Yomei and Lily met every day in Yan’an, even though they were staying with their own families. Neither of them was totally at home here. The Zhous were kind and considerate to Yomei, but she couldn’t be completely at ease when she was with them. She remembered her mother Ren Rui’s admonition and avoided spending too much time with Father Zhou alone. She also tried to be present when they had guests—intuitively she intended to affirm her unique relationship with the Zhous and her reputation as the Red Princess. By far, Lily’s situation was more awkward. She loved her dad, but the old man had a twenty-seven-year-old wife who didn’t care for the children from his previous marriages. Zhu Ming was polite to Lily, mainly because this stepdaughter of hers, educated in the Soviet Union, was fluent in Russian and would definitely become a significant figure in the CCP’s cadre echelons. At least Lily was badly needed by the Party and could serve as a liaison of sorts with the Soviets. Old Mr. Lin was proud of his daughter and had often taken Lily to see some top CCP leaders, such as Chairman Mao, Commander Zhu Deh, General Peng Dehuai, and Chief Liu Shaoqi (of the CCP’s Secretariat). Therefore, his young wife had been cordial to Lily. Yet Lily could tell that her little brother, only seven years old, had been left on his own, and she resented her stepmother’s negligence. For that, Zhu Ming was often talked about in Yan’an. To make matters worse, Lily could see that the woman would sometimes throw a fit at her old father randomly. That was too much.
Yomei and Lily met Jiang Ching in a small restaurant, Victory House, across the street from the only local textile plant in Yan’an, where Yomei and Ching had eaten together a couple of times when they’d both been at the arts academy here. At the table near the door sat a young soldier, Ching’s bodyguard. Ever since she became Madame Mao, she couldn’t go out alone, and was always escorted by someone. Today she seemed in good spirits. Over mutton dumplings, the three women chatted about life in the Soviet Union, which Ching was eager to hear about. She even confessed that when young, she had always dreamed of going abroad, though her first pick would have been France. She’d also have loved to go to California to see what Hollywood was like, because she loved American movies, often saying in private that she admired Betty Grable, particularly her shapely backside, and that she wanted to see how films were made in the United States. Yomei liked Ching’s lively personality today, which was congenial, less overwrought, and even a little innocent. Such a positive impression put her somewhat at ease. Unlike her, Lily hadn’t met Ching before and seemed to hit it off with this new Madame Mao, though she had been close to Mao’s ex-wife Zi-zhen. Ching was quite honest with them, saying she needed to meet people who knew things outside China, because Yan’an was basically a village, which made her feel rather claustrophobic. But once they toppled the Chiang Kai-shek regime, they would establish the red capital in a metropolis. And Yan’an would be at best like a hometown of the CCP.
“Do you know which city will become the new capital?” Yomei asked.
“Beats me,” Ching said with a grin. “It’s too early to tell. I guess even Chairman Mao hasn’t figured that out yet. But it won’t be Nanjing, for sure.”
“Nanjing is a pretty city, isn’t it?” said Lily. Indeed, at the moment it was where the national government was.
Ching answered, “But as a capital, it has been a tragic place, captured time and again by rebels and foreign forces.”
“That’s true. We should avoid a city like that,” Yomei said.
Ching also revealed to them that she was in poor health after giving birth to her daughter. She said it was awful to have a baby, that breastfeeding had cracked her nipples, so she had quit doing it long ago. She had been ill and exhausted all the time. Someday she might go to the Soviet Union for medical treatment and recuperation. Eventually she might live abroad for some years.
That came as a surprise to Lily and Yomei. Yomei told her, “Don’t go there alone.”
Ching sensed something in that suggestion and asked her to elaborate. Yomei and Lily described how some wives of the top CCP leaders, like Ho Zi-zhen and Ah Jin and Liu Ch’un-hsien, had fared in the Soviet Union. Some Russians could be supercilious and even mean-spirited to Chinese. At certain points, those three preeminent CCP women had all been shut in mental hospitals despite their protests and resistance. It would be better if Ching could have a personal aide and an interpreter who could help her facilitate things. What Yomei and Lily said made Ching pensive, and she thanked them for sharing their thoughts honestly.
Yomei offered to pay for the lunch. Though she didn’t have enough of the Yan’an currency, bian notes, on her, she did have some rubles, which at least Ching might like to take. But Ching said, “No need, it’s my treat. I’ve already taken care of it—I have an account with this place.”
Yomei and Lily thanked her. Having said goodbye to Ching, the two of them began ambling along the Yan River, which was more like a serpentine creek, while discussing their intention to go to Harbin together again. Patches of chill hung in the air, and a large flock of sheep was descending a distant hillslope, heading back home. Yomei wanted to double-check with Lily so that she could present their plan to Father Zhou and get his support. Once he approved it, everything should proceed smoothly. Lily said, “Sure, I’ll go with you and your mother. We’re like sisters, so your mother is like my mother too.” Lily had met Ren Rui and loved her.
In fact, she didn’t know where her own mother was exactly, having lost touch with her after she’d left China eight years before. Whenever she asked her father about her, he’d say he’d also lost touch with his first wife, who was definitely still in their hometown in Hunan Province. He hadn’t heard from her for a long time. Lily often resented her father’s negligence of her mother, but the old man always said he had too many urgent matters to attend to at work. Indeed, it must be hard to live up to his reputation as one of the most honest and conscientious men in the CCP. Once in a while, Lily wanted to yell at him, but she always managed to hold back her temper. Now she was eager to leave Yan’an with Yomei, feeling she belonged to the bigger world. Besides, she’d still be able to work for the Party and be even more useful in a city controlled by Lin Biao’s army now.
That night, Yomei talked to the Zhous about her future plans: she would love to go to Harbin and work with a spoken drama troupe there. At first, Zhou Enlai seemed flummoxed and asked, “You’re just back. Why do you want to leave home again? And so soon?” He lifted a cup of rice wine and took a sip. Unlike most CCP leaders, he didn’t smoke, but was fond of drink, even hard liquor.
Yomei said, “My profession is stage directing. People in Harbin speak excellent Mandarin, and with a fine group of actors, I can build a professional theater gradually. When I was there last month, I worked briefly with a spoken drama troupe. They are very good and have their own playhouse. They want me to join them so that we can produce some significant plays. What’s more, there’s a good deal of Russian culture in Harbin, which would make me feel more at home there.”
“See, Yomei is already Russianized,” joshed Mother Deng.
“There’re so many cities in China. Why pick Harbin?” Father Zhou said as if still puzzled.
“But Harbin is our base,” Yomei answered. “I can’t stage revolutionary plays with impunity in another major city, can I? Besides, I’m your daughter and might become subject to attack.”
“I see, but why not wait more patiently? After our revolution succeeds, you’ll have more choices. Why not go to Shanghai, or Beijing, or Tianjin eventually? The theater scenes in those cities must be livelier than Harbin’s, mustn’t they?”
Mother Deng jumped in again, “Enlai, you should hear Yomei out. She does have her reasons. She must be eager to embark on some pioneering work, which we should encourage her to do.” She turned to their adopted daughter. “How about your mother, Ren Rui? Will she let you go far away from Yan’an? She must be lonesome here, and I’m worried about her.”
“She says she can go with me, and Lin Lily wants to go there too. She’s fluent in Russian and can be useful to our government there. The other day, she and Lisa Kishkin visited the Harbin Foreign Language School, which invited them to teach for them. My mom also thinks it better to live in that city because my elder brother Yang is in Tsitsihar, in the same province.”
“Will Lily’s dad allow her to leave Yan’an?” Father Zhou asked and drained his wine cup. “I feel Lily can be more useful than just teaching Russian.”
“Of course Old Lin will let her go,” Mrs. Zhou put in. “You know Zhu Ming can get out of sorts without rhyme or reason. If Lily stays here, the Lins might have no peace. Old Lin needs a peaceful home more than anything else.”
Zhou Enlai exhaled a feeble sigh and said to Yomei, “Then I guess I have to give you my approval.”
Mother Deng added, “You also have our blessing, Yomei. Don’t forget to write every month to share your good news and honest opinions with us.”
“Sure, you two are my parents. I’ll take care of you when you are retired.”
Father Zhou laughed. “Then I’ll join your theater. You know I used to act onstage at Nankai University.”
“Really?” Yomei couldn’t imagine what roles he could have performed.
“He played young women most of the time,” said Mrs. Zhou. “So many girls were blown away by his performances. You can ask your mother, Ren Rui, about that.”
Zhou Enlai said to Yomei, almost with regret, “If I had the time and leisure, I would learn the Stanislavski method too. Do keep me in mind as a potential actor.”
He tossed his head back and laughed again, by accident knocking the wine cup off the tea table. Yomei picked it up from the brick floor at once. She saw his face shining with some feminine features that could indeed make him appear charming onstage. No wonder it was said that some men had admired and loved him too, that even some foreigners had called him an Adonis. She was delighted that her request had been accepted by her adoptive parents. Father Zhou would certainly help her birth mother, Lily, and her with the transfer orders and all the necessary paperwork. She couldn’t wait to share the good news with Lily.