Old Town (19 page)

1.

M
Y
G
RANDPA HAD
a dream he cherished over a long period of his life but never realized, and that was to take Grandma up north to the place where he had served in the army during the war. He wanted to pay homage to Division Commander Zhang, the officers and men, both known and unknown, and to that widow who had been so pretty then. Such an idea came to him at the close of the civil war, but during the 1950s, his own questionable history made it impossible for him to escape the never-ending waves of revolutionary movements. During “Eliminate Counterrevolutionaries” he was almost shot dead. In “Anti-Rightists” he only just avoided being made into a “Big Rightist.” My mother and my two uncles lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety over him. Even so, their own future prospects dimmed considerably by association with him and they would never be promoted to important positions.

The early 1960s were famine years for China. My grandpa reckoned that after this everything would be fine again and so he began his plan to take Grandma north on his nostalgia tour. However, during those years the third generation of the Lin family began arriving in quick succession, and Grandma, having just taken care of one daughter-in-law during her parturition and first month laying-in period, had to do the same for the next one. In 1965, the old couple finally set their departure date. Then, my youngest uncle’s wife suddenly had a miscarriage, and Grandma just had to return the ticket and stay to take care of her. Grandpa went on by himself, thinking that later on they’d still have the chance to go north together. However, he didn’t foresee that an even harsher Great Revolution was already then in ferment. That was the disaster that was preordained for him. He never fully weathered that ten-year-long catastrophe.

At home, we had an old-style 120 mm camera. It documented Grandpa’s travels north in the autumn of 1965. In the pictures, he is still looking lean and wiry, but wearing his Sun Yat-sen-style suit, which was just like the military uniform of that period, and made his body a bit more filled out. He is standing on a piece of farmland where Division Commander Zhang and two hundred officers and ordinary soldiers are buried. The local townspeople seemed to have gradually forgotten the trauma of war and pretty much forgotten as well all those who had fought against the Japanese. My grandpa had the habit of keeping a diary. During the “Great Cultural Revolution,” he burned over twenty diaries. In the final years of his life, he would write poems to express his deepest feelings. I have no way of verifying what Grandpa must have felt as he stood in that field, but I believe he certainly must have shed tears from all the different feelings welling up within him.

On that trip north, my grandpa stayed at the home of a local fellow, though he never dared mention that he himself had once been stationed here in the army. That would have been the Nationalist army. Anyone, even the most politically uninvolved country bumpkin, who spread it around that Grandpa had been a Guomindang soldier, would have stirred up feelings of caution and hostility. Grandpa told this oaf that a relative had entrusted him with the task of locating a young widow who had run a small shop in those days. Division Commander Zhang had mentioned that he had a few small gold pieces and, before the battle, had given a leather bag to Young Li. Afterward, when they retreated with the army, at first, neither Grandpa nor Young Li had known that there was gold inside the bag. Those few gold pieces miraculously saved their lives on the road back to Old Town after they deserted. My grandpa never felt easy about this, as if he had deliberately seized what should have been someone else’s property, and so he brought along with him a not-inconsiderable amount of money to give to the widow.

The oaf went asking here and there and did find out what had happened. That winter, after the army had withdrawn from the town, the widow hanged herself on an old dead tree above Division Commander Zhang’s grave. You can well imagine just how Grandpa felt when he heard this. The widow had died and he had survived. If he had given the gold to her then maybe it would have been the other way around. That night, he paced back and forth on that field, telling Jesus of the feelings of guilt he harbored. Was it, after all, because heaven favored him? Or had he been wrong in doing what he had done?

The day before Ninth Brother left this small market town in central China, his host slaughtered a laying hen to give his guest from afar a send-off dinner. Grandpa unobtrusively stuffed a few silver dollars in the
kang
of the house. Ten dollars was an enormous sum for a peasant only able to earn a few
fen
a day. The oaf was simply terrified by this amount of money. Could this southerner with his Sun Yat-sen suit perhaps be a secret agent sent from Taiwan? He rushed to report this to the commune office, taking the money with him.

The long-distance bus station was in the county town, a walk of almost ten miles. Grandpa had gotten almost halfway there, when a horse cart stopped beside him and out jumped several men. They seized him and brought him to the commune’s armed force department for questioning. Fortunately, he had with him the travel document issued by his street committee in Old Town. In those days, no one in China had any concept yet of traveling for its own sake. Someone aimlessly wandering about would have been considered not quite right in the head. The commune’s armed force department released this skinny, not-quite-right-in-the-head southerner.

The doctor and the many officers and men were incorporated into another unit. Hu, the division commander of this unit, was a man who had come up in the world by banditry. Young Li had heard more than a few stories about him. Just last night, some bumpkin’s dog next door had disturbed this Hu fellow with its barking. Hu jumped up stark naked from under the covers and, taking his pistol with him, rushed out the door and shot the dog dead. He had also killed two adjutants in the same rash way—afterward they were accused of having been deserters. The first time the doctor saw Division Commander Hu was at a pep talk. This big, dark-skinned fellow, his ferocious face covered with lumps and swellings, stood there, one hand on his hip, the other gesticulating vehemently. On average, for each minute he talked, he would come out with at least three curses and swearwords so filthy you could hardly bear to listen to him. The doctor buried himself out of sight within the rank and file. He couldn’t help deeply missing Division Commander Zhang and the brotherly affection they had shared in those days. Division Commander Zhang had once told him:
If there comes a day when I can no longer protect you, just light out fast for home and take Young Li with you
. The doctor now really did want to go home. And it was during Division Commander Hu’s wild and incoherent pep talk that the thought of doing so first sprang into his head, though he immediately squelched it. Desertion would be shameful when there was such danger to the nation hanging over everyone.

Division Commander Hu’s hometown was only a little more than thirty miles away from this garrison, so his three wives all moved in and became his camp family, each occupying a different civilian residence in the neighborhood. These were the days when there was no smell of gunpowder, no wounded soldiers, and when there were so few visitors at the medical station you could net sparrows at the door. But the doctor wasn’t really just taking it easy. Day and night, night and day, the commander’s three old ladies had all sorts of minor ailments, and would send someone to call the doctor to come and treat them. This was especially so with Third Wife. Whenever the commander didn’t spend the night at her place, she would come down with something.

Third Wife would always wait, all powdered and rouged, at the warm end of the
kang
with tea prepared. She wanted the doctor to sit down, chat with her, and keep her company. But the doctor wouldn’t buy this and always kept a few feet away from her, staring blankly ahead. He never uttered a word or responded on any matter that wasn’t connected to medical treatment. Even so, Third Wife still said a lot. She was a southerner, from Jiaxing in Zhejiang Province, the child of a family that had produced scholars for generations. Because her father had died young, to help her mother raise her younger brothers and sisters, Third Wife had no choice but to seek a livelihood in Shanghai. A married man with children tricked her into going up north, and in Loyang she met Commander Hu. Her eyes glistening with tears, she would often ask the doctor, “You’re a southerner too. Don’t you ever think of home?” And every time she asked him this, he would feel all broken-up inside, but he just gritted his teeth. He would have none of that line of talk.

On one cold and breezy night, Third Wife again called for someone to get the doctor. The doctor put on his uniform, but after pacing back and forth in his room for some time, decided against playing this pointless game. He gave his emergency treatment kit to Young Li, and told him to take her temperature and do a diagnosis. If Third Wife really had something wrong with her, there’d be time soon enough to treat her. When Third Wife heard that the doctor was unwilling to come to her, she flew into a rage and smashed the pot of tea. Later, Young Li returned, chuckling and scuffling in with his soaking wet sandals, to make his report to the doctor. By fixing a problem that had vexed many hours of his time, without hurting someone’s feelings, the doctor supposed that his approach had been a smart one.

Unexpectedly, the very next morning, Commander Hu suddenly appeared at the aid station, pistol in hand. He knocked over the table standing between him and the doctor. Thrusting his pistol against the side of the doctor’s head, he snarled. “You’ve got nerve to treat my woman like that!” The doctor thought he was a dead duck and would end up just like the barking dog who fell before this gun. He closed his eyes and silently prayed,
Lord, I’ll be meeting you now. If your child has committed any sin, please be merciful and forgive him. And I entrust Second Sister and the children into your hands
. Commander Hu was puzzled, seeing that not only was the doctor not scared but that he looked positively radiant. From the time he was twenty years old and had straggled into a local bandit gang, he had killed men beyond number. In most cases, he never sneaked up to attack from behind. Toying with the person he was about to kill was what he liked best. He again bashed his pistol barrel against the doctor’s temple and roared, “You know you’re about to die!” “I know it,” said the doctor. “And you’re not afraid of that?” The doctor looked straight at Commander Hu and thought:
O Lord, is even this brutal man one of your lost sheep that you would never forsake?
Commander Hu yelled at him, “Oh, so you’re looking at me now?” The doctor answered him calmly, “Commander, don’t be angry. Nobody can choose when he dies. Today, I’ll die at your gun. That was set long before I entered this world, wouldn’t you agree? I am just sorry to have made you kill one more person.” Commander Hu was like someone who had been tickled on the sole of his foot. In spite of himself, he just burst out laughing so violently that spit went flying out in all directions. He put away his gun and said, “Now that’s a good one. I’ve never met anyone less scared to die. You dainty little prig, though…how come you’re not scared of dying? OK, I won’t kill you, then!”

Just then, Young Li returned from performing some job. His eyes widened in amazement when he saw the overturned table and the commander in a good mood. He just couldn’t imagine what had happened. If he had returned one minute earlier, he would have fallen on his knees and begged for the doctor’s life. He might even have said something he shouldn’t have, and bullets from the barrel of the commander’s gun would have gone straight through the doctor’s head for sure. Actually, Young Li shouldn’t have gone out on this day at all, but having done so, shouldn’t have dillydallied for such a long time. Just now, he had been next door. When a mess worker had been drawing water, the rope broke, and Young Li had been busy helping the fellow retrieve the bucket.

Just what force arranges all the small things in life?

The thought of going back home now flared up enticingly in the doctor’s mind once again. And the reality that surrounded him only added fuel to the flames and reinforced the idea of deserting this army. Over the past few months, the infirmary had been unable to get the medical supplies it had requisitioned. There was no alcohol or surgical cotton and the doctor had to buy distilled grain spirits and boil bed sheets to prepare for the urgent needs of a battle situation. Payroll was months late. Everyone, enlisted men as well the officers, knew that Commander Hu was embezzling their silver dollars, and though all of them were angry they didn’t dare say anything. Every day there were incidents of desertion and anyone caught on the road was brought back and shot.
This was clearly a bandit lair and a slaughterhouse, so why not just go home?
The doctor asked himself this question day after day.