Becoming Madame Mao (22 page)

***

The table of history has turned, Fairlynn writes in her "Red Base" column.
This time it is Chiang Kai-shek who plays an eager negotiator. From his capital city, Nan-jing, he sent Mao Tse-tung telegrams begging for a peace talk. In the meantime he has been trying to get the westerners to interfere. Britain sent a frigate,
Amethyst,
to the coast near the Yangzi River where Mao's force is in full engagement. Twenty-three Englishmen were killed and the frigate has been a dead fish for one hundred and one days. From Russia Stalin demands that Mao enter into peace talks with Chiang Kai-shek. Stalin's advisors follow Mao around attempting to stop him from sweeping through the entire South. In his war tent Mao is preparing for his final strike to take over China.

November 18, 1948. Hundreds and thousands of boats, captained by fishermen and soldiers, sail across the Yangzi River. The People's Liberation Army lunges toward Chiang Kai-shek's capital, Nan-jing. The Chiangs flee to Taiwan.

My lover listens to the radio while he finishes a yam.

Jiang Ching looks at Mao as she washes pots and bowls. She sees the expression of an emperor who is about to mount his throne. The couple haven't discussed their future. Not long ago, Jiang Ching found a piece of Fairlynn's writing on Mao's desk. It was an essay. Jiang Ching suspected that it was a love letter in secret code.

Chairman Mao was enlightened by the narration of the classic novel
The Dream of the Red Chamber.
The protagonist, Baoyu, couldn't be separated from a piece of jade he was born with. The jade was the root of his life. To Mao bis jade was the heart of the Chinese people.
Why Baoyu the lover? Jiang Ching wonders. Is Fairlynn trying to be Taiyu, the only other soul in the mansion who understands Baoyu?

***

I had a terrible dream last night in which my lover's dark, stained fingers play at his throat as he reads Fairlynn's article. The fingers move tenderly up and down as if struck by a sweet mood.

The People's Liberation Army takes Yenan back. While the soldiers unite with the surviving family members the headquarters packs. Mao will leave this place for good. After a celebration rally Mao is finally left alone with Jiang Ching.

The cave is dark although it is daytime. The couple haven't been intimate since the evacuation. They sit by themselves quietly. It feels strange to Jiang Ching that her body has stopped missing his.

A ray of sunlight peeks in. It slants across the corner of the desk. Mao's old chair with its back leg wrapped with bandages stands like a wounded soldier. The wall is dirty.

After an awkward silence, Mao reaches out his arms and pulls Jiang Ching toward him. Without speaking he moves his hands from her shoulders to her waist. And then down he continues. She grows rigid. Heat drains from her limbs. Silently she lies in his arms.

He undresses and positions himself. And then he pushes in. She is motionless. He tries to concentrate on the pleasure, but his mind stirs.

I liked it better when we were illegitimate, she suddenly says.

He doesn't respond, but his body withdraws. He collects himself and lies down next to her.

Her tears begin to gush and her voice trembles. I don't want to be Zi-zhen. And I am not ready to retire. To build a new China is my business too.

He is silent, shows that he is disappointed.

I have talked to Premier Zhou, she continues. I told him that I deserve a title. He gave me no straight answer. I am not sure this is not your intention.

He lies with his eyes closed.

She goes on. Describes her feelings, how she has been submerged in water, the beating of her heart making circles on the surface. Doesn't know what happened to the love she lives for. She keeps going as though to pause would mean collapse. I am a dying seed inside a fruit. Everybody is polite to me because I'm your concubine. A concubine—not a revolutionary, not a soldier, not any part of this business. Your men disrespect me. While I'm everything I'm nothing. I've been following you like a dog. What more can I offer? My body and soul have been your resting place.

Why don't we finish this business before I get too tired? the lover demands.

She protests. My mind has its own pleasure and I can force nothing.

He grips her arms with tense fingers. Against her struggles he pulls her over and forces his way inside her. She shivers, feeling that she is pushed out of her body. He moves on top of her. She watches the event with a third eye. He feels her constraint and struggles against it. After a while he gives up.

Perhaps I'm not as sympathetic to your needs as I'd like myself to be. He sits down on the edge of the bed. Or perhaps it is just one of those things that time wears out. He sticks up a finger to stop her from responding. I'd rather not go into it. No matter what's said or going to be said, it's pointless. It will be an unreasonable demand. Maybe you and I have become the past. My feet are on the breast of victory. I live more intensely in the present than I could ever in the past. I have no time for misery.

She shakes her head vigorously.

He nods to silence her.

She tries to hold back her tears.

He gets up and collects his clothes.

No! Please don't go!

Buttoning up his uniform he takes out a cigarette. The smoke eddies about his face.

She feels the way horror corners its victim.

What time is it? he asks.

She doesn't answer but gets up. Her clothes are wrinkled. Matted hair falls to her shoulders.

Reality doesn't discuss, it simply is, he says in a harsh tone and extinguishes the cigarette.

The bitter lines on her face suddenly deepen.

We will settle in Beijing. He goes to open the door. It'll be by Zhong-nan-hai in the Forbidden City. I'll occupy a compound called the Garden of Harvest. I've saved the Garden of Stillness for you.

W
E HAVE WON CHINA
and have moved into the Forbidden City. It is a city within a city, a vast park enclosed by high walls and containing the government offices and a number of splendid palaces. Our palace was designed in the Ming dynasty, built in 1368 and completed in 1644. It has golden roof tiles, thick wooden columns and high deep-red stone walls. The massive ornaments are on the themes of harmony and longevity. The craft is exquisite and the detail meticulous.

As his cabinet prepares for the establishment of the republic, my husband tries to relax in his new home on an island in the Zhong-nan-hai Lake. It takes him weeks to adjust to the spacious living quarters. The high ceiling in the Garden of Harvest distracts him. The space makes him fearful although there are guards behind every gate. Finally, after sleeping in different rooms, he moves to a quiet, less solemn and more modest corner called the Chrysanthemum-Fragrance Study.

Mao likes his door. It faces exactly south. The door panels are wide with ceiling-high windows. Natural light pours into his new room, which he enjoys. The sofas with extrasoft cushions, gifts from the Russians, were sent over by Premier Zhou En-lai. Mao has never sat on a sofa before. He doesn't feel comfortable. Can't get used to its softness. It gives him a sinking feeling. Same thing with the toilet. He prefers to squat on his heels like a dog. He keeps the sofas for visitors and orders himself an old-fashioned rattan chair. The outer space is the drawing room, which has been converted into a library with books piled from floor to ceiling along three walls. He doesn't pay attention to the furniture but is aware that all the furniture in the imperial city is made of camphor trees. Camphor wood has the reputation of continuing to live and breathe, producing a sweet scent even after it's made into furniture.

Original hand-bound manuscripts lie on top of the long narrow stands. In the middle of the room sits an eight-by-four-foot desk. On top of the desk is a set of brush pens, an ink jar, a tea mug, an ashtray and a magnifier. The inner room serves as Mao's bedroom. It has gray-white walls and dusty wine-colored curtains. A boatlike wooden bed has many adjustable bookcases. Outside, three-hundred-year-old pine trees spread their branches to the horizon. Beyond the limestone terrace is a branch of the Zhong-nan-hai Lake, its water grass green. Dog-faced fish gather under lotus leaves. On the left side, a new vegetable garden has just been completed. At the end of the garden is an arched stone door covered with ivy. Under the ivy is a path leading to the Garden of Stillness, where Jiang Ching resides.

The Garden of Stillness is protected by the Garden of Harvest but separate from it. To the public we live together. But the path from his place to mine has been unused for so long that moss has come to cover it. After the spring the entrance is blocked by leaves. The Garden of Stillness was once the residence of Lady Xiangfei, the favorite concubine of the Ming emperor. Lady Xiangfei was known for her naturally scented skin. She was said to be poisoned by the empress. To preserve her memory the emperor ordered the residence to be permanently vacant.

I love this place, its elegant furniture and ornaments. I adore the wildness of my garden, especially the two natural waterfalls. The architect designed the place around the water course. The bamboo bushes are thick outside my window. On full-moon nights, the place looks like a magnificent frosted ground.

Yet I have never felt this bad in my life.

I am left alone with all these treasures.

I am left with my nightmares.

I have helped hatch the eggs of your revolution! she hears herself scream. She gets up at night and sits in the dark. Cold sweat drips along her neckline. Her back is wet. Her cries crawl over the floor and stick in the wall. Mao no longer informs her of his whereabouts. His staff members avoid her. When she tries to talk to them, they show impatience as if she holds them hostage.

One night she breaks through the path and enters Mao's bedroom by surprise. She reaches him and sobs on her knees. My head is filled with a storm. The mirror in my room drives me crazy with a mad skeleton! She pleads, Make the place a home for the sake of our children.

Mao puts down his book. What's wrong with where we are now? Anyin is happy at the Army School of Technology; Anqin is doing well in Moscow University. Ming and Nah are both having a good time at the Party's boarding school. What more do you want?

She keeps sobbing.

He comes and covers her with his blankets. How about I order our chefs to share the cooking space?

That night she is tranquil. She dreams that she is sleeping the last sleep, during which her heartbeat stops and her cheeks freeze against his empty chest.

I excuse myself from the dinner table. Mao pays no attention. I walk into his bedroom, turn off the light and kick off my shoes. I lie down on his bed. Then comes the sound of his putting down his chopsticks. The sound of his striking up a match to light a cigarette. He doesn't like the modern lighters. He likes the big wooden matches. He likes to watch the match burn down to his fingers. He likes to watch the burnt end grow. It makes me sad that I have come to know his small habits.

The smoke drifts over. The garlic stinks badly tonight. I hear him walking toward his desk and pulling out his chair. I hear him turn a page of a document. In my mind's eye I see him making remarks on a document. Circles and crosses. The things we used to do together. He used to hand the pen to me and have me do the job while he enjoyed his cigarette. There has never been a discussion between us on what went wrong in our relationship. The dilemma has fed on trivial details.

He signs his name with a red brush. The new emperor. The past is still too clear. I can't forget the moment when I fell in love with the bandit! The images caress my memory's shore. I feel their tenderness.

For weeks and months I sit in my room daydreaming of the girl who carried her own sunshine. I have lost her spirit. Look at the landscape outside my window! The fabulous sunset! I remember the feeling of sitting on his lap while he conducted monumental battles. His hands were inside my shirt while the soldiers charged forward to honor his name.

A voice mimicking a fortuneteller tells me, Madame, you've got a gilded hook in your mouth.

***

The train plows through the thick snow. The beauty of northern ice trees and the whiteness strangely move her. She is on her way to a doctor. A Russian doctor. She had checked out her growing pain. A cyst was found in her cervix. She doesn't know why she wants to come to Russia. To escape what? Her cyst or her reality?

She is greeted by men from Moscow's Foreign Relations Bureau. Red-potato-nosed agents treat her as if she is Mao's deserted concubine. A short, rosy-cheeked translator, a Chinese woman, is with the men. She is bundled in a navy blue Lenin coat and carries herself like a big triangle. Stepping out of the station, Madame Mao is beaten by the harsh wind. The air from Siberia greets you! one red-nose says. Comrade Stalin is sorry that Comrade Mao Tse-tung's not here.

In her hotel room, holding her tea cup, she picks up a copy of
People's Daily.
The paper is sent by the embassy. The date is October 2, 1949. On the front page is a large photo of her husband. It is a wide-angle shot. He is on top of Tiananmen—the Gate of Heavenly Peace—inspecting a sea of parades. It is a good photo, she thinks. The photographer caught the elation leaping on Mao's face. He looks younger than fifty-four.

She turns the pages and suddenly sees Fairlynn's name. Fairlynn has not only survived the war, she has been active in the republic's establishment. Have they secretly kept in touch? Has she been invited to his study?

The guard at the Chrysanthemum-Fragrance Study blocks her and tells her that Mao is with a visitor and doesn't wish to be disturbed.

Hello, Chairman! I'm back! Madame Mao Jiang Ching pushes the guard to the side and invites herself in.

The room is dark. The blinds are down and the curtains are drawn. Mao is in his pajamas. He sits facing the door in his rattan chair. The visitor is a woman. She sits with her back toward Jiang Ching. She is in a navy blue Mao jacket. Seeing his wife Mao crosses his bare feet on a stool and says, The Siberian fox has come to share the spring with us.