BRIDGE BEHIND MAO
Late Spring 1976âFall 1976
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As time went on, I took over all the shopping duties. Mother seemed happier and less tired these days, but she forbade me from trying back-door tricks again.
“It's too dangerous, and we can't afford more trouble,” she often told me.
I made no promises to her. By myself, I did whatever I could to get food for us.
When spring came, I found a safer way. I followed a group of old women from the market to a village at the edge of the city. There the villagers were selling eggs, rice, and vegetables. They were glad to sell to us, since they could charge us more than they could the government. The first time, I eagerly filled my basket with rice cakes, tofu, and carrots. But on the way home, I realized I had made a mistake. The bamboo basket
grew heavier with each step. The older women were long gone, carrying their food in homemade cloth backpacks.
By the time I dragged the full basket home, my clothes and shoes were wet from the fog, and blisters covered my palms. That night, I sewed myself a backpack from Father's old jacket. I didn't show Mother my palms.
By the time my blisters turned to calluses, I had become skilled at bargaining and trading. In the village, I learned the easiest way to get the best deal was to wait until the old women bargained down the price, then haggle with the farmers for an even lower price. I usually paid less than the old women.
Using the ration tickets I'd saved, I could get soap on the black market, along with toothpaste and sometimes even brown sugar.
After one incident at the market, I learned to get hold of the goods I wanted before showing my ration tickets. A big-eared boy who was half a head taller than me offered to trade a small bag of peanuts for two of my egg ration tickets. I was so happy to see the plump peanuts. Without thinking, I took out my ration tickets
hidden inside my shoe. The boy grabbed them and ran. With one shoe in hand, I chased him for two long blocks. When I caught up with him, I grabbed him by the back of his collar. I screamed and yelled and hit him with my shoe until he gave me the bag of peanuts.
That night, Mother and I enjoyed peanut and red date soup. With a smile on her face, Mother told me this soup helps the blood's circulation. I nodded and pushed down the urge to tell her how getting the peanuts had already made my blood run.
All summer I often wondered what Father would think if he saw me fighting and yelling at the market.
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In the fall I began my last school year with Teacher Hui, our homeroom teacher. She had tried to protect me from Gao and his gang. Once, after Gao spat on my chair, she kept him standing in the back of the classroom all morning. When she heard Yu call me “bourgeois girl with long hair,” she told Yu the length of someone's hair had nothing to do with a person being bourgeois.
Since the beginning of the semester, we had had no textbooks. Teacher Hui taught us reading from
the central government's newspaper,
The People's Daily,
and the red book. In the afternoons, when she attended the teachers' political study, the Young Pioneers ran the classroom, and now Gao and Yu were in charge.
All the girls in my class had cut their hair in Jiang Qing's style, above their ears. Teacher Hui and I were the only two who still kept our hair long. I'd overheard her tell another teacher that she curled her bangs by heating an iron poker on the stove and rolling the bangs around it. I wanted to try it, but I had no bangs. Mother said I was too young for them.
This year I was finally able to make two braids the same size and weave in the loose strands. I was proud of my long hair. With everyone in the city wearing baggy Mao jackets and looking the same, I thought that with my long braids no one would mistake me for a boy.
One rainy morning, I walked into the classroom with my clothes half soaked. Gao stood behind Teacher Hui's desk. Despite all the meat and eggs his father fed him from the back door, he had only
grown wider. The name Gao meant “tall,” but he stood there like a big round steamed bun set on a pair of duck feet.
“Everyone, look at the poster!” Gao commanded, sniffing his runny nose. Eyeing the big piece of white paper pasted to the middle of the blackboard, he puffed up proudly and read, “Chase out the bourgeois teacher! Get educated by the working class!”
I knew better than to ask where Teacher Hui was.
Yu blocked my way with her leg as I walked to my seat. I jumped over it and ignored her. A big green gob of spit lay in the middle of my chair.
Trying hard not to show my fear and anger, I took a deep breath and reached into my bag for a piece of paper to wipe it off. Someone punched me in the back. Two paper balls hit my head. I turned. Yu, Gao, and their gang stood behind me, laughing.
I remembered Mother's words, “We can't afford more trouble.” Teacher Hui was not here. No one would stop them. As I stood between my desk and the bench, they surrounded me. I had nowhere to escape.
Gao swaggered in front of my desk, waving a pair of scissors near my face. “You! Daughter of the American spy! Cut your hair, or we will do it for you!”
Punches landed on me, sending sharp pain all over. I was pushed and hit from all sides.
“Cut it now, now, now!” They cheered like cawing crows.
I swallowed to catch my breath and remained firm against the desk. Blood rushed to my head. I would rather have died than let them cut my hair.
My teeth ground in my dry mouth. “Get away from me, you stupid pigs!” The words burst out.
Gao spat. The thick spit hit my face and smelled like sour cabbage. My cheeks burned. “How dare you call us stupid pigs,” Gao screamed. “I'm going to tell my father!”
“Kill the bourgeois bug now!” Yu yelled.
Within seconds, more punches landed on my shoulders and head. They pulled at my jacket so hard the buttons tore off. I tried to shield my head with one arm; the other tightly held the straps of my schoolbag. Yu grabbed my braids violently and it felt
as if they were being yanked off my scalp. Gao opened and closed the scissors in the air. “Let's cut her bourgeois hair now!” His face turned dark red.
The images of Mrs. Wong's long black hair falling on the yellow leaves and the baby doctor's yin-yang haircut flashed through my thoughts.
No! I would not let them humiliate me. I would show them that I was not weak, and I would risk my life.
I swung my schoolbag fiercely against Gao's head.
Clunk! Clunk!
My abacus hit him. His eyes grew wide in surprise and pain. Once, twice! He fell over backward, knocking down the row of benches and desks behind him.
The beating stopped. The rest of them glanced at one another. I pushed my desk forcefully on top of Gao. Like an angry tiger, I roared, “I will kill you if you dare touch my hair!”
With an ear-piercing scream, Gao cried, “Help! Help! Ling is killing me! I am bleeding.” His arms and legs thrashing around, he lay there tangled in desks and benches. Blood dripped from his nose. The scissors were knocked two rows away. Wiping the spit
off my face with my torn sleeve, I had an urge to spit on him, but I didn't.
Yu and the others stood frozen, staring at me as if I had suddenly grown three heads. They parted, moving a few inches away from me. With my schoolbag in hand, I held my head high and walked out of the classroom.
I wondered if those heroes in revolutionary movies, who'd rather die than surrender, felt as good as I did.
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The rain had stopped, and the sun glared through wide sycamore leaves. The air was hot and humid.
I didn't want to go home. Mother would already be back from her night shift. Wandering down Big Liberation Roadâthe main road of the cityâI thought about all the wrongs done to me.
My braids had come loose, and a few locks of long hair danced around my face in the soft breeze. The rubber bands must have been pulled off during the attack.
People dressed in dark blue and white rushed east and west on the sidewalks. A lazy snake of cars, bicycles, trucks, and rickshaws crawled slowly along the wide street. I felt the summer heat in the air. It smelled of diesel fumes and dust. I stopped in front of
the Workers & Parents Department Store. A big red sign that read CLOSED FOR POLITICAL STUDIES hung on the door. Ripping a small strip from the bottom of my torn jacket, I tied my hair into a ponytail. Mother's worried face came to mind. What would happen to us after Gao told his father about today?
Since Father's arrest, I hadn't walked down Big Liberation Road. Mother said it wasn't safe. The Red Guards had split into two gangs, the Rights and the Lefts, who constantly fought each other. When Mother and I went out, we stayed on the back roads. But today, after the fight at school, nothing frightened me. The next time they ganged up on me, I might not be able to get away, but I decided I would at least get in a few punches and draw blood.
Someone shouted, “Get away! Get out of the way!” Rickshaws and bicycles crowded up onto the narrow sidewalk. A few people fell off their bicycles. I dashed aside to avoid being crushed. A green police jeep with a red flag roared by. A young worker with a paint-spattered uniform cursed at the jeep before getting back on his bike.
Like those around me, I elbowed my way into the
crowd. Father always had me walk closely behind him when we were in a crowd while he did the “elbow swimming.”
The city jail stood one block from the department store. It was the only building with thick iron bars outside its windows. Two soldiers armed with machine guns guarded the iron gates. A group of people stood quietly outside the entrance, each hugging a small cloth bag. I envied them for knowing that their family member was inside. Day and night I wondered where they had taken my father.
Half a block from the jail was the bookstore. A huge portrait of Mao hung from the second floor of the building. He smiled and waved his big hand.
“Stop! Stop, or we'll kill you!” The voices came from behind me.
I froze. People around me parted.
Two Red Guards ran past me, closely chased by four more.
I jumped behind a big tree trunk.
About twenty yards away, the four caught up with the two.
“The Rights are going to beat up the Lefts this time,” said a skinny young woman in a green post office uniform.
“What's the difference?” asked a middle-aged woman with gray hair. “Aren't they all Red Guards?”
“Oh, who knows. Each side thinks they follow Chairman Mao closer than the other. See how they wear their armbands?” The young woman moved closer to the fight. Some people on the sidewalk hurried on without looking; others watched from a distance.
The two Red Guards, who wore red armbands on their left arms, began swinging their belts. As they cut the air, the metal clasps and buckles made angry buzzing sounds. The four with red bands on their right arms backed off a few steps. I recognized Short Legs and Pimple Face among them.
Suddenly there was a sound like a cleaver hitting a slab of raw beef. Short Legs gave out a loud scream. Blood spurted from above his eye. The two Lefts broke from the circle and ran past the bookstore. Pimple Face and two other Rights chased them for a few steps and then ran back to Short Legs. “We will get them later!” Pimple Face gasped.
He lifted up Short Legs from behind. The other two carried his legs. They ran toward the hospital. As they passed me, I saw that Short Legs's face was covered with blood and his eyes were closed. A few kids followed behind. The crowd slowly broke up.
I had never seen a metal buckle crack open a head. How many stitches would it take to sew him up? Maybe he would die.
I would not be sorry if that happened. It had been seventeen months since they took Father away, but it still felt as recent as yesterday.
Something lay on the ground. It was the belt, the heavy buckle stained red. I hesitated, then walked over, picked it up, and tucked it into my schoolbag.
Tomorrowâtomorrow at school, if they humiliated me again, they would find out how far I would go to protect myself.
I zigzagged between people and bicycles toward Six-Port Revolutionary Road, which led to the Han River. The sun glowed on the sandy shore. I walked down the stone steps to the riverbank. A tugboat was pulling a huge barge loaded with lumber across the river. Birds sang in nearby trees. I plopped down
where I used to sit with Father. Cupping my chin in my hands, I watched the river flow by. My mind flew in all directions.
Where was Father? Was it painful to drown oneself? When a person dies, does the spirit go to paradise? If so, was the Golden Gate Bridge along the way? No, no! I chased that thought away. I wanted to wear a red dress, eat ice cream, and walk on a green lawn. I wanted to live, to live for the day I could go to the Golden Gate Bridge with Father. But was he still alive? My eyes stung. I squeezed them shut.
The breeze became cooler as the day grew dark. My stomach groaned when I caught the scents of garlic fish and jasmine rice rising from the small boats. Mother should have left for her night shift by now. I walked toward home. Cars honked as they glided down Big Liberation Road. A full moon lit the busy sidewalk.
From inside our courtyard, I saw dim light flickering through our window. Mother was still home? I tiptoed upstairs and took a deep breath before cracking open the door.
A small oil lamp stood lit on the dinner table.
Mother sat on a low stool next to it, both hands wrapped around her knees. She stared into the darkness outside the window, looking small and helpless.
She didn't notice me until I walked over and touched her shoulder gently. “Momma, I'm home.”
She looked up, her eyes red and puffy. “Do you know what you have done, Ling?”
“He called Father an American spy.” I was too proud to tell her that Gao had spit on my face.
“But, Ling, don't you know who that boy's father is, and what he can do to us?” Mother paused. “They accused me of sending you to murder a young revolutionary.” Mother rose from the stool. “Either you apologize or they'll make an example of us.” She walked to where her nurse's uniform hung behind the door.
Anger burned inside me. I squeezed out each word between my teeth. “Apologize? No! Never!”
With her white uniform in hand, Mother turned toward me. “I know what they've been doing to you at school. You haven't done anything wrong. But I can't take it anymoreâthe fear, not knowing what happened to your father, and watching you suffer. I
wish you would just bend a little, like a bamboo in the wind. If they send us to a labor camp, we will be treated worse than animals.”
Words choked in my throat. Mother sighed and walked out. I ran to the window in my bedroom and watched her drag her skinny body through the courtyard. For a moment, I pictured myself apologizing to Gao. But the thought of his ugly face wearing a victory smile made me decide that I would rather die.
I sat down on my bed and took the belt out of my bag. Using a corner of my shirt, I buffed off the dark blood. With each stroke I felt more determined to fight.
My thoughts drifted from my fights with Gao at school to the baby doctor underneath the blue sheet and finally to the rope that had been under Mother's mattress. What would they do to Mother and me if I refused to apologize?
At last, my eyelids grew heavy. I collapsed into bed. I prayed that a fairy godmother would take me to the Golden Gate Bridge. More than anything else, I prayed that she could bring Father home safely.
But that night, I didn't dream.