Unexpectedly, Lily came to see Yomei one morning in late February 1967. It was a dry, cold day, not having snowed since December. She was wearing a navy woolen coat and an orange headscarf, which made her stand out among pedestrians wrapped in drab wintry gear of coarse fabrics and dull colors. She was a research fellow at the Philosophy Institute of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. In spite of the low-key title, her job was actually a distinguished one, because the academy served as a kind of think tank for the central government. She congratulated Yomei on The Rising Sun, which she believed was a genre bender, never having seen any play like it before. But Yomei told her that the play had run into a dead end, with its movie project scuttled too, apparently due to Jiang Ching’s interference.
Shocked, Lily heaved a sigh. She said she too was in hot water of late, mainly because she had taken the step of defending their friends Lisa and Li Lisan, both having been under investigation for months. Lisa was accused of being a revisionist plus a Soviet agent, but she refused to admit any wrongdoing. More outrageous to their interrogators, Li Lisan openly swore that Lisa was innocent. Their accusers pointed out that he was her husband, so his testimony mustn’t count. But Lily argued against them in front of her comrades and the leaders of the academy, saying nobody could have known Lisa better than Li Lisan, the two having lived and worked together for more than three decades, abroad and domestically, so of course Li Lisan must be qualified to offer his proof of Lisa’s past. Lily also told Yomei that some investigators had questioned the Lis, as well as herself, about Yomei’s involvement with their “Soviet clique.” Fortunately, over the years Yomei had been too busy to see them regularly. At most she’d gone to the Lis to give Lisa some free tickets, especially when she staged a Russian play. Evidently some people were eager to nab the “Soviet cabal,” which also included Oyang Fei, who was interrogated as well.
To Yomei’s astonishment, Grania, too, was labeled a revisionist. The woman, hardly literate, couldn’t possibly have any idea what “revisionist” meant. Lily said, “It boggles my mind that all sorts of people are utilizing this Cultural Revolution as an opportunity for reprisal and for self-advancement. It was Grania’s husband, Chen Changhao, who had accused her of gathering intelligence for the Soviet embassy in Beijing. He wrote a long report to the Party committee of the translation bureau, saying Grania was ‘a revisionist and a Soviet spy.’ The truth was that he wanted to dump her so that he could live with another woman. Those two got married recently, while Grania is jailed somewhere in spite of her severe diabetes. I also spoke in defense of Grania, who is as innocent as a duck to me. There’re so many men who just make me sick. They lie as easily as breathing, even to themselves!”
“Heavens, how come the Cultural Revolution is bringing out the worst in so many people and has reduced them to the level of ferocious beasts?” Yomei hadn’t met Grania’s husband for two decades, but he was the professor who had flown to the Soviet Union on the same DC-3 with his son and Yomei twenty-eight years before. It seemed as if all the misery and suffering over the decades had made the man more trivial and more perfidious. Who is to say that suffering ennobles human beings by purifying their souls! The opposite is also true—suffering can also make one wretched and wicked.
Lily went on, “You know what surprised me most? Kang Sheng used to write me long, sugary letters, especially when I was working for Jiang Ching. But two weeks ago, at a meeting in our academy, he said in front of everyone, ‘Don’t bother about Lin Lily. She’s already a revisionist as a result of her Soviet education.’ That man is sneaky and evil. He enjoys tormenting others, as if he could thrive only by hurting people.”
Yomei said, “He used to write me long letters too, acting like an uncle of sorts, but later, after I had fallen out with Jiang Ching, he stopped writing and joined her in attacking our plays. I’m wondering why he used to pay so much attention to us, even though we were nobody in the echelons of power.”
“Well, you’re so naive, Yomei. You’re the same innocent girl like back in Moscow. I can tell you why. Because we used to be close to Chairman Mao, you were his interpreter in Moscow, and I often accompanied his wife abroad. Kang Sheng may have assumed that you would collaborate with that woman and run China’s art world sooner or later. Now that we have turned out to be different from what he expected, he has crawled out of his hole and helps Jiang Ching make a revolution in the cultural world. Just be vigilant about their motivations and schemes.”
“You must be careful about what you say, Lily. Nowadays people seem to have lost their minds. There’s no logic in this life anymore.”
“You know, Yomei, you should let your hair grow back. You used to have beautiful hair.”
“I don’t mind having lost my hair. We don’t rehearse or do any real work. I don’t go to formal events anymore. Every day we mop floors and clean bathrooms and wipe windows, so there’s no need to keep myself presentable at all. Besides, some Red Guards are vicious—they’ll cut my fine clothes, so I wear canvas overalls to save some work for them.” She grimaced.
Lily snuffled, her eyes glistening while tears trickled out. “How did the beautiful life we dreamed of come to this?” She let out a deep sigh.
“I used to believe that I could pursue my art with a pure heart and total dedication, but now I can see that even the art I love so much is not pure at all. Everything has been tainted by power and politics.”
“You’re right, Yomei, but don’t say that to others.”
“Sure, I can share my thoughts only with you.”
Lily peered into her face. “Not even with Jin Shan?”
“Come on, he’s my husband, still a soulmate.”
“You don’t regret having married him?”
“Not at all. At heart he’s a fine man and I can trust him.”
Lily made no more comment and seemed amazed by what Yomei had told her. She exhaled, then said, “It must be you who have made him a better man. It’s hard for me to love a man wholeheartedly now, having seen so much ugliness and sordidness around me. I prefer to live alone. To be honest, I miss our Moscow days, when we were so innocent and pure, a happy pair of budding revolutionaries, even though life was hard then.”
“Yes, so much is lost, gone like a mirage.”
Jin Shan cooked a fine meal for Lily—a large bowl of noodles with poached eggs and cured pork and turnip and carrot slivers in it. He hadn’t joined their conversation but was grateful to her for coming to see Yomei. He told Lily that these days few friends called on them. “Only investigators turn up, one group after another.”
After lunch, Lily took her leave after giving Jin Shan a side hug, and Yomei went out to see her off. It clouded over. On the way to the stop for the 13 bus, Yomei mentioned that she must try to get Sun Yang out of the Red Guards’ clutches. Lily was still unsettled by Yang’s arrest; to her mind, he was a model revolutionary. She had read his book The Ethics and Virtues of Communism and regarded him as a true red scholar, and Yang had also served in the Red Army and fought as a solider. How could it be possible to pin a wicked label on a man of such strong moral fiber? “Times are mad,” Lily said. “So many people have become nothing but fighting animals.”
At this point a bus pulled up, so she hugged Yomei tightly and then got on board. Yomei waved as the bus rolled away. Like in the old days, she blew her friend a kiss. That was the last time they saw each other.
Yomei was not allowed to attend the meetings in which Yang was denounced, since she herself was also under attack and the Red Guards at her theater had limited her movement. During the day, she and Jin Shan had to stay on the premises of the theater, and at night they weren’t free to leave home either. From Yang’s wife, Yomei learned that he was unyielding as before, refusing to admit any wrongdoing or give evidence for Zhu Deh’s “crimes.” Instead, he praised the old man’s honesty and integrity and his plain lifestyle, despite his high rank and the privileges attached to his position as the nominal commander in chief of the People’s Liberation Army. Although he had been beaten up repeatedly, Yang seemed to remain a naive man. He even wrote to the two hostile revolutionary factions of his school: “You can all turn on me, but please stop hurting each other!” He was afraid their fierce fights might destroy each other as well as the university.
His wife, Shih Chee, also revealed that their three children were getting beaten on the street. Some small bullies kept calling them names—“Sun Yang’s bastards” or “Little Jap lovers” or “wolf puppies.” As a result, Ning, the older boy, was reluctant to go to school. Every morning his mother had to drag him there. Such a situation must not continue, and Yomei realized it would not change unless Sun Yang’s status was reinstated. With him classified as an enemy of the people, everyone felt entitled to abuse his children. So she had to find a way to get him out of the Red Guards’ hands.
For months Yomei had been trying desperately to rescue Yang, but couldn’t make any progress. Late in the spring, she decided to write to Jiang Ching directly and beg her for mercy. For her brother and his family, she was willing to swallow her pride. She wrote:
Dear Comrade Jiang Ching,
I am writing to report my brother Sun Yang’s case. Last summer some Red Guards of the People’s University detained him and publicly denounced him on a platform. They have not only imprisoned him but also physically abused him, calling him a capitalist roader and a traitor and a foreign spy. To date, he has not been allowed to go home to see his family, and as a result his three little children are living a fatherless life and in fear. They are often attacked on the streets, partly because their father is in disgrace, being classified as an enemy of the people.
Ching, you have known Yang since the Yan’an days. He worked for the General Affairs Office as a secretary for Commander Zhu Deh, and later he went to the northeast to fight Chiang Kai-shek’s army. After 1949, he transferred to the field of high education, serving as a college leader in both Sichuan and Beijing. His whole life has been subordinated to work and duty. You might also know the articles and books he has penned over the decades, in which he has expressed his profound love for our Party and his deep belief in the revolutionary cause. I dare say that Sun Yang is a model Party member, honest, clean, considerate, and generous to his colleagues. There is simply no evidence to justify the accusations against him.
My dear Ching, I know we might have different views on theater arts and I might not be able to catch up with your grand vision, but I do respect you and admire your energy and sensibility. I have always told others, “Comrade Jiang Ching is aesthetic and well versed in several arts.” I didn’t mention your calligraphy, but I had that in mind as well, being deeply impressed by your flowing, forceful brushwork. Even though we don’t always see eye to eye, I respect you from the bottom of my heart. Ching, I know a lot of people used to be mean to you, but please let bygones be bygones so that you can feel more at peace. Life is short, given to us only once, so we should do our best to live cheerfully, beautifully, meaningfully (I am quoting Chekhov). I beg you to intervene on Yang’s behalf and help us save his family.
Many thanks in advance and always yours, Sun Yomei
The letter, though making Yomei feel as if she had eaten a fly, was mailed to Mao’s residence directly. In the following weeks, she grew more anxious and expected to hear from Ching. She and Jin Shan talked about the possibility of Ching’s leniency. He knew Ching was vindictive and selfish, but Yomei had once been friends with her, and in her letter she’d done her best to flatter the woman, who always enjoyed flattery and welcomed praise. So Yomei was hopeful, feeling that Ching might lift a finger to have Yang released.