Wild Ginger Part 12

"I did it on purpose. To me it is is zoo dancing-every one has been forced into a barn. People have better things to do, like resting, taking care of their households, being together, cooking, reading, playing, and making-" He cut his words short and lowered his head. zoo dancing-every one has been forced into a barn. People have better things to do, like resting, taking care of their households, being together, cooking, reading, playing, and making-" He cut his words short and lowered his head.

"The first installment of her diary will be out in a couple of months." I brought back the subject.

"I won't read it," he said firmly, then asked, "Will you?"

"I might not enjoy it. But I will read it. I do everything she asks of me."

He turned to look at me suspiciously, then smiled. "You make me want to be a woman so I can get closer to Wild Ginger."

"I don't really feel close to her or even understand her."

"How do you mean?"

"This diary thing, for example. To publish it is to publish and legalize a big lie. It's harmful. It's dishonest. It'll damage the minds of the young. It's a false portrait of a Maoist. Not only will Wild Ginger suffer the consequences, other people will be forced to copy her-the model can do it, why can't you?"

"I shake hands with you, Maple. I shake hands with you. I really do. Thank you for answering my question ... Wild Ginger is lucky to have a friend like you."

"Not necessarily." Somehow his compliments made me feel bitter. "She is lucky for what she has. It has nothing to do with me. She and I ... I cannot achieve what she has achieved or is capable of achieving in the future. It's not that I agree with everything she does. I can't make myself be such an ardent Maoist. I'm not that driven. I am not that interested, or obsessed. I can recite a lot of quotations, though. It was a way to earn my place in the school and society. Wild Ginger is ... I can't really say that she is being dishonest. Let's put it this way: she knows what it is like to be called an anti-Maoist. I won't question her motives. She writes the diary with sincerity. The reason she won't expose parts of herself is because she really believes that her behavior was immoral, and she is determined to fight it. She believes that she can overcome it."

"Will she?"

"She lives to win."

"Will there be a chance that someone might change her mind?"

"I'm not a good person to ask."

"Have you been encouraging her to be a Maoist?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I feel ... sad, really sad. She has to give up so much to achieve her goal."

14.

"Get up and attend the Zhong dancing cla.s.s!" A group of neighborhood activists rang handbells throughout the lanes. "Order from the district party secretary!" "Ten o'clock, check yourself in at the marketplace!" "Show your loyalty toward Chairman Mao through your action!"

"Zoo cla.s.s! Zoo cla.s.s!" The children ran after the group and shouted cheerfully.

After the group made their rounds through the neighborhood, they came to knock on doors to make sure that everyone was out.

"Mama, time to go!" my sisters called. "The activists are knocking our door off its hinges."

"I'm trying to find my shoes! I can't go with slippers, can I?"

"Hurry up!"

"Zoo cla.s.s!" Mother finally found her shoes. "Forcing an old dog to catch a mouse. Buddha with your eyes open above."

Down the lane, One-Eye Grandpa greeted Mother. He was in baggy clothes. "I'm ready to have fun," he said to her. "Think of it this way, the dance will get your blood circulation going and boost your longevity." They chatted and Mother laughed in embarra.s.sment.

The crowd grew thicker. There were hundreds of people, grouped in families, making their way to the market. We all wore blue or gray Mao jackets. Most of my neighbors were in their wooden slippers. Tic, tac, tic, tac. Tic, tac, tic, tac. The noise was loud and pleasant to the ears. The noise was loud and pleasant to the ears.

Mother asked One-Eye Grandpa if he had ever danced before. The old man replied, "I studied traditional healing dance when I was young." He stopped and squatted down to demonstrate. After making some turns he started to hop on his feet like a frog. We all laughed and copied One-Eye Grandpa's hopping.

Finally we arrived at the market. The loudspeaker was broadcasting "We Can't Sail without Chairman Mao as a Helmsman." Although the song was much distorted, I still recognized the voice. It was Wild Ginger's. I could never forget her voice after she sang the French songs in the wheat field. This time she sang with energy and encouraged people to join her.

It was ten o'clock. The morning market had already been cleared up. The ground had been swept and washed, but the stinky smell was still there. The street was blocked by the activists and the emptied booths now filled with children. The neighbors lined up on one side of the street like cornstalks in a field. The line extended about a half mile.

Two loudspeakers were hung from a tree. Three accordions and four drums were playing. A man with his back facing us was conducting. It was Evergreen. He let the band rest whenever he could.

In the center of the stage stood Wild Ginger. She kept waving at Evergreen, asking him to keep the band playing. She was in her army uniform and the red-star cap with all her hair tucked in. She could be mistaken for a man if not for her full chest. "Chairman Mao teaches us, 'For hundreds of years the scholars had moved away from the people, and I began to dream of a time when the scholars would teach the coolies, for surely the coolies deserve teaching as much as the rest.' Now, let's put our great teacher's words into action! One, two, three, and four!" She instructed the neighbors to follow her steps. It was not easy. The old people like my mother just flung their arms and kicked their feet side to side. It was obvious that they were not interested in learning the dance. They were trying to kill time until they were released.

My mother was having difficulty. She asked Wild Ginger about being a sunflower.

"We won't have any costumes or props until the final recital."

So Mother was stuck. It didn't take long for her to relax-she saw other women who danced just as poorly. They paid no attention to the music. No matter how many times Wild Ginger demonstrated the combo, they couldn't get it. I was sure that they were looking to be dismissed. But Wild Ginger was outrageously patient.

She sang and danced, demonstrating over and over again: The Yangtze River roared toward the East, The flower heads chased the red sun.

Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you, Our great helmsman, Chairman Mao.

We wish a long life, A long, long life to you.

Mother and her lady friends began to enjoy themselves. They chatted whenever Wild Ginger left them alone to practice. They moved their arms back and forth like brooms in sweeping motion. One woman was giving out a recipe. "I brew my own bean sprouts." She grapevined her legs. "The trick is that you have to put a wet cloth over the soaked beans to keep the basket moist at all times. And you put it in a straw rice warmer at night to keep up the temperature."

Mother was very interested. She copied the woman and twisted her legs from side to side. "I failed a couple of times trying to brew my own bean sprouts." She twisted her shoulders. "I'll try again, keeping your advice in mind."

"It saves you a lot of money if you figure out how to do it. It is the cheapest way to provide protein for your kids."

"Here, attention, everybody," Wild Ginger called. "'Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you, our great helmsman, Chairman Mao.' You must really show your expression! Like this, watch me! Like this, smile!"

Mother showed her teeth and quickened her steps.

"Do you know shortages are coming?" The woman put a hand over her mouth and bent toward Mother. "The government is running out of oil, salt, and matches. My son told me-he works for the national storage department. The warehouses have been emptied to keep the supply line alive to poor countries like Vietnam and Tanzania. We are drained but we can't afford to lose face. Chairman Mao has to look good to the world. But the soil doesn't understand this. It doesn't produce more just because we need it."

Mother shook her head, moving her limbs absent-mindedly.

"It's going to be terrible," the woman went on. "I have been stocking up."

"I have no use for my coupons, because I don't have money. It takes money to spend the coupons, you see, big sister," Mother said worriedly. "It's not that I don't need it. I need it badly. I have six kids. Six bottomless wells to fill. Seven ounces of oil per person per month has never been enough, yet I can't even afford to spend the oil coupons. We eat rice with plain salt, but still-"

"I have a trick for you, big sister..."

"You!" Wild Ginger's patience finally ran out. She pointed at the woman. "You have been talking since you got here. Not only do you show no loyalty to Chairman Mao, you have been distracting others! Would you like to be sent to a mind-brus.h.i.+ng school?"

"I'm terribly sorry!" The woman quickly moved away from my mother.

But Mother was not ready to give up the conversation. She was eager to learn the trick about stocking up. She tried to get closer to the woman.

"Attention!" Wild Ginger yelled loudly. "Now we are coming to the end of the dance. We are making a s.h.i.+plike form. We will have the front with One-Eye Grandpa holding the national flag, the back with all of us holding Mao books, and a 'smokestack' in the middle with a Mao picture held high." She began to make arrangements by moving people around. "Listen, everyone has to fit into the formation."

My mother's friend was placed to be a "frame" of a "Mao picture holder." She and another woman were instructed to bend their knees to form a "ladder."

"We need someone to get up on their knees to hold the Mao picture." Wild Ginger turned to the crowd.

"How about me?" Mother volunteered. She must have seen the possibility of hiding her face behind the picture.

Wild Ginger hesitated.

"I am light," Mother added. "I'd like to show my loyalty toward our great leader by holding his very picture!"

"Are your limbs strong enough?"

"Chairman Mao's teaching will certainly strengthen me."

I was surprised at Mother's quick wit.

"Wonderful, aunt! You've got the job!"

Before Wild Ginger gave the instruction, Mother climbed on the "ladder."

Evergreen came and pa.s.sed Mother the Mao picture. "Be careful, aunt!" He turned around and told the two women who were holding my mother's legs to keep her still. "Stabilize yourselves first. Let her down once she gets up there."

"No," Wild Ginger corrected him, "the pose has to be held for at least forty seconds so the stage will seem to freeze. That's how we'll make the most powerful impression!"

"You've got the right soldier for the task," Mother yelled.

"Move on." Wild Ginger went to arrange the other parts of the "s.h.i.+p."

"So what's the trick, big sister?" Mother finally resumed the conversation.

With her knees and arms trembling trying to hold my mother, the woman replied as her breath shortened, "Secretly sell your coupons to village dealers. They come to the city once a month to exchange sesame oil, salt, and matches for rice coupons and cotton coupons and oil coupons."

"But when exactly will they be coming next time? How will I find them?"

"Is everybody ready?" came Wild Ginger's call. "Let's practice. Ready? One, two, and three, begin! 'Enthusiastically we dance and sing to you, our great helmsman, Chairman Mao!'"

The crowd sang.

The drums beat loudly.

The accordion players worked their bellows as hard as they could.

"The fourth Tuesday of the month!" The woman's knee began to tremble so violently that Mother's knee almost buckled. "Six-thirty at the corner of Chia Chia Lane."

"I'll be there!" Mother said excitedly. It was followed by a deep sigh. "The reason I keep the coupons is because I hope that one day I'll be able to spend them. To buy cloth I need those coupons. All my bedsheets are worn out. My children dress like beggars."

"You'd better make use of those coupons before they expire."

"Will I get caught if I am seen?"

"Do it so that you won't get caught, big sister!" the woman gasped. "I've ... never ... gotten caught. Gee, this is torture."

The Mao picture in my mother's hands shook. "Thank you!" came Mother's voice from behind the frame.

"Oh, Buddha Heaven! I can't..." The woman's knee gave in.

"A long life to you! A long, long life to you!" the chorus sang.

Bang!

The Mao picture fell.

The "smokestack" collapsed.

The "s.h.i.+p" fell apart.

15.

"'The ma.s.ses have a potentially inexhaustible enthusiasm for socialism.'" Wild Ginger and Evergreen resumed their Mao study. "'Those who can only follow the old routine in a revolutionary period are utterly incapable of seeing this enthusiasm. They are blind and all is dark ahead of them. At times they go so far as to confound right and wrong and turn things upside down. Haven't we come across enough persons of this type?'"

It was eight o'clock at night. I was in the closet. Wild Ginger's voice was tired. She had been working to teach the Zhong dance for days without a stop. She slept four hours a night. Now she was dozing off. "Why don't you take over?" she said to Evergreen.

Evergreen was not enthusiastic. But he followed Wild Ginger's wish. "'... Those who simply follow the old routine invariably underestimate the people's enthusiasm. Let something new appear and they always disapprove and rush to oppose it' ... Wild Ginger!" He noticed that Wild Ginger's head was like a hen's pecking grain.

"What's wrong, Evergreen?" Wild Ginger muttered. "Keep going."

"'...Afterward, they have to admit defeat and do a little self-criticism. But the next time something new appears, they go through the same process all over again. This is their pattern of behavior in regard to anything and everything new..."'

Evergreen slowly put down the Mao book and moved to sit next to Wild Ginger. He paused for a few seconds. When he saw there was no response, he bent his head to reach for her left cheek.

"Go on reading, please." She struggled with her sleepiness and turned her head away.