F. Mei Zhi

Note.’

      We returned to the small room. Old Nie also thought it would be better to leave Beijing. He even said, ‘When you’re settled, we’ll come too.’

      F told Old Nie with deep feeling, ‘You should continue with your Zhuangzi and write your novel, for example by adapting Journey to the West or Legend of the White Snake. Bai Suzhen is a strong woman opposed to feudalism, she is worthy of a book. Research Dream of the Red Chamber from an aesthetic point of view.’

      Big Sister Ying butted in, ‘Don’t be so pessimistic. You’ve been beaten and punished, what else can they do? If they let you out, they’re bound to let you work. Look at those war criminals, some are commission members and even commissioners. I spend all my time filing away materials for them, can you believe that?’

      Everyone was moved by what she said. Our pent-up feelings seemed to dissipate.

      ‘Old Hu has one big fault, he thinks too much, and ends up creating anxieties for himself.’

      The two men who in the past had drained glass after glass now sipped sparingly. I had bought a bottle of their favourite bamboo-leaf wine, but neither showed much interest. They were old men, in their sixties. When they talked of old friends, each sighed. Quite a few of them had been branded rightists. Big Sister Ying said, ‘You stayed out of trouble in 1955 but in 1957 you couldn’t escape. There are so many movements, it’s not surprising. I felt my heart was in the right place. By raising criticisms, I was trying to help the Party rectify itself. How was I to know I would be called anti-Party? But I learned from the experience. Old Hu, in future do as you’re told and you can’t go wrong!’

      ‘What do you mean, do as I’m told? Don’t you listen to the Party?’

      ‘Of course! But listen or not, we don’t understand, so we’re bound to go wrong.’

      All things considered, we enjoyed a lively evening.

      Before leaving, Old Nie said, ‘Old Tian would love to see you. Is that all right?’

      ‘No! His situation is not much better than ours. Don’t get him into trouble again on my account. He can write a letter.’

      Shortly afterwards, I phoned to tell Old Nie and his wife the date of our departure. The same evening, Old Nie arrived, to see us off.

      He and F had a long talk. From it, I sensed Old Nie had changed a lot. He thought deeply about things and boldly expressed his opinions, which was not easy. He had learned caution and was no longer negligent and unworldly. He had become a thinker.

      From a paper wrapping he took out a poem he had written. It moved F greatly, and the two of them discussed it. He also gave F a set of the 80-chapter Dream of the Red Chamber edited by Yu Pingbo and some volumes of Romances of the Red Mansion and The Resolution of the Dream of the Red Chamber, for F to do some studies on it.

      They took affectionate leave of one another. I watched Old Nie vanish into the cold air, a windcheater on his thin, tall frame, along the sparsely populated road.

      F was depressed at the thought of going to Sichuan, and suggested visiting the Lu Xun Museum. I hadn’t dared go ever since it opened, but now was an opportune moment.

      He inspected the photos from which his image had been erased. He betrayed not a flicker of emotion. He asked the guide some questions. Where were the manuscripts kept? Were all the books kept here? How many visitors came? Did they include young people? It was midwinter, and the exhibition hall seemed deserted. But the guide said students usually came in groups and quite a few people came from outside the capital. That cheered F up.

      Finally, F agreed to go to Sichuan. All that remained was to fix the date. The Ministry of Public Security pressed us to leave at once and said letting the family spend Spring Festival together had been a special favour and there could be no extension.

      I saw off elder son and then got some bedding and luggage ready for younger son’s school. It was heartrending, especially for Xiaoshan, who had been alone for more than five years following his eighth birthday. I had only been able to dream of him, and would wake in tears. For the last few years, we had depended on each other for survival, and now he was off to fend for himself and I was to follow F to far-away Sichuan, to face an uncertain future. Packing his clothes, I wept.

      I only intended to take a few clothes and books, and then request a permanent transfer back to Beijing once F had completed his sentence. However, he was determined not to return to Beijing and wanted to take everything. I couldn’t deal with his extremist attitude, so we even took his four shelves of books. The Ministry of Public Security engaged some packers to help. Four women packers packed dozens of pieces of luggage in wood and cardboard. I admired their efficiency and sense of duty. The only thing I worried about was whether the glass bookcase would survive. It had cost 80 yuan and was F’s favourite possession.

      On February 15, the Ministry of Public Security sent a station wagon to take us, our daughter, our son-in-law, Comrade Huang, and two other comrades to the station. On the platform, our younger son rushed up to us. We were escorted to a soft-sleeper compartment. Two men jumped down from the upper berths and introduced themselves. They had been sent from Sichuan to fetch us. I could speak Sichuan dialect, and we had a friendly chat. Comrade Huang went to say hello to the carriage attendant, and then politely took his leave.