I don't know until Kang Sheng tells me later what happened on the night of the storm. April 30, 1967. Just before the clouds left the sky, Mao invited the old boys he had attacked previously to his study for a drink. He entertained them with deep-fried bear feet. He acted as if nothing had happened since February 18.
No wonder I was surprised to see all these old sticks show up happily at the celebration party on May 1 at the National Cultural Palace. I should have known that my husband was doing the two-faced trick. I should have understood that although Mao had been promoting me, my new power unnerves him and he needs to have another force to balance the game.
19
SHE GOES ON, LAUNCHING HERSELF aggressively into the future. On the surface she is the manager of Mao's powerhouse and she imagines herself above suffering like her opera heroines. But underneath there is no coming to terms with her feelings—she is exhilarated by her role, but also exhausted and nagged by doubt. Sometimes her love for Mao seems like desperation, sometimes like hate. And her sorrow about Nah has refused to go away. If she let herself, she could slip into depression. Every day she feels her character rot a bit. Last night, as she lay in bed, a girl from an ancient love story came to mind. The girl was a disappointed lover who poisoned the only well in the village.
They take advantage of the roles they play, Mao Tse-tung and Jiang Ching. They help each other and are getting closer to bringing the Lius down. There is still difficulty in making the public buy the negative image of Liu. He has been the Communist icon beside Mao for half a century. To solve the problem and strengthen her position Jiang Ching consults Kang Sheng on Mao's behalf.
Kang Sheng sips tea slowly. Name Liu a traitor. It has always been the most effective way to arouse reaction. It doesn't matter if Liu refuses to enter the scene. You create the show for him. First, bring out Liu's acquaintances with backgrounds associated with foreign agents. Interrogate them and get them to talk the way you want them to talk. Communist or not, no stomach can stand the soaking of hot-pepper water. We have a way to crack open jaws. There will be signatures, then publish the edited version.
It's not whether or not Liu is a traitor, Madame Mao Jiang Ching says to the team of investigators. Your assignment is to get evidence and produce witnesses. You have three days.
The team works around the clock. Soon names are produced. One subject of interrogation is Zhang Chong-yi, a sixty-nine-year-old professor in the foreign language department of Normal University at Hebei Province. Before the liberation he was a head secretary at Furen University. He doesn't know Vice Chairman Liu or Wang Guang-mei personally but he knows their friends at Furen University. Zhang is now a professor of international affairs.
Work on Zhang, Madame Mao orders. Force a confession.
The man can't talk, the team reports. Professor Zhang has been diagnosed with liver cancer and is dying. The man is a breathing skull. His whole face is sunken. His eyes are yellow with jaundice. The right side of his face is paralyzed. His left eye is unable to blink. There is blood in his urine. He is in and out of consciousness.
Race with death, Madame Mao insists. We must have his confession. We must get his voice on tape before he dies. Remember, Chairman Mao is waiting for the results.
The interrogation begins. The recording tape rolls. The tapes are filled with shouts and cries.
Confession or death! Talk, Zhang Chong-yi! Tell us what you know about Wang Guang-mei the traitor.
The dying man fumbles for words. Don't, please don't pull my arm. I'll talk. I am talking. All right, I remember now. Wang Guang-mei, a woman, isn't she? She is Vice Chairman Liu's wife, isn't she?
On the tape there is a slamming sound followed by Zhang Chong-yi's cry.
Stop kicking him! an interrogator yells. He'll be dead if you give him one more blow. Then we will all be in trouble.
Don't even think of fooling us! comes the voice of the head interrogator.
But, Comrade, I am speaking the truth. I am not trying to fool anybody. You see, I ... don't want to die.
When did you know Wang Guang-mei as a foreign agent?
Yesterday.
How do you know that she is a foreign agent?
Well, you have told me ... You asked me what she did as a foreign agent. So I figure she must be a foreign agent. Or why otherwise would you ask this kind of question?
Watch your mouth! If you conceal the foreign agent you are a foreign agent yourself. Now is a good time to earn credit.
I understand, sir, the dying man gasps. Now that I have stated that she is a foreign agent, will you let me go?...Let me go, please. I beg you. I know Wang Guang-mei is a foreign agent. Not only a foreign agent, she is a Communist agent too.
On the tape the voice becomes breathless. The sound fades. By the time Jiang Ching receives the tape, Professor Zhang Chong-yi has already died. Jiang Ching shakes hands with the investigators. Chairman Mao and I are pleased with your work. Now, we need a witness for Liu.
The same method applies. A witness is produced overnight. This time, it is a friend, a longtime Party worker, Wang Shi-yin, who is suffering from lung cancer. His chest is bound by plastic tubes. But that doesn't stop the investigators. The yelling and shouting blast the tape.
I have no idea. The patient struggles to speak. I am not an inventor of truth.
The sound of banging metal objects.
You will cry when we present you with the coffin and it will be too late, the head investigator says in a low voice. You will force us to disconnect the oxygen machine and pull out the tubes. Are you sure?
Silence.
Finally a fainting voice comes. Do whatever you please. I am dying anyway. I am not afraid of anything anymore. Although the man's words are disconnected, his voice is firm. I have confessed all I know about Vice Chairman Liu. One thing you can be sure of is that he is not a traitor but a man of integrity and honesty. There is nothing more you will get from me.
Shame! Madame Mao Jiang Ching points her fingers at the investigators. You are incompetent. Go back and work until you succeed. Break his jaw if you have to.
What if the subject dies?
You go on and interrogate his spirit!
March 26, 1968. Wang Shi-yin, the lung cancer patient, the man of iron will, dies during the interrogation. Although he doesn't incriminate Vice Chairman Liu Shao-qi, at the Communist Party convention on November 24, 1968, Liu is nevertheless pronounced a "hidden traitor," and is thrown out of the Communist Party.
The news sweeps the nation.
***
Madame Mao Jiang Ching monitors the biggest drama from the wings. She witnesses life's fragility in its most concrete form. There is no substance when speaking of loyalty. One's downfall can come with the turning of a hand. Mao's managers bring Wang Guang-mei to be publicly criticized first. The rally opens at the stadium of Qinghua University. A crowd of three hundred thousand Red Guards shows up. The shouts are ear-blasting. Jiang Ching feels strange. It is surreal to watch Wang Guang-mei. A woman who falls because of her husband. Will the masses betray her the same way one day? Now she understands why Mao doesn't take chances when it comes to potential enemies—he can't afford to. The suspects have to die.
Mao has overcome difficulties to make the rally happen. His obstacles were Liu's loyalists, Premier Zhou En-lai included. The decision wasn't settled until Mao forced the members of the congress to choose between him and Liu.
In the National Library there is a famous image of this time. A black and white photo documents Wang Guang-mei's moment of humiliation. An ocean of heads is its background. In the left corner is a journalist who wears glasses and carries a camera. He is excited. He has a smile on his face. Wang Guang-mei is in the center of the stage. Her face is half hidden under a white, wide-brimmed straw hat—she has been forced into her foreign-tour garments. A knee-length "necklace" made of Ping-Pong balls hangs from her neck. It's Kuai Da-fu's work.
In the future Kuai Da-fu will be sentenced to seventeen years in prison for wha
t he does now. In the future Madame Mao will also pay for this and will be shown the famous photo. And she will refuse to comment. However, what she will say is that when she was a young actress she drew a clear line between living and acting. But in truth, for Madame Mao, there is no line between living and acting. The Cultural Revolution is a breathing stage and Mao is her playwright.
History will prove that the surviving Wang Guang-mei is wise. When the world is made to believe that Madame Mao Jiang Ching is solely responsible for her husband Liu's death, Wang Guang-mei says, Liu did not die at the hands of the Gang of Four (the name used to describe Madame Mao Jiang Ching, Chun-qiao and two of his disciples at the end of the Cultural Revolution). At my husband's death there was no such gang. Who is responsible? She doesn't provide the answer. She hopes that the population will seek it themselves.
Yes, I have a personal grudge against Wang Guang-mei. But this is not the only reason I denounce her. My desire to please Mao has become the driving force behind my every act. To stop would mean death. No one can imagine the pleasure I experience when reading Kuai Da-fu's reports—knowing that Mao will be proud of me. It brings me right back to Yenan, to the time when I was Mao's only focus.
Wang Guang-mei deserves the treatment. She who stepped on my toes by leading others to think that she was the first lady of China. She whose elation was caught by the camera and printed in papers throughout the world. Did you say with your pretty, cheery lips, I am sorry Madame Mao is not well enough to greet you personally? I never gave you permission to say that. You should never have gone abroad, should never have worn that priceless white pearl necklace and that pair of black high-heeled shoes—you should never have stolen my role. Now try the costume on for the last time and be an object of ridicule. Under the sun, this clear April day, take your turn across my stage of hell.
Madame Mao admits to herself that she admires Wang Guang-mei regardless. Madame Mao is almost touched by Wang Guang-mei.
I hear my husband sigh at night, Wang Guang-mei confesses to the crowd. I have never seen him so sad. I regret that he closes his eyes to reality. His love for China and Chairman Mao is blind. And I understand him. He can't go on without serving China. It is his faith, his purpose for living. As a wife I accept my husband's fate. I accept my reality.
Madame Mao Jiang Ching wishes that she could do the same with Mao. To lay herself on the altar of love. To live the opera. But she won't. It makes her feel tragic. She stares at the report, and gradually anger takes over. The more Wang Guang-mei demonstrates her will to suffer for Liu, the deeper it cuts Madame Mao inside—she is now desperate to see Wang Guang-mei destroyed.
At the back of the stage, Wang Guang-mei struggles with the Red Guards. She had been dragged here. She points at the garment she is wearing, a brown suit, and says, This is already a costume. I wore it to meet foreign guests.
We don't care. Today is a day you wear what we put on you.
I can't. The dress is not proper; besides, it is too small.
You had it on during your trip to the Philippines.
It was years ago. I have aged and lost my shape.
Sounds like you have forgotten who you are.
I am Wang Guang-mei.
No. You are the people's enemy ... You've got to wear this. I don't and I won't.
Wear it or we are going to make you wear it. Let me die, then.
No deal. We are putting you back on the stage. You are going to sink in the spit of millions.
Later on Madame Mao Jiang Ching listens over and over again to a live tape brought by Kuai Da-fu. On the tape Wang Guang-mei's voice changes. She speaks like a heroine: You can force me to kneel but you can't take away my dignity.
Get down! the crowd shouts. You smelly wife of the anti-Communist! You are nothing but a spy and a traitor! To allow you freedom is to allow crime. This is the proletarian dictatorship at its best.
Strip me, then, Wang Guang-mei replies. The rest of her words disappear in the shouting of a crowd of three hundred thousand: Down with Liu Shao-qi! Down with Wang Guang-mei! Long live Chairman Mao! A salute to our dearest Madame Mao Jiang Ching!
The scene is grand but actress Jiang Ching suddenly breaks down sobbing.
It has been raining for three days. The drizzle is like tears leaking from the sky. This is an unusual autumn. The bare electric lights throughout the ancient city of Kai-feng in Hebei Province tremble in the wind like ghost eyes.
Vice Chairman Liu's eyes have been shut for days. He has turned seventy in prison. He has had a heart attack, suffers from high blood pressure and complications of diabetes and lung failure. He is unable to swallow. A feeding tube runs into his nose. This morning he opens his eyes. His surroundings are strange and the faces encountered are hostile. He shuts his eyes again and lies in silence. A cotton blanket is wrapped tight around his body.
The northern wind rustles through the courtyard at night. Two tall but leafless ancient trees in the quadrangle stand like madmen having an argument. What is on Liu's mind? His wife has been sentenced to death. His eldest son, Liu Yong-bing, has been beaten to death at a rally. His three daughters are either in prison or have been forced into exile. His partner and best friend, Deng Xiao-ping, has been sent away to a remote labor camp.
Liu doesn't want to believe that the republic he helped build has denounced him. He doesn't want to believe that Mao has ordered his murder. In darkness, he spends his last twenty-some days.
The morning of November n, he opens his eyes for the last time. He stares at the spider-webbed ceiling, at the insects trapped in the webs, sucked dry.
The last image the Chinese people have of Vice Chairman Liu Shao-qi is of him holding a book and trying to explain law to the students of Qinghua University. The students laugh and mock. They think him a foolish man. They push him around, making fun of his Book of Law.
Chairman Mao's teaching is law! the youths shout.
Liu knows that his time has come. His body decides to give up before his mind. He is not ready to exit life. Not ready without having a word with Wang Guang-mei and the children, not without embracing the ash-box of his son Yong-bing.
The sadness hardens him by minutes.
November 12, 1969, 6:45 A.M. Vice Chairman Liu's face suddenly glows. The wrinkles begin to stretch and his facial muscles relax. Eternity settles in. There is almost a smile when the great heart stops beating.
In the extreme quietness, the snow begins to descend. The wind stops wailing and the old trees stop shaking.
China lies still.
***
The Maos are sitting in the morning sun enjoying chrysanthemum tea while Fang, Mao's new secretary and mistress, passes him the report on Liu's death. Mao opens a page as he lights a cigarette. His eyes move through the lines.
Madame Mao leans over and takes a glance.
It's Premier Zhou's handwriting. Ninety-four hours of nonstop interrogation ... Separated from his family ... severely beaten and wounded ... His bladder infection worsened ... Fever persisted. His body gave up control ... bed was constantly wet. He was shut in a small room with no food or water. The medical treatment I sent was blocked ... His weight came down to sixty-five pounds ... died of pneumonia with complications.
Mao exhales smoke.
Madame Mao knows that he feels safe again.
They move on to other reports. By the time Mao reaches the news of Marshal Peng De-huai's death he is tired.
What is Lin Biao doing? he suddenly asks her. Did you know that factions in Wuhan are out of control? The steel workers are manufacturing machine guns themselves. I'm sure a bloody civil war is on the way. Would you tell Lin Biao to do something about it?
I don't know what Lin Biao does as the minister of national defense. It seems that his only job is to flatter Mao. He uses military jets to fly in live lobsters for Mao's kitchen. He sends platoons into the mountains to seek the best ginseng root for Mao. Lin Biao is working toward his own future. He has illusions about Mao and himself.
&
nbsp; Unlike Lin I don't have any illusions about Mao. I prepare for Mao's unexpected change. It is a fantasy and also a tragedy that I am Mao's wife. If I were Wang Guang-mei, I might have settled down to be a good housewife. I hate to admit that after all I envy Wang Guang-mei—she had a woman's biggest wish fulfilled. But, then again, I'm not sure I would have settled for pearls.
20
ONE MORNING IN THE NATIONAL PRISON, Fairlynn's name is called. She is to be taken to witness an execution as part of a torture program.
The sound of heavy boots. Guards appear. The prisoners are escorted to an open truck. Fairlynn doesn't know that she is only to be a witness. She believes that this is the last day for her on earth. She weeps uncontrollably and starts to shout Mao's name. Shouts her story with him. A guard comes and blindfolds her with a piece of cloth.
Fairlynn regrets that she ever bothered to write to Mao. Mao doesn't care about her, not anymore. Yet Fairlynn can't stop thinking of him. She has a hard time believing that Mao's affection had been insincere. She remembers the last time they departed from one another. "Let us last," he whispered in her ear. She wonders if she offended him by pointing out his mistakes in 1957. He wouldn't admit that his Great Leap Forward was in fact a great leap backward. She was only speaking her conscience as a writer. She asks herself, Was it not her truthfulness and frankness that gained his respect and adoration in Yenan in the first place? Shouldn't he know all her criticisms came from a wish to consolidate his power? She believed that they had understood each other.
It must be Jiang Ching, then, Fairlynn concludes. Her evil hand must be behind this curtain.