The Good Women of China: Hidden Voices (11 page)

‘In the cacophony, I screamed myself hoarse asking everyone in sight about my daughter. Some of the people I approached asked me if I had seen their relatives. Everyone was wild-eyed and yelling, nobody took anything in. As people gradually realised the full horror of the situation, a grieving silence fell. You could have heard a pin drop. I was afraid to move, in case I made the earth start shaking again. We stood surveying the scene before us: collapsed buildings, broken water pipes, yawning holes in the ground, corpses everywhere, lying on the ground, hanging over roof beams and out of houses. A pall of dust and smoke was rising. There was no sun or moon, nobody knew what time it was. We wondered if we were still in the land of the living.’

I encouraged Mrs Yang to have a drink of water.

‘Water? Ah, yes . . . I’m not sure how long it took, but I began to feel thirsty because I had shouted my throat raw. Someone echoed my thoughts in a weak voice, “Water . . .” reminding everyone to turn to the immediate matter of survival. A middle-aged man stepped out of the crowd, and said, “If we want to live, we must help each other and get organised.” We murmured in agreement.

‘It was starting to get light, and everything before us became more distinct, and more horrible. Suddenly someone shouted, “Look over there, someone’s alive!” In the wan light, we saw a girl wedged in mid-air between the ruined walls of two buildings. Although her hair hung over her face, and her lower body was trapped and hidden from view, I knew from the colour and style of her bra, and from the struggling movement of her torso that she was my daughter. “Xiao Ping!” I shouted. I called her name over and over again, wild with joy and grief. She continued writhing desperately, and I realised that she could not hear or see me. I pushed my way forward through the crowd, gesturing towards her and sobbing hoarsely that she was my daughter. Rubble blocked my path. People started to help, trying to scale the wall my daughter was trapped in, but it was at least two storeys high, and they had no tools. I shouted Xiao Ping’s name over and over again. She still had not heard me.

‘A few women, then some men joined in shouting to help me. Soon, almost everyone was calling, “Xiao Ping! Xiao Ping!”

‘Xiao Ping finally heard us. She raised her head, and used her free hand – her left – to push her hair off her face. I knew she was looking for me. She looked confused; she couldn’t find me in the crowd of naked or near-naked bodies. A man next to me started pushing everyone around me aside. None of us understood what he was doing at first, but soon it became clear that he was trying to clear a big space around me so Xiao Ping could see me. It worked; Xiao Ping shouted “Mama!” and waved to me with her free hand.

‘I shouted back, but my voice was hoarse and faint. I raised my arms and waved to her instead. I don’t know how long we spent calling and waving. Finally, somebody made me sit down. A big empty space was still left around me, so Xiao Ping could see me. She was tired too, her head was lolling and she was gasping for breath. In retrospect, I wonder why she never screamed for me to save her. She never said anything like “Mama, save me”, not a word.’

‘When did you start counting the fourteen days and two hours you spoke of?’

‘Someone shouted to Xiao Ping, “It’s 5.30 in the morning, there’ll be someone coming to rescue you soon!” He wanted to comfort her, to help her hold on. But seconds, minutes and hours passed, and nobody had come to the rescue.’

‘That was because it took time for people to find out what had happened,’ I said, remembering how long it had taken for a news report to appear.

Mrs Yang nodded. ‘What kind of a country was this in 1976? A big city lay in ruins and three hundred thousand people had died, yet no one knew. How backward China was! I think that if we had been more advanced, many people might not have died. Xiao Ping might have survived.’

‘When did the rescuers arrive?’

‘I can’t say for sure. I can only remember that the army came first. The soldiers were all sweaty from running, but not one paused for breath before they split up and went to the rescue. Equipped with ropes and pitons, two soldiers started to climb up the wall in which Xiao Ping was trapped. It looked like it might collapse at any moment and crush them all. I could hardly breathe as I saw them edge closer and closer to her . . .’ She fell silent for a few minutes.

‘When Xiao Ping saw that someone was coming to rescue her, she burst into tears. The first soldier to reach her took off his uniform jacket to cover her. She only had one arm free, so he had to wrap half the jacket around her like a Tibetan robe. The other soldier held a water bottle to her mouth. The two soldiers started pulling away the bricks and stones around Xiao Ping, and soon freed her right arm, which was bruised and bloody. For some reason, they suddenly stopped digging. I shouted to them, asking what the matter was, but they couldn’t have heard me. After a while, they climbed down and walked over to me. Gesturing with bloodied hands, they told me that the lower half of Xiao Ping’s body was wedged between the reinforced concrete slabs of the wall, which they couldn’t dig away by hand. I asked them why their hands were all bloody. They put their hands behind their backs and said that they were not allowed to use tools to dig people free, for fear of hurting them.

‘After it was all over, I found out that some soldiers’ fingernails and fingertips had been worn away by digging, but they had bound their hands in cloth and carried on. Some soldiers shouted madly as they dug, because they could hear moans and cries for help deep within the rubble. How much could they do by hand? The heavy rescue equipment couldn’t get to the city because the roads were destroyed. How many people died waiting for rescue?’ She sighed, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

‘Xiao Ping must have been very strong.’

‘Yes. She used to howl over a scratch from a branch, and blanch at the sight of blood. But in those last fourteen days she was so strong, she even comforted me, saying, “Mama, I’m numb, so it doesn’t hurt a bit!” When her body was finally freed, I saw that her legs had been crushed to a pulp. The person who laid her out for the funeral said that her pelvis had broken under the pressure. I hope she really had lost feeling in her lower body in those fourteen days, when she was exposed to the elements. I counted every minute. Throughout that time people tried all sorts of different methods to rescue her, working round the clock, but nothing worked.

‘Finally, the soldiers helped me to climb the wall up to Xiao Ping, and piled up a makeshift seat for me so I could sit holding her in my arms for long periods at a time. Her small, weak body was icy cold, though it was summer.

‘For the first few days, Xiao Ping could still talk to me, and waved her hands about as she told stories. After the fourth day, she grew weaker and weaker, until she could barely lift her head. Although food and medicine were brought to her every day, and someone came to nurse her, the bottom half of her body must have been bleeding all the time, and gangrene must have been setting in. More and more people were concerned about her fate, but there was nothing anyone could do. The whole of Tangshan lay in ruins: there just weren’t enough emergency workers or equipment to go round, and the roads to the city were impassable. My poor daughter . . .’

‘Auntie Yang,’ I murmured. We were both crying.

‘In the last few days, I think Xiao Ping might have realised that there was no hope for her, though people made all sorts of excuses to keep her spirits up. She lay helplessly in my arms, unable to move. On the morning of the fourteenth day, she forced her torso upright and said to me, ‘‘Mama, I feel like the medicines you’ve been giving me are taking effect. There’s some strength in me, look!”

‘When they saw her sit up, the people around who had been watching her attentively for fourteen days all started clapping and cheering. I thought a miracle had happened too. When Xiao Ping saw how excited everyone was, she seemed to get a new surge of strength. Her face, which had been deadly pale, flushed bright red and she spoke to her well-wishers in a clear, loud voice, thanking them and answering questions. Somebody suggested that she sing a song, and the crowd clapped in approval. At first, Xiao Ping was shy, but people cheered her on: “Sing a song, Xiao Ping! Xiao Ping, sing a song!” At last, she nodded weakly, and started singing: “The red star is shining with a marvellous light, the red star is shining in my heart . . .”

‘Everyone knew this song back then, and many people started to sing along with Xiao Ping. The sound of singing amid the desolation was like the flowering of hope. For the first time in many days, people were smiling. After a few verses, Xiao Ping’s voice faltered, and she slowly sank back into my arms.’

Mrs Yang fell silent for a long time. Finally, she roused herself and continued. ‘Xiao Ping never woke again. I thought she was sleeping, but when I realised my mistake, it was too late. She had no last words; her last experience of this world was of people singing and smiling around her. When the doctor told me that she was dead, I was calm – those fourteen days and two hours had wrung me dry. It was only four days later, when they finally dug out Xiao Ping’s body, which had started to smell, that I began to weep. Her body was in such a state . . . my own flesh and blood . . . I hurt, how I hurt!’

I sobbed with her, ‘I’m sorry, Auntie Yang, I’m sorry.’

‘Poor child, in her fourteen years she only saw three films,
Tunnel Warfare
,
Mine Warfare
and
The Battle of North and South
, and eight model operas. She never laid eyes on a pretty dress or a pair of high-heel shoes . . .’

‘That is a great sadness in Chinese history. I came out of those times too, and had virtually no experience of youth or beauty.’

Mrs Yang sighed. ‘Some people say the earthquake was divine retribution for the events of the Cultural Revolution. But who were the gods taking revenge on? I have never done anything to offend them or anything immoral. Why did they destroy my daughter?’

‘Oh, Auntie Yang, don’t say that! Xiao Ping’s death wasn’t retribution. Don’t think that, whatever you do. If, in the place where she is now, Xiao Ping knew you were in so much pain, it would make her worry. You ought to live as best and as happily as you can – that’s the best reward for Xiao Ping’s sacrifice, don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, that’s true . . . but I . . . oh well, let’s not talk about that. You’re busy, go and get on with your things, don’t pay any attention to my silly talk.’

‘Thank you, Auntie Yang.’ I pressed her hand. ‘I think you see a lot of happiness and laughter in the children here. I’m sure that as they grow up the children will be a continuation of Xiao Ping’s soul, and the wonderful things she left to the world.’ I looked up at Xiao Ping’s photograph and felt as if she was imploring me not to leave her mother alone. It was as if she was speaking to me with my son PanPan’s voice.

Several days later, I returned to Tangshan to interview the head of the orphanage, Warden Ding.

Warden Ding had been an administrative officer in the army for more than ten years. Her husband had left the army due to ill health, and she had moved with her family from south-west China back to Tangshan about a year before the earthquake. She had lost her daughter in the disaster, and her son had lost both his legs. Later, her husband had died from a heart attack. She had brought up her crippled son with the help of the government. He had taught himself accountancy, and had volunteered to help with the accounts when several mothers were discussing setting up the orphanage. Not long after my visit, he died of an infection in his wounds.

To avoid bringing back painful memories for Warden Ding, I tried to interview her son instead. However, he said that he had been too young at the time, and could not remember the earthquake. He told me his mother had never told him the true reason for his sister’s death. He had only heard vaguely that she had not died in the earthquake, but had killed herself afterwards. He wanted very much to ask his mother about this, but every time he broached the subject, his mother would shush him.

There was nothing for it but to ask Warden Ding if she was willing to be interviewed. She agreed, but suggested that I wait until the National Day holiday to come back and interview her. When I asked why, she said, ‘It won’t take me long to tell you my story, but it will throw me off balance for several days after. I will need time to recover.’ National Day that year fell before a weekend, so we had three days off in a row. This was a long holiday for China, where holidays were not routine.

The evening before the holiday, when I had just arrived in Tangshan, Warden Ding telephoned to invite me to meet her.

I went over to the orphanage, and sought to reassure her by saying that we could stop the interview at any time if she found it too difficult.

She smiled faintly. ‘Xinran, thank you for the kind thought, but don’t forget I am a soldier who has seen action in Korea.’

I nodded. ‘I heard that you didn’t lose a single member of your family in the earthquake?’

‘That’s right, but survival was disaster for all of us.’

‘Am I right in thinking that your husband died of grief at your daughter’s misfortune?’

‘Yes, and I almost died too. It was the thought of my crippled son that held me back. I thought of myself as a necessary part of him, only then could I live on.’

In a faltering voice, I prompted, ‘Your daughter committed suicide because . . .’

‘To this day, only three people know why: my husband, my daughter and myself.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. You must have heard many times about how much destruction the earthquake caused – I don’t need to go over it again. In fact, words cannot fully describe that scene. You only know what it feels like to be at the end of the world if you experience it yourself. In a situation like that, you think of your family first.

‘The aftershocks had not yet died away when my husband and I managed to leave the building we had lived in, which was on the point of collapse. We discovered that the room where our children slept had been torn apart, but they were nowhere to be seen. My heart contracted with fear. Because there was a military airport near us, we were quickly rescued by the garrison. They soon dug my son out, but his legs had already been crushed, so they were amputated above the knee, as you see today. It’s lucky he was rescued in good time, otherwise, on such a hot day, his wounds would have turned gangrenous and put his life in danger. After two days had passed and my daughter had still not been found, I was close to losing my mind. I saw injured, maimed and dead people dug out and carried away every day; almost never a whole person with nothing missing and no injuries.