Becoming Madame Mao (29 page)

To please Mao, on May 8, under the pen name Gao Ju—High Torch—I published an article entitled "Toward the Anti-Communist Party Group: Fire!" It is my first publication in thirty years. The article becomes the talk of the nation. Shouts of To
guard Chairman Mao with our lives!
are heard everywhere.

It is the night of May 9. I am losing sleep to joy. I have taken fate into my own hands and am rewarded. Mao phoned this morning to congratulate me. He wanted me to have a pack of his ginseng. The phone rang again in the afternoon. It was Mao's secretary. Mao wanted me to come for dinner. Nah is home, the message said.

I have nothing to wear, I said.

The secretary was confused. Does that mean "no"?

***

Sitting in my chair I feel my body shiver. He wants me, finally. All the years of resentment dissolve in one phone call. Am I crazy? Is he fooling me again? Or is it nothing but part of his aging? Or am I daydreaming? He has not stopped his longevity practice and continues to sleep with young girls; and yet he wants to reconnect with me. And he wants it badly.

Sometimes I feel that I know him well enough to forgive him—he is driven not by passion or lust or even his great love of country, but fear. Other times I feel that he has always been a stranger to me. An aloof, emotionally disconnected being like myself. He has never paid a single visit to his ex-wife Zi-zhen, or to his mentally disturbed second son Anqing in their hospitals. Just like me with my mother—I have never tried to find out what became of her.

Mao doesn't talk about the Korean War. It is to avoid his pain of missing Anying, his older son, who died from an American bomb. Mao has never recovered from Anying's death. Madame Mao Jiang Ching knows that Anying is always on his mind at moments of celebration, especially during Chinese New Years. Mao never accepts invitations to visit his friends or associates. It is because he can't stand the warmth of families. He says that he is an antitradition man. It is because everything traditional weaves around the family.

How can Mao not feel the loss or have sympathy toward pain and separation when he is such a passionate poet? One can only guess that his pain over the years has changed or, a more precise word, distorted his character. His longing for his losses gradually turns into envy of others' gain. Why does Vice Chairman Liu have all that he hasn't? Mao knows that he is by nature fragile and that to learn to be a stone-Buddha is his only way to survive. He takes tragedy in his life as his body's ulcer—he just has to live with it. Yet he is frustrated that he has no power to cure his pain. He doesn't understand that he owes himself compassion. He has taught himself to recognize no such word in his emotional dictionary.

It is after dinner. We are relaxing around the table having tea. Nah begs that we not talk about business, a request I must turn down. I count on the time I spend with Mao, because he may change his mind tomorrow. I have trained myself to always be prepared for the worst.

Nah dashes out of the room. Where are you going? I yell. Don't tell me you are going to waste time on knitting. Did you call the people I asked you to call for me? Answer me! You are sixteen years old, not six!

Leave her alone, her father says. He has had some wine and is in a good mood. He is in his usual pajamas and wears socks without sandals. The room is heated but still feels cold and empty. It doesn't seem like a home. It is more like a war headquarters with books, cigarette butts, towels and mugs lying carelessly around. He is comfortable with this on-the-move style. The walls are bare. I can't tell their original color. The color of dust. The floor is made of large gray-blue bricks. I once suggested that he install a wooden floor but he didn't want to bother. He still uses a mosquito net in the summer. His staff made one as big as a circus tent.

I have an important task for you, he says and puts down his tea.

My eyes widen and my lips tremble in excitement.

I have discussed with Kang Sheng that you will be the best candidate to take command on the ideology side of my business. What do you think?

For you, Mao Tse-tung, if your bomb misses a fuse I'll lay down my body.

May 16, after revising "The 5.16 Notification" seven times, Mao puts down his signature and entitles the document "The Manual of the Cultural Revolution." As it goes to press, Mao establishes a new cabinet apart from the existing Politburo. He calls it the Headquarters of the Cultural Revolution with himself as the chief, Jiang Ching as his right-hand person and Kang Sheng, Chen Bo-da and Chun-qiao as his key advisors.

From that moment on China is run by Madame Mao Jiang Ching with Mao behind her every move.

J
UNE 1966. MY BURNING SUMMER
. Although the path is rough, the future looks bright. In the past my name lacked authority. The opera producers and critics showed me little respect. They rewrote my scripts. I had to fight for every line and note. The ordinary folks thought of me as Mao's housewife. Except in Shanghai where Chun-qiao was in control, no one printed my words. Now that I have Mao's support, everyone is competing for my attention. The press, in my opinion, is like an infant—whoever offers it a nipple will be called mother. Cheap.

In Mao's name I organize a national festival—the Festival of Revolutionary Operas. I select potential operas and adapt them to serve Mao's purpose. I arrange talented artists to upgrade the pieces into high-quality extravaganzas, such as
Taking the Tiger Mountain by Wit
and
The Sha Family Pond.
I make the operas bear my signature and personally supervise every detail, from the selection of the actors to the way a singer hits the note.

There are quick learners and stubborn minds. I have to deal with them all. Not a day passes that I don't feel my enemy's shadow. When the resistance becomes strong and my projects face danger I phone Mao. This morning a couple of my playwrights have been taken away from their work. They were put into a detention house under an order placed by my enemy. The reason was vague—"They have not served the people with their hearts and souls." I have no idea who exactly is in charge of the opposition. Everything is done through students. There is a war zone here. My enemy has many faces. The students are being manipulated.

Mao comforts me by offering substantial help. Launch a campaign, he says. Establish your own force. Go to universities and speak at public rallies on my behalf. The goal is to get the students on our side.

The thirty-seven-day festival turns out to be a great success. Three hundred thirty thousand people are received. To add excitement Mao and his new cabinet attend my closing ceremony. Standing next to Mao in a brand-new grass-green army uniform I clap. When the curtain descends I weep in happiness. With "The Manual of the Cultural Revolution" being distributed in every commune, factory, campus and street, I have established my leadership. On my order, students, workers and peasants challenge the authorities. At rallies I recite Mao's poem into the microphone:

The brave winter plums blossom in the snow
Only the pitiful flies cry and freeze themselves to death!

The opposition shows no sign of quitting. Vice Chairman Liu organizes his own counterattack groups. His messengers are called the Work Team. Their purpose is to put out the "wildfires"—to destroy Madame Mao.

Yet she is not worried. Mao has confirmed his desire to beat Liu. Mao is determined to set Vice Chairman Liu himself on fire.

Last night she dreamed. She fumbled her way into her lover's arms, sobbing piteously. He comforted her as if she were a child. Her tears soaked into his shirt.

This morning they have breakfast together. Being in each other's presence has become a way to show affection. She doesn't tell him about her dream. His face is calm and patient. They eat quietly. He has bread and porridge with hot pepper, and she has milk and fruit with a piece of toast. The servants stand like trees. They watch the masters eating. If it were in her residence she would send them away. Mao is not bothered. He likes to have guards and servants standing in every corner of the room while he eats. He can be perfectly at ease having bowel movements in front of his guard.

So what is going on with the students? Mao asks, drinking up his ginseng soup noisily.

I've scouted a young man from Qinghua University, a seventeen-year-old chemistry student. His name is Kuai Da-fu.

I take pleasure in describing Kuai Da-fu. I discuss him as if he were my son. He has a thin face and an intense character. He has a pair of raccoon eyes and a large nose. His lips remind me of a dry riverbed. Mao laughs at this remark.

Go on, he says. Go on.

He is shy, vulnerable and yet full of passion. His frame is not strong. He is almost delicate. But he has the charisma of a teen idol. When he speaks, his eyes sparkle and his face blushes. Although he is inexperienced, his ambition and 'determination will guarantee him success.

Mao pushes away his bowl and lies back in his chair. He wants to know how I came to lay my eyes on him.

It was his reaction to "The 5.16 Notification," I explain. He created a big-character poster that attacked the head of the Work Team, a man named Yelin. He called Yelin a capitalism promoter. As a result he was expelled by the school and put under house arrest for eighteen days.

But the young man has committed no crime! Mao argues loudly as if to a crowd.

Yes, Kuai Da-fu admitted no guilt, Madame Mao continues. Instead, he formed a one-person hunger demonstration.

What fine material!

I thought so too.

He must be inspiring to others.

What should I do?

Visit him!

That is exactly what I did. I sent my agent Comrade Dong—you probably don't remember him, he used to work for Kang Sheng and is loyal. He looks so ordinary and boring that he blends into the crowds without arousing any suspicion.

Yes?

I told him that he has my support and yours. I asked him to hang on and take the opportunity to set himself as an example to the nation's youth.

It is at this moment Mao leans over and puts his hand on my shoulder. Rubbing gently he whispers, I feel blessed having you by my side. Are you exhausted? I don't want to work you to death. How about a vacation? I am leaving tomorrow. Would you like to come along?

I'd love to. But you need someone to stay in Beijing. You need me to control the situation.

***

Mao has been avoiding Vice Chairman Liu's calls, he has gone as far as Wuhan in Hubei Province. But Liu follows him. Insisting on reporting Beijing's trouble. The student riots. The wildfires. He begs Mao to order a stop. Liu has no idea what he has gotten himself into.

No historian can understand how a brilliant man like Liu could be so ignorant. How is it possible that he doesn't see Mao's irritation? There can only be two explanations. One is that he is so humble that he never sees himself as a threat to Mao. The other is that he is so confident that he doesn't think Mao has any reason to object to his actions. In other words he has already seen himself running China, seen the people and the Party congress voting for him over Mao.

About Vice Chairman Liu's report Mao makes no comment. When Liu begs him to return to Beijing, Mao refuses. Before departing Liu asks for Mao's instruction. Mao drops a phrase:
Do-what-you-see-fit.

When Liu gets back to the capital his eagerly awaited cabinet members greet him at the train station. Liu explains his puzzlement over Mao. The cabinet tries to analyze the situation. If Liu chooses to let it be, which means allowing Madame Mao Jiang Ching and Kang Sheng to go on sweeping the country, Mao can come back and fire him for not doing his job. But if he stops Jiang Ching and Kang Sheng, Mao might take their side. After all she is his wife.

After a nerve-racking discussion, Liu and Deng decide to send more Work Teams to reestablish order. To assure the correctness of his action Liu dials Mao's line. Again there is no response.

By now schools have been closed nationwide. The students copy their hero Kuai Da-fu and crowd the streets with big-character posters.
Promote the revolution!
has become the hottest slogan. To impress each other the students begin to attack pedestrians who they suspect are from the upper class. They strip clothes made of silk, tear narrow-bottom pants and cut pointed leather shoes. The police are under attack as "reactionary machines" and are paralyzed. The students and workers form factions and begin to attack each other over the control of territories. The nation's economy comes to a halt.

At the Politburo meeting in Beijing Vice Chairman Liu's voice is hoarse. In front of his entire cabinet he again dials Mao's line: The chaos must be stopped at once, Chairman.

Mao's response comes cold and indifferent. I am not ready to come back to Beijing. Why don't you go ahead with your plans?

May I have your permission?

You have been running the country, haven't you?

With this Liu gets back to work again. Hundreds more Work Teams are sent. Within two months the wildfires have been put out.

July 8, 1966. Mao writes me. The letter is sent from his hometown, Shao Shan in Hunan Province. He tells me a story of an ancient character named Zhong Kui, a hero who is known for catching evil spirits.

Since the sixties I have become the Communist Zhong Kui.
He goes on to describe himself as an international rebel—he knows that I have an affection for rebels and bandits.
Things have their limits. What do you expect by getting to the top but that you begin to go downwards? I have been long prepared to fight until all my bones are ground into powder. There are over a hundred Communist Parties in the entire world. Most of them have quit Marxism and Leninism to embrace capitalism. We are the only Party left. We must deal with the cruelty of such reality, we must figure out what our enemies are up to, and we must act ahead to survive.

I see my husband's perspective. I understand what is at stake and feel his determination to destroy the enemy. I see where I stand. Once again I have become a comrade in arms. During the day I am all over Beijing. I have developed hundreds of projects and they are all going on at the same time. Once in a while my body fails to catch up with me. It breaks down with fever. At those moments I send for Nah and she comes to my bedside.