Becoming Madame Mao (34 page)

The operas are all right, Mao says. He picks up a hot towel from a steaming jar and places it against the swollen cheek. I am pleased with your work. The shows sound good. But don't ride them like a magic carpet. And this is my warning.

At this point he loses me. But I dare not mention my confusion. There are a lot of things we confuse each other with lately. We don't clarify. It is to keep peace. Probably confusion is better. I tell the public that I represent Mao but I am not in his life. I have no idea what his days are like. I don't enjoy chasing his mistress and I don't like the fact that he takes pleasure in intimidating me. He has been telling me how his commanders (and he won't spell out the names) would love to suffocate me in my own bed. It's tiring just to keep up with his imagination. Especially when he plays god and devil at the same time. Besides, he hates to be figured out.

The early spring is still chilly. In the morning the frost coats the Forbidden City white. This evening outside the window the vine frames shake violently. A storm has come—the winter's unwillingness to depart. Yet who can stop the spring from coming? After midnight, heavy clouds are swept from the sky. The moon is once again bare. The branches beat my windows like the knocks of spirits.

I don't know until Kang Sheng tells me later what happened on the night of the storm. April 30, 1967. Just before the clouds left the sky, Mao invited the old boys he had attacked previously to his study for a drink. He entertained them with deep-fried bear feet. He acted as if nothing had happened since February 18.

No wonder I was surprised to see all these old sticks show up happily at the celebration party on May 1 at the National Cultural Palace. I should have known that my husband was doing the two-faced trick. I should have understood that although Mao had been promoting me, my new power unnerves him and he needs to have another force to balance the game.

S
HE GOES ON, LAUNCHING HERSELF
aggressively into the future. On the surface she is the manager of Mao's powerhouse and she imagines herself above suffering like her opera heroines. But underneath there is no coming to terms with her feelings—she is exhilarated by her role, but also exhausted and nagged by doubt. Sometimes her love for Mao seems like desperation, sometimes like hate. And her sorrow about Nah has refused to go away. If she let herself, she could slip into depression. Every day she feels her character rot a bit. Last night, as she lay in bed, a girl from an ancient love story came to mind. The girl was a disappointed lover who poisoned the only well in the village.

They take advantage of the roles they play, Mao Tse-tung and Jiang Ching. They help each other and are getting closer to bringing the Lius down. There is still difficulty in making the public buy the negative image of Liu. He has been the Communist icon beside Mao for half a century. To solve the problem and strengthen her position Jiang Ching consults Kang Sheng on Mao's behalf.

Kang Sheng sips tea slowly. Name Liu a traitor. It has always been the most effective way to arouse reaction. It doesn't matter if Liu refuses to enter the scene. You create the show for him. First, bring out Liu's acquaintances with backgrounds associated with foreign agents. Interrogate them and get them to talk the way you want them to talk. Communist or not, no stomach can stand the soaking of hot-pepper water. We have a way to crack open jaws. There will be signatures, then publish the edited version.

It's not whether or not Liu is a traitor, Madame Mao Jiang Ching says to the team of investigators. Your assignment is to get evidence and produce witnesses. You have three days.

The team works around the clock. Soon names are produced. One subject of interrogation is Zhang Chong-yi, a sixty-nine-year-old professor in the foreign language department of Normal University at Hebei Province. Before the liberation he was a head secretary at Furen University. He doesn't know Vice Chairman Liu or Wang Guang-mei personally but he knows their friends at Furen University. Zhang is now a professor of international affairs.

Work on Zhang, Madame Mao orders. Force a confession.

The man can't talk, the team reports. Professor Zhang has been diagnosed with liver cancer and is dying. The man is a breathing skull. His whole face is sunken. His eyes are yellow with jaundice. The right side of his face is paralyzed. His left eye is unable to blink. There is blood in his urine. He is in and out of consciousness.

Race with death, Madame Mao insists. We must have his confession. We must get his voice on tape before he dies. Remember, Chairman Mao is waiting for the results.

The interrogation begins. The recording tape rolls. The tapes are filled with shouts and cries.

Confession or death! Talk, Zhang Chong-yi! Tell us what you know about Wang Guang-mei the traitor.

The dying man fumbles for words. Don't, please don't pull my arm. I'll talk. I am talking. All right, I remember now. Wang Guang-mei, a woman, isn't she? She is Vice Chairman Liu's wife, isn't she?

On the tape there is a slamming sound followed by Zhang Chong-yi's cry.

Stop kicking him! an interrogator yells. He'll be dead if you give him one more blow. Then we will all be in trouble.

Don't even think of fooling us! comes the voice of the head interrogator.

But, Comrade, I am speaking the truth. I am not trying to fool anybody. You see, I ... don't want to die.

When did you know Wang Guang-mei as a foreign agent?

Yesterday.

How do you know that she is a foreign agent?

Well, you have told me ... You asked me what she did as a foreign agent. So I figure she must be a foreign agent. Or why otherwise would you ask this kind of question?

Watch your mouth! If you conceal the foreign agent you are a foreign agent yourself. Now is a good time to earn credit.

I understand, sir, the dying man gasps. Now that I have stated that she is a foreign agent, will you let me go?...Let me go, please. I beg you. I know Wang Guang-mei is a foreign agent. Not only a foreign agent, she is a Communist agent too.

On the tape the voice becomes breathless. The sound fades. By the time Jiang Ching receives the tape, Professor Zhang Chong-yi has already died. Jiang Ching shakes hands with the investigators. Chairman Mao and I are pleased with your work. Now, we need a witness for Liu.

The same method applies. A witness is produced overnight. This time, it is a friend, a longtime Party worker, Wang Shi-yin, who is suffering from lung cancer. His chest is bound by plastic tubes. But that doesn't stop the investigators. The yelling and shouting blast the tape.

I have no idea. The patient struggles to speak. I am not an inventor of truth.

The sound of banging metal objects.

You will cry when we present you with the coffin and it will be too late, the head investigator says in a low voice. You will force us to disconnect the oxygen machine and pull out the tubes. Are you sure?

Silence.

Finally a fainting voice comes. Do whatever you please. I am dying anyway. I am not afraid of anything anymore. Although the man's words are disconnected, his voice is firm. I have confessed all I know about Vice Chairman Liu. One thing you can be sure of is that he is not a traitor but a man of integrity and honesty. There is nothing more you will get from me.

Shame! Madame Mao Jiang Ching points her fingers at the investigators. You are incompetent. Go back and work until you succeed. Break his jaw if you have to.

What if the subject dies?

You go on and interrogate his spirit!

March 26, 1968. Wang Shi-yin, the lung cancer patient, the man of iron will, dies during the interrogation. Although he doesn't incriminate Vice Chairman Liu Shao-qi, at the Communist Party convention on November 24, 1968, Liu is nevertheless pronounced a "hidden traitor," and is thrown out of the Communist Party.

The news sweeps the nation.

***

Madame Mao Jiang Ching monitors the biggest drama from the wings. She witnesses life's fragility in its most concrete form. There is no substance when speaking of loyalty. One's downfall can come with the turning of a hand. Mao's managers bring Wang Guang-mei to be publicly criticized first. The rally opens at the stadium of Qinghua University. A crowd of three hundred thousand Red Guards shows up. The shouts are ear-blasting. Jiang Ching feels strange. It is surreal to watch Wang Guang-mei. A woman who falls because of her husband. Will the masses betray her the same way one day? Now she understands why Mao doesn't take chances when it comes to potential enemies—he can't afford to. The suspects have to die.

Mao has overcome difficulties to make the rally happen. His obstacles were Liu's loyalists, Premier Zhou En-lai included. The decision wasn't settled until Mao forced the members of the congress to choose between him and Liu.

In the National Library there is a famous image of this time. A black and white photo documents Wang Guang-mei's moment of humiliation. An ocean of heads is its background. In the left corner is a journalist who wears glasses and carries a camera. He is excited. He has a smile on his face. Wang Guang-mei is in the center of the stage. Her face is half hidden under a white, wide-brimmed straw hat—she has been forced into her foreign-tour garments. A knee-length "necklace" made of Ping-Pong balls hangs from her neck. It's Kuai Da-fu's work.

In the future Kuai Da-fu will be sentenced to seventeen years in prison for what he does now. In the future Madame Mao will also pay for this and will be shown the famous photo. And she will refuse to comment. However, what she will say is that when she was a young actress she drew a clear line between living and acting. But in truth, for Madame Mao, there is no line between living and acting. The Cultural Revolution is a breathing stage and Mao is her playwright.

History will prove that the surviving Wang Guang-mei is wise. When the world is made to believe that Madame Mao Jiang Ching is solely responsible for her husband Liu's death, Wang Guang-mei says, Liu did not die at the hands of the Gang of Four (the name used to describe Madame Mao Jiang Ching, Chun-qiao and two of his disciples at the end of the Cultural Revolution). At my husband's death there was no such gang. Who is responsible? She doesn't provide the answer. She hopes that the population will seek it themselves.

Yes, I have a personal grudge against Wang Guang-mei. But this is not the only reason I denounce her. My desire to please Mao has become the driving force behind my every act. To stop would mean death. No one can imagine the pleasure I experience when reading Kuai Da-fu's reports—knowing that Mao will be proud of me. It brings me right back to Yenan, to the time when I was Mao's only focus.

Wang Guang-mei deserves the treatment. She who stepped on my toes by leading others to think that she was the first lady of China. She whose elation was caught by the camera and printed in papers throughout the world. Did you say with your pretty, cheery lips,
I am sorry Madame Mao is not well enough to greet you personally?
I never gave you permission to say that. You should never have gone abroad, should never have worn that priceless white pearl necklace and that pair of black high-heeled shoes—you should never have stolen my role. Now try the costume on for the last time and be an object of ridicule. Under the sun, this clear April day, take your turn across my stage of hell.

Madame Mao admits to herself that she admires Wang Guang-mei regardless. Madame Mao is almost touched by Wang Guang-mei.

I hear my husband sigh at night, Wang Guang-mei confesses to the crowd. I have never seen him so sad. I regret that he closes his eyes to reality. His love for China and Chairman Mao is blind. And I understand him. He can't go on without serving China. It is his faith, his purpose for living. As a wife I accept my husband's fate. I accept my reality.

Madame Mao Jiang Ching wishes that she could do the same with Mao. To lay herself on the altar of love. To live the opera. But she won't. It makes her feel tragic. She stares at the report, and gradually anger takes over. The more Wang Guang-mei demonstrates her will to suffer for Liu, the deeper it cuts Madame Mao inside—she is now desperate to see Wang Guang-mei destroyed.

At the back of the stage, Wang Guang-mei struggles with the Red Guards. She had been dragged here. She points at the garment she is wearing, a brown suit, and says, This is already a costume. I wore it to meet foreign guests.

We don't care. Today is a day you wear what we put on you.

I can't. The dress is not proper; besides, it is too small.

You had it on during your trip to the Philippines.

It was years ago. I have aged and lost my shape.

Sounds like you have forgotten who you are.

I am Wang Guang-mei.

No. You are the people's enemy ... You've got to wear this. I don't and I won't.

Wear it or we are going to make you wear it. Let me die, then.

No deal. We are putting you back on the stage. You are going to sink in the spit of millions.

Later on Madame Mao Jiang Ching listens over and over again to a live tape brought by Kuai Da-fu. On the tape Wang Guang-mei's voice changes. She speaks like a heroine: You can force me to kneel but you can't take away my dignity.

Get down! the crowd shouts. You smelly wife of the anti-Communist! You are nothing but a spy and a traitor! To allow you freedom is to allow crime. This is the proletarian dictatorship at its best.

Strip me, then, Wang Guang-mei replies. The rest of her words disappear in the shouting of a crowd of three hundred thousand:
Down with Liu Shao-qi! Down with Wang Guang-mei! Long live Chairman Mao! A salute to our dearest Madame Mao Jiang Ching!

The scene is grand but actress Jiang Ching suddenly breaks down sobbing.

It has been raining for three days. The drizzle is like tears leaking from the sky. This is an unusual autumn. The bare electric lights throughout the ancient city of Kai-feng in Hebei Province tremble in the wind like ghost eyes.

Vice Chairman Liu's eyes have been shut for days. He has turned seventy in prison. He has had a heart attack, suffers from high blood pressure and complications of diabetes and lung failure. He is unable to swallow. A feeding tube runs into his nose. This morning he opens his eyes. His surroundings are strange and the faces encountered are hostile. He shuts his eyes again and lies in silence. A cotton blanket is wrapped tight around his body.