Red Scarf Girl Read online

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t say a word.

  “Why, what’s wrong?” Teacher Gu asked.

  “I… I’m not going.” I bowed my head and twisted my fingers in my red scarf.

  “What? Are you crazy? This is the chance of a lifetime!”

  I did not raise my head. I didn’t want to see An Yi’s face.

  “Really? Why not?” Teacher Gu sounded concerned.

  I tried hard not to cry. “Father wouldn’t let me….”

  An Yi was about to say something else, but Teacher Gu cut her off. “All right. This is her family’s decision. We won’t talk about it any further.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. Then she went away with An Yi without another word.

  Across the yard I saw Principal Long, Wang Qi, and the two boys coming out of the gym. I dodged behind a tree and heard them chatting and laughing as they went by. They were going to the audition. I could have been going with them. My eyes blurred with tears.

  I thought of the way Teacher Gu had looked at me. There had been a mixture of disappointment, doubt, and inquiry in her eyes. I was sure that Principal Long must have looked the same way after she read Dad’s note. So must Wang Qi, You Xiao-fan, and all my classmates.

  I didn’t want to think any longer. I just wished that I could find a place to hide, so I wouldn’t have to see their faces.

  Until that spring I believed that my life and my family were nearly perfect.

  My father was a stage actor, six feet tall and slightly stoop shouldered. Because of his height and his serious face he usually played the villain at the children’s theater where he worked. He was the vicious landlord, the foolish king. But at home he was our humorous, kind, and wise Dad. He loved reading, and he loved including the whole family in his discoveries. He demonstrated the exercises of the great acting teacher Stanislavsky, he imitated Charlie Chaplin’s funny walk, and when he was reading about calculus, he explained Zeno’s paradox and the infinite series. We thought Dad knew everything.

  Mom had been an actress when she met Dad, and she was still as pretty as an actress. When I was little, she stopped acting and worked in a sports-equipment store. Every evening we eagerly waited for her to come home from work. We rushed out to greet her and opened her handbag, where there was sure to be a treat for us. Mom spoiled us, Grandma said.

  Grandma was truly amazing. She had graduated from a modern-style high school in 1914, a time when very few girls went to school at all. After Liberation she had helped to found Xin Er Primary School—my school—and become its vice-principal. She retired from teaching when I was born so that she could take care of me while Mom worked. But whenever we met her old students, now adults, they still bowed respectfully and called her Teacher Cao, which made me so proud.

  Ji-yong was eleven, one year younger than me, and Ji-yun was one year younger than Ji-yong. Once Mom told me that she had her three children in three years because she wanted to finish the duty of having babies sooner, so she could devote herself wholeheartedly to the revolution. While I was tall and thin, like Dad, Ji-yong and Ji-yun were shorter and plumper, like Mom. Ji-yong was nicknamed Iron-Ball because he was dark skinned and sturdy. He liked to play in the alley and paid little attention to his studies. Ji-yun had two dimples, which gave her an especially sweet smile. She was easygoing and did not always strive to be the best, as I did. But 1 had learned that she could be very stubborn.

  And then there was Song Po-po. She had originally been our nanny. When we grew up, she stayed and became our housekeeper. As long as I could remember, she had been living in the small room downstairs. She had raised the three of us, and we all felt she was like another grandmother. She was as dear to us as we were to her.

  We lived in a big building in one of Shanghai’s nicer neighborhoods. My Fourth Aunt, who had been married to Dad’s half-brother, lived downstairs with her daughter, my cousin You-mei, and You-mei’s daughter, a lovely baby called Hua-hua. My uncle had died in Hong Kong a few years before. You-mei’s husband had a job in another city and was allowed to visit Shanghai only twice a year.

  Song Po-po told us our extended family used to occupy two whole buildings, ten rooms all together. “Then they all moved away, and only your family and your Fourth Aunt’s family were left. Your family only has one room now. It’s just too bad.” She shook her head sadly.

  But I didn’t feel that way at all. I loved our top-floor room. A huge French window and a high ceiling made it bright all year round, warmer during the winter and cooler in summer. The kitchen on the landing outside the room was small, but I didn’t mind. Our room was ten times as big as many of my classmates’ homes, and a hundred times brighter. Best of all, we had a private bathroom, a full-size room with a sink, a toilet, and a tub. It was almost as large as some families’ entire homes. Many did not have a bathroom at all, or even a flush toilet, and very few had a full-size bathroom that they did not have to share with other families.

  My family was also special in another way.

  Sometimes on Saturday evenings some of Dad’s colleagues would visit. They called these gatherings “Jiang’s salon.” I did not know what salon meant, but I loved them; they were wonderful parties. Mom would make her famous beef soup, and Grandma would make her steamed buns. We children would help Song Po-po polish the mahogany table and Grandma’s four prized red-and-gold dowry trunks until we could see our reflections in the wood and leather. When the guests arrived, we would greet them as “Uncle” and “Aunt” as a sign of respect and bring tea to each of them. Most of them were actors from Dad’s theater, and they were all talented. There was Uncle Zhu, a young actor who had excellent handwriting. Every time he came, he would take some time to help me with my calligraphy. There were Uncle Tian and Aunt Wu, so young and handsome and well dressed that the neighbors noticed every time they rolled up to our building on their new bicycles, and called them the “beautiful couple.” There was Uncle Fan, who had been Dad’s friend since college. When he arrived, the discussions immediately became more interesting. His enthusiasm about whatever movie or play he had seen recently was contagious. And there was Uncle Bao, a playwright, who smoked cigars and let me sit on his lap. Although he spoke less than the others, his comments were always worth waiting for.

  Conversation flowed, so fascinating that we did not want to go to bed, no matter how late they stayed.

  Until the audition I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

  An Yi said that I seemed to have changed into a different person. Between classes I would avoid my classmates. After school I would stay in the library until it closed, just to elude the family’s overconcerned looks.

  One time our cat, Little White, cut her leg deeply on a piece of glass. We all rushed to find bandages to bind up the wound, but Little White ran into the attic and hid there for days, licking her wounds by herself. Just like Little White, I wanted to be left alone.

  None of the other three students passed the audition, but this did not make me feel better. It had not been just an audition for me. I was afraid that the rest of my life would not be what I had imagined.

  I had had many beautiful dreams. I dreamed of being a doctor in a white coat, with a stethoscope dangling from my neck, saving lives one after another. I dreamed of being an architect, designing the most beautiful bridges in the world. I dreamed of being an actress, holding bunches of flowers, bowing again and again to answer curtain calls. Until now I had never doubted that I could achieve anything I wanted. The future had been full of infinite possibilities. Now I was no longer sure that was still true.

  One afternoon, a week after the audition, I came home from school and saw a boy blowing big, splendid soap bubbles that shimmered with colors in the sunlight. One by one they drifted away and burst. In a few seconds they were all gone.

  I thought about my beautiful dreams and wondered if they would drift away just like those lovely soap bubbles.

  DESTROY THE FOUR OLDS!

  Almost every Sun
day afternoon Dad wanted to take a long nap in peace, and so he gave us thirty fen to rent picture books. Hand in hand, Ji-yong, Ji-yun, and I would walk down the alley to Grandpa Hong’s bookstall.

  The alley on which we lived was famous for its handsome buildings, and it was wide enough for two cars to pass abreast. Like a tree with only one trunk, our alley had only one exit to the busy street. Five smaller alleys branched off the main alley on both sides, and each of these small alleys was lined with brownstone town houses. The houses were three stories tall and exactly alike, with square, smiling courtyards hidden behind their front gates, and small kitchen courtyards in the back. Once these had been town houses for wealthy families. Many of the original inhabitants still lived there, although now each building was shared by several families.

  Grandpa Hong’s bookstall was on the corner at the entrance of our alley. All the children in the neighborhood loved the stall and Grandpa Hong, with his gray hair and wispy beard. He would look at us through his old yellowed glasses and smile. He knew just which books each of us liked best and that I would choose fairy tales, Ji-yong would get adventure stories, and Ji-yun would want animal stories. If you read the books at Grandpa Hong’s bookstall, you could rent sixty picture books for thirty fen. Two books for a fen! What a deal! After helping us with our choices, Grandpa Hong always gave us each an extra book for free.

  Against the walls in the place were hard wooden benches that rocked on the uneven mud floor. We would sit in a row on one of these benches, each of us with a pile of twenty-one picture books, and read them, one after another. Then we would trade piles and read again. This was how I met many beloved friends: the Monkey King, the River Snail Lady, Snow White, Aladdin, and many others. Inside the bookstall I traveled to mysterious places to meet ancient beauties or terrible monsters. Often I forgot where I was. When the sky was almost dark, the three of us would have finished all sixty-three books, and Dad would have finished his nap.

  This Sunday there were no other children at the stall when we arrived. We had just settled down to read when An Yi rushed in. An Yi and I had known each other ever since we were babies. She came to the bookstall quite often and knew just where to find me on a Sunday afternoon.

  “Come on, you guys!” she wheezed. An Yi had severe asthma. “They’re breaking the sign at the Great Prosperity Market!”

  We dropped our books and rushed out with her. This was our first chance to watch the campaign to “Destroy the Four Olds” in action.

  Our beloved Chairman Mao had started the Cultural Revolution in May. Every day since then on the radio we heard about the need to end the evil and pernicious influences of the “Four Olds”: old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits. Chairman Mao told us we would never succeed at building a strong socialist country until we destroyed the “Four Olds” and established the “Four News.” The names of many shops still stank of old culture, so the signs had to be smashed to make way for the coming of new ideas.

  The Great Prosperity Market was on Nanjing Road, Shanghai’s busiest shopping street, only two blocks from our alley. Nanjing Road was lined with big stores, and always bustled with activity. The street was full of bicycles and pedicabs and trolleys, and the sidewalks were so crowded with shoppers, they spilled off the sidewalk into the street. We were still quite a distance away when we heard the hubbub and ran faster.

  A big crowd had gathered outside the Great Prosperity Market, one of the most successful food stores in the city. It was full of good things to eat, with rare delicacies from other provinces and delicious items like dried duck gizzards strung up in its window. But today the window was bare. The store was deserted. All eyes were riveted on a dense ring of people in the street. Some young men were cheering excitedly for the people inside the circle, but half the crowd were merely craning their necks and watching.

  We wriggled our way between the bodies.

  Lying on the dirty ground inside the circle was a huge wooden sign, at least twelve feet long. It was still impressive, although the large golden characters GREAT PROSPERITY MARKET had lost their usual shine and looked dull and lifeless on the red background.

  Two muscular young men in undershirts, probably salesmen from the store, were gasping next to it.

  “Come on. Try again!” shouted the taller of the two.

  He spat into his palms and rubbed them together. Then, with the help of the other, he lifted the board to shoulder height. “One, two, three!” They threw the board to the ground.

  The board bounced twice but did not break. The two men threw the board again. Nothing happened.

  “Put one end on the curb. Stamp on it. That’s bound to work,” someone suggested.

  “Good idea!”

  “Come on! Try it!”

  Amid a clamor of support, the two men moved the board half onto the sidewalk. Then they jumped onto it. “One… two… three…” We heard their shoes strike the hard wood. But the board did not yield.

  “Damn! This fourolds is really hard. Hey! Come on. Let’s do it together!” the tall fellow shouted at the crowd.

  I looked at An Yi to see if she would like to join me, but while I was hesitating, the board became fully occupied. Ji-yong had moved faster and was one of the dozen people on it. They stamped, bounced, and jumped with excitement. One stepped on another’s shoes. Hips and shoulders bumped. We all laughed.

  The board refused to break. Even under a thousand pounds it did not give way. The crowd became irritated and started shouting suggestions.

  “Take it to a carpenter and let him use it for something!”

  “Let’s get a truck and drive over it!”

  Someone started pushing through the circle.

  “Hey, I’ve got an ax. Let me through! I’ve got an

  We stood back to give the man room. He lifted the ax to his shoulder and paused. The blade flashed in the sunlight as it began to move faster and faster in a shining arc until it crashed into the sign. The wood groaned with the impact, and we all cheered. The man gave the sign another blow, and another. At last the sign gave way. With another groan and a crack it broke in two.

  Everyone cheered. People rushed forward to stamp on what remained of the sign. An Yi and I had found a few classmates in the crowd, and we all embraced, jumped, and shouted. Although what we had smashed was no more than a piece of wood, we felt we had won a victory in a real battle.

  Bathed in the evening’s glow, we jumped and giggled all the way home. Inspired by what we’d seen, we noticed that other stores we passed also needed to change their names.

  “Look. This is called the Good Fortune Photo Studio. Doesn’t that mean to make a lot of money, just like Great Prosperity? Chairman Mao told us that was exploitation. Don’t you think this is fourolds?” Ji-yong asked enthusiastically.

  “Right. We should change it to the Proletarian Photo Studio.”

  “Here’s another one. The Innocent Child Toy Shop,” An Yi exclaimed. “Innocent is a neutral word. It shows a lack of class awareness. What should we change it to?”

  “How about the Red Child Toy Shop?”

  “That’s great,” I said. “And we should change the Peace Theater to the Revolution Theater. After all, without revolution, how can we have peace?”

  We felt proud of ourselves. We were certain that we were bringing a new life to China.

  So Grandma’s reaction was a surprise to me. At dinner I told her and my parents all about what had happened.

  “My goodness!” she blurted out. “That sign cost the owner a fortune. They always said that since an especially auspicious date was chosen to hang the sign, the store has been prosperous for more than thirty years. What a shame! What a shame!”

  “But Grandma, we have to get rid of those old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits. Chairman Mao said they’re holding us back,” I informed her.

  “Besides, Grandma, there’s no such thing as an auspicious date. That’s superstition, and superstition is fourolds. And the name Great Prosp
erity is very bad. Great prosperity means to make a fortune, and making a fortune is what bad people do. Right?” Ji-yong tilted his head toward Mom and Dad.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other and then turned to Grandma.

  “Yes, Ji-yong is right,” Mom said, and shook her head.

  Even my little sister, Ji-yun, knew that the old superstitions were silly. Like not sweeping the floor on New Year’s Day so you would not sweep the god of wealth out of the house, or eating a spring roll so you would roll the money in. I told Grandma what I had heard from my classmates. “An Yi said her uncle knew a family who spent a lot of money when their grandma died. First they had to keep vigil by the coffin for a week. Then after the burial they had to have a banquet and serve bean curd to the relatives every seventh day for seven weeks, and on the forty-ninth day they had the last banquet, all just so the soul could get into heaven. Then they burned spirit money so that the dead person would have money in heaven. What good does all that do? Besides, there is no such thing as heaven. It’s these old ideas that are holding the country back.”

  Ji-yong and Ji-yun and I talked about the new shop names we had thought of. Mom and Dad did not say anything. They did not seem very enthusiastic about the new campaign. That was surprising, because they had been very enthusiastic about previous movements. When I was little, Chairman Mao had challenged the nation to catch up with England and America in steel production. Mom had helped me collect scrap iron to make steel, and even let me donate our cast-iron kettle to the cause. When natural disasters had caused food shortages, Chairman Mao had urged us all to produce food. Mom had helped me grow pots of seaweed on the balcony, as all my classmates did. Chairman Mao’s campaign to “Destroy the Four Olds” was even more important than the others. The newspapers and the radio said so. I knew the movement was vital to our country’s future, and I did not understand how Mom and Dad could not be interested in it.