My daughter brought four young guests, among them a beautiful actor named Kong from the film company, whose father was a famous director in the thirties. Zhang was a violinist in a Shanghai orchestra. Sun Kang, a mathematics teacher at the University of Science and Technology, who is Man Ping’s special boyfriend. Then there was my goddaughter Xi, a little friend Man Ping had met in Australia. They all have a special love for music and often gather at my house to enjoy stereo records.
These young people, full of energy and enthusiasm, although they all came from families of bad composition, did not mention anything about the disadvantages this would bring them. Throughout the dinner, they giggled and talked about music and books, and when Man Ping brought the leftover cake into the kitchen, even Chen’s mother seemed to have returned to her normal self and began to nag her about how she shouldn’t lick the chocolate on her hands. After the meal, the young people gathered in Manning’s study to listen to stereo records, their favorite pastime.
Li Jing and I went to the garden. Old Zhao prepared two wicker chairs with cushions and a plate of mosquito incense in the middle of the two chairs in the garden. Then two cups of chrysanthemum tea were served. From the window came a faint violin sound, I buried my whole body in the wicker chairs, looking up at the star-studded sky.
“You are living a comfortable life,” Li Jing said with emotion, “your life is first class not only in China, but also by Western standards. I’m afraid, will this cause them to resent it?”
“It’s entirely possible. Those who censor me seem to hate me very much. Do you believe that the poverty of the Chinese workers and peasants is due to our faults?”
“They are just jealous. People can’t live the same life. I have a big apartment, which was assigned to me by the school. That means they are also unwilling to be egalitarian.” Li Jing said, she seemed to look a little more relaxed now.
“Naturally, your situation is different. You’ve done a lot for your country, you’ve trained hundreds of students with your own hands, and they’ve all learned a lot from you, isn’t that wonderful?” I envied my friend Li Jing from the bottom of my heart.
“But no one ever said such things to me in the academy. They always said that I brought corrupt Western music to corrupt the youth. It never occurred to them that if the country really banned Western music so explicitly, I wouldn’t have done it. Our teaching materials were approved in advance by the Party Committee before they were taught to students. They seem to have forgotten that we were encouraged to teach Western music in the 1950s when we were friendly with the Soviet Union.” The more she spoke, the more exasperated she became, and in the end, all launched into a rage. I stopped mentioning her work. To cheer her up, I asked how her children were doing.
“For me, they are so far away, especially now that they are each having their own families.” She said.
“Don’t you want to go see them?”
“Oh, of course I do. But what’s the use of wanting to? They won’t sign my passport to Australia. And my children, of course, won’t come here.”
“Actually, you really shouldn’t have come back from Hong Kong.”
“At the time, I thought it was the best decision. You know, I’m very attached to the Conservatory. I was educated here and I taught here, and it’s truly the most and most important part of my life, other than my children. Many of my colleagues are old classmates of mine from the Conservatory. They all wrote to me when I was in Hong Kong, and my students and party secretary, wrote to me. They all said that music needed me, and I came back.”
“And what did Su Lei’s family think of your return to Shanghai?”
“After Su Lei’s death, they were very concerned about me. Most of the members of their family have settled in Australia. They are a very united family. Those uncles think that Su Lei’s children are the ones who belong to the Su family, but they don’t think I’m as important as Su Lei’s children. Of course, they would take care of me if I couldn’t make a living. But I don’t like the idea of being in this situation, of being a parasite and looking up to others.”
The last few words in Li Jing’s sentence were drowned out by a fierce sound of gongs and drums, and Lao Zhao went to the garden to inform, “In front of the house, there is a student parade walking by just in time.”
That young people who were enjoying the music also flocked to the lanai, and Kong – the young actor – said, “That seems to be the Red Guards. A few days ago, Jiang Qing had received their representatives at the Great Hall of the People. This means that Chairman Mao has recognized them as an organization.”
“Who organized this?” I asked him, “I’ve never heard of the ‘Red Guards’ as an organization.”
“I heard that it was a new thing that came out of the Cultural Revolution supported by Jiang Qing. People told me that, in fact, she secretly organized a group of students from Tsinghua High School and then pretended that the students organized themselves. Because she was Chairman Mao’s wife, the name ‘Red Guard’ became more popular. Now, on behalf of Chairman Mao, she has publicly approved the Red Guard as an organization.” Kong said and laughed, “My father said she used to be nothing more than an ordinary actress. Now she seems to be worth a hundred times as much.” (Later, when Jiang Qing was purging the film industry of its “enemies,” Kong’s father had a terrible encounter and managed to save his life. Kong himself was not cast in any film for several years because of his father’s involvement.)
The next day, I read in the newspaper that on August 18, Chairman Mao received the Red Guards for the first time. On the first page, there was a large photo of Mao wearing a khaki uniform and a red armband with the words “Red Guards” on his arm. The words “Red Guards” were inscribed in his own handwriting. On the Tiananmen reviewing platform, he received the enthusiastic cheers of the youths gathered below the platform, smiling and waving to them. His special task for the Red Guards was to ignite the flames of the Cultural Revolution throughout the country and to carry it to the end. The youth of the country, at that time, took the instructions of the object of their admiration since childhood as their weapon. At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, the target of the struggle set from above was still the “bourgeoisie”. The Red Guards’ spearhead was only directed at them.
On the night of August 18, groups of Red Guards walked past our house, beating gongs and drums and shouting slogans. Manping and her friends went to the street to watch the parade, and Li Jing and I went back to the study. The sound outside was so deafening that we couldn’t speak. When Manping came back alone, she told us that the students were holding up the portrait of Mao and chanting: “Defend Chairman Mao” and “Defend Chairman Mao to the death. “
“Who would attack him to harm him?” I asked. None of us could answer. Who else would attack him when he was such a supreme and admired figure who seemed to be no longer a mortal?
After waiting for a moment, Li Jing said, “I should go back. We will always figure out the situation later.”
“I’ll take Auntie Li home, the road is full of parades, there are no more buses.” Manping said.
I took them to the gate and saw the procession, all made up of teenage youths. They walked across the road in front of our house holding slogans, banners and flags and holding portraits of Chairman Mao. There were people in the front row beating gongs and drums, and every few meters, there was a slogan leader with slogans written on paper. The rest of the group chanted along. Each marcher had a red armband on his arm with the words “Red Guard” written in Mao’s script. It seems that this team is organized in an orderly manner, unified leadership, does not seem to be organized by the young people themselves. I think, behind the scenes there must be a power faction in the manipulation.
Li Jing and I said goodbye to each other, and Man Ping pushed her bike alongside her. I watched them until Li Jing’s silver hair melted and disappeared in the parade.
That was the last glimpse I had of my dear friend. A month later, while I was in isolation, she committed suicide. At a criticism meeting, which was extremely insulting to her, the Red Guards put a bamboo pole, less than four feet above the ground, across the entrance of the conservatory and asked the ground to climb in from underneath to show that she was a lackey of imperialism because she had been educated in England. Later, a struggle meeting was held to force her to confess her “love of Western music”. The next day, she was found sitting at the piano and turned on the gas switch. She left a note with a simple message: “I did my best for my students.”
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