One Man`s Bible

19

The first battle between Red Guards broke out in the main courtyard of the workplace. In the middle of the day, when people were coming out of the building to go to the dining room, a Red Guard from outside came and put up a poster on the courtyard wall. He was stopped by a security guard. Some Red Guards from the work-place came and tore down the poster.

The cocky youth with glasses was surrounded on all sides, but he loudly protested, "Why can't I put it up? Putting up posters has been authorized by Chairman Mao!"

"That's Liu Ping's son trying to overturn the verdict on his father, don't let him get up to mischief!"

A security guard motioned to the gathering crowd and said, "Don't crowd around here, go off and eat!"

"My father's innocent! Comrades!" Shoving aside the guard, the youth held his head high to address the crowd. "Your Party committee has changed the general direction of the struggle away from Chairman Mao's revolutionary line, don't let them hoodwink you! If they aren't up to something underhanded, why are they scared of posters?"

Danian squeezed his way out of the crowd of silent onlookers and said to some Red Guards of the workplace, "Don't let this stinker pose as a Red Guard, take off his armband!"

Holding high his arm with the armband and protecting the arm-band with his other hand, the youth went on to shout, "Comrade Red Guards! Your general direction is wrong! Boot out the Party committee and make revolution, don't be accomplices of the capitalists! All of you comrades who want to make revolution, go look inside the university campuses, they are proletarian rebel territories. You are still under the White Terror out here-"

The youth was pushed back against the wall. He turned to the crowd of onlookers for help but no one dared to come to his rescue.

"Who is your comrade? You turtle grandson of the fuckin' landlord class, how dare you pose as a Red Guard? Take it off!" Danian ordered.

A scuffle broke out for the armband. The youth was strong but could not fend off several people tackling him. First his glasses flew to the ground and were instantly trampled, then his armband was pulled off. This self-assured, confident successor to the revolution was now propped against the wall, cowering, his arms protecting his head. Then, falling on his haunches, he began to wail uncontrollably and was instantly transformed into a miserable pup.

Old Liu was also dragged out, tottering and stumbling, from the building and denounced in the courtyard. But he was an old revolutionary who had experienced a lot in life and did not buckle like his son. Holding his head high, he tried to speak, but, immediately, Red Guards pushed his head to the ground so that his face was covered in dirt and he could do nothing but keep his head down.

Squashed in the crowd, he witnessed in silence what had happened, and in his heart he chose to rebel. He slipped out during worktime and went around the university campuses in the western part of the city. At Peking University, which was thronging with people, among the posters covering the buildings and walls, he saw one by Mao Zedong: "Bombard Their Headquarters-My Poster." When he got back to his workplace office, he was still fired up. Late that night, when nobody was around, he wrote a poster. He did not wait for people to come in for work to collect signatures. He was afraid that by morning, when he was more clear-headed, he might not have the courage. So he had to put up the poster in the middle of the night, while he was still fired up. The masses had to heroically speak out to overturn the verdicts on people branded as anti- Party.

In the empty corridor of the building, some old posters rustled in a draught; this sense of loneliness was probably necessary to support heroic action. The impulse for justice sprang from a sense of tragedy, and he had been thrust into the gambling den, although at the time it was hard to say whether he wanted to gamble. In any case, he thought he had seen an opening and there was something of gambling with life in being a hero.

The stalwarts, branded anti-Party at the start of the Cultural Revolution, had not been able to raise their heads, and the activists following the Party committee had not received directives from their superiors, so when people saw the poster they remained silent. For two whole days, he came and went alone, drowned in feelings of tragedy.

The first response to his poster was from the manager of the book warehouse, Big Li, who phoned to fix a time to see him. Big Li and a thin youth, a typist called Little Yu, were waiting for him in the courtyard in front of the kitchen.

"We agree with your poster and we can work together!" Big Li said, and shook his hand to confirm that he was a comrade-in-arms.

"What's your family background?" To be a rebel also took into account a person's family background.

"Office worker." He did not explain any further. Such questions always made him feel awkward.

Big Li looked at Little Yu, as if to ask what he thought. Someone came with a flask to get hot water, and the three stopped talking. They heard the water filling the flask and the person walking off.

"Tell him about it." Little Yu had approved.

Big Li told him, "We're setting up a rebel Red Guard group to fight them. Tomorrow morning, at eight o'clock sharp, we're holding a meeting at the teahouse in Taoranting Park."

Another person came along with a flask, so the three of them parted and went their separate ways. It was a clandestine association and not to attend would be a sign of cowardice.

Sunday morning was very cold, and the pellets of ice on the road crunched underfoot like broken glass. He had arranged to meet with four youths at Taoranting Park in the south of the city. His workplace was far away in the north, so it was not likely that he would meet anyone he knew. The sky was gray and overcast, and no one was in the park, because all forms of enjoyment had been stopped during this abnormal period. As he trudged along the road crunching the ice, he felt as if he had a divine mission to save the world.

The tables by the lake were deserted and inside the teahouse, behind thick cotton door curtains, only two old men were sitting opposite one another by the window. When everyone had arrived, they sat outside around a table, each warming his hands on a mug of hot tea. First of all, each gave his family background as was required for rebellion under the red flag.

Big Li's father was a shop assistant in a grain store, his grandfather used to mend shoes but he was dead. At the start of the Cultural Revolution, Big Li had put up a poster about the Party branch secretary, and for this he had undergone correction. Little Yu, the youngest, had come straight from middle school to the workplace, where he had been working as a typist for less than a year. Both of his parents were workers in a factory, but he had been expelled from the Red Guards for getting to work late and leaving early. Another, Tang, worked as a motorbike traffic officer and before that he used to drive a car in the army. His family background was impeccable but he had a glib tongue and, according to him, the Red Guards had expelled him because he was keen on practicing comic dialogue. Another person wasn't present because he had to take care of his sick mother in hospital. Big Li conveyed the message that the person unconditionally supported rebelling and fighting the restoration faction.

Finally, it was his turn, and he was about to say he lacked the qualifications for being a Red Guard and that it wasn't necessary to include him in their group. However, before the words came out of his mouth, Big Li waved his hand and said, "We all know your stance, we also want to unite with revolutionary intellectuals like you. Those present today are core members of the Red Guard of our Mao Zedong's Thought!"

It was as simple as that, and there was no need for further discussion. They, too, regarded themselves as the successors of the revolution, and it was right for them to safeguard Mao's Thought. It was indeed as Big Li said, "In the universities, the rebel group has already thrashed the old Red Guards, what are we waiting for? Victory will be ours!"

That very night, back in the empty workplace building, they put up the manifesto of their rebel Red Guard group. Big posters targeting the Party committee and the old Red Guards were posted in the corridors of every floor of the building down to the main hall, and out in the main courtyard.

At daybreak, when he returned to his small room, the stove-heater had long since gone out. The room was chilly, and his fervor, too, had subsided. He got into bed to reflect upon the significance and consequences of their actions, but, overcome by exhaustion, fell fast asleep. When he woke up, it was already twilight, but his head was still fuzzy. The accumulated pressure of staying vigilant day and night for months had dispersed, and he went on to sleep for a whole night.

He was up early, and went to work not expecting to see poster responses pasted everywhere upstairs and downstairs. Suddenly, hero or not, he was indeed a fighter who was in the limelight. The tense atmosphere in the office had relaxed, and people who had been avoiding him a few days ago now all greeted him with a smile and spoke to him. Old Mrs. Huang, under investigation at the time, held his hand and would not let go. Tears streaming down her face, she said, "You have spoken the thoughts in the minds of the masses. You people are Mao Zedong's true Red Guards!" She was simpering like the old villagers greeting the Red Army that had come to liberate them, as shown in revolutionary movies, and even the stage words were much the same. Even Old Liu who never revealed his emotions smiled as he looked at him, nodding to indicate his respect. This superior of his, too, was waiting for him to liberate him. No one knew that they were only five hastily assembled youths, and their suddenly becoming an unstoppable force was due to the fact that they also wore red armbands on their sleeves.

Some put signatures to their announcement of withdrawal from the old Red Guards, and Lin was among them. This gave him a ray of hope that maybe they would resume their former liaison, but at noon, when he looked around in the dining hall, he did not see her. He thought that probably, at this time, she was keen to avoid him. In the corridor upstairs, he came face to face with Danian, who pretended not to have seen him and quickly walked past, but he was no longer swaggering with his head arrogantly cocked.

The somber workplace building, with its individual offices, was like a giant beehive, and operating procedures were built up in layers of authority. When the original authority was shaken, the whole hive started buzzing. People deep in discussion stood in groups in the corridors, and wherever he went, people nodded at him or stopped him for a chat whether he knew them or not. They were flocking to talk to him just as they had flocked to talk to the Party secretary or political cadres during the eradication of Ox Demons and Snake Spirits campaign. In a few short days, almost everyone had indicated they were rebelling, and every section had discarded Party and administrative structures and formed combat teams. He, a low-level editor, had, in fact, become a prominent figure in this workplace building with its huge hierarchy of grades, and it was as if he was the leader. The masses needed a leader like a flock of sheep needed to stay near the sheep with a bell, but the lead sheep was itself driven by the loud crack of a whip and didn't know where it was going. Anyway, he did not have to sit in the office all day, and he could come and go without anyone questioning him. People took the work from his desk, did his editing for him, and he was not allocated other work.

He had gone home early, and, entering the courtyard, saw a grubby person with messy hair sitting on his stone doorstep. He gave a start when he saw it was Baozi, from the family next door. They were friends as children, but had not seen one another for many years.

"You devil, what brings you here?" he asked.

"It's really great that I've found you, but it's impossible to give you a one-word answer!" Baozi, king of the urchins in the alleys and lanes in those days, had now learned to sigh.

He unlocked the padlock and opened the door to his room. The retired old man next door also had his door open and poked out his head.

"He's a schoolmate from my old home down south."

Now that he, too, wore a red armband, he took no notice of the old bugger and stopped him with one sentence. The old man's face wrinkled up into a smile that exposed his sparse teeth as he chuckled approvingly before retreating into his room and closing the door.

"I escaped without a towel or toothbrush and have been posing as one of the hordes of students who have come to Beijing. Do you have something for me to eat? I haven't eaten properly for four days and nights. I've only got a handful of loose change and don't dare spend any of it. By pretending to be a student, I've been able to get a couple of steamed buns and a bit of thin gruel in hostels."

As soon as he came into the room, Baozi slapped on the table a few Mao-head banknotes and some coins he had taken out of his pockets. He went on to say, "I escaped through the window the day before I was to be denounced by the whole school. A sports teacher, denounced for feeling a student's breasts during gymnastics, was dragged out as a bad element and beaten to death by Red Guards."

Baozi's forehead was creased with anxiety and he looked utterly wretched. Where was that mischief-making devil that went around stripped to the waist in summer as a child? Baozi could tread water, swim under water, and stand upside down like a dragonfly with his feet sticking up above the surface. When he went off to the lake to learn to swim without telling his mother, he had this companion to bolster his courage. Baozi was two years older, more than a head taller, and when it came to fighting he was really tough, so if he ran into boys looking for a fight, as long as Baozi was tJiere, he was not afraid. It was unthinkable that this intrepid desperado would today travel so far to seek him out for protection. Baozi said that after graduating from teachers' college he was sent to teach language at a county school. At the start of the Cultural Revolution, the Party secretary used him as a scapegoat.

"I didn't compile the teaching material, so how could I know which essay was problematical? I'd told some anecdotes and stories to liven up the teaching and I was attacked for doing most of the talking in the classroom. Could language classes be taught without talking? I was locked in a classroom and guarded day and night by Red Guards. I've got a wife and a child, and if there was a tragic outcome, even if I wasn't killed but just maimed, how would my wife bring up a baby that was not even one month old? I got out through a window on the first floor and scaled down a drainpipe without any trouble. I did not go home, because I didn't want my wife implicated. The train was crammed with students all the way here and it was impossible for tickets to be inspected. I've come to lodge a grievance, you've got to help me find out whether a low-level teacher like me with the significance of a sesame seed, and not even a Party member, could possibly be a member of the black gang within the Party."

After dinner, he took Baozi to the reception office for the masses located on the street to the right of the west gate of Zhongnanhai. The gate was wide open and the whole place lit up. The main court-yard was teeming with people who were pushing and shoving, and they were moved along slowly by the crowd. In a shed in the middle of the courtyard, military officials with cap and lapel badges were sitting at rows of desks, listening and taking notes, as people from all over the country lodged complaints. Baozi stood on his toes as he strained to hear in between people's heads about the "thinking of the Party Center," but it was too noisy. As soon as people got to the desks, they started shouting to be heard as they struggled to ask questions. The receptionists gave brief, discreet, standard responses, and in some cases simply took notes and answered without even looking up. The two of them were pushed away before they got anywhere near the desks, and were pushed, helpless, all the way into the corridor downstairs.

Posters protesting against persecution and extracts of speeches by important officials covered the walls. The speeches of these Party Center leaders who had been newly appointed or had not yet fallen from power were full of malice and hidden meanings, and also contradicted one another. Baozi started to panic and asked if he had pen and paper with him. He told Baozi not to worry about copying it all down because he had collected lots of these notices as well as stenciled copies of speeches. When they got home, they could go through them carefully.

All the offices in the building were open and officials here were also dealing with complaints. It was not as crowded, but there were queues outside the doors. In one of the offices, a youth, holding an old army cap that was white from washing, wept loudly as he related his grievance; tears streamed down as he spoke in thick, almost incomprehensible Jiangxi or Hunan dialect. He was telling about a local massacre. Men and women, old people and even babies, had been herded onto the threshing square and, group after group, beaten to death with hoes, meat cleavers, and metal-tipped carrying poles. The corpses were thrown into the river, and there was a terrible stench. The youth, almost certainly a descendant of one of the Five Black Categories, clutched the old army cap as his credential, otherwise he would not have dared come to the capital to report this grievance. The people crammed inside and outside the door of the office listened in silence as an official took notes.

After leaving the reception office and coming onto Chang'an Avenue, Baozi wanted to go to the Ministry of Education to see if there were directives for middle-school teachers. The Ministry of Education was located in the west of the city, just a few stops away, but blocking the road at the bus stop were schoolchildren from out of town, each carrying a school bag with an embroidered five-point red star. When the bus arrived, even before it came to a stop, they started surging on. The bus had already been full, so those getting off and those getting on had to grapple with one another. The doors unable to close, the bus started to move off with people caught in the doors. Although Baozi could scale drainpipes and jump out of buildings, he could not squeeze past these children who were as agile as monkeys.

They made their way by foot to the Ministry of Education. The whole of the building had been converted into a hostel for students from out of town. From the main hall downstairs to the corridors of every floor, all the offices had been vacated, and everywhere there were wheat stalks, grass mats, gray blankets, plastic sheeting, and disorderly rows of bedding. Enamel basins, bowls, chopsticks, and spoons were strewn all over the floors, and there was an all-pervasive stench of sweat, preserved radishes, shoes, and unwashed socks. Boisterous students with nowhere to go in the harsh winter cold had fallen fast asleep from exhaustion as soon as they lay down. They were all waiting for the Commander-in-Chief's seventh or eighth review the following day or the day after. There were around two million at each review, and youngsters started assembling in the middle of the night, first filling Tiananmen Square and then both sides of the square for ten kilometers from east to west along Chang'an Avenue. The Commander-in-Chief, accompanied by Deputy Commander-in-Chief Lin Biao holding his little red book of Mao's Sayings, would drive in an open jeep past walls of frozen students, many layers deep on both sides. These youngsters, waving the precious little red book, hot tears streaming down their faces, screamed themselves hoarse, wildly shouting "long live" to wish a long life to Chairman Mao. Then, fired with revolutionary zeal, they all went home to smash up everything that was old-wrecking schools, destroying temples, and attacking workplaces.

When he and Baozi got back to his room, it was very late and everyone was asleep. He opened the door of the coal stove, and the two of them warmed their frozen hands. As the wind blew through the cracks of the door and window, their faces glowed from time to time, reflecting the flames. Their meeting was unexpected, and neither of them had any intention of recalling childhood memories of what seemed to be another world.