In the Pond (6 page)

The secret investigation of Bin’s family background and recent activities was completed. To the leaders’ dismay,
nothing substantial was dug up. Bin’s father had been a beggar in the old China for over thirty years, all the relatives had been poor peasants, and none had ever become a target in a political movement. In this respect Bin was clean like a piece of blank paper. As for Bin himself, only a few small things were found. Two years before, when he was repairing an air blower in the plant’s dining center, he had eaten four raw eggs on the sly. Later he was criticized for that, and he paid for the eggs and turned in a twelve-page self-criticism, which was still kept in his file. This case had been closed, however, and was of little use now except for proving that he wasn’t an honest man. His indecency was further verified by his submitting a false voucher to Finance. The winter before, he had been sent to Ox Village to help install a water pump; he had stayed there for only two days, but he had applied for three days’ reimbursement, receiving sixty fen more than he should have. Though the money was little, it showed he couldn’t be trusted, especially when money was involved. His dishonesty could be attested to further by another incident: without telling anybody, Bin had once taken home a plant-owned book,
Bicycle Repairs.
Not until a fellow worker saw it in his home two months later did he bring back this piece of public property. By then, Maintenance had already purchased a new copy of the book. If a man had stolen fruit, no doubt he would steal an orchard when the opportunity turned up.

All these indecencies, however, were not weighty
enough to bring him down. In their report to Secretary Yang, in addition to describing the defects in Bin’s character, the leaders had to mention the artistic works he had published and the two awards his paintings had won. It’s common sense that one glamorous quality can eclipse a dozen slight blemishes. Both Liu and Ma felt that in a way they’d done Bin a favor in having the report prepared, because Secretary Yang would be more impressed by his talent and energy than interested in those trifles. If so, they might indeed create an opportunity for him. To prevent that from happening, they stressed the point that he suffered from a mental disorder and was an inefficient, unreliable worker.

The cartoon appeared in
The Workers’ Daily
two weeks later. Bin was amazed that it had come out so soon; on second thought, he realized the editors would surely have wanted to publish it before the Spring Festival so as to combat the unhealthy wind in society.

Indeed the cartoon was timely enough to ruin the leaders’ festive mood. After they saw it, Liu and Ma sent for Bin and planned to teach him a bloody lesson, at least making him unable to enjoy the holiday. They waited and waited, but Bin never showed up.

By no means would Bin go to their offices alone. What if they beat him black and blue? He mustn’t take such a risk, having himself hurt before the festival. He wasn’t that stupid and could see through them. According to
Sun Tzu’s
Art of War
, among the thirty-six stratagems the most important one is to decamp in time. Yes, he had best go home as soon as possible. Damn the two idiots, they thought he didn’t know about the knives up their sleeves. If they wanted to take revenge, they had better get hold of him first.

He put away his files and claw hammer, took off the work suit and oversleeves, and left for the bicycle shed. After aligning the front wheel of his National Defense with its head tube, he pedaled away without indulging in the habit of ringing the bell on the handlebar. At the entrance of the plant, he got off the bicycle and stuck a copy of the cartoon on the notice board with a piece of friction tape.

Immediately a score of workers gathered there, looking at it and talking noisily. A middle-aged woman said, “No wonder Liu Shu is so fat. Stuffed with others’ meat and fish.”

“No, without sweat and blood,” an old man corrected her.

“Who gave them Maotai?”

“That must’ve cost a fortune. Who’s so rich?”

“Wow! So many pineapples.”

In the secretary’s office the two leaders had not yet recovered from the shock delivered by the cartoon. Now all of China knew they were two corrupt officials, sucking
people’s blood and taking bribes. This was sheer calumny, and Shao Bin would have to pay for it. Without delay they began gathering the facts needed for proving their innocence. Neither of them had ever received garlic from anybody; in fact, Ma hated garlic, often saying he would have banned the plant if he were a god, and he wouldn’t allow his wife to use it even when she cooked fish. Nor had they ever eaten a fresh pineapple, which was an exotic southern fruit. As for Maotai, it was impossible for either of them to obtain a bottle here; if you searched all of Dismount Fort, you wouldn’t be able to find one. Never had Secretary Liu tasted a drop of that liquor, and he swore he had only heard of it, whereas Ma had once drunk two glasses of it in Changchun City, where he had played basketball. That was twenty years before. Nowadays there was a shortage of everything except for human beings; nobody here could possibly have the finest Chinese liquor. It was said that only at a state banquet was Maotai served, and that most of the produce of the winery was exported to Japan and South Asia. Ah, those foreigners, they always have the best Chinese stuff!

“Damn the mad dog!” Liu cursed. “If I’d ever taken a drop of Maotai, I wouldn’t feel so wronged.”

“Forget about Maotai,” Ma said. “It tastes similar to West Phoenix, it’s just a name. What should we do about him now? Wait until the festival is over?”

“No way.”

They thought of sending a group of men to smash Bin’s home, breaking all the pots, basins, bowls, and plates, but the Shaos lived in the department store’s dormitory, which had an entrance guard on duty day and night. And it was unwise to do that, because the other residents would witness the scene. Besides, Bin’s wife had a lot of relatives in the villages; those peasants wouldn’t think twice about killing if they came to avenge her. How about asking the town police to detain Bin for the holiday season? This didn’t seem practicable either. They heard that the young policeman Shen Li was also an amateur painter and had once taken lessons from Bin. Undoubtedly, the student would release the teacher, since by custom you ought to regard your teacher as a lifelong father, even if he had taught you just one day. Stop paying him his wages? There was no rule that allowed them to do so, unless he was a criminal.

They were still talking when Bao, the union chairman, rushed in and said loudly, “Secretary Liu and Director Ma, the plant is upside down. Lots of people are at the notice board, looking at the picture. They want to know who gave you Maotai.”

“What?” Liu stood up, wringing his hands. “Screw their mothers!”

“Let’s go have a look,” Ma said.

They went to the front entrance, where about seventy
workers gathered, cursing and chatting. It was snowing, the gray ground becoming white. At the sight of the leaders, the crowd quieted down. Both Liu and Ma could feel the pressure of the silence, which seemed to demand that they confess everything on the spot. Liu went up the brick steps at the front of Guard’s Office, and he turned around to face the workers. For some reason he felt like laughing, but he restrained himself. A snowflake landed on his nose; though tickled by it, he didn’t wipe it off. Ma limped over and joined him, standing one step lower.

“Comrades,” Liu shouted, then stopped to clear his throat. “Comrades, don’t take this drawing seriously. Shao Bin is a lunatic and always imagines things. Director Ma can’t stand the smell of garlic. You all know that. How could he take a braid of garlic as a gift?”

“Have you ever seen me eat garlic?” Ma asked.

Seeing a few people shake their heads, Liu said again, “Shao Bin painted that we each received a bag of pineapples. That’s a lie. To be honest, I’ve never seen a fresh pineapple. I don’t know how big it is. I’ve only eaten canned pineapple once and have no idea how people eat a fresh one. Do you peel it, or cut it, or boil it, or pickle it? Tell me how. Come on, some of you are from the South and must know how to handle a fresh pineapple.”

“Cut it!” a male voice shouted from the back. Some people laughed.

“I’ve never eaten a pineapple either,” Ma said. “Never seen one except in the movies.”

“Tell me again,” Liu went on, “who among you ever saw a bottle of Maotai?”

The crowd remained silent, though some eyes were still glaring at the leaders. Liu continued, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never seen a bottle. I don’t know what it looks like, to say nothing of what it tastes like. Shao Bin’s drawing is pure slander. If any of you have a bottle, show me. I’ll invite you to my home and treat you to ten courses. I won’t ask for more, just give me a small glass. That’ll make me feel I haven’t lived so long for nothing.”

A woman giggled. A puff of snow was swirling around Liu’s felt hat. He seized the moment and announced, “Comrades, I swear by my great-grandfather’s tomb-stone that if I have ever seen a bottle of Maotai, if I have ever tasted a drop of Maotai, I am a cuckold!”

“Me too!” Ma shouted. Then it occurred to him that he had drunk the liquor. Good heavens, how could he take back those words in front of this mob!

Liu was shocked by Ma’s declaration, and he couldn’t help squinting at him.

Seeing the secretary’s fat lips purplish with rage and the director’s face carmine, the workers were convinced that the leaders had told the truth. They could tell that the leaders would have skinned Bin alive if they had grabbed hold of him. Lucky for him, he wasn’t here. A few people at the back turned and were leaving.

Though the workers were calmed down, the cartoon spoiled the leaders’ Spring Festival. Unlike other years, when they would have twice the amount of rice, meat, fish, sugar, and soybean oil a worker had, this year they took home only the same portion as everyone in the plant. It was better not to cause any discontent at the moment; but wait, they would get everything back from Shao Bin and make him serve them like a grandson.

A
FTER THE SPRING FESTIVAL
the plant was busy gaining a head start on the production year. To keep Bin from making trouble again, the leaders assigned all of Maintenance to overhaul two boilers and replace a distiller for the Fourth Workshop, which mainly produced explosives for the People’s Army. Hsiao Peng, the director of Maintenance, who used to support Bin’s drawing the cartoons, now changed his mind about him, since he understood why his section was given so much work all at once. In private he told some workers about the reason; the hostility toward Bin was mounting in the workshop.

Though working two extra hours a day, Bin wouldn’t complain. He got paid for overtime; besides, others in Maintenance worked the same way. At night, exhausted and heavy-eyed, he wouldn’t slack in practicing brush-work. These days he was studying an ancient monograph called
The Art of Painting;
he wanted to increase the fluidity
and spontaneity of his brushstrokes, particularly to master the technique of splash-ink. So far he hadn’t been able to bring out the solidity and augustness of jagged rocks on paper as the book described, though he had followed the instructions closely. He thought this was probably because he worked too hard at the plant and didn’t have much vital breath left in him at the end of the day. From now on, he decided, he had better dawdle more at work. So he did.

When the apricots were blooming, the plant erected a propaganda board, thirty feet by twelve, in front of the office building. In response to the current political campaign — Against the Capitalist Road — the leaders decided to increase the workers’ consciousness of class struggle by strengthening their ideological education, which should start with propaganda work. Therefore a colorful board was needed. Besides, such a construction would demonstrate the progressive outlook of the cadres and workers of the plant and impress visitors and their superiors. Though the woodwork was finished, a person capable of doing the propaganda work hadn’t been found yet. In the plant nobody except Bin was skilled in brushwork. The leaders, however, were determined to keep him out of this.

Bin was indeed anxious to offer his service. He hated wielding a hammer and turning a spanner in the workshop, where he couldn’t avoid getting covered with dirt and grease every day. It was a job for a coolie, not for a
man of his caliber. By contrast, the propaganda work would suit him better and also might turn into a long-standing job. This meant it could eventually become an official position, which might enable him to leave Maintenance for good and be promoted to cadre’s rank. Understandably, he was eager to demonstrate his artistic accomplishment.

But already he had made deadly enemies of the leaders, who would by any means prevent him from displaying his expertise. How he regretted having given them so much trouble these past months. Without knowing it, he had spoiled his own opportunity, as if he had lifted a stone at an enemy but smashed his own toes.

Though unsure of his chances, Bin decided to test the water. He went to Director Ma’s office, since it seemed to him that Ma wasn’t as malicious as Liu. At least Ma’s tongue was less glib. Bin was ready to brace himself for harsh words; as long as they gave him the job, he would endure anything. You mustn’t miss a watermelon by fighting over a few sesame seeds, he kept reminding himself.

To Bin’s astonishment, when he arrived, Liu was also in Ma’s office. There was no way to back out, and it was impossible to test the water in Liu’s presence, so Bin went ahead and recommended himself for the job.

“You think you can do the propaganda work well?” Ma asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Yes, I feel I’m the most qualified man in our plant.”

“That’s true, you’re able to do the work,” Liu put in. “And we indeed don’t have a person here to take charge of it. You have the talent, don’t you, Young Shao?”

“Yes, Secretary Liu.” Bin’s eyes brightened.

Liu said, “We know you’re talented, but we don’t want to utilize your talent. You have something to sell, but remember, we don’t have to buy it from you. To tell you the truth, we have decided to hire someone from outside and let your talent rot in you. Go back and learn to do your own work well. Stop dreaming that heaven will drop a roasted quail into your mouth.”