Wild Ginger (13 page)

"You don't have to look at me..."

"I promise. I will keep my eyes on the lines."

"Are you ready?"

"Sure. Which Mao would you like me to read?"

"Anything."

"How about 'The Struggle in the Chingkang Mountains'? Or 'Introductory Note to How Control of the Wutang Co-operative Shifted from the Middle to the Poor Peasants'?"

"Never mind."

"What's wrong?"

"I feel sick."

When Wild Ginger asked about my time in the closet, I didn't reveal what I'd seen, but I didn't know why. To say that I was afraid to upset Wild Ginger would be untrue. Later as I sorted out my thoughts, I realized that Evergreen's decision to keep his discovery secret from Wild Ginger had been a turning point. In all our time together, I hadn't grown intimately closer to Wild Ginger, but strangely, now I somehow felt closer to Evergreen. It was as if through his silence Evergreen and I were engaged in something together—the betrayal of Wild Ginger.

"You have helped me reach my goal," Wild Ginger said as she made me tea. "It is perfect that Evergreen has come to feel disgusted by his own behavior; he has disabled the power of nature's evil. We've struck a deal. We'll stay close friends and comrades in arms. I'll get to see him every night without risking my future."

"Why do you have to see him every night? Why don't you just leave him alone for good?" I asked almost angrily.

"I wish I knew why, Maple. It's become a craving. I can't bear not to see him every day."

"You are in love. You have been denying the truth."

"Don't apply that bourgeois term to me. I have already told you that such words don't belong in a Maoist's vocabulary. And such sentiments could destroy me. Now swear, Maple, never say that again."

"But you have just said that you couldn't bear not to see him."

"I guess it is the price I have to pay to be a Maoist. Now you know that I'm a piece of real gold—I can stand being hit by a hammer ten thousand times—and still be myself."

"What about him?"

"He just needs to be refined. He is Maoist material. We are a revolutionary pair."

"But the truth is you two fight."

"Well, that's part of the attraction! Did you ... Maple, did you see him come on me?"

"How could I not see?"

"What did you think?"

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Say what's on your mind."

"It's a jar of porridge there."

"You are good, Maple. You are straight and devil-proof."

"What do you know about me?"

"I know you inside out. I trust you with my most inner secrets. I couldn't be a Maoist without you."

The campus smelled of ink and spoiled flour paste. The school seemed another world where wall-to-wall news columns on Mao study discussions were published every other day. Before the first layer of the poster paper dried, the second layer was applied. The traces of dripping ink looked like tears. When the wind blew, the torn papers were swept up in the trees. When it rained, walls of calligraphy were washed away. The lines bled into each other so that the characters were unreadable. The waste was tremendous. No one really read the posters anymore because all of them sounded the same.

We were seventeen years old. We were still studying nothing but Mao. One teacher suggested adding a course of world history, and he was immediately suspected of having an interest in becoming a foreign spy. In geography, we were still on the route that Mao's Red Army traveled during the Long March in 1934. The class dwelt on the same map
semester after semester. For tests we had to memorize the names of the villages. We studied no other countries besides Russia, Albania, and North Korea. We didn't know where America was when we shouted "Down with U.S. imperialism!"

"A well-disciplined party armed with the theory of Marxism-Leninism, using the method of self-criticism and linked with the masses of the people..." I sat in the classroom bored to death. We had been listening to a broadcast reading of the central party Politburo's latest instruction. "...a united front of all revolutionary classes and all revolutionary groups under the leadership of the Communist party—these are the three main weapons with which we have defeated the enemy..." I heard the sound but my brain didn't register. The only thing that registered was that the announcers had been changed three times after having exhausted their voices.

Wild Ginger's seat was vacant. She had been absent often since she became the commander in chief of the Red Guard. Owing to lack of sleep, she had grown thin. However, her spirits still seemed high. She spent her day going from school to school promoting Maoism. She lectured around neighborhoods, markets, factories, on public buses, and wherever there were people. She displayed her skill by reciting hundreds of quotations and sang the quotation songs. Her grades in math dropped. It didn't bother her. She believed that if one was a Maoist, one would naturally possess the power to cope with the world. Her best speech
continued to be about her meeting with Chairman Mao. Although she had recounted the story hundreds of times, she never grew tired of it and told it vividly. Her emotion affected the audience so much that people were in tears by the end. The crowd rushed to shake hands with her. By touching her, they felt that they had touched Mao.

When night came, Wild Ginger wrestled with her other self. Each evening she returned to the same field to combat her "human weakness." She and Evergreen read hours on end and worked on the papers and speeches. They behaved as if the night of passion never existed. It was hard for me to tell what was on Evergreen's mind. I noticed that something had changed inside me. I couldn't explain why I not only returned to the closet but wanted to stay! I could have walked out for good. All I had to do was to say no to Wild Ginger. But I didn't. I couldn't. I had to be here to find out who I was and what I wanted for myself.

Sunday night Wild Ginger's exhaustion overcame her will—she fell into a dead sleep during the reading. The ink pen she was holding smeared. Struggling to mark the lines in her notebook, her face fell flat onto the page. Evergreen tried to wake her, but it was impossible. He then tried to wipe her nose. Still she wouldn't wake. After holding her head up for a while Evergreen carried her to the bed. Again he tried to shake her. She slept like a dead person. He laid her down and covered her with a blanket. Then he went back and sat on the bench. For the next few minutes he stared at the Mao book.

I became nervous. I sensed something. Before I could think further I heard him say, "Would you come out?"

Involuntarily I uttered a no.

"May I come in?"

I jumped away from the peephole. My duty told me that I ought to say no, ought to go and wake up Wild Ginger, or simply run.

But I didn't do any of these.

I let him walk right into the closet, right into my soul, and change me forever.

My arms opened themselves to him as he slipped into the closet, my body receiving him without hesitation. He didn't speak. Neither did I. There was no need. The moment he stepped into the darkness, the world of Mao was behind us. The blossom of the spring fell into my arms as he devoured me. I couldn't get enough of him. His hair smelled of the East China Sea, and I recalled him telling me once that he worked at a seaweed plantation on weekends. He caressed me. My insides cried out in joy. We held each other and I felt him swelling. Time ceased.

I no longer realized where I was.

We lay in silence. Returning to reality was a shock. As he stepped out of the closet I was terrified to think of what would happen next.

There was no movement. Wild Ginger was still sound asleep.

Evergreen left the house while I still lay in the closet. I
heard the door shut. It was two o'clock in the morning. The sound of the clock striking the hour was unusually loud to my ears. I crawled out of the closet. I was concerned that we might have left evidence. But there was none. I felt strange. If my mind couldn't yet grasp what had happened, my body had never felt better.

I left Wild Ginger's house at three o'clock. Walking through the lanes I took a deep breath of fresh air. The night seemed, for the first time, beautiful.

I went home and embraced my pillow. My mind lingered on the strange thought that I was no longer a virgin while Wild Ginger was. I felt bound by guilt yet liberated at the same time. All my frustration had vanished. I wondered what Wild Ginger would do if she could experience this same feeling. Suddenly the idea of devoting one's entire life to Mao was not only dull but ridiculous.

I had a dream in which Wild Ginger visited me. "I was collecting candy wrappers in the streets," she told me. "I came home with my handbag filled with dirty wrappers. I soaked them and washed them carefully with soapy water. I pasted them one by one onto the tiles in the bathroom. The whole wall was covered. The beauty was extraordinary. I sat and looked at it for hours on end. The flowers, leaves, animals, and rocks. A wall of spring. When the wrappers dried, I peeled them off and inserted them between the pages of my books. They saved me from the boredom of the Mao studies."

***

I wasn't eager to go to school, because I was afraid of seeing Wild Ginger. The whole morning I lay in bed and pretended to be sick. Then Wild Ginger came. It was afternoon. She seemed to be in good spirits and was in her regular army uniform. She brought my mother a string of garlic and strode directly to my bed.

I sat up, like a criminal being confronted by a policeman.

"Are you all right?" She looked concerned and reached out her hand to feel my forehead. "No fever. What's wrong?"

I realized that she didn't know what had happened last night. I pushed her hand away. "I am just a little tired."

"Is it because I made you stay in the closet for too long?"

"Of course not." I hopped out of the bed. "That wasn't a problem. Not at all."

"I am sorry I fell asleep last night. Evergreen left. He just left and hasn't come back. I am sure he's upset. But he doesn't have to worry about it, I'll make it up to him. He loves to be with me. I could be reading anything and he wouldn't care." She smiled.

I found myself suddenly annoyed by her smile. I remained silent and began to put on my shoes.

"What did you do after he left?"

"Me?" I kicked off my shoes and then put them back on again. "What do you mean? Would you ... like to have a cup of water?"

"No thanks. I suppose you didn't take off with him, did you?"

"No, of course not. You told me that you didn't want him to know that I was there, didn't you?"

"No."

"Is it cold outside?" I tried to hide my nervousness.

"What did you do, then?" She raised her chin and looked into my eyes.

"I..."

She began to laugh. "It's all right to tell the truth."

"Truth? What truth?"

"I mean, it's all right to say that you fell asleep too and that you did nothing else."

"I did fall asleep. Of course."

What had happened seemed unreal to me. It had been a week and the three of us had lost contact. It was as if we were waiting for something. I wasn't clear about my feelings. I couldn't stop replaying what had taken place in the closet. I began to feel that I could never be the same way with Wild Ginger. I wouldn't admit that I had betrayed her. Yet I couldn't say that I didn't betray her. I had enjoyed Evergreen shamelessly. I felt lucky for what had happened. Evergreen and I had offered each other something we craved—human affection. I was too desperate and too selfish to reject him. I had always envied Evergreen and Wild Ginger. I had always wanted to be in Wild Ginger's place. It was long before Evergreen came to me. I encouraged him by not reporting to Wild Ginger the moment he and I discovered each other. My excuse was that she never wanted Evergreen physically. If they
had been lovers, I would never have allowed myself to interfere.

On the tenth day, I received a letter from Evergreen. He asked if I could meet him that evening in his friend's apartment on Big Dipper Road. My excitement was beyond belief. I went at the appointed time, eight-thirty, to the apartment building, which faced the street. The place was on the second floor over a basket shop. The staircase was filthy and dusty. It was crowded with baskets. The wooden stairs squeaked under my feet. I stood in front of a narrow door. I knocked. A skinny middle-aged man opened the door. He let me in without a word and he left as I entered. I heard him locking the door.

"Hello." Evergreen's voice greeted me in the dark.

"I need to see."

"I'm lighting a candle."

"Is it safe?"

"Mr. Xing is the bellman of the neighborhood. Nobody bothers him." The candle was dim like a ghost's eye.

"How did you bribe him?"

"He needs food coupons. His family is dying of hunger in the countryside."

I took a deep breath as he began to kiss me.

"No guilt?" he asked. "I was afraid that you might regret what happened."

I told him that I wasn't thinking. I couldn't. I was out and beyond myself.

"Same here," he said, blowing out the candle.

The room was now completely dark.

Downstairs came the noise of basket makers. They were talking in a strange dialect, yelling and laughing at the same time.

Evergreen came to me in silence. It felt as if we had been lovers for years—our bodies knew exactly how to please each other.

"Let's be the reactionaries, let's burn down the house of Mao," he whispered.

We repeated the pleasure again and again.

Downstairs grew quiet. The midnight shift workers had gone. I was beginning to feel tired. But Evergreen wouldn't quit.

He sat next to me by the candle and watched me eat the snack he'd brought.

"Why don't you have more buns?" I asked.

"Sure." He leaned over and said, "Take off your shirt."

"No. Why?"

"I hunger only for you."

I began to laugh. "Go chew Mao quotations! Fill your stomach with them. Come on! Chairman Mao teaches us..."

"'A thousand years is too long, seize the moment.'" He grabbed me. "Chairman Mao also teaches us, 'A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another.'"