A Time of Ghosts. Hok-Pang Tang
become a housekeeper for a two-star Communist general in Canton. My mother was quite certain that “housekeeper” was a euphemism for mistress. Nonetheless my “auntie” was kind to me and invited me to visit the home where she worked.
When I arrived, I soon found that I was not to call her “Auntie,” as had been my habit. I also found that my visit was only possible because the general was not about. I looked around and was amazed by the signs of obvious wealth. The standard of living here was higher even than that of our family in earlier times. Two guards stood before the door, and the house was filled with Western appliances. Tables were laden with all kinds of fruit, jars were stuffed with cookies, and bowls of candy were everywhere. I could not believe my eyes. Even stranger, in the midst of all this I found an astonishing Western doll. It had long, blond hair and when placed on its back, it would close its eyes as though in sleep. If stood up, the blue eyes would open again. This was a doll ordinary girls might dream of but could never have.
When it was time to go, my auntie gave me some fruit to take along, but I noticed that she made me leave through the back door. That made me uncomfortable, as though we were sneaking about, doing something not permitted.
On the way home I thought over all I had seen. My own life seemed to me quite shabby compared to that of the general. My sense of morality and view of the world were profoundly shaken. It just confirmed that this new world was a troubling place in which truth and lies changed places, and I could not tell which was which. For my own peace of mind I devised an excuse for the Communist leaders. Because they put such great effort into the Revolution, I reasoned, it was logical that they should have rewards. I tried desperately to convince myself of this. But that they should have private cars, their own cooks, their own bodyguards, and, as I found, two or three mistresses – these were hard to work into my theory. Still I had no choice if I was not to completely lose a frame of reference for the puzzling reality in which I found myself. My theory was fragile and full of cracks, but I kept it patched together as best I could for the sake of my sanity.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE LIGHT THAT IS DARKNESS
Before the Revolution my summers were made happy by trips to the country estate of Grandma Hsü. She was not really my grandmother but she treated me as kindly as one. These visits were the result of an early friendship of my father with Grandma Hsü’s son, a lively wastrel who had a very pretty younger sister. Romance had once blossomed between that young lady and my father in the days before he met my mother. It was cut short by Grandma Hsü herself, who felt that my father’s prospects for the future were slim. And so the pretty girl was married off to a rich man.
Later, when my father had achieved both status and wealth, Grandma Hsü seemed to regret her early rejection of him, and she contrived the plan that I, as the son of a prosperous family, would marry her granddaughter in the future. So I was always welcome in those warm summer days, and was already treated like one of the family.
After the Revolution my father and I paid our last visit to the country estate of Grandma Hsü, but it was no pleasure trip. She had been stripped of her wealth by the Communists. Her land deeds were taken from her and she was ordered to return “exploited” wealth to the peasants. They hauled off her furniture and emptied her closets, then took her in handcuffs from her city home in Canton to Seundak (Shunde) in the countryside.
That is what brought us on our final visit. My father knew she was being tortured, and he was foolish enough to think that if he, a learned judge, pointed out to her tormentors the illegality of their actions, they would leave the miserable old woman alone. I was sent along because my mother thought they might not hurt my father if he was with a child.
The river journey was depressing and gloomy. The small transport boat stank of animals. Every bit of space was filled by the sleeping bodies of other passengers. My father was sullen and silent throughout. When we arrived at Seundak there was no one to greet us at the landing. The village seemed deserted, and we hurried as we walked to the home of a farming family, old friends of my father. We expected a warm welcome, but when they saw us we were treated coldly and rudely, and were offered neither food nor drink.
We soon found that a Communist land reform team was in the village, preparing the peasants for a big meeting. They were very curious about us and asked the farming family who my father might be. They seemed very interested to hear that he was a friend of the “landlord,” Grandma Hsü.
The land reform team offered to lead us to her. They took us through the village to an open, flat area where rice was formerly dried. There a bamboo platform some two feet high had been constructed. Above it was strung a long, horizontal red banner with large black characters on white paper. It read: “OVERTURN THE BLOOD-DRINKING LANDLORD CLASS!” And on each side of the platform was a vertical banner, one reading “RETURN MY RENT!” and the other “A BLOOD DEBT REQUIRES A BLOOD PAYMENT!”
My father and I were told to sit down on the ground in front of the stage. It was muddy, and I did not want to sit. I was afraid I would dirty my clothes and then my mother would complain. People behind us shouted “Sit down! Sit Down!” I was not used to such behavior, and felt offended. So I continued to stand, as did my father.
Several members of the crowd stormed up, put their hands on my shoulders, and pushed down on me until I was forced to sit. To my father they snarled, “Would you rather sit here or up there?” as they pointed to the platform, meaning they were threatening him with judgment. He sat down beside me in the dirt.
It was an uncomfortably hot day. We had been long without food and drink. When I asked repeatedly for water, the townspeople shouted “Shut up!”
Then a very shocking thing happened. Grandma Hsü was brought into the crowd. She looked terrible. Her weak old body was bent down by two heavy wooden billboards – one on her front, one on her back. Ponderous metal chains were on her legs. Her hands were tied behind her. She was half-pulled, half-dragged up to the platform, and was supposed to get up onto the stage, but with the heavy boards weighing her down she could not make it. They grabbed her hair, using it and her bound hands to pull her up.
The crowd burst into angry chants: “Support Communism! Support the Land Reform Movement! Overturn landlords!”
The sweltering heat, the harsh screaming, and the hideous sight of poor old Grandma Hsü made me dizzy. The leaders of the meeting launched into brief, animated speeches that culminated with the bringing of the old lady’s possessions up onto the stage for public display. The peasants were shown her Western clothing. Then came two scales she supposedly used to cheat people. Then a bloodstained garment was waved before the crowd as “evidence” that she had killed her brother. When she tried to speak in self-defense, her head was pushed down. This horrifying drama was carried on in a constant barrage of shrieked invective. Papers were brought forth, apparently rental forms, which they tried to burn.
I could take no more. I was overexcited and exhausted. I stood up and made my way out through the crowd. No one tried to stop me. I wandered about until I came upon a dirty stream. I drank from it, filthy as it was. I was worn out. I could not think, nor did I want to think. Finally hunger pulled me back to the stage area.
People were still shouting. I saw my father standing in front below the stage, trying unsuccessfully to speak to the maddened crowd. They were having none of it, and I could see he was very troubled and frightened. I walked right up to him and whined about food.
They let us go, with orders that we were not to leave the village but were to spend the night there. We could find nowhere to eat. The only restaurant was closed. No one would give us food. Finally, as we passed a small house, a door squeaked open and a hand waved us quickly inside. It was a distant relative of a friend of my father. He warned us to leave for Canton immediately, but Father argued. He wanted to stay and try to help Grandma Hsü.
Our very nervous host brought out some dry rice-powder cake and a pot of poor tea. He apologized for not being able to offer better, and the respect in his voice helped to make up for the bad food. He made clear to my father