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As the first week of November passed, the weather in Wuhan changed quickly. Days of chilly rain turned to snow. Our apartment was cold and damp. I moved around feeling like a miserable panda in my heavy cotton outfit. At night, Mother piled three heavy quilts on me.
On the afternoon of December 14, I returned from school and found Niu sitting in our living room crying. Mother told me they had taken Mrs. Wong to a labor camp. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Never had I felt so heartbroken. I hadn't seen Mrs. Wong since that awful day. She hadn't come down, and Mother didn't allow me to go up when she went. I wished I had had a chance to say good-bye to Mrs. Wong and thank her for Bao-bao's new outfit.
Despite my parents insisting Niu move in with us, he went home every night. But he spent a lot of time at our apartment during the day. He talked to me only when I asked him a question. Trying to cheer him up, I showed him my special collections: a cotton scarf with various Mao buttons pinned on it, a folder filled with plastic candy wrappers, and a small chocolate box that held my treasured pair of silk ribbons, a phoenix-shaped plastic darning needle, and a carved sandalwood fan. He only glanced at them and his sullen face didn't change. I wasn't sure how to make him feel better.
Over the following months, more doctors were forced to leave the hospital. Some were sent to jail or labor camps. Others just disappeared, like Dr. Wong. I wished someone could assure me that Father would be safe. I became so afraid of my nightmares that I tried to stay awake as long as I could.
Lately after dinner Father would either read his medical journals or stare at the picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. I thought that if only he would spend more time telling stories about the bridge and America, I might have a happy dream.
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The week before Chinese New Year, Comrade Li pasted a new poster on the side of our building.
WITH YOUR BLOOD AND SWEAT,
WASH AWAY YOUR ANTIREVOLUTIONARY SINS!
When I passed it, I turned my head away from the red characters. The word
blood
made me shiver.
That night, Father stroked my cheek gently. “Wake up, Ling. You're having a bad dream.”
“Daddy, don't let them cut my hair!” I reached up to make sure both my braids were still there and held them tightly under my chin.
In my dream, a group of faceless people surrounded me, waving scissors. I tried to hide my hair in my hat, but my braids were too long and kept falling out.
Father tucked me snugly under the blanket. “Ling, I promise I won't let anyone cut your hair.” Feeling safe with him sitting next to my bed, I drifted back to sleep.
The next morning, a loud sound woke me.
“What's happening, Daddy?” I called out.
“Nothing to worry about.” Father's low voice came from the living room. “Go back to sleep.”
Smelling burned paper, I ran out of my bedroom and saw Father throw a stack of pictures into the fireplace. The flames swallowed them like hungry monsters. Photo albums lay on the floor.
Mother stood next to the window. “Hurry! Hurry! They've finished their morning march.”
Trembling, I lifted a photo of Father in a Western suit. He stood before a palm tree. Next to him was Dr. Smith, an older man with brown hair, also in a suit. Both looked handsome. “Do you have to burn this?” I asked in a low voice. Father glanced at the picture, and tossed another handful of photographs into the fire, among them two photos of my dead grandparents. Father used to keep them on his desk.
“We can't keep any old photos now. They are considered evil reminders of the bourgeois lifestyle.”
“But I'll forget what my grandparents looked likeâ”
Someone pounded on our door. “Open! Open up.”
Mother's face turned white. Father rose and rushed toward the door. In his hurry, he knocked over a
chair next to the table. I tucked the picture of Father and Dr. Smith into the elastic of my pants.
Five Red Guards burst into our home. I recognized Pimple Face and Pink Cheeks. Comrade Li followed. Their rubber army boots stepped on the open photo albums, leaving yellow-brown marks on the pictures. Mother and I backed into the corner next to the fireplace. Father came and stood in front of us.
Once in the middle of our living room, Comrade Li lifted up his arm and yelled, “One! Two!”
The Red Guards quickly lined up facing Chairman Mao's portrait above the fireplace. My heart pounded.
“Start!” He swung down his hand.
There's a golden sun in Beijing.
They sang and waved their hands above their heads and made a turn.
It brightens whatever it shines upon.
Goose bumps covered my forearms.
The light doesn't come from the sky but from
Our great leader Chairman Mao.
They swung their legs, bent at their waists, and stretched their arms above their heads.
“Long live Chairman Mao!” yelled Comrade Li.
“Down with the bourgeois!” shouted the Red Guards.
As if chased by lightning, they darted in different directions. Pink Cheeks pasted a long white strip of paper onto our living room wall. In ugly chicken-scratch letters it read BOURGEOIS SYMPATHIZERS.
Pimple Face dumped a plastic bottle of alcohol into our fireplace. The flames leaped out as if trying to grab us. Comrade Li pulled Father's books from the shelves and threw them into the fire.
Another Red Guard boy with short legs put his head and hands on the ground, kicked his feet up, and spun around. The group cheered.
Pink Cheeks twirled Mother's pearl necklace around in the air. I closed my eyes, only to force them open when I heard clattering. She had flung the necklace across the room and it hit the wall, sending loose pearls everywhere.
Mother buried her face in Father's shoulder. Father wrapped his arms around me. I wished I
could turn into a little rabbit and hide inside his coat.
Waving a big cleaver above his head, the Red Guard with paintbrush eyebrows slashed a ragged X into the back of Father's chair. White stuffing burst out. Feeling the strength of Father's arm and the warmth of his body, I again imagined becoming a dragon and gobbling them up.
Why did Comrade Li bring these Red Guards to our home? Did he want to chase us out so he could have our entire apartment to himself? Had he found out we were hiding coffee and chocolate from him? Or was he angry with us for being friends with the Wongs?
Pink Cheeks and another Red Guard girl with mouse eyes stomped into my bedroom.
Please, please don't take my Bao-bao,
I prayed.
Father whispered, “Be strong, my dear.”
I held my breath. Cackles came from my bedroom. I wanted to run inside to save Bao-bao, but my legs would not move.
Trotting into the living room, Pink Cheeks dangled Bao-bao by a leg. “Look at this silly little thing.”
“Oh, it even has a dress on,” said Mouse Eyes. “Let me see what's under here.” She ripped up Bao-bao's new dress with the girl in the sun hat.
Anger filled my chest. I let go of Father and ran to them. “Leave her alone. She's mine!” I grabbed one of Bao-bao's arms.
Pink Cheeks jerked back. The arm came off with an awful ripping sound.
I dropped it to the floor and couldn't bear to look.
The Red Guards roared with laughter.
Grabbing a heavy photo album from the floor, I threw it at them. “I hate you!” I screamed.
Silence filled the room. Father grabbed me and hugged me tight.
With a big grin, Comrade Li stepped forward and said, “Dear comrades, when the enemy hates us, that's when we are doing a good job. Work harder!” He waved his hand.
When had we become his enemies? What had we done?
Mouse Eyes picked up Bao-bao and her arm and threw them into the fireplace.
“Oh, no!” cried Mother.
I couldn't bear to watch the fire swallow Bao-bao.
Bao-bao, I am sorry I couldn't protect you.
I buried my face in Father's sleeve and squeezed his arm tightly. I didn't want the Red Guards to see me sobbing.
Thud! Crash!
Another wave of cheers and shouts filled our home. Paintbrush had knocked the picture of the Golden Gate Bridge off the mantel with his cleaver. Short Legs had swept the blue vase onto the floor with a broomstick. Jumping behind Father to avoid the flying pieces, I thought of the powerful dragon that could spit fire. I wanted to burn them to ashes.
Father pulled away from me and stepped in front of Comrade Li.
“We're on a revolutionary mission. No time to talk.” Comrade Li shoved him aside and walked into our kitchen.
Father's face trembled. I realized he could not protect us.
Mouse Eyes lifted our radio up above her head as Comrade Li walked out of our kitchen, holding a bag of rice and eating a banana. He motioned her to stop, but it was too late. She smashed it on the floor. The black plastic box cracked open, showing tubes and wires.
Stuffing the last bite of banana into his mouth, he mumbled, “Stupid! I could have used it to further the Revolution.”
Comrade Li turned to Father. “Listen! If you dare to say or do anything more against the Revolution ⦔ Dropping the banana peel in front of Father, he mashed it under his boot, turned, and marched out the door. Pimple Face, Short Legs, Mouse Eyes, and Paintbrush followed, with their arms full of our clothes, dishes, and food. Clutching the chocolate box filled with my treasures, Pink Cheeks slammed the door. A shred of Bao-bao's dress hung on the door latch. My tears rolled out in despair.
Father picked up the picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. The heavy gold frame had protected it. He held it close to his heart and sat down in his torn-up chair. It was the first time I ever saw tears in his eyes.
Tears trickled down Mother's cheeks as she righted the remaining chairs. Two of them were now missing arms. My flower comforter lay across the floor, torn in half. Around us, scattered pearls mixed with mud, silk rags, broken glass, and torn pages.
Was Comrade Li going to crush us like he did the banana peel? Did Chairman Mao order him to do
this? If so, why were we told Chairman Mao was our savior?
I pulled the picture out from the elastic band of my pants. It was warm from being against my body. I handed it to Father. His eyes brightened.
“Remember, my dear, in America people believe in justice.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “One day we will go there.”
I had always believed Father could make good things happen, but how could that be possible? No one was allowed to even leave the city.