Read Online Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine - Free Book Online
Authors: Ying Chang Compestine
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âLong live our great leader, Chairman Mao!â
Comrade Liâs mouth twisted, and a wicked smile
broke out on his face. He handed Pimple Face a heavy rectangular blackboard. Harshly pushing Mrs. Wongâs head down, Pimple Face threw the loop of rope attached to the board over her neck. Mrs. Wong fell to her knees. I wanted to turn into a powerful dragon, burn the Red Guards and Comrade Li with flames shooting from my mouth. Then I would carry her away.
Comrade Li pointed at each word on the board as he barked, âSymbol of the bourgeoisie.â
Father passed my hand to Mother. I held on tight to her ice-cold fingers. She tightened her hold on mine.
Straightening his broad shoulders, holding his head high, Father shouted to the crowd, âLet me through!â
I tried to call him back, but I couldnât make any sound. It felt like the time when a fish bone was caught in my throat. I pressed half my face into Motherâs sleeve.
Silence fell. People moved back to give him room. All eyes followed him as he moved to the front and stopped between Mrs. Wong and the crowd. I noticed a hole at the elbow of his gray wool sweater.
Mother shook so hard I had to let go of her hand. I bit my lower lip so my teeth wouldnât chatter. Father
took the board off Mrs. Wongâs neck and threw it on the ground.
âI have known Dr. Wong and Mrs. Wong for fifteen years.â Fatherâs voice was stern. âThey could have moved overseas years ago, but they chose to stay and help build a better China.â He glared at Comrade Li. âTheyâve done nothing wrong!â
Some people in the crowd nodded. Others whispered. A couple of young doctors from Fatherâs department came up. They helped Mrs. Wong to her feet and supported her back to her home. Comrade Li and his Red Guards gathered around the stage. They stared at Father when he lifted Niu off the stage. Niu hurried past Mother and me without looking at us. The crowd broke up, except for Comrade Li and his group of Red Guards.
That night I climbed into Fatherâs lap in his big chair. The warmth of his shoulder and his familiar smell made me feel safe and protected. Now he was not only a great father but also a hero. On my birthday, he had saved Mrs. Wong.
Crushed under the Heel
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As the first week of November passed, the weather in Wuhan changed quickly. Days of chilly rain turned to snow. Our apartment was cold and damp. I moved around feeling like a miserable panda in my heavy cotton outfit. At night, Mother piled three heavy quilts on me.
On the afternoon of December 14, I returned from school and found Niu sitting in our living room crying. Mother told me they had taken Mrs. Wong to a labor camp. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Never had I felt so heartbroken. I hadnât seen Mrs. Wong since that awful day. She hadnât come down, and Mother didnât allow me to go up when she went. I wished I had had a chance to say good-bye to Mrs. Wong and thank her for Bao-baoâs new outfit.
Despite my parents insisting Niu move in with us, he went home every night. But he spent a lot of time at our apartment during the day. He talked to me only when I asked him a question. Trying to cheer him up, I showed him my special collections: a cotton scarf with various Mao buttons pinned on it, a folder filled with plastic candy wrappers, and a small chocolate box that held my treasured pair of silk ribbons, a phoenix-shaped plastic darning needle, and a carved sandalwood fan. He only glanced at them and his sullen face didnât change. I wasnât sure how to make him feel better.
Over the following months, more doctors were forced to leave the hospital. Some were sent to jail or labor camps. Others just disappeared, like Dr. Wong. I wished someone could assure me that Father would be safe. I became so afraid of my nightmares that I tried to stay awake as long as I could.
Lately after dinner Father would either read
Comrade Liâs mouth twisted, and a wicked smile
broke out on his face. He handed Pimple Face a heavy rectangular blackboard. Harshly pushing Mrs. Wongâs head down, Pimple Face threw the loop of rope attached to the board over her neck. Mrs. Wong fell to her knees. I wanted to turn into a powerful dragon, burn the Red Guards and Comrade Li with flames shooting from my mouth. Then I would carry her away.
Comrade Li pointed at each word on the board as he barked, âSymbol of the bourgeoisie.â
Father passed my hand to Mother. I held on tight to her ice-cold fingers. She tightened her hold on mine.
Straightening his broad shoulders, holding his head high, Father shouted to the crowd, âLet me through!â
I tried to call him back, but I couldnât make any sound. It felt like the time when a fish bone was caught in my throat. I pressed half my face into Motherâs sleeve.
Silence fell. People moved back to give him room. All eyes followed him as he moved to the front and stopped between Mrs. Wong and the crowd. I noticed a hole at the elbow of his gray wool sweater.
Mother shook so hard I had to let go of her hand. I bit my lower lip so my teeth wouldnât chatter. Father
took the board off Mrs. Wongâs neck and threw it on the ground.
âI have known Dr. Wong and Mrs. Wong for fifteen years.â Fatherâs voice was stern. âThey could have moved overseas years ago, but they chose to stay and help build a better China.â He glared at Comrade Li. âTheyâve done nothing wrong!â
Some people in the crowd nodded. Others whispered. A couple of young doctors from Fatherâs department came up. They helped Mrs. Wong to her feet and supported her back to her home. Comrade Li and his Red Guards gathered around the stage. They stared at Father when he lifted Niu off the stage. Niu hurried past Mother and me without looking at us. The crowd broke up, except for Comrade Li and his group of Red Guards.
That night I climbed into Fatherâs lap in his big chair. The warmth of his shoulder and his familiar smell made me feel safe and protected. Now he was not only a great father but also a hero. On my birthday, he had saved Mrs. Wong.
Crushed under the Heel
Â
Â
As the first week of November passed, the weather in Wuhan changed quickly. Days of chilly rain turned to snow. Our apartment was cold and damp. I moved around feeling like a miserable panda in my heavy cotton outfit. At night, Mother piled three heavy quilts on me.
On the afternoon of December 14, I returned from school and found Niu sitting in our living room crying. Mother told me they had taken Mrs. Wong to a labor camp. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Never had I felt so heartbroken. I hadnât seen Mrs. Wong since that awful day. She hadnât come down, and Mother didnât allow me to go up when she went. I wished I had had a chance to say good-bye to Mrs. Wong and thank her for Bao-baoâs new outfit.
Despite my parents insisting Niu move in with us, he went home every night. But he spent a lot of time at our apartment during the day. He talked to me only when I asked him a question. Trying to cheer him up, I showed him my special collections: a cotton scarf with various Mao buttons pinned on it, a folder filled with plastic candy wrappers, and a small chocolate box that held my treasured pair of silk ribbons, a phoenix-shaped plastic darning needle, and a carved sandalwood fan. He only glanced at them and his sullen face didnât change. I wasnât sure how to make him feel better.
Over the following months, more doctors were forced to leave the hospital. Some were sent to jail or labor camps. Others just disappeared, like Dr. Wong. I wished someone could assure me that Father would be safe. I became so afraid of my nightmares that I tried to stay awake as long as I could.
Lately after dinner Father would either read
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