(1934– )
Born in Hebei, Wang Meng is a living example of the trials and tribulations experienced by Chinese writers in the second half of the twentieth century. A radical idealist, Wang joined the Communist Party at the tender age of thirteen in 1948. The publication of his short story “The Young Man Who Has Just Arrived at the Organization Department” in 1956 caused a stir for its exposure of bureaucratic corruption. It was first lauded as a manifestation of Mao’s Hundred Flowers spirit but soon condemned as an expression of a Rightist’s discontent with the party. Wang was exiled to the countryside for twenty years until his rehabilitation in 1978. His tenure as the editor-in-chief of People’s Literature (1983–86) and then as minister of culture (1986–89) spans the decade-long period of cultural renaissance in post-Mao China. He remained an influential figure, until he was dismissed again by the government after Tiananmen for his liberal views. A prolific author of over sixty books, Wang embodies the tenacity of Chinese writers, whose spirit may best be captured by the title of his novel, Long Live the Youth.
The Young Man Who Has Just Arrived at the Organization Department (excerpts)
Chapter 1
It was March, with a mixture of rain and snow in the air. Outside the door of the District Party Committee office a pedicab drew to a halt, and a young man jumped down. The driver looked at the large sign above the door and said politely to his passenger, “If you’re coming here, there won’t be any charge.” One of the message center workers, a demobilized soldier called Old Lü, came limping out. After asking why the young man had come, he moved quickly to help unload his bags. This done, he went off to summon the Organization Department’s office secretary, Chao Hui-wen. Chao Hui-wen grasped both of Lin Chen’s hands tightly and said, “We’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
Lin Chen had met Chao Hui-wen while in the teachers’ Party Branch in primary school. Two large eyes sparkled with friendliness and affection in her pale, beautiful face. Under those eyes, however, were dark circles caused by a lack of sleep. She led Lin Chen to the men’s dormitory, placed his bags in order, and opened them. She also hung his damp blanket up to dry and made the bed. As she was doing these things she continually reached up to arrange her hair, just as any other capable attractive female comrade would do.
“We’ve been waiting for you for such a long time,” she said. “Half a year ago we tried to have you assigned here, but the Cultural and Education Section of the District People’s Council absolutely refused to agree. Later on the District Party Committee secretary went directly to the district chief and said he wanted you. He also made a fuss at the Education Bureau’s personnel office. After all of this we finally got you transferred.”
“I only learned about this the day before yesterday,” Lin Chen replied. “When I heard that I was being transferred to the District Party Committee I didn’t know what to think. What does this District Party Committee of ours do?”
“Everything.”
“And the Organization Department?”
“The Organization Department does organizational work.”
“Is there a lot of work?”
“At times we’re busy. Sometimes we aren’t.”
Chao Hui-wen took a hard look at Lin Chen’s bed and shook her head. “Young man,” she said indignantly, in the manner of an older sister, “you haven’t been keeping yourself clean. Look at that pillowcase! It’s gone from white to black. And look at the top of your blanket. It’s completely saturated with oil from your neck. Your sheet is so wrinkled it’s like seersucker.”
Lin Chen had the feeling that just as he was entering the doors of the District Party Committee and beginning his new life, he was also meeting a very dear friend.
Lin Chen was in an excited holiday mood as he rushed over to the office of the first vice director of the Organization Department to report his arrival. The vice director had a peculiar name—Liu Shih-wu.* As Lin Chen knocked nervously on his door, Liu Shih-wu was looking upward, a cigarette in his mouth, thinking about the work plans of the Organization Department. He welcomed Lin enthusiastically, but with a sense of propriety. After offering Lin a seat on the sofa, he himself sat down on the edge of his desk, pushing aside some of the papers that were piled high on the glass top. In a relaxed voice, he asked: “How are things going?” His left eye narrowed slightly. His right hand flicked his cigarette ash away.
“The secretary of the Party Branch told me to come here on the day after tomorrow, but since my work in the school was already finished I came today. Being sent to the Organization Department has made me anxious about my abilities. I’m a new Party member and I was formerly a primary teacher. The work of a teacher in primary school is quite different from the organization work of the Party.”
Lin Chen had prepared these words well in advance and spoke them very unnaturally, as if he were really a primary school student who was meeting his teacher for the first time. The room began to feel very warm. It was mid-March. Winter would soon be over. Yet, there was still a fire burning in the room. The frost on the window had melted and turned into dirty streaks. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He wanted to pull out a handkerchief and wipe them away, but he could not find one in his pockets.
Liu Shih-wu nodded his head mechanically and, without watching what he was doing, pulled a manila envelope out from a large pile of papers. Opening it, he removed Lin Chen’s Party registration form and scanned it rapidly with a keen look in his eyes. Fine lines appeared across his broad forehead and he closed his eyes for a moment. Then, placing his hand on the back of his chair for support, he stood up—as he did so the jacket that had been lying across his shoulders slipped to the floor—and in a skilled effortless voice said, “Good. Fine. Excellent. The Organization Department is short of cadres now. You’ve come at the right time. No, our work is not difficult. With study and practice you’ll be able to do it. That’s the way it is. Also, you did a good job in your work at the lower level, right?”
Lin Chen sensed that this praise was given somewhat in jest, so he shook his head and replied apprehensively, “I didn’t do my work well at all.”
A faint smile appeared on Liu Shih-wu’s unwashed face. His eyes sparkled with intelligence as he continued. “Of course, there is the possibility that you will have problems. It is possible. This is very important work. One of the comrades on the Central Committee has said that organization work is the housekeeping work of the Party. If the house is not properly cared for, the Party won’t be strong.” Without waiting for any questions Liu added an explanation. “What housework are we doing? We are developing and strengthening the Party, making the organization solid, and increasing the fighting power of the Party organization. We are establishing Party life on a foundation of collective leadership, criticism and self-criticism, and close ties with the masses. If we do this work well, the Party organization will be robust, lively, and will have the strength to fight. It will be up to the task of unifying and leading the masses. It will be better able to complete the work of socialist construction and fulfill the various duties of socialist transformation.”
After each phrase Liu cleared his throat, except for those expressions which he knew well through repeated use. These he spoke so rapidly that he seemed to be saying one word. For example, when he said, “Let’s anchor the life of the Party on . . .” it sounded as though he were saying, “Let’s anchor the life of the Party on rata-tat-tat-tat.” With the skill of someone manipulating an abacus, he handled concepts that Lin Chen thought were rather obscure and difficult to understand. Even though Lin listened with extreme intensity, he still could not grasp everything that Liu was saying.
Liu Shih-wu went on to assign Lin Chen his work. Then, just as Lin was opening the door to leave, he called to him, and in a completely different, easygoing manner asked, “How are you getting along, young man? Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Lin Chen replied, a touch of redness sweeping across his face.
“A big fellow like you still blushes?” Liu Shih-wu asked with a laugh. “Well, you’re only twenty-two. There’s no need to hurry. By the way, what’s that book you have in your pocket?”
Lin Chen took the book out and read him the title, The Tractor Station Manager and the Chief Agronomist.
Liu reached for the book, opened it to the middle, and read a few lines. “Did the Central Committee of the Youth League recommend this book for you young people to read?’’
Lin Chen nodded.
“Lend it to me so I can take a look.”
Glancing at the papers piled high on the vice director’s desk, Lin Chen asked in surprise, “Do you have time to read novels?”
Liu Shih-wu placed the book in the palm of his hand and gauged its weight. His left eye squinted slightly as he answered, “What do you mean? I’ll read through a thin volume like this in half an evening. I read the four volumes of And Quiet Flows the Don in a single week. That’s the way it is.”
By the time Lin Chen went over to the main office of the Organization Department the sky had already cleared. Only a few clouds remained along the clear bright horizon. Sunlight streamed into the large courtyard of the District Party Committee. Everyone was busy. [. . .] Lin Chen stopped for a moment in the portico and looked at the dazzling courtyard. He was very happy about the beginning of his new life.
[. . .]
Chapter 3
Lin Chen had graduated from normal school in the autumn of 1953 and had been sent to serve as a teacher in the central primary school of this district. At that time he was an alternate Party member. Even after becoming a teacher he maintained the practices of his middle school student life. Early in the morning he lifted dumbbells. At night he wrote in his diary. Before every major holiday—May 1, July 1, etc.—he went about asking people for their opinions of him. Some people predicted that within three months he would be “converted” by the older adults whose lives were not so regulated. However, in a short time several teachers were praising him and saying with admiration, “This lad doesn’t have any worries or family cares. All he knows is work.”
Lin Chen proved himself worthy of such admiration. Because of his accomplishments as a teacher, during the winter recess of 1954 he received an award from the Bureau of Education.
People may have thought that the young teacher would continue on in this steady fashion, living his youthful years in contentment and happiness. But this was not to be. Simple, childlike Lin Chen had worries and concerns of his own.
After another year, Lin Chen was anxiously berating himself even more frequently. Was it due to the press of the high tide of socialism? Was it the result of the convening of the All-China Conference of Young Socialist Activists? Or was it because he was getting older?
Lin Chen was now already twenty-two. He recalled how in his first year of middle school he had written an essay entitled “When I Am XX Years Old,” and how in that essay he had written, “When I am twenty-two I want to . . .” Now he really was twenty-two and the pages of his life history still seemed to be blank. He had no meritorious achievements. He had not created anything. He had not braved any dangers or fallen in love. He had not written one single letter to a girl. He worked hard, but if the amount of work he did and the speed with which he did it were compared to the accomplishments of the young activists or the swiftness with which his life was flying by, of what possible comfort could this be to him? He set forth a plan to study this and study that, to do this and do that. He wanted to cover a thousand things in one day.
It was at this time that Lin Chen received his transfer notice. Now his history could read, “At twenty-two I became a Party worker.” Was his real life going to begin from here? Suppressing his love for primary school teaching and the children, he kindled great hopes about his new job. After the secretary of the Party Branch discussed his transfer with him, he stayed up all night thinking about it.
Thus it was that Lin Chen excitedly climbed the stone steps of the District Party Committee, The Tractor Station Manager and the Chief Agronomist stuck in his pocket. He was filled with a sacred reverence for the life of a Party worker. . . .
[Lin Chen’s assignment in the Organization Department is in the Factory Organization Development Section. His section chief, Han Ch’ang-hsin, makes a very favorable first impression on him and he enthusiastically prepares for his first trip to a factory.
[Four days after his arrival, Lin Chen rides his bicycle to the T’ung Hua Gunnysack Factory to study Party recruitment work. What he finds leaves him shocked and confused. The factory director, a man named Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan, who is concurrently serving as Party Branch secretary, is domineering, dogmatic, and obviously not very interested in his duties. Worse yet, when Lin suggests to the Party member in charge of recruitment, Wei Ho-ming, that a report on the situation be made to higher authorities, he is told that this has already been done several times with no effect. In Wei’s words: “I don’t know how many times I’ve talked to Han Ch’ang-hsin about this. Old Han didn’t do anything. Instead, he turned around and gave me a lesson, telling me about the need to respect leadership and strengthen unity. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I feel that we may have to wait until Factory Director Wang embezzles some money or rapes a woman before the higher echelons finally sit up and take notice!”
[Lin Chen cannot understand how such a situation can be permitted to exist, and he reports excitedly to Han Ch’ang-hsin about what he has learned. Han is unconcerned. He informs Lin that he knows all about Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan and tells him not to worry about matters that are beyond the scope of his duties. This fails to satisfy Lin Chen and he goes to talk to Han Ch’ang-hsin’s superior, Liu Shih-wu. Liu openly acknowledges that Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan has made some serious errors, but he asks Lin to be patient, saying that conditions are not yet ripe for resolving the situation.
[Lin Chen’s talk with Liu Shih-wu eases his mind temporarily, but subsequent visits to the gunnysack factory revive his indignation over Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan’s performance. Thinking that he will hasten the “ripening of conditions” mentioned by Liu Shih-wu, he gives his approval to Wei Ho-ming’s idea of organizing the workers into a discussion group that will submit complaints about Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan to higher authorities. However, after Wang learns of this plan and accuses Lin of encouraging antileadership activity, it is Lin, not Wang, who receives most of the criticism. At a meeting convened to discuss this matter, Han Ch’ang-hsin complains about Lin’s “unorganized and undisciplined activity.” Liu Shih-wu notes that Lin, as with most youth, is overly idealistic and reminds him pointedly that he is “definitely not the only person who has principles.”
[After being subjected to such criticism, Lin Chen is uncertain about what he should do. Should he continue to struggle resolutely on behalf of his high standards? Or should he put aside this struggle temporarily and wait until he is more knowledgeable and more experienced? A chance meeting with Chao Hui-wen on the following Saturday evening helps him decide which path to follow.]
Chapter 7
On Saturday evening Han Ch’ang-hsin was getting married. Lin Chen went into the assembly hall, but he disliked the thick irritating smoke, the candy wrappers scattered about the floor, and the steady roar of loud laughter. Without waiting for the ceremony to begin, he made his departure.
The Organization Department office was dark. Lin Chen turned on the light and saw a letter on his desk. It was from his fellow teachers in the primary school. Enclosed inside was another letter signed by the children with their little hands. It read:
“Teacher Lin, how are you? We miss you very very much. All of the girls cried, but they are better now. We have been doing arithmetic. The problems are very hard. We think them over for a long time, but in the end we work them out.”
As he read the letter Lin Chen could not refrain from smiling to himself. He picked up his pen, substituted a correct character for an incorrect one, and prepared to tell them in his reply not to use a wrong character when they wrote him again. It seemed as though he was watching Li Lin-lin, with the ribbon in her hair, Liu Hsiao-mao, who loved watercolor painting, and Meng Fei, the one who often held lead pencil tips in his mouth. Abruptly he lifted his head from the letter. Only the telephone, the ink blotter, and the glass desktop were there to be seen. The child’s world that he knew so well was already far away. Now he was in an unfamiliar environment. He thought about the criticism leveled at him at the Party committee meeting two days earlier. Was it possible that it was actually he himself who was wrong? Was he really rude and childish, full of the cheap bravery of the young? Maybe he really ought to make an honest self-appraisal. Couldn’t he do his own work well for two years or so and wait until he himself had “ripened” before intervening in all of these things?
An explosion of applause and laughter burst from the assembly hall.
A soft hand fell upon his shoulder. Startled, he turned his head and felt the glare of the light pierce his eyes. Chao Hui-wen was standing silently beside him. All women comrades had a talent for walking without a sound.
“Why aren’t you over there having a good time?” she asked.
“I’m too lazy to go. What about you?”
“I’ve got to be getting home,” Chao Hui-wen replied. “How about coming to my place and relaxing for a while? It’s better than sitting here brooding by yourself.”
“I don’t have anything to brood about,” Lin Chen protested. He did, however, accept Chao Hui-wen’s kind invitation.
Chao Hui-wen lived in a small courtyard not far from the offices of the District Party Committee. Her son was sleeping in a pale blue crib, sucking contentedly on his fingers. She gave the baby a kiss and drew Lin Chen to her own room.
“Doesn’t his father come home?” Lin Chen asked cautiously.
Chao Hui-wen shook her head.
The bedroom looked as though it had been arranged very hastily. The walls were completely bare and because of this they appeared excessively white. A washstand huddled alone in a corner. On the windowsill a flower vase held its empty mouth open like a fool. Only the radio on the small table at the head of the bed seemed capable of breaking the stillness of the room.
Lin Chen sat down on the rattan chair. Chao Hui-wen stood leaning against the wall. Lin Chen pointed to the flower vase and said, “You should put some flowers in it.” Pointing to the walls, he asked, “Why don’t you buy some paintings and hang them up?” “Since I’m hardly ever here, I haven’t given it any thought,” Chao Hui-wen replied. Indicating the radio, she asked, “Would you like to listen? There’s always good music on Saturday evening.”
The light on the radio came on and a dreamy gentle melody floated in from afar. Slowly it became an emotional stimulant. The poetic theme played by the violin seized Lin Chen’s heart. He laid his chin on his hands and held his breath. His youth, his aspirations, and his failures all seemed to be transmitted through this music.
Chao Hui-wen leaned against the wall with her hands behind her back, oblivious to the whitewash rubbing off on her clothes. She waited until the movement was completed, and then, in a voice that was itself like music, she said, “This is Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italien. It makes me think of a southern country and the sea. When I was in the Cultural Work Troupe I heard it often, and gradually I came to feel that the melody wasn’t being played by someone else, but was boring its way out from my heart.”
“You were in the Cultural Work Troupe?”
“I was assigned there after attending the Military Cadre School. In Korea I used my poor voice to sing for the soldiers. I’m a hoarse-voiced singer.”
Lin Chen looked at Chao Hui-wen as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“What’s wrong? Don’t I look like a singer?” At this moment the program changed to “Theater Facts,” and Chao Hui-wen turned the radio off.
“If you were in the Cultural Work Troupe, why do you hardly ever sing?”
Chao Hui-wen didn’t answer. She walked over to her bed, sat down, and said, “Let’s have a chat. Little Lin, tell me, what’s your impression of our District Party Committee?”
“I don’t know. That is to say, I’m not sure.”
“You do have some differences of opinion with Han Ch’ang-hsin and Liu Shih-wu, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“When I first came I was that way too. Having transferred here from the military, I was making comparisons with military strictness and precision, and there were many things that I couldn’t get used to. I made many suggestions and had one spirited argument with Han Ch’ang-hsin. But they made fun of me and said I was childish. They laughed at me for making so many suggestions before I was doing my own work well. Slowly I came to realize that I didn’t have enough strength to struggle against the various shortcomings of the District Committee.”
“Why not?” Lin Chen exclaimed, leaping to his feet as if he had been stabbed. His eyebrows came together in a deep frown.
“That was my mistake,” Chao Hui-wen answered, taking a pillow and placing it on her lap. “At the time, I felt that with my own lack of experience and my own imperfection I certainly wasn’t strong enough to be thinking about reforming comrades who were much more experienced than I was. Moreover, Liu Shih-wu, Han Ch’ang-hsin, and some other comrades actually do many things very well. If you scatter their shortcomings among our accomplishments it’s like throwing dust into the clear air. You can smell it, but you can’t grab hold of it. This is what makes it so hard.”
“Right!” Lin Chen responded, smashing his right fist into the palm of his left hand.
[After this Chao Hui-wen and Lin Chen discuss what they see as the faults of several leading cadres, including Han Ch’ang-hsin and Liu Shih-wu. The plodding approach of these cadres toward their duties has troubled Chao Hui-wen for a long time and caused her many sleepless nights. Now at last she has an opportunity to vent her frustrations. Lin Chen is deeply moved by what she tells him.]
“Then . . . what’s to be done?” he asked. Only now was Lin Chen beginning to realize how complicated everything was. It seemed that each and every shortcoming was attached to a whole series of causes that ran from the top to the bottom.
“That’s true,” Chao Hui-wen answered, deep in thought, her fingers tapping on her legs as if she were playing the piano. Looking into the distance, she smiled and said, “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” Lin Chen thought that he had heard incorrectly.
“Yes. When I see you I seem to be young again. You often fix your eyes on something and don’t move. You’re always thinking, like a child who loves to dream. You get excited quite easily and blush at anything. Yet, you are also fearless, willing to struggle against every evil. I have a kind of woman’s intuition that you . . . that a big change is on the way.”
Lin Chen blushed deeply again. He had simply never thought about these matters and was completely embarrassed by his inability to do anything. “Well,” he mumbled, “I hope that it’s a genuine change and not just some blind confusion.” Pausing a moment, he asked her, “You’ve thought about this for so long and have made such a clear analysis. Why have you kept everything to yourself?”
“I’ve always felt that there was nothing I could do,” Chao Hui-wen answered. She put her hands across her chest and said, “I look and think, think, and look again. At times I think all night and can’t fall asleep. I ask myself, ‘You’re doing routine office work. Can you understand all of these things?’ ”
“How can you think such thoughts? I feel that what you’ve been telling me is absolutely correct. You should tell this to the secretary of the District Party Committee. Or write it up and send it to the People’s Dai1y.”
“Look, there you go again!” Chao Hui-wen’s teeth glistened as she said this with a smile.
“How can you say, ‘There I go again’?” Lin Chen stood up unhappily and scratched his head hard. “I’ve thought about this many times too. I feel that people should correct themselves through struggle instead of waiting until they’re perfect before they enter the fray.”
Suddenly Chao Hui-wen pushed open the door and went out, leaving Lin Chen alone in the empty room. He smelled the fragrance of soap and then in an instant she was back carrying a long-handled saucepan. She skipped in like one of those little girls who comb their hair into three braids, took the cover off the pan, and said dramatically, “Let’s eat some water chestnuts. They’re already well cooked. I couldn’t find anything else good to eat.”
“Ever since I was a child I’ve loved boiled water chestnuts,” Lin Chen responded, happily taking the pan with his hands. He selected a large unpeeled one, took a bite, and spit it out with a frown. “This one is bad, both sour and rotten.” As Chao Hui-wen laughed, Lin Chen angrily threw the squashed sour water chestnut to the floor.
When Lin Chen prepared to leave it was already late at night. The clear sky was completely covered with shy little stars. An old man singing, “Fried dumplings fresh from the pot,” pushed his cart by. Lin Chen stood outside the doorway. Chao Hui-wen stood just inside, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. “The next time you come there will be paintings on the wall,” she said.
Lin Chen smiled understandingly and said, “I hope that you’ll take up singing again too.” He gave her hand a squeeze.
Lin Chen breathed in deeply the fragrant air of this spring night. A warm spring welled up within his heart.
[Shortly after his lengthy conversation with Chao Hui-wen, Lin Chen talks to Wei Ho-ming and convinces him to send a letter describing conditions in the gunnysack factory to the People’s Daily. The letter is published with an editorial note advising the appropriate authorities to look into the matter. Now Liu Shih-wu moves quickly. He initiates a thorough investigation, and as a result of the findings, Wang Ch’ing-ch’üan is removed from his administrative posts in both the factory and the Party.
[Lin Chen, however, is still not satisfied. When the standing committee of the District Party Committee meets to discuss the situation in the gunnysack factory, he tells the committee that Liu Shih-wu and Han Ch’ang-hsin should bear responsibility for not solving the problems there sooner. “Indifference, procrastination, and irresponsibility,” he states, “are crimes against the masses.” In a loud voice he calls out, “The Party is the heart of the people and the working class. We do not permit dust on the heart. We should not allow shortcomings in Party organs.” He persists until the District Party secretary tells him bluntly, “Comrade, you get excited too easily. Reciting lyrics is not appropriate to the conduct of organization work.”
[This is a frustrating moment for Lin Chen. Once again his superiors have ignored his views and called his idealism into question. But this is not the only challenge Lin Chen faces as the story now moves to its conclusion. He must also contend with the complex emotions that his relationship with Chao Hui-wen has provoked.]
After the meeting adjourned, Lin Chen was so angry that he didn’t eat supper. He had never thought that the District Party secretary would have such an attitude. His disappointment bordered on hopelessness. When Han Ch’ang-hsin and Liu Shih-wu invited him to go for a walk, as if they were unaware of his dissatisfaction with them, it made him even more conscious of how impotent he was compared to them. He smiled bitterly and thought to himself, “So you had the idea that speaking out before the standing committee would accomplish something!” Opening a drawer, he picked up the Soviet novel that Han Ch’ang-hsin had laughed at, and opened it to the first page. At the top was written, “The Model Life of Anastasia.” “It’s so hard,” he said to himself.
Chapter 11
The next day after work Chao Hui-wen said to Lin Chen, “Come over to my place for supper. I’ll make some dumplings.” He wanted to decline, but she was already gone.
Lin Chen hesitated for some time, and then ate in the dining hall before going to Chao Hui-wen’s home. When he arrived her dumplings were just ready. For the first time Chao Hui-wen was wearing a deep red dress. She had on an apron and her hands were covered with flour. Like an attentive housewife she told Lin Chen, “I used fresh beans in the dumplings.”
“I . . . I’ve already eaten,” Lin Chen stammered.
Chao Hui-wen did not believe him and rushed off to get chopsticks. But after Lin Chen repeated for a second and a third time that he really had eaten, she discontentedly began to eat by herself. Lin Chen sat nervously to one side, looking first one way and then the other, rubbing his hands together, and shifting his body. Those inexpressible feelings of warmth and anguish were once again welling up within his heart. His heart ached as if he had lost something. He simply did not dare look at Chao Hui-wen’s beautiful face, shining red in the reflection of her red dress.
“Little Lin, what’s wrong?” Chao Hui-wen asked, pausing from her meal.
“N . . . nothing.”
“Tell me,” she said, her eyes not moving from him.
“Yesterday I presented my opinions at the meeting of the standing committee. The District Party secretary didn’t pay any attention to them at all.”
Chao Hui-wen bit on her chopsticks and thought deeply for a moment. “That’s not possible. Perhaps Comrade Chou Jun-hsiang just didn’t want to give his views too lightly.”
“Perhaps,” Lin Chen replied, half believing, half doubting. Fearful of meeting Chao Hui-wen’s concerned gaze, he lowered his head.
After eating several more dumplings Chao Hui-wen asked again, “Is there something else?”
Lin Chen’s heart leaped. He raised his head and looked into her sympathetic, encouraging eyes. In a low voice he said, “Comrade Chao Hui-wen . . .”
Chao Hui-wen laid down her chopsticks and leaned back in her chair. She was a little taken aback.
“I want to know if you’re happy,” Lin Chen asked in a heavy, completely serious voice. “I saw your tears in Liu Shih-wu’s office. Spring had just arrived then. Afterward I forgot about it. I’ve been going along living my own life, not caring about others. Are you happy?”
Chao Hui-wen looked at him with a touch of misgiving, shook her head, and said, “At times I forget too.” Then, nodding her head, she smiled calmly and said, “Yes. Yes, I’m happy. Why do you ask?”
“. . . I want so much to talk to you or listen to symphonies with you. You’re wonderful, of course. But maybe there’s something here that’s bad or improper. I hadn’t thought about this, and then all of a sudden I began to worry. Now I’m afraid that I’m disturbing someone.”
Chao Hui-wen smiled and then frowned. She raised her slender arms and vigorously rubbed her forehead. After giving her head a toss, as if she were casting aside some unpleasant thought, she turned away and walked slowly over to the oil painting that had just recently been hung on the wall. She stood staring at it in silence. Its title was Spring. It depicted Moscow at the time when the first spring sun appears, with mothers and their children out on the streets.
After a few moments Chao Hui-wen turned back and sat down quickly on her bed, holding on to the railing with one hand. In an exceptionally quiet voice she said, “What are you saying? Really! I couldn’t do anything so rash. I have a husband and a child. I haven’t told you anything yet about my husband.” She didn’t use the more common term “loved one,” but emphasized the word “husband.” “We were married in 1952 when I was only nineteen. I really shouldn’t have married so early. He had come out of the military and was a section head in a central ministry. Gradually he became rather slick, competing for position and material rewards, and failing to cooperate with others. As for us, all that seemed to be left was his return on Saturday evening and his departure on Monday. According to his theory love was either exalted or it was nothing. We quarreled. But I’m still waiting. He’s now on assignment in Shanghai. After he returns I want to have a long talk with him. So, what is it that you want to say? Little Lin, you’re my best friend. I have great respect for you. But you’re still a child—well, perhaps that’s not the proper term. I’m sorry. We both hope to lead a true, real life. We both hope that the Organization Department will become a genuine Party work organ. I feel that you’re my younger brother. You wish that I would become more active, don’t you? Life should have the warmth of mutual support and friendship. I’ve always been frightened by cold indifference. That’s all there is to it. Is there anything more? Can there be anything more?”
[. . .]
Chao Hui-wen opened her briefcase, took out several sheets of paper and leafed through them. “I have some things that I want to show you this evening. I’ve already written up the problems that I’ve seen in the work of the Organization Department over the past three years and have put down my own thoughts about them. This . . .” She rubbed a piece of paper in embarrassment. “This is probably pretty laughable. I’ve set up a system for competing with myself, a way to let myself see if I’ve done better today than I did yesterday. I’ve drawn a table and if I make an error in my work—such as copying a name incorrectly on the notice of admission to the Party or adding up the number of new Party members wrong—I put down a black ‘X.’ If I go through a day without making any mistakes I draw a little red flag. If the red flags continue for a whole month without interruption, then I buy a pretty scarf or something else as a reward for myself. Maybe this is like it’s done in kindergarten. Do you think it’s funny?”
Lin Chen had been listening in a trance. “Absolutely not,” he said solemnly. “I respect your seriousness about yourself. . . .”
When Lin Chen prepared to leave it was again already late at night. Again he stood outside the doorway. Chao Hui-wen stood just inside, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. “This is a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” she asked. “Do you smell the sweet scent of the locust tree blossoms? Those common white flowers are more refined than peonies and more fragrant than peach or plum blossoms. Can’t you smell them? Really! Good-bye. I’ll be seeing you early tomorrow morning when we throw ourselves into our great but annoying work. Later, in the evening, look for me and we’ll listen to the beautiful Capriccio Italien. After we’re done listening I’ll cook water chestnuts for you and we’ll throw the peelings all over the floor.”
Lin Chen stood leaning against the large pillar by the door of the Organization Department for a long time, staring at the night sky. The south wind of early summer brushed against him. He had arrived at the end of winter. Now it was already the beginning of summer. He had passed through his first spring in the Organization Department.
A strange feeling surged up in Lin Chen’s heart. It was as if he had lost something valuable. It was like thinking about his inadequate accomplishments and slow progress over the past several months. But no, it was not really any of these. . . . Ah, people were so complicated! Nothing fit Liu Shih-wu’s expression, “That’s the way it is.” No, nothing was the way it appeared, and because of this, everything had to be approached honestly, seriously, and conscientiously. Because of this, when unreasonable or unendurable things were encountered they were not to be tolerated. They were to be struggled against, one, two, or even three times. Only when a situation was changed could the struggle stop. There was definitely no reason to be disheartened or downcast. As for love, well . . . All that could be done was grit one’s teeth and quietly suppress these feelings in the heart!
“I want to be more active, more enthusiastic, and certainly more strong,” Lin Chen said quietly to himself. He lifted his chest and took a deep breath of the cool night air.
Looking through the window Lin Chen could see the green desk lamp and the imposing profile of the late-working District Party secretary. Determinedly and with impatience he knocked on the door of the leading comrade’s office.
1956
(Translated by Gary Bjorge)
* Literally, the name means “Liu, the world and me.”