Drawing a Class Line

 

 

In less than two months, there were many changes. By the beginning of June, Gao and Yu’s gang stood at the school gates each morning. Everyone entering, including the teachers, had to show their “three-piece treasure,” a Mao jacket, a Mao button, and Mao’s little red book of revolutionary instructions. If anyone forgot, the gang would decide the punishment. When our old math teacher left his button at home, he was ordered to clean the bathrooms for a week. Two boys were ordered to stand at the back of the classroom for a day. I started to wake up at night, worried about forgetting my “three-piece treasure.” Several times I’d get up to make sure the little red book was in the inner pocket of my schoolbag.

Now we had class only in the morning. In the afternoon, the Young Pioneers took turns leading reading sessions of Chairman Mao’s teachings. Since Father was accused of being a bourgeois sympathizer, I had no chance of ever becoming a Young Pioneer.

After I told Father that I was the only one in the class without the red scarf around my neck, he looked into my eyes and said, “Remember, my dear, Young Pioneer or not, you are always my special, smart girl.”

Father’s words didn’t make me feel better. Then one day during math class I saw Yu wipe strings of green snot off her nose with her red scarf. Days later, she picked at the crusty stain. I decided that I didn’t want one anymore. I looked forward to Sundays, when there was no school.

On a rainy December day, Niu brought home a red slip from school.

It is necessary for intellectual students to go to the countryside and be re-educated by the working class—the peasants.

Niu and the rest of the high school students in Wuhan were ordered to be “re-educated.” The radio said, “The peasants’ hands are dirty from the field, but their love for Chairman Mao and Communism is pure and strong.”

I wondered why people had to get their hands dirty to show their love. I hated to get mine dirty.

Would Niu have to work as hard as those who went to the labor camps, like Mrs. Wong? We still hadn’t found out where they had taken Dr. Wong.

That night, Mother and I helped Niu pack. He tried on his winter jacket. The sleeves were two inches short, and he was barely able to button up the front. My parents went into their bedroom. Moments later Father came out carrying his winter coat and his gray wool sweater—his wedding gift from Mother.

“Take these. Be careful what you say.” Father handed the sweater and coat to Niu.

Niu pushed Father’s hands back. “I can’t take these. What would you wear for the winter?”

“Don’t worry,” said Father with a grin. “The last places still heated in the hospital are the surgical rooms. I bet they’re going to have me back there soon.”

I took the sweater from Father and folded it into a neat square. As I set it on top of a pile of Niu’s clothes, I worried that we might not have enough money and ration tickets to buy Father winter clothes. How would Father stay warm if they didn’t allow him to be a doctor again?

Mother sighed.

I ran to my room. In the bottom drawer I had hidden a small package. It was tightly wrapped in newspaper. Inside were two chocolate bars in gold and brown plastic wrappers. Holding them to my nose, I took a deep breath. They no longer smelled as rich as when I hid them last year, but I could still imagine the bittersweet chocolate slowly melting and spreading on my tongue. I took one more deep breath and quickly ran to the living room and stuffed them into Niu’s bag. Mother gave me her approving smile, which made me feel less sad about giving up the chocolate.

The next morning when I woke, Niu was gone. After school, coming back to our empty home, I realized how much I missed him. He had been my only friend.

We received a letter from Niu a week later. They had sent him to a border town in South China to work on a rubber plantation. Twice a month we received a short letter from him. At the end of summer, the letters stopped, but Father continued writing to him every week.

Could he have forgotten about us? I couldn’t bear the thought that something bad might have happened to him. I worried about him every day.

 

One rainy night, Father sat next to my bed, telling me my favorite tale of how the Monkey King gathered peaches in the forest, when the loudspeaker called for everybody to report to the courtyard. Mother quickly collected our raincoats and helped me get dressed. In the courtyard, Comrade Li was standing on an office chair with a group of Red Guards gathered around him. I recognized Mouse Eyes and Short Legs. Neighbors stood whispering in small groups under brown oilpaper umbrellas. Rumbling thunder followed slashes of lightning. The chilly wind whipped the electric wires around the courtyard. Shivering in my raincoat, I tried hard to keep my eyes open in the cold rain.

Comrade Li cleared his throat and the whispering stopped instantly.

“I’ve been informed that Niu and a group of traitors tried to defect to Hong Kong. Alert soldiers from our People’s Liberation Army captured all, except Niu.” He paused and glared at us.

My legs weakened from fear. I leaned against Father’s arm.

“Anyone who escapes from our motherland is betraying our great leader, Chairman Mao. Niu is our enemy! If you have any information about him, come to me immediately. Or you, too, will be the people’s enemy.”

My chest felt stuffed with cotton; I could hardly breathe. If only I had told my parents, maybe they could have stopped Niu. I hated myself for keeping the secret from them.

Maybe he was in Hong Kong with his uncle now. Soon he would fly to America. I thought of the Golden Gate Bridge. I wished I could be there.

When we were back home, Mother wept. Father led her to their bedroom. I wasn’t sure if I should tell them I knew about Niu’s secret. I decided to wait until Mother wasn’t so upset.

That night, I tossed and turned in bed like a fish in a net. I awoke to heavy pounding. I jumped out of bed and peeked from behind my bedroom door. Short Legs and Mouse Eyes stormed into our living room.

“What can I do for you?” Father asked sternly. He was in his yellow cotton pajamas.

“We caught Niu. Come with us,” Mouse Eyes snarled.

Father grabbed a jacket and hurried out after them.

My heart filled with joy. Niu was alive! But relief turned to worry. Was he hurt? Would they let him come home? It must be. Otherwise, why would they get Father? It had been over two months since I last saw him.

Without changing out of my pajamas, I slipped on my overcoat and set up the folding bed near the fireplace. After covering it with the softest blanket from my bed, I ran to the kitchen to light the stove. Niu might like a hot bath after he got home.

Mother had given me a lesson on how to light our coal stove. It was shaped like a bucket with a small door. Inside, about halfway down, it had a grate. To light it, first put a handful of wood chips in the center, then set the egg-size coal pieces on top, and quickly fan air into the open door.

When I tried, the wood chips went out without lighting the coal on top. I spread more chips around the coal. This time only smoke came out. My eyes stung and my throat felt like it was being poked by small fish bones. Just when I was running out of ideas, Father came back. Niu was not with him.

“Where is Niu?” I ran to him.

Father took out his handkerchief and wiped ashes off my face. The sadness in his eyes made him seem older.

“Tell me, Daddy.” I shook his arm. “Is Niu okay? Is he coming home?”

Father swallowed. “Niu is okay. But he’s not coming back.”

“Why?” I cried.

Mother came in with a basketful of vegetables, a few eggs nested on top. “What happened?” she asked, wiping sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief.

“They caught Niu in the river and brought him back late last night.” Father sat down heavily in a chair. “Five Red Guards interrogated him all night. Today he drew a class line and denounced his parents and us as his enemies.” Father stared at the floor with tears in his eyes. “In exchange, Comrade Li will let him stay in the city and present him to the neighborhood as a model revolutionary who turned against the evil bourgeoisie.”

Mother’s basket struck the floor. Vegetables spilled over, and one egg broke. “What’s happening to all of us?” She burst out crying.

“Why, Daddy?” I shouted. “What have we done to become his enemy?” I thought of Father’s coat and my precious chocolate.

Without anwering me, Father got up and went into his bedroom.

What did “draw a class line” mean? After one of the boys in our courtyard drew a class line, he joined the Red Guards and his parents were sent away. Would Niu keep the secrets we shared? Would they have hurt him if he hadn’t drawn a class line? The thought of Niu calling me his enemy made me believe I could never be happy again.

That afternoon, coming home from school, I saw a huge poster by the hospital entrance. My eyes blurred in the bright sunlight. The characters were written in red ink.

DEAR MOTHER DEAR FATHER

BUT NOBODY IS AS DEAR AS CHAIRMAN MAO … .

I sped up, squeezing past a crowd in front of it, my thoughts racing. I’d never met Chairman Mao. I doubted he would take care of me when I was sick or sing English songs with me. He could never be dearer than my parents.