at home, except I felt so wretched. I told him the children’s news, and gave him daughter’s letter. He read it and flew into a rage.
‘So I’m supposed to learn from Puyi! Who’s Puyi? A feudal emperor, who lived a corrupt life exploiting the people. If the Government helped him become a new man, that’s because the Party and the people are lenient. Can I negate myself in the same way he did? Was I wrong to study Marxism-Leninism? I loyally followed the Party, everything I did was for the Party, was that wrong too? Of course I know the secret of how to survive under a big hat, but is that being responsible to the Party and the people? Or to oneself? Is that what I should do? I can’t admit to things I haven’t done, and whether what I have done is wrong or not can’t be answered in one sentence. I can only reach a proper conclusion by spending time studying Marxism-Leninism and going deep into the realities of life. That’s not something you can do in solitary confinement. Is that my fault?’
He was worked up, like when he used to argue with people in the past. I said:
‘Don’t get angry. The child means well. All she wants is for your problem to be resolved. Then we can all be together, as a family.’
It seemed like he was about to sound off again, but it was dangerous for him to speak his mind, so I distracted him.
‘Today I brought the Japanese Marx and Engels. Two big bundles, it tired me out.’ I told him about the journey, and about getting off the last bus, and how the PLA had welcomed the old lady visiting her family, and how difficult it had been for me, on a prison visit. I couldn’t help moaning a bit.
He looked surprised. Naturally, he couldn’t understand these things. Changing the topic, he asked:
‘Are you all right? You look thin. Your complexion is not good.’
‘Last year I had neurasthenia. I couldn’t sleep and was always dizzy. I took medicine, but it didn’t help. Then I learned tai-chi and my spirits picked up. I could sleep peacefully. That chart I brought, do you follow it each day? You’ve got to exercise to stay fit. Do you need anything else?’
‘Sometimes the food here is hard to stomach, a bit of chilli oil would help. What I really need is books. If there’s anything worth reading, give me it. You can read the books first. Then we can talk about them.’
‘Read? I stopped reading long ago. I subscribe to a couple of magazines, but I have no wish to go deeply into the sort of questions the press discusses, it’s enough to know a bit about what’s going on nationally and internationally.’
I wanted to talk about the children, the mainstay of my life.
‘Xiaoshan finishes high school next year. Last time you said you wanted him to be a worker. Obviously it’s something I’ve thought about. I wanted him to go to technical college. Elder sister was even keener. She sat the exam for university twice and was not admitted, it was wounding. But elder brother said he would go to senior high, where he would get a broader education. Things might change in future, and then he can try to get into university. He said the Party’s policy was that parents can’t choose, everyone has to make their own choice.’
He looked distressed. Suddenly, he seemed much older. I stumbled on. The duty officer put his head round the door. I thought, it’s getting late, I should go. After I had delivered a few more exhortations, he gripped my hand and went.
September arrived. I thought maybe he needed some clothes, so I requested another visit, but no reply came.
Nie visited me. He was wearing a navy blue serge suit and carrying a bundle wrapped in newspaper. He looked debonair. He asked:
‘Any news about Hu?’
‘None. I haven’t seen him in more than a month. The authorities haven’t replied to my letter.’
I told him about F’s most recent letter and showed him the book list he had enclosed. He said in a low voice:
‘So he’s still doing literary research. So many books, it’s not easy.’ He added, ‘I bumped into Pan Hannian.* He’s living at the Organisation Department. He gets a hundred yuan a month pocket money. It seems Hu’s problem will soon be resolved.’
I thought, perhaps the reason they’ve not let me see him for so long is because a change is in the offing. He told me some other things. I was much more optimistic after hearing him.
I asked about Big Sister Ying. He said, ‘She goes to work every day at the People’s Political Consultative Conference. I told her to retire, but she doesn’t want to. Her morale is low. I don’t dare tell her about you two. I’m afraid she’ll become an insomniac.’
As he was getting ready to go, I noticed his newspaper wrapping had broken, so I gave him some extra sheets. I saw its contents: a poorly produced lithographic edition of Zhuangzi, on glazed paper. I couldn’t help asking, ‘Can you understand that? The ink smell gets up my nose.’
‘This edition is hard to get.’
‘We have a large-character edition engraved on wood.’
He asked me to find it, for an article he was writing. It was in a wooden box on top of the bookshelf. He steadied the table and I put a stool on it and climbed up and got the box. It contained several volumes of Zhuangzi, as well as Guanzi and Han Feizi. He wanted them all.
F had picked them up by chance in Shanghai at the end of the war. It seemed unlikely F would study them. ‘A precious sword for a person of high endeavour’ seemed a worthy end.
As he was about to leave, I said:
‘Give Big Sister Ying my address. I would love to see her.’
‘I will. I’ll tell her when she’s feeling a bit better, physically and mentally.’
Not long after that, I wrote to her. So she would know it was an old friend, I addressed it to Zhiqin, the name she used at school.
Three days later, one wet afternoon, she turned up under an umbrella. As soon as I opened the door, she rushed towards me without even pausing to put the umbrella down. ‘My dear Tu, so this is where you live!’ I flung myself at her, and the two of us stood exclaiming and laughing in the corridor. When we eventually made our way into the lighted room, I saw she was drenched. I poured her some water so she could wash, and told her to take off her coat. She paid me no attention, but simply told me to sit down so we could talk.
I had never been close to her. She was F’s friend. There was a certain sympathy between us, but that was all. But now we were like the oldest of friends. I needed her forthrightness and lack of inhibition, typical of a northern woman.
In her loud voice, she told me:
‘Tu, I almost missed your letter! When the old man in the reception office saw it, he said ‘‘Zhiqin? That’s a girl in my village, there’s no one of that name here.’’ I thought that can’t be me, but then I saw it was. A near miss! How’s Old Hu? Is he all right?’
‘He looks all right, but he’s gone bald.’
‘That’s a small sacrifice. He never had much hair anyway.’
We burst out laughing, and our distress ebbed away.
We sat there side by side. Even though her voice and smile hadn’t changed, nine years of hardship were etched onto her brow. She was an activist who loved her work and social activities, and suddenly she was consigned to a job of no consequence, with a daily pile of silent documents her only contact. How could she be calm and happy? But her hearty voice and resolute manner remained. She had not been defeated: she was still doing things she was good at.
We talked about many people and subjects, and I took inspiration from her stories. Many people had been entered into the ‘other’ register, for disreputable people, including some who previously had been powerful. Where did we stand in the scale of things? I was low-level and had never sought fame or wealth, I had never requested anything, and now I was even less likely to have grand hopes. I only wanted what any wife or mother