Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China (45 page)

However, the status of a family was often ambiguous: a worker might once have been employed in a Kuomintang office; a clerk did not belong to any category; an intellectual was an 'undesirable," but what if he was a Party member?

How should the children of such parents be classified?

Many enrollment officers decided to play it safe, which meant giving preference to children whose parents were Party officials.  They constituted half the pupils in my class.

My new school, the Number Four Middle School, was the leading key school for the whole province and took students with the highest marks in the all-Sichuan entrance exams.  In previous years, entrance had been decided solely on the basis of exam results.  In my year, exam marks and family background were equally important.

In the two exam papers, I got 100 percent for math and an unusual 100 percent 'plus' for Chinese.  My father had constantly drummed it into me that I should not rely on my parents' name, and I did not like the suggestion that the 'class line' had helped me get into the school. But I soon thought no more about it.  If this was what Chairman Mao said, it must be good.

It was in this period that 'high officials' children' (gaogan zi-dO became almost a stratum of their own.  They developed an air which identified them unmistakably as members of an elite group, exuding an awareness of powerful backing and untouchability.  Many high officials' children now grew more arrogant and haughty than ever, and from Mao downward concern was constantly being expressed about their behavior. It became a recurrent theme in the press.  All this only reinforced the idea that they were a special group.

My father frequently warned us against this air and against forming cliques with other children of high officials.  The result was that I had few friends, as I seldom met children from any other background. When I did come into contact with them, I found we had been so conditioned by the importance of family background and the lack of shared experience that we seemed to have little in common with each other.

When I entered the new school two teachers came to see my parents to ask which foreign language they wanted me to learn.  They chose English rather than Russian, which was the only other option.  The teachers also wanted to know whether I was going to take physics or chemistry in my first year.  My parents said they would leave that up to the school.

I loved the school from the moment I walked in.  It had an imposing gate with a broad roof of blue tiles and carved caves.  A flight of stone stairs led up to it, and the loggia was supported by six red-timber columns.  Symmetrical rows of dark-green cypresses enhanced the atmosphere of solemnity leading into the interior.

The school had been founded in 14 18 BC.  It was the first school set up by a local government in China.  At its center was a magnificent temple, formerly dedicated to Confucius.  It was well preserved, but was not functioning as a temple any longer.  Inside were half a dozen ping-pong tables, separated by the massive columns.  In front of the carved doors, down a long flight of stairs, lay extensive grounds designed to provide a majestic approach to the temple.  A two-story teaching block had been erected, which cut off the grounds from a brook crossed by three little arched bridges, with sculptures of miniature lions and other animals sitting on their sandstone edges.  Beyond the bridges was a beautiful garden surrounded by peaches and plane trees. Two giant bronze incense burners were set at the bottom of the stairs in front of the temple, although there was no longer any blue smoke curling up and lingering in the air above them.  The grounds on the sides of the temple had been converted into basketball and volleyball courts.  Farther along were two lawns where we used to sit or lie in spring and enjoy the sun during lunch breaks.

Behind the temple was another lawn, beyond which lay a big orchard at the foot of a small hill covered with trees, vines, and herbs.

Dotted around were laboratories where we studied biology and chemistry, learned to use microscopes, and dissected dead animals.  In the lecture theaters, we watched teaching films.  For after-school activities, I joined the biology group which strolled around the hill and the back garden with the teacher learning the names and characteristics of the different plants.  There were temperature controlled breeding cases for us to observe how tadpoles and ducklings broke out of their eggs.  In spring, the school was a sea of pink because of all the peach trees. But what I liked most was the two-story library, built in the traditional Chinese style.  The building was encircled on both floors by loggias, and the outside of these was enclosed by a row of gorgeously painted seats which were shaped like wings.

I had a favorite corner in these 'wing seats' (fei-lai-yi) where I used to sit for hours reading, occasionally stretching my arm out to touch the fan-shaped leaves of a rare ginkgo tree.  There was a pair of them outside the front gate of the library, towering and elegant.  They were the only sight that could distract me from my books.

My clearest memory is of my teachers.  They were the best in their field; many were grade one, or special grade.

Their classes were sheer joy, and I could never have enough of them.

But more and more political indoctrination was creeping into school life.  Gradually, morning assembly became devoted to Mao's teachings, and special sessions were instituted in which we read Party documents. Our Chineselanguage textbook now contained more propaganda and less classical literature, and politics, which mainly consisted of works by Mao, became part of' the curriculum.

Almost every activity became politicized.  One day at morning assembly the headmaster told us we were going to do eye exercises.  He said Chairman Mao had observed that there were too many schoolchildren wearing spectacles, a sign that they had hurt their eyes by working too hard.  He had ordered something to be done about it.  We were all terribly moved by his concern.  Some of us wept with gratitude.  We started doing eye exercises for fifteen minutes every morning.  A set of movements had been devised by doctors and set to music.  After rubbing various points around our eyes, we all stared intently at the rows of poplars and willows outside the window.  Green was supposed to be a restful color.  As I enjoyed the comfort the exercises and the leaves brought me, I thought of Mao and repledged my loyalty to him.

A repeated theme was that we must not allow China to 'change color," which meant going from Communist to capitalist.  The split between China and the Soviet Union, which had been kept secret at first, had burst into the open in early 1963.  We were told that since Khrushchev had come to power after the death of Stalin in 1953 the Soviet Union had surrendered to international capitalism, and that Russian children had been reduced to suffering and misery again, just like Chinese children under the Kuomintang.  One day, after warning us for the umpteenth time against the road taken by Russia, our politics teacher said: "If you aren't careful, our country will change color gradually, first from bright red to faded red, then to gray, then to black."  It so happened that the Sichuan expression 'faded red' had exactly the same pronunciation (er-hong) as my name.

My classmates giggled, and I could see them stealing glances at me.  I felt I must get rid of my name immediately.  That evening I begged my father to give me another name.  He suggested Zhang, meaning both 'prose' and 'coming into one's own early," which expressed his desire for me to become a good writer at a young age.

But I did not want the name.  I told my father that I wanted 'something with a military ring to it."  Many of my friends had changed their names to incorporate the characters meaning 'army' or 'soldier."  My father's choice reflected his classical learning.  My new name, Jung (pronounced "Yung'), was a very old and recondite word for 'martial affairs' which appeared only in classical poetry and a few antiquated phrases.  It evoked an image of bygone battles between knights in shining armor, with tasseled spears and neighing steeds.  When I turned up at school with my new name even some teachers could not recognize the character $1.

At this time Mao had called on the country to go from learning from Lei Feng to learning from the army.  Under the defense minister, Lin Biao, who had succeeded Marshal Peng Dehuai in 1959, the army had become the trailblazer for the cult of Mao.  Mao also wanted to regimentalize the nation even more.  He had just written a well-publicized poem exhorting women to 'doff feminini~ and don military attire."  We were told that the Americans were waiting for a chance to invade and reinstate the Kuomintang, and that in order to defeat an invasion by them Lei Feng had trained day and night to overcome his weak physique and become a champion hand-grenade thrower.

Physical training suddenly assumed vital importance.

There was compulsory running, swimming, high jumping, working out on parallel bars, shot-punning, and throwing wooden hand grenades.  In addition to the two hours of sports per week, forty-five minutes of after-school sports now became obligatory.

I had always been hopeless at sports, and hated them, except tennis. Previously this had not mannered, but now it took on a political connotation, with slogans like: "Build up a strong physique to defend our motherland."  Unfortunately, my aversion to sports was increased by this pressure.  When I tried to swim, I always had a mental picture of being pursued by invading Americans to the bank of a surging river.  As I could not swim, my only choice was between being drowned or being captured and tortured by the Americans.  Fear gave me frequent cramps in the water, and once I thought I was drowning in the swimming pool.

In spite of compulsory swimming every week during the summer, I never managed to learn to swim all the time I lived in China.

Hand-grenade throwing was also regarded as very important, for obvious reasons.  I was always at the bottom of the class.  I could only throw the wooden hand grenades we practised with a couple of yards.  I felt that my classmates were questioning my resolve to fight the US

imperialists.  Once at our weekly political meeting somebody commented on my persistent failure at hand-grenade throwing.  I could feel the eyes of the class boring into me like needles, as if to say: "You are a lackey of the Americans!"  The next morning I went and stood in a corner of the sports field, with my arms held out in front of me and a couple of bricks in each hand.  In Lei Feng's diary, which I had learned by heart, I had read that this was how he had toughened up his muscles to throw hand grenades.

After a few days, by which time my upper arms were red and swollen, I gave up, and whenever I was handed the wooden chunk, I became so nervous that my hands shook uncontrollably.

One day in 1965, we were suddenly told to go out and start removing all the grass from the lawns.  Mao had instructed that grass, flowers, and pets were bourgeois habits and were to be eliminated.  The grass in the lawns at our school was of a type I have not seen anywhere outside China.  Its name in Chinese means 'bound to the ground."  It crawls all over the hard surface of the earth and spreads thousands of roots which drill down into the soil like claws of steel.  Underground they open up and produce further roots which shoot out in every direction.

In no time there are two networks, one aboveground and one below ground which intertwine and cling to the earth, like knotted metal wires that have been nailed into the ground.  Often the only casualties were my fingers, which always ended up with deep, long cuts.  It was only when they were attacked with hoes and spades that some of the root systems went, reluctantly.  But any fragment left behind would make a triumphant comeback after even a slight rise in temperature or a gentle drizzle, and we would have to go into battle all over again.

Flowers were much easier to deal with, but they went with even more difficulty, because no one wanted to remove them.  Mao had attacked flowers and grass several times before, saying that they should be replaced by cab bales and cotton.  But only now was he able to generate enough pressure to get his order implemented but only~ up to a point.  People loved their plants, and some flowerbeds survived Mao's campaign.

I was extremely sad to see the lovely plants go.  But I did not resent Mao.  On the contrary, I hated myself for feeling miserable.  By then I had grown into the habit of self criticism and automatically blamed myself for any instincts that went against Mao's instructions.  In fact, such feelings frightened me.  It was out of the question to discuss them with anyone.  Instead, I tried to suppress them and acquire the correct way of thinking.  I lived in a state of constant self-accusation.

Such self-examination and self-criticism were a feature of Mao's China. You would become a new and better person, we were told.  But all this introspection was really designed to serve no other purpose than to create a people who had no thoughts of their own.

The religious aspect of the Mao cult would not have been possible in a traditionally secular society like China had there not been impressive economic achievements.

The country had made a stunning recovery from the famine, and the standard of living was improving dramatically.  In Chengdu, although rice was still rationed, there was plenty of meat, poultry, and vegetables.  Winter melons, turnips, and eggplants were piled up on the pavements outside the shops because there was not enough space to store them.  They were left outside overnight, and almost nobody took them; the shops were giving them away for a pittance.  Eggs, once so precious, sat rotting in large baskets there were too many of them. Only a few years before it had been hard to find a single peach now peach eating was being promoted as 'patriotic," and officials went around to people's homes and tried to persuade them to take peaches for next to nothing.