Becoming Madame Mao Read online

  The smooth body, the golden flesh. He is a naked god who doesn't know shame. I can't stop myself from tasting him. I taste him alongside the dishes I have prepared for him, next to his dirty clothes. I unbutton my blouse. I have the urge to feed him.

  He opens his mouth, like an infant. Smiles, sweetly. I touch him gently as I take off my underwear. It is at this moment I feel his hands coming.

  In his desire I hear the singing of a storm as it breaks across a river.

  The time-mountain will be there, left there, years later. It remembers the passion of the storm and the river.

  ***

  We are walking in the dark. Three of us. A friend of Yu Qiwei walks a half block behind us. This is going to be our ceremony, he says, a spirit union. I smile, nervous but excited. I thank him for the guidance. We slow down to allow the friend to catch up. Yu Qiwei then passes me to the friend—- a secret Communist agent. He talks to the friend again about safety, instructs him to take the alley behind the silk factory on Yizhou Road, not the cross street, Xin-ming Road. Be careful of the spies. The man nods. Congratulations, Yu Qiwei whispers to me.

  I follow the man, my heart a rabbit in a bag. We walk quickly toward a small park where the bushes are thick. The man takes the alley. Before we make a turn the man looks back. There is no tail.

  A half-hour later, I am pronounced a member of the Communist Party. I have just completed my oath and registration.

  As Yunhe raises her right fist above her head, facing a cigarette-pack-size red flag with a crossed sickle and hammer, she thinks of Yu Qiwei. She thinks that they are now soulmates and she is his partner. She will be entitled to have access to all his activities. She will get to go out with him, to secret meetings and places. They will risk their lives for China together. She still doesn't know enough of Communism itself. This doesn't bother her. She believes in Yu Qiwei, and that is enough. She believes in the Communist Party the same way she believes in love. In Yu Qiwei she finds her own identity. If Yu Qiwei represents the conscience of China, so does she. That is how she looks at herself in 1931. It matches her image of herself, the heroine, the leading lady. Later on, the same pattern repeats itself. When she becomes Mao's wife, she thinks, logically, that if Mao is the soul of China, so is she.

  3

  IT HAPPENS ONLY A FEW MONTHS after we have been together. One week Yu Qiwei is out traveling from place to place and then he disappears. No one is able to locate him. The next thing I learn is that he has been arrested, jailed, said to be killed. Yu Shan comes to me and tells me the news.

  I am afraid to open the door. The way Yu Shan knocks tells me that something terrible has happened. I stare at Yu Shan's tear-washed face. My mind goes blank—it can't comprehend.

  I want to do something but Yu Shan says there is nothing I can do but wait. I say what about the Communist Party? Can the Party save him? She shakes her head, says that the Party is in terrible shape itself. The members have gone underground and have cut off communication for reasons of safety. The warlord-turned-head-of-state, Chiang Kai-shek, has betrayed his commitment to unite Communists. He has ordered a military raid to arrest the Communists. He has proclaimed the Communists his biggest enemy. His order says, If we have to kill a thousand innocents in order to catch one Communist, so be it.

  Didn't Yu Qiwei know when the raids would begin? I ask.

  Yes, Yu Shan replies. He knew he was on the wanted list. There were signs. For example, the university was forced to dismiss students who were known members of the Communist Party. But my brother had to carry on his work. When the arrests began he tried to move people out of the city into the countryside. He was conducting a secret meeting on a public bus where he was spotted and taken away.

  In her early years Yunhe flirted with danger. To her, danger fueled excitement. She enjoyed the moment when she went into the abandoned temple and grabbed the head scarf from Confucius's statue. She enjoyed singing Put Down Your Whip on the streets where she confronted the policemen. She felt that life was filled with meaning when she questioned the policeman in front of the crowd, Are you Chinese? How can you bear it when your mother and sister have been raped and your father and brother have been murdered by the Japanese?

  Danger has given her chances to show her character. You are too weak, she later says to her third husband, Tang Na. You hide yourself from reality, you live in fantasy and are ruled by fear. You have never faced danger.

  However, in 1931, after Yu Qiwei is arrested, there is a moment when she breaks away from her role as a heroine. Suddenly she is terrified beyond measure. She visits Yu Shan every day to inquire about Yu Qiwei. She waits impatiently. Every day her hope fades a bit. Finally she convinces herself that Yu Qiwei is dead. She begins to tell friends about her despair. Her hot tears pour. She wears a white dress. A white daisy in her hair. She moans. Then she stops going to Yu Shan.

  She washes her face, takes her white dress and daisy off. She continues to take classes. She signs up for a course in eighteenth-century tragedies. She takes a new job working in the school cafeteria. After classes and after work she is bored. She goes to the seashore herself. She sits by the ocean under the bright moon. First she looks away and then she returns men's smiles. Then she is busy again.

  Months pass before Yu Shan comes to tell her the news: Yu Qiwei has been released with the help of their uncle, David Yu, an influential figure in Chiang Kai-shek's congress. Yu Shan's visit is unannounced. She thought that the news would make Yunhe happy. But she is more than disappointed. Yunhe cracks the door a slit, looks awkward and embarrassed like a kid caught in the act of stealing. She is in her pajamas, her hair messy and lipstick smeared.

  Won't you open the door? asks Yu Shan.

  It's a mess inside. Still blocking the door, Yunhe suggests, Can I meet you in the teahouse in an hour?

  But Yu Shan already sees.

  Behind the door there is a young man, Yunhe's new boyfriend, Chao.

  Madame Mao doesn't remember Chao. She has erased him from her memory. She remembers that she was lonely without Yu Qiwei, unable to sleep. She was depressed. She didn't expect Yu Qiwei's return. She told herself to move beyond the pain. A heroine's character is to move on. She can't explain Chao.

  Yu Qiwei doesn't question her, doesn't confront Chao either. Yunhe never gets a chance to know how Yu Qiwei felt. One day Yu Shan comes with word from her brother.

  My brother has left Qingdao for Beijing. The Party needs him to work there.

  There is no mention of how Yu Qiwei feels about leaving, about their relationship or future. No words.

  For the first time the actress is confused by the role she is playing—a heroine who betrays like a slut.

  She goes on with Chao, but in the meantime writes to Yu Qiwei. When hearing nothing back she leaves the city, wanders, comes back and leaves again. A year passes. Then a point comes when she can no longer bear it; she sells her belongings and puts herself on the train to Beijing.

  ***

  I sob like a widow on the train. Passengers bring me hot towels trying to calm me down. After I arrived in Beijing I suddenly lose my courage. I have no face to see Yu Qiwei. I am ashamed of myself.

  But I am compelled to move forward, to see him again. Before I left I found out from Yu Shan that Yu Qiwei is the head secretary of the Communist Party of northern China. I manage to locate his headquarters in the library of Beijing University where he holds meetings frequently. I wait for days and finally I "run into" him.

  He is with his comrades and I can tell that he is not pleased to see me. I ask if we can schedule a meeting. He makes a date reluctantly.

  It is cold and raining. I have been wearing the same pair of wet sandals for days. My feet are soaked and my ankles are covered with mud. We meet in a park. The river is magnificent but frozen. There are no visitors. When I see the familiar figure approaching I try not to cry.

  He is still handsome and wears my favorite two-piece blue suit. But the moment he sees me he turns his eyes away. It is
awkward but I am determined to try. I force myself to speak, to apologize. I say, there was a mistake. I waited for you.

  He doesn't want to hear. He asks what I am doing here.

  I don't know myself, I say. What else can I say? It's not my nature to check the water's depth. I believe that I will float somehow. I am nineteen years old. I have been working to support myself. I teach Chinese at an adult night school, I baby-sit and sell theater tickets. I take care of all these things, I figure them out myself and I survive. But I can't figure out what happened to us ...

  You should not have come to Beijing, he says.

  I need to see you, Yu Qiwei. I don't know, I am living with your ghost.

  Yunhe, he calls me, calls my name. It makes me weep uncontrollably.

  ***

  She stands in front of Yu Qiwei. Her eyes are filled with tears. The wind blows and messes her hair. She doesn't touch it, doesn't fix the mess. She looks at him. Take me back.

  It is a night she will never forget. They make love as if the world is coming to an end. Both of them try to overcome the blank stare between them. She repeats the familiar ritual. His body tells her that she has been missed. She weeps, takes control of his desire. She explores every trick she knows to please him. The memory comes back. She thinks that she has won. He tells her that he loves her, no one can replace her, that he will always be there when she needs him.

  But the truth is always in the shadows. Things are not the same. In the next few days the struggle begins to show. It is seen and heard when she speaks, moves and makes love. It is even in the words she uses: I am strong. Nothing puts me down.

  By projecting these words, she deals with the inevitable parting. By yelling those phrases aloud, she survives and prevents herself from being crushed.

  Yu Qiwei places her in the university dormitory. No money, no visit. She waits, days, weeks and months. He makes promises but doesn't show up. He is polite but distant and unmoved. She goes out and seeks him. She follows him and finds out that he will not be coming back to her arms—he is seeing another woman.

  She spends the whole winter in a cold dorm room. She feels like a homeless dog. She tells herself to wait until spring. Maybe by then Yu Qiwei's ice-cold heart will melt. Maybe he will invite her out, maybe the blossoms of the spring will arouse him, and time will make him realize that he has tortured her enough.

  I have tried but I am unable to let go of this feeling. Not after we separate, not after he is remarried, not even after I have married Mao. I can't make peace with him and myself although I accept that this is my fate. Emotionally I can't let go. I can't stand him being possessed by another woman. The burn lasts all my life. It doesn't end after his death, of heart failure at the age of forty-five, in 1958. I don't hide my dislike of his wife, Fan Qing.

  When she looks back, she can almost see the reason. The passionate pain of abandonment. Yu Qiwei didn't let her finish her role. He left her to wonder why she didn't play it successfully. He walked out of her show before the curtain was down. It was not her character to accept humiliation. Maybe that's why he let himself slip out, die before she became the ruler of China. Maybe he knew that she wouldn't know how to live with his rejection, that she would make him pay for what he did. And he didn't want to pay what he didn't consider his debt. He was right. She spent her life cashing in the deposits of her disappointments.

  4

  I HAVE NEVER SAILED, never imagined that sailing could be this awful. I am seasick and have been throwing up. Ten days ago I boarded the Pellet, a cheap cargo ship going down the coast from Shan-dong to Shanghai. I have never been to Shanghai. I felt that I had to do something to escape my situation. What do I have to lose? When I am not retching over the side I watch the sea. I forbid myself to think of Yu Qiwei. At night I sleep on the cargo floor among hundreds of low-class passengers and their animals. One night I wake up with duck shit all over me.

  Leaving seemed to be my only choice. After I got back to Shandong from Beijing Yu Shan came to see me. She tried to be a good friend. But her brother was between us. Yu Shan came again the day I left for Shanghai. I had asked her and Mr. Zhao for contacts in Shanghai. They were kind enough to provide me with a name, a man called Shi, a film-maker originally from Shan-dong. Yu Shan wished me good luck. She seemed relieved to see me go. She didn't tell me that her brother was about to get married.

  Yu Qiwei never wrote after he left me. Not a word. It was as if we had never been lovers. He didn't care to know where I was or how I felt. He didn't know I once wanted to quit living because of him.

  The girl is determined to leave the pain behind. Toward the future she stares hard at the horizon. In her weakest moment, she still believes that she has the power to bring life to a new role. She feels this with every fiber of her being. She has decided to return to acting—it is what she does the best. If she can't fulfill her dream of being a leading lady in life, she can realize it on stage.

  It is early morning and the fog is thick. The ship finally makes its way into the East China Sea and heads toward the Huangpu River. The ship's wake is a sweeping arc of white in the dark water. When the girl turns around and faces the bow of the ship Shanghai is there, its skyline touching the clouds. The ship slips clumsily into its berth. The gangplank is lowered. The crowds rush and press. Halfway down the walkway a foreign dialect strikes her ears. Everything will be different here, she thinks to herself. Above her neon signs blink like dragon's eyes. BRITISH SOAPS, JOHNSON TOOTHBRUSHES, FRENCH VELVET ROSE LIPSTICK. She is fascinated.

  Mr. Shi is a man in his early thirties. He has the features of a typical Shan-dong man, tall and broad shouldered. His laughter sounds like thunder. He welcomes me warmly and lunges for my luggage. Before we have walked two steps he tells me that he is a producer in theater and film. Yu Shan has told me as much, but I have not heard of his work myself. By the way he talks I gather that he is at least well connected. He seems pleased to see me. He calls to a pedicab.

  Mr. Shi keeps talking as we pile into the cab. I can hear the faint traces of his old Shan-dong accent. Shanghai is Asia's Paris, he says. It is heaven for adventurers. It can excite as well as break people. As I listen to Mr. Shi I notice the fashion in Shanghai. Women are stylish. They dress in rather short skirts and pointed shoes with high heels. The designs are creative and bold. Our pedicab wheels though the crowd. I hold tightly to the bar to prevent myself from falling out. The buildings on each side of the streets are much taller than any I have ever seen. I get the sense that Mr. Shi plans to show me the entire city right now, but I am not in the mood. I am tired and filthy.

  As kindly as I can, I ask Mr. Shi to tell the driver to take the shortest route to the apartment he has secured for me. Mr. Shi seems a little disappointed but leans forward to speak to the driver. Leaning back, he offers me a cigarette. He is surprised when I decline. Everyone smokes in Shanghai, he says. You have much to learn, and I shall be honored to be your guide.

  We enter a poor neighborhood, turn onto a shabby street and come to a stop before a two-story house. The building seems to lean in on itself and is encrusted with dark soot. Mr. Shi pays the cab and collects my luggage. We make our way into the building. There is no light. The stairs are steep and some are missing. Finally we stand in the second-floor hallway. Mr. Shi struggles with the key in the lock. Turning the key back and forth, he apologizes for the condition of the apartment. For your budget this is the best I could get. I tell him that it is all right. I had expected worse. He is relieved. Finally he gets the door open. A bad smell hits my face. In the dark I can feel the cockroaches skitter across my feet.

  The girl sits on the floor in the middle of the small room. Outside, daylight fades. A strange kind of peace descends. She feels as if she has found a new home. It's not going to be easy but right now she feels calmer and considers it a good sign. Even the sounds coming from beyond her walls seem soothing. The family to her right has a brood of noisy children, a father that screams to shush them. On her left, there is an
out-of-tune piano, a player who is just beginning. Across the hall is the public kitchen, with its noise and smells. The clanking of pans and the aromas of garlic and soy sauce. She feels as if she has awakened from one dream and is about to enter another.

  ***

  Mr. Shi doesn't quite know how to handle the girl. Every time he comes to visit she is out. A few times he catches her and convinces her to have tea with him. She reports her latest activity—she has already checked out all the contacts he had given her. Her mind seems to race constantly in every direction. One moment she asks him about how the buses work, how to get from one point to another by the most economical route; the next moment she wants to know where Tien Han, the playwright of The Incident on the Lake, lives and if she could visit him soon.

  After only a week, Mr. Shi has lost his ability to track the girl. He is surprised to learn that she has already made a visit to Tien Han and is calling from his house. Not only is she staying at his house for the week, she has also gotten herself a job selling tickets at a left-wing theater. She also mentions that she has enrolled in classes at Shanghai University.

  I rush from one side of town to the other. I am moving so fast that I barely have time to remember where I have been. I believe that if I meet as many people as possible something will come of it. I shoot for the top, arrive unannounced in the offices of producers and directors—I can't be rejected. I would like to star in both film and theater, I tell anyone who will listen. Some are annoyed by me. They are taken aback by my presumption. She is pretty, yes, but who is she? Others, like Mr. Tien, whose play I starred in in Shan-dong, find me attractive, and are charmed by my daring. Mr. Tien is flattered by my admiration for his work and takes an interest in me. When he learns where I am living he offers his home to me. He feeds me, gives me more contacts, and off I go again clutching my bus map.