the beauty of the place occupies her. Then she becomes bored. She retreats. Visits less. Soon she stops coming. She shuts herself in the Garden of Stillness and grows depressed. She is desperate for an audience. She talks to whoever is around. The servants, the chef, the new pet—a monkey she was recently presented as a gift from the National Zoo, or the mirror, the wall, sink, chair and toilet. Gradually, it becomes an act in which she takes pleasure. It is to deal with herself, to find things to do, to forget the pressing unhappiness.
It is not that I am an expert, but Mao is definitely a science illiterate. I respect doctors, especially dentists. But Mao doesn't. He hates them. Poor Mr. Lin-po. Every time he came to clean the Chairman's teeth he would tremble. It's like he was asked to peel the skin off a dragon. The Chairman can be frightening to an ordinary person. The dentist was shaking so hard that the Chairman thought his jaw was going to fall apart. So the Chairman asked him to fix his own jaw first.
The man couldn't take the Chairman's jokes. So he was fired. The next one was recommended by Premier Zhou. He came and behaved the same way. His jaw was all right but his facial muscles twisted as if his nerves were wired with an electric cord. And there was the hairdresser too, Mr. Wei. The Chairman cracked some jokes with him and commented that his shaver was sharp. The man dropped his tool and fainted on his knees.
The Chairman calls me "Miss Bourgeois" because I refuse to eat pork. He believes that he is immortal. He believes he possesses supernatural power. No bug will attack him and no fat will clog his arteries. Well, I'd like to bet on his teeth. His periodontal disease is so severe that his teeth are green and his breath stinks. I bet he will wake up one morning and find all his teeth gone.
She forgets that her listeners are not supposed to respond, not to mention offering comments or opinions. She forgets that they are on duty. Soon she loses interest in her monologue and finds herself developing a habit of peeping and spying.
I have been following the Chairman's footprints. I want to find out what he does as the head of state. I find that he basically does two things: travel and entertain. At the beginning nobody wants to talk to me for fear of Mao. I change my strategy. I play what I call the game of confusion. I locate Mao's destination and phone the governor after his visit. I say, the Chairman asks me to send his warmest regards to you. Then I ask what the Chairman did during his stay. I learn that the Chairman was led to visit the workplaces of distinction. A steel factory in the north and a coal mill in the west, a hen farm in the south and a seafood plantation in the east. Wherever Mao goes he is told they have the greatest harvest. The governors are in competition to please Mao. They are desperate to get Mao to issue state loans. But then I ask, Why didn't you report the truth? If there has been a drought why say harvest was on its way?
Isn't the answer obvious, Madame? the governor sighs. I would rather make false reports than look foolish in front of the Chairman.
So everyone ends up raising his gun only to shoot his own foot. To such complaints my method is to change the subject. It is not that I don't care. It is my own survival I have to worry about first. My life has experienced drought after drought and flood after flood. I am sick of the bad news.
***
In her spying she has come to focus on two women. The two whom she secretly compares herself to and envies. The two who stand no chance of being her friends. One is talented and plain-looking. She is Premier Zhou En-lai's wife, Deng Yin-chao. The other is Wang Guang-mei, the wife of Vice Chairman Liu. Talented and beautiful, she disturbs Madame Mao Jiang Ching the most. The fact that both women are adored by their husbands troubles her. She finds it unbearable when Premier Zhou kisses Deng Yin-chao when leaving for trips, and when Vice Chairman Liu glues his eyes on Wang Guang-mei at parties. She takes it personally as a humiliation to herself.
The eyes of the public suck it all in, she painfully observes. The affection is caught on camera, printed in papers and deposited in the minds of the billion—she is being compared.
How do these women keep their husbands? One can almost pity Deng Yin-chao for her yam-shaped face. She has turtle eyes, a frog mouth, a hunched back, gray hair and a soy-sauce-bottle body draped in gray suits. There is no color in her speech. Nor in her expression. Yet her husband Premier Zhou is the most handsome and charming man in China.
I am pleased with Deng Yin-chao. I am pleased with her wisdom. The knowledge of knowing herself, knowing that she can't fight me, is not my rival, thus doesn't try to be one. She is a lady who knows when to shut up, when to disappear, and she treats me like a queen. She gets what she wants in the end. She understands the benefits of being humble. During my husband's twenty-seven years of ruling, the ups and downs that turn one from hero to villain and back overnight, the Zhous' boat never sinks. Deng Yin-chao doesn't come to dance parties held in the Grand Hall of the People.
Once in a while she shows up to just say hello. She hunches her back and tells me that I am the best. All the nice words. I don't know what she says about me to her husband. She doesn't talk about me behind my back to anyone else, because she knows that Kang Sheng is my ear, and he is everywhere. Deng Yin-chao speaks good of me and lets her compliments travel back to me.
Wang Guang-mei is not so wise. Wang Guang-mei is the opposite of Deng Yin-chao.
Madame Mao Jiang Ching can hardly stand Wang Guang-mei. Wang Guang-mei is a New Year's lantern that shines the way to warmth. Her grace offers delight and her words bring closeness. From a prestigious and Western-influenced family, Wang Guang-mei is highly educated and self-confident. She doesn't intend to outshine Madame Mao Jiang Ching, but because Mao never publicly introduces his wife, visitors from foreign countries all regard Wang Guang-mei as the first lady of China.
Although Wang Guang-mei pays attention to Jiang Ching, mentions her name constantly, consults her on all manner of things, from dress codes to what presents to bring when accompanying her husband abroad, she is unable to please Jiang Ching. Unlike Deng Yin-chao, who makes sure that she appears as no rival to Jiang Ching, Wang Guang-mei sets limits on how much she will sacrifice her own taste. Wang Guang-mei refuses to keep Jiang Ching in her mind all the time. Furthermore, she has no guilt over her popularity.
I think of Wang Guang-mei as a thief. As a thief later on I punish her. She stole my role and I can't view her any other way. Like a bird to a worm, she is my natural enemy. Her very existence demands my sacrifice.
Wang Guang-mei tries to be a good performer, though. The problem is that she doesn't think that she's being harmful to me. She thinks the opposite. She thinks that there is nothing wrong with my not meeting foreign guests, with my not visiting the countries of my dreams. Nothing wrong that her face gets to be printed all over the papers and magazines. Nothing wrong that I am forgotten.