Three Sisters (30 page)

Qian smiled and sighed. "Old Huang, you've had twenty years of political experience, positive and negative. When someone comes forward to take the blame, what's the problem?"

Slapping the back of her right hand against her left palm, she said, "What I mean is, what do we do about the eighty yuan?" Qian fished out the one with unidentifiable handwriting and placed it before her. "Cash this and return the money to Pang Fenghua."

"What about the other three?"

Qian put the three money orders in his drawer and locked it. "Leave them here for now."

"Sixty yuan is not a small amount, and we shouldn't let it go to waste."

"How would we be doing that? How?" Qian asked.

Confused, Huang asked cautiously, "What exactly are we going to do with the money?"

"Look at you. What can I say? With some matters, we mustn't be too detail-oriented. Sometimes it's better to leave an issue hanging rather than try to resolve it. That's all I'll say for now. So put this aside and don't mention it again, all right? It's over."

The stolen money had been returned, and everyone in the school now knew; they could breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't do it. It wasn't me."

What better result could they have hoped for?

None.

Their relief was followed by anticipation as they waited to learn the identity of the thief, but the outcome was disappointing. Four or five days passed, but no punishment announcement was put up on the bulletin board, a clear indication that the theft had indeed been dealt with internally. Yuyang was filled with gratitude and happiness for escaping what can only be described as a "near death." And yet, gratitude and relief aside, she felt somehow wronged. Why? She had confessed to something she hadn't done by sending in money. On the other hand, what options did she have? The police had taken fingerprints, and she could not recall whether she had ever touched Fenghua's case. Maybe yes, maybe no. But common sense would dictate that not touching it would have been just about impossible because the girls shared a dorm room.

What if the police had retrieved Yuyang's fingerprints and publicized the fact? She'd have been in hot water, and that was a risk she could not afford to take; it was simply too big of a gamble. She told herself that it was better this way, since no one could be sure of anything. The other students could play their guessing game if they wanted to, so long as she avoided an outright disaster. As the saying goes, "Take a step backward and you can see the whole world."

In any case, Yuyang finally managed to get a good night's sleep, and what could be better than that? But why hadn't anyone spoken to her yet? Was this what they meant by "internally"? It must be. So the leaders had kept their word and she had reason to trust them. She should stop her second-guessing now that they had decided on leniency; otherwise she would not be worthy of their good faith.

Responding to the new situation and conditions at the school, a security team was formed the day before the new year arrived. A special fund was set up to purchase yellow army overcoats for each of the security guards, who were also given army belts. At the inaugural meeting, Director Qian made it clear that the coats and belts were public property and were to be returned upon graduation. The guards were instructed to treat their new uniforms with care. Completely ignoring his admonition, the students carried their coats over their shoulders and cinched the belts around their waists in order to show that they were special. That, of course, was perfectly understandable since it was an honor to be chosen for the school security team. These items showed that the users were class activists and had been elected democratically by secret ballot and then screened carefully by the school administration. Only one student, boy or girl, could be selected from each class.

Director Qian called a meeting for the team, stressing the importance of their mission to protect the school and ensure the integrity of the people's property. He stood up and shouted, "Can you do that?"

"We can," they replied in unison, the boys' deep, powerful voices merging with those of the girls, which were crisp and resonant, and seemed to linger forever in the rafters of the auditorium. Pang Fenghua's was among them.

How in the world had the loss of money increased Pang Fenghua's popularity on campus? It was as if she'd not only lost money but had found some and returned it, or had done something quite courageous. Naturally, it didn't make her smug; on the contrary, she was more humble than ever, a perfect example of an outstanding student who excelled both in her studies and her temperament. All that went to show how much she had changed, which caused Yuyang to wonder why she couldn't be lucky enough to lose a little money. Things like that simply didn't happen to her.

Fenghua had received enough votes in the security team election for a second-place finish. Even Yuyang had voted for her. In retrospect, Yuyang realized that this made no sense. She just went ahead and cast her vote—people are strange animals.

Normally, in accordance with the principle of democratic centralism, Fenghua should not have been counted as being elected to the security team, but after centralizing, the homeroom teacher allowed her to join, saying that the student who'd received the most votes, a member of the athletic committee, was needed to work elsewhere. So Fenghua was on the team. She put on the army overcoat and leather belt, cutting a striking figure—brave and imposing—like a soldier or a policewoman.

Now that Fenghua was involved in school security, the homeroom teacher summoned her to his dorm room for a talk. He said that he expected her to be more active in all aspects of school functions, to become a true activist, and thereby to serve as a role model. He invited her to sit down, but she declined; instead, she stood by his desk, her finger rubbing the glass top under which the ten-yuan bill remained next to the teacher's class schedule. It hadn't been touched.

Her finger flitted back and forth, and she couldn't stop smiling. Every sweep of that finger rubbed against the glass covering the ten-yuan bill. The teacher got up, paced the room, and shut the door. When he sat down again, Fenghua was overcome by a sudden unreasonable anxiety, and the smile disappeared from her face. Her fingers now moved mechanically over the desk as she cast her eyes upward, an absent-minded look on her face. The silence dragged on for a long time, since the teacher said nothing. Then, without warning, Fenghua blurted out, "You must have fallen in love in college, didn't you?"

What she was asking—not to mention the fact that she'd addressed him as "you" and not "teacher"—echoed like a thunderclap.

"What kind of question is that?" he said sternly. The silence returned briefly until he spoke up again. "Who'd have fallen for someone like me?"

"That's silly, teacher," she said. "Teacher, you're talking nonsense," she added even more strongly. At this point she dared not look at him. Fenghua's gaze returned to the money under the glass. "Why don't you put that away? Are you that rich?"

He laughed. "One of my students ran into some hard times, but she wouldn't accept my help."

She smiled. "Who was the ungrateful wretch?"

She lifted the glass, fished the money out, turned, and walked out the door. Caught off guard by her actions, he sat frozen in his chair and stared at the door, which seemed to sway before his eyes. He was lost in thought, caught in flights of fancy.

The following morning, the homeroom teacher strode up to the podium only to find Fenghua's seat unoccupied. A few minutes later she walked in—or, more accurately, sauntered in. She wore her army coat, and around her neck was a bright red, eye-catching scarf, obviously brand new.

"Sorry I'm late," she said.

"Please, come in," the teacher said. All quite proper and expected, as was the way she went over and took her seat—nothing out of the ordinary. But the teacher appeared inspired by the bright red scarf, having seen a connection between it and the ten yuan. His eyes lit up, and he was energized. "Why do we say 'capital came into this world dripping in blood and filth'?" he asked in a booming voice. "Please open your books to page seventy-three." His voice bounced off the walls. Only he was conscious of this—he and also Pang Fenghua—for it touched on no one else in the room but them. Even among all those prying eyes, it was their secret. And it was wondrous, exquisite.

Wei Xiangdong, in charge of daily concerns for the school union, was the head of the new security team. He stood out as a unique case at the school. A former student who was kept on as a teacher, he could boast no special quality except for a willingness to work hard. Mild-tempered and rather timid, he shocked everyone, himself included, at the onset of the Cultural Revolution, for no one ever expected that he had—and was willing to use—hard fists and that he was capable of decisive action; but he did and that quickly moved him up the ladder. Due to his actions, the school entered a new stage in the Revolution—as they say, "A single spark can turn into a prairie fire." However, this new stage did not last long because history quickly exposed his true nature. Not a good person, he was someone actively engaged in beating, smashing, and looting during the Revolution.

When the old Party secretary was released from prison after the Cultural Revolution and resumed his position, the teachers thought that Wei would be in for a bad time. This did not happen.

"Let us not engage in class retaliation," the Party secretary said. "Instead, let us unite in favor of stability. Class retaliation is not the correct attitude for historical materialists." That public statement altered Wei's fate.

After seventeen self-examinations, twenty-six tearful demonstrations, and nine solemn vows, he was returned to the school and assigned to the security section. Being the sole person in that section, he was also appointed as a member of the school union committee, which was responsible for duties related to daily life. The union was an interesting place because the position of chairman was traditionally assumed by the vice principal.

In practice, however, Wei was in charge, although the vice principal's name was on the door of the chairman's office. As a result, the school union stopped being a true union and became the security section, an organ of the dictatorship. The daily duties conducted by the union all related to women: distributing birth control pills, condoms, sanitary napkins, and shampoo to the female faculty. Wei worked hard, and that, of course, was good. But most important was how he adjusted his attitude to fit each situation, whether the position was high or low. A true man knows when to be humble and when to be assertive.

Once, at a section meeting, he announced to the female faculty, "From now on, don't think of me as a man, no, don't even treat me as human. I am a feminine product you can use whenever you want." With words like these coming from a big, husky man like Wei, the teachers laughed so hard they nearly doubled over. If it had been any other man, they'd have called him a scoundrel, but coming from him, the words sounded different. It was no easy matter for a rugged man like Wei to bounce back after taking such a fall, but he developed a cordial relationship with the female faculty. When the teachers came for their items, for instance, he'd say, "Here you are, Teacher Zhang, 3.3 centimeters long for your husband. Teacher Wang, this one is yours, 3.5 centimeters."

Talk about shameless! How could he be so coarse? I'm coarse, I admit it, but what's wrong with that? I
am
coarse.
Back and forth they bantered and flirted. Instead of detesting him, the women actually welcomed someone who had a sense of humor and was eager to help. Who doesn't like to joke and laugh? Who doesn't want to be happy and cheerful every day? Who wants to constantly frown and live a life centered on class differences?

It was only logical for Wei to be in charge of the school security team, but the leadership followed strict organizational procedures in appointing him. Director Qian recommended Wei, but that required the personal consent of the Party secretary before it was approved. As someone who was capable of getting the job done, he was the ideal man. One semester he caught a pair of thieves on campus. Rather than beat or berate them, he tied their hands behind their backs before pasting medicinal plasters from the school infirmary over their eyes and letting them loose on the sports field, where they could walk, jump, or run, but not get away.

Groping around with their feet, as if they were trying to catch fish underwater, they cut a pathetic figure. Seven hours later, they knelt down and wailed, a sight that drew laughter even from the old Party secretary, who privately admitted that Wei had a knack for educational discipline. While the head of the school security team was not a particularly important post, it gave him the ideal opportunity to expend his excess energy and showcase his talent, all to the benefit of the school. Naturally, in light of his special circumstance, he had to be employed "under supervision"—the degree of which would be determined by Director Qian.

"What do you think, Little Wei?" Director Qian asked him as they sat in the student affairs office. Wei was less than a year younger than Qian, but Qian always called him Little Wei to mark the distinction between leader and subordinate. Little Wei was standing before Qian like a student.

"I'll do whatever Director Qian asks me to do," he said sincerely.

"Give me frequent reports," Qian said.

"I will."

Qian was pleased. He was a man who did not like flattery. If you tried it on him, he saw right through it. On the other hand, he appreciated people who worked for and talked to him respectfully. Clearly pleased, he said, "You may go now."

"Head of the school security team" was a vague phrase that could or could not be considered a job title. But that was not important; most important was the group of troopers under Wei's supervision, the people he would deploy. His job was no sinecure, but it was one that moved him into a leadership role. And that made him inordinately happy.

Soon after he took up his post, Wei began meeting with the students one-on-one, his favorite mode of carrying out his duties. During evening study period, Wang Yuyang watched as Wei called Pang Fenghua out of the classroom and then saw the two of them carry on a long and serious yet cordial conversation in the hallway. Yuyang reminded herself to be careful and not to talk too much in front of Fenghua, now that she'd become one of the more active students. But then she considered her own place in the class. She really didn't amount to much; she was like a squirt of urine in the Yangtze River. With or without her, it made no difference, and nothing either good or bad would come to her, so why worry? That thought put her more or less at ease, but it was a special kind of ease; it was neither painful nor scratchy—not bitter and not sweet, sort of sour.