Mud footprints

Author: Fan Yong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-10-01
Features: She still persuaded me, and I said, "Alright, let me think about it." I gave her my address and then parted ways. Unexpectedly, the next morning, she rushed from Wuchang to Hankou to find me. A few young men at the publishing house were very surprised to see a beautiful girl suddenly looking for Fan Yong. They had never heard me mention anyone familiar in Hankou. She came to see me again, still trying to recruit me for the theater troupe. I told her I still couldn’t make up my mind because I was worried about whether the troupe could survive. I didn’t want a nomadic life and just wanted to stay in one place. I explained again and again, asking her to forgive me anyway. Disappointed, she left and never came back. Soon after, someone told me that she had gone to Yan’an with an editor. I had met this editor before—he worked at a weekly magazine’s editorial office, wrote literary reviews, and also proofread. He often came to our publishing house, wearing a long gown with his left hand stuck in his suit pants, carrying a stack of proofs under his arm. He translated a theoretical book written by a Soviet author. The title suggested it was about love, but in reality, it analyzed the evolution of families and marriage from a new philosophical perspective. Careless readers might think they were buying a "guide to love." Fifty years later, this editor actually became a theorist. This revolutionary woman, I later heard, was an active figure in Yan’an. Yes, she was so passionate and full of dreams for the future. In 1942, He Qiying wrote a famous poem titled "I Sing of Youth and Girls": Gently, the sorrow of adulthood slipped from my strings, I became young again, my blood flowed swiftly, and I was filled with dreams and desires for life again. In those days, so many young men and girls had beautiful dreams, pursuing them with all their hearts. I read this poem in Chongqing and naturally thought of her in the distant north. I silently wished her well and felt deep gratitude in my heart. I wonder if, had I listened to her advice, I would have joined the theater troupe, even followed her to Yan’an. Would she have become my "other sister"? It’s very likely, but it would have been a "revolutionary sister." As for me, my daughter once called me "bourgeois" (that was during the early years of the Cultural Revolution when she desperately wanted to be a "Red Guard," but she no longer uses that term now). I wanted to reform myself, to wash away that "bourgeois smell," even with a willing heart and a sincere mind, it would have been very difficult. I would have stumbled and stumbled, and I must admit that. After liberation, I heard that she worked in a provincial cultural department in the south and had already become a senior leader. During the Cultural Revolution, I was locked in a "struggle session" (). One day, a fellow inmate told me that they had seen her dragged out in a small newspaper. The Red Guards had shaved her head in the "" style, and she was forced to kneel on the street alongside a famous Cantonese opera actress. I couldn’t imagine whether she could endure such cruel torture, such barbaric humiliation. I had knelt too, forced to kneel on the playground, and people thought I might lose my mind, fail to get through this, and become a "dog shit that cuts oneself off from humanity." She was a woman comrade, someone who cared about her dignity—how would she have felt? Looking through the window at the blue sky, my heart couldn’t calm down. Oh, my God! Six years later, the "Gang of Four" was finally put on trial, swept into the trash heap, and truly became the "dog shit that humanity despises." Her husband was transferred to Beijing and became my superior. We chatted casually and talked about this past in Hankou. I told him that I had known her long before he arrived. Over the years, especially during the Cultural Revolution, I often missed her. Soon after, she came to Beijing from the south for medical treatment, and we met. She was already an elderly lady with white hair. Her speech was no longer as lively as before, and she no longer smiled as often. In short, there was no trace of youth left in her, just as I had seen and felt when I was younger. Yet, even so, I could tell she remained a revolutionary woman deeply devoted to her beliefs. She said she wanted to visit Chairman Mao’s Mausoleum to fulfill a long-held wish, and I accompanied her. At that moment, I felt the woman standing before me was undeniably a "revolutionary sister." How many such sisters were there in the party? Brother Cao Menglang told me that she had participated in theater activities while studying at the Suzhou Women’s Normal School. She was expelled for participating in student protests and had to flee to Shanghai. She was only a teenager then. During the Northern Expedition in 1927, as China fought against imperialism and feudalism, a large number of rebellious women emerged. During the War of Resistance Against Japan, as China fought for national liberation, another wave of revolutionary women appeared, and I had met several of them. Most had weathered many storms and risen and fallen with the political tides, never regretting it. Young people today may find it hard to understand, but this was indeed history. Is it really true, as in the Gospel of Luke, that they "must strive to enter through the narrow gate"? Some of them might have read the famous poem "The Threshold" () written by Turgenev for Sophia. I too was deeply moved when I read this prose poem as a young man. Two years ago, I heard that she had passed away. I sent a condolence telegram with only one sentence: "Dear sister, thank you for encouraging me when I was young!" Because I had written the wrong address, the telegram was returned. Then, let it stay in my heart forever! Looking back at the path this generation took, so many thoughts come to mind. After a nightmare, people picked up hope in life again. However, I believe what is more important is to reflect, because truly moving beyond the nightmare in one’s thoughts is not an easy task. August 8, 1993, the day after the autumn equinox [Postscript] In 2001, Wang Xiaolan wrote to me, sending a photograph of her mother, Tian Wei. In her letter, she said, "My sister Wang Xiaoyin brought back a copy of the magazine in 1994 and read your article 'A Chance Encounter,' learning that you knew my mother. Later, I bought I Love Mu Yuan, which also included your article. From your writings, I can sense that you are a sentimental and nostalgic person. I deeply understand your feelings. Thank you for your remembrance of my mother. I couldn’t help but think that if you had joined the theater troupe back then, or even gone to Yan’an, your 'bourgeois tendencies' would have made you suffer greatly in every movement. It would have been wiser not to have gone."