was the sun. One politburo
member was thrown in jail for the crime of slander against Mao, because he wrote an article about the black spots on the sun.”
“You know a lot about those years, but it may not be fair to judge Mao on something like that, considering the long feudalistic
history in China,” Chen said.
“I don’t know about the so-called feudalistic history — not a familiar term to me. An emperor is an emperor, that’s all I know.”
Old Hunter took a slow sip at his tea, the tea leaves unfurling unexpectedly, like tadpoles in the white cup. “Now, let me
tell you about a case I had toward the end of the Cultural Revolution.
“In Suzhou opera, a story has to be told from the very beginning. To understand the things that happened during the Cultural
Revolution, you have to learn about it from the beginning.”
“You certainly talk like a Suzhou opera singer,” Chen said, “using tricks like enriching your speech with proverbs and tantalizing
the audience with digressions before coming to a crucial point. Yes, please, start at the very beginning. The tea is just
beginning to be tasty, and I’m all ears.”
“I was about your age at the time, Chief. Li Guohua, then the associate Party secretary, gave me an assignment — the first ‘major
political case’ in my career. In those days, everyone believed wholeheartedly in Mao and the communist propaganda. A low-level
cop, I was so proud of working for the proletarian dictatorship. I swore to fight for Mao just like those young Red Guards.
So I secretly called that case a Mao case.”
“A Mao case?”
“Oh, it gave such a tremendous boost to my ego. It was just like pulling a large flag over my body as if it were a ‘tiger
skin.’ The suspect in the case was named Teng, a middle school teacher accused of slandering Mao in his class. Born in a worker’s
family and a member of the Communist Youth League, Teng was dating a girl with a good political family background, so he appeared
to be an unlikely culprit. He had no motive whatsoever. So I went over to the school, where Teng had already been in isolation
interrogation for days.”
“How did Teng commit this crime?”
“I’m coming to it, Chen. You cannot enjoy the steaming hot tofu if you are so impatient,” Old Hunter said, holding his cup
high in the air. “In those years, Mao’s poems made up a large part of the middle school textbook. In class, Teng was said
to have given a viciously slanderous interpretation of one of Mao’s poems. However, Teng insisted that what he presented to
the class was based on official publications, that he had done a lot of research and preparation beforehand —”
“Hold on, which poem are you talking about?”
“Mao’s poem to his wife Yang Kaihui.”
“Ah, that one — ‘I lost my proud Yang, and you lost your Liu —’” Chen said, murmuring the first line of the poem. “In my middle
school years, that poem was held up as a perfect example of revolutionary romanticism. In a flight of imagination, Mao described
Kaihui’s loyal soul flying up to the moon, where the Moon Goddess danced and served of osmanthus-fermented wine to her, and
she shed tears in a pouring rain upon learning of the victory of the Communist Party. Mao missed his first wife very much —”
“No, his second wife,” Old Hunter cut him short. “Mao actually had a first wife, Luo, at his old home in Hunan. According
to Mao’s official biography, Luo and Mao got hitched through an arranged marriage. So he didn’t acknowledge Luo as his wife,
though he had lived with her for no less than two or three years. Of course, no detail of their married life ever appeared
in official publications. Then he fell in love with Kaihui and married her. This time, the marriage was seen as a revolutionary
act, under the circumstances.”
“Old Hunter, you are a Mao authority. I should have known that earlier.” Chen raised his cup.
member was thrown in jail for the crime of slander against Mao, because he wrote an article about the black spots on the sun.”
“You know a lot about those years, but it may not be fair to judge Mao on something like that, considering the long feudalistic
history in China,” Chen said.
“I don’t know about the so-called feudalistic history — not a familiar term to me. An emperor is an emperor, that’s all I know.”
Old Hunter took a slow sip at his tea, the tea leaves unfurling unexpectedly, like tadpoles in the white cup. “Now, let me
tell you about a case I had toward the end of the Cultural Revolution.
“In Suzhou opera, a story has to be told from the very beginning. To understand the things that happened during the Cultural
Revolution, you have to learn about it from the beginning.”
“You certainly talk like a Suzhou opera singer,” Chen said, “using tricks like enriching your speech with proverbs and tantalizing
the audience with digressions before coming to a crucial point. Yes, please, start at the very beginning. The tea is just
beginning to be tasty, and I’m all ears.”
“I was about your age at the time, Chief. Li Guohua, then the associate Party secretary, gave me an assignment — the first ‘major
political case’ in my career. In those days, everyone believed wholeheartedly in Mao and the communist propaganda. A low-level
cop, I was so proud of working for the proletarian dictatorship. I swore to fight for Mao just like those young Red Guards.
So I secretly called that case a Mao case.”
“A Mao case?”
“Oh, it gave such a tremendous boost to my ego. It was just like pulling a large flag over my body as if it were a ‘tiger
skin.’ The suspect in the case was named Teng, a middle school teacher accused of slandering Mao in his class. Born in a worker’s
family and a member of the Communist Youth League, Teng was dating a girl with a good political family background, so he appeared
to be an unlikely culprit. He had no motive whatsoever. So I went over to the school, where Teng had already been in isolation
interrogation for days.”
“How did Teng commit this crime?”
“I’m coming to it, Chen. You cannot enjoy the steaming hot tofu if you are so impatient,” Old Hunter said, holding his cup
high in the air. “In those years, Mao’s poems made up a large part of the middle school textbook. In class, Teng was said
to have given a viciously slanderous interpretation of one of Mao’s poems. However, Teng insisted that what he presented to
the class was based on official publications, that he had done a lot of research and preparation beforehand —”
“Hold on, which poem are you talking about?”
“Mao’s poem to his wife Yang Kaihui.”
“Ah, that one — ‘I lost my proud Yang, and you lost your Liu —’” Chen said, murmuring the first line of the poem. “In my middle
school years, that poem was held up as a perfect example of revolutionary romanticism. In a flight of imagination, Mao described
Kaihui’s loyal soul flying up to the moon, where the Moon Goddess danced and served of osmanthus-fermented wine to her, and
she shed tears in a pouring rain upon learning of the victory of the Communist Party. Mao missed his first wife very much —”
“No, his second wife,” Old Hunter cut him short. “Mao actually had a first wife, Luo, at his old home in Hunan. According
to Mao’s official biography, Luo and Mao got hitched through an arranged marriage. So he didn’t acknowledge Luo as his wife,
though he had lived with her for no less than two or three years. Of course, no detail of their married life ever appeared
in official publications. Then he fell in love with Kaihui and married her. This time, the marriage was seen as a revolutionary
act, under the circumstances.”
“Old Hunter, you are a Mao authority. I should have known that earlier.” Chen raised his cup.
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