Red Scarf Girl Read online

  Ji-yong had been playing with his friends and had heard the trouble start. Some Red Guards asked to borrow Old Qian’s bicycle, and he refused. The Red Guards had been shocked. When they asked to borrow a bicycle from a black family in the name of the Cultural Revolution, they were not used to being refused. The whole neighborhood had heard their swearing and their threats. “… You stubborn counterrevolutionary’s family member… we’ll see which is tougher, your damned old bones, or our Proletarian Dictatorship!” When they returned the next afternoon, we were not surprised.

  I heard the familiar sound of drums and gongs and looked out the window. About fifteen Red Guards—and Six-Fingers as well—bustled in and out of Qian’s gate. I went back to my reading.

  A spate of loud but indistinct shouting drew us all out onto the balcony. Several angry Red Guards pushed Old Qian roughly out the door. One of them put a wooden washboard on the sunny ground in front of the propaganda wall. He shouted something in the old man’s face and pointed at the washboard.

  Old Qian stood very straight, leaning slightly on his cane. He said something, and the Red Guards burst out shouting once more. The old man just shook his head. Suddenly one of the Red Guards jumped forward. He kicked the cane out of Old Qian’s hand and savagely pushed him down on his knees onto the sharp ridges of the washboard.

  “Oh my heavens,” Grandma gasped. She took Ji-yong and Ji-yun back inside. I did not move.

  At first Old Qian knelt on the washboard with defiant erectness. His posture showed no sign of the pain he must have felt. Then, slowly, he began to droop. Occasionally he would sense a Red Guard watching and pull himself up, but for longer and longer periods his gray head was bowed. His wife followed some Red Guards back and forth, saying something and gesturing in supplication. They did not even look at her but busily carried things from Old Qian’s house to the truck waiting at the door.

  After half an hour she went inside the house once more and then returned with an enamel cup. She knelt beside her husband and held the cup to his mouth. He raised his head and took a few grateful sips. As she lowered the cup, a Red Guard turned around and casually kicked it out of her hand. The water glittered in the hot sun.

  I felt sick to my stomach. I went back inside. It was all terribly unnecessary. He was so determined, but so wrong. If he had just lent them the bicycle, none of this would have had to happen.

  “What’s happening?” Grandma asked anxiously. She lay on her bed with a cold towel on her forehead.

  “Still the same.” I shook my head and said no more.

  I tried to sit and read but found myself pacing up and down the room. My knees hurt when I thought about the washboard, and my head felt dizzy when I imagined the sun burning down on him. “Poor man, he might get heatstroke,” I murmured to Grandma. But immediately I scolded myself. How could I feel sorry for a counterrevolutionary’s family member who refused to support the Red Guards? Still, I could not help going back out to look at him.

  His head was drooping feebly now, and his hands were propped on the ground to keep him from collapsing. His wife sat on the ground beside him, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

  All afternoon I kept going back to the balcony to look. An hour passed, and another hour, and each time I looked he was still there.

  Finally, we heard a shout from his wife. We ran to the balcony. Old Qian had fainted. He lay on his side, half over the washboard, with his sunburned face on the ground.

  Several Red Guards rushed out of the house. They looked flustered as they talked among themselves. After a few minutes they picked the old man up and carried him into the house.

  They loaded their truck with all the things they had confiscated, including the bicycle that Qian had refused to lend them. I watched them drive slowly away.

  The only things left behind at the base of the wall were a walking stick, a washboard, and an enamel cup, lying on its side.

  Even early in the morning the day did not seem fresh. The heavy air seemed to slow the working of my mind. My basket of vegetables dragged heavily on my arm. I passed the propaganda wall and could not help glancing at the ground where Old Qian had knelt yesterday. I started down the alley, but a hushed crowd at An Yi’s back door drew me reluctantly down the side lane.

  People were packed outside the kitchen craning to see into the back courtyard. “… jumped out the bathroom window…” I heard. “… through the awning of the courtyard…” “… blood…”

  I looked around in a daze.

  “Old Qian kneeling…” “afraid she’d be next…” The voices continued to buzz around my ears. I found myself at the front of the crowd, staring at the pieces of the shattered awning. I heard An Yi’s grandmother’s name and shuddered.

  An Yi’s grandmother had jumped out the window.

  My lips trembled and my teeth began to chatter.

  Only a few days ago I had visited her to ask her when An Yi would return from Shandong. She had served me green bean soup she had made herself. She had said that she would like to have An Yi and me accompany her to a dentist appointment when it was cooler. “Then I’ll buy you some peaches.” Her missing front teeth made ch’s sound like ts’s.

  An Yi’s grandmother was short and skinny, and she tottered on her bound feet. Her husband had been a wealthy man, a capitalist. He had owned a dye factory, but he had died a long time ago. For as long as I could remember, An Yi’s grandmother had lived with her only child—An Yi’s mother, Teacher Wei—An Yi’s father, and her elder sister, who was blind. An Yi’s grandmother took care of them all. I had known her so long that I called her Grandma too.

  Grandma and her sister always dressed in black. Sometimes I saw them up on the roof of their apartment, smoking a water pipe and talking together in their funny Ningbo accent. Grandma loved to give us treats. If An Yi and I teased or bantered while we studied together, Grandma would say, “Don’t be naughty, girls. Do your homework, and then Grandma will give you a treat.” When we were greedy, we pretended to quarrel, and it always worked. We thought she did not know we did this.

  “Is that white stuff her brain?” a boy’s shrill voice called as I turned numbly away. I could not bear to hear any more.

  Even though she had committed suicide, I went to Grandma’s memorial service at the crematorium.

  Through the tall window I could see, across the courtyard, the chimney looming high above, steadily emitting black smoke. The dirty white walls, the white carts with white sheets, the white uniforms on the crematorium workers, and the white, expressionless faces of the dead as they were rolled by all combined to produce an oppressive chill. The acrid smoke and its pervasive smell made me sick to my stomach.

  An Yi’s grandma lay on a cart, silent under the white sheet. Her face was covered. It had been smashed in her fall, and of course they would not make a wax replacement for a suicide.

  Suicide was a crime. It was “alienating oneself from the people,” according to what Chairman Mao said. So we were not in one of the private rooms. We wore no mourning bands. We could not play funeral music for Grandma.

  A door opened. We heard the sounds of the traditional dirge grow louder, and so did the screams and wails coming from a memorial ceremony in a private room. A cart trundled by, carrying a body draped in white. The hollow rumble of the hard wheels on the concrete floor went around a corner and slowly died away.

  An Yi and her parents stood beside the cart where Grandma lay. Their heads were bowed. No one said a word.

  Someone stuck his head out an office door and shouted at Teacher Wei, “Five more minutes!” Without waiting for an answer, he slammed the door shut.

  An Yi couldn’t hold back her sobs and cried out.

  Grandma was so dear to her. When An Yi had an asthma attack, Grandma often had to take her to the hospital for oxygen. As An Yi grew, the job became more and more difficult. Grandma often had to stop for a few minutes before she could continue to move down the stairs from their third floor with An Yi on her back. Once
, An Yi said, Grandma had to sit on the stairs and scoot down step by step with An Yi on her lap.

  I suddenly remembered a day last summer when I had gone into their house and found Grandma, soaked in sweat herself, holding An Yi’s long hair off her neck and fanning her.

  I dropped my eyes to the floor and heard the slow music of the dirge, louder for a moment, then soft again.

  I shut my eyes and pictured Grandma standing on the windowsill, looking down into the courtyard. What was she thinking before she jumped? She must have forgotten about her duties to her country, and her family too. Did she think about her granddaughter rushing back from Shandong for the funeral? Did she remember her blind sister? I wiped at my tears and took a deep breath.

  A kind but shockingly cheerful man in a white uniform appeared. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take her away now. My boss is already on my back about giving you too much time.”

  An Yi and Teacher Wei both threw themselves on the cart, sobbing bitterly. The man looked around nervously. “You guys better be careful, or they’ll say you’re allying yourselves with a bad class, with a suicide and all.” We heard a door open down the hall. Suddenly the man pulled An Yi off the cart and pushed it away around the corner. An Yi threw her arms around her mother and they both wailed.

  We heard the hollow rumble of the cart, and a squeaking wheel going eek, eek, eek into the distance.

  A SEARCH IN PASSING

  It was already past eight o’clock when Dad’s colleagues Uncle Tian and his wife, Aunt Wu, came to visit. They had not come for several months, and things were very different now. Mom did not make her famous beef soup, and Grandma did not make steamed buns. They barely greeted us children when they came in. Instead of loud, lively chatter and jovial laughter, their conversation was all hushed whispers. As soon as they mentioned “the current situation,” Dad told us to go downstairs to play with my little cousin Hua-hua.

  We went reluctantly. Hua-hua was sleepy and did not want to play patty-cake or any of our usual games, but we stayed at my Fourth Aunt’s apartment until we heard the footsteps going down the stairs.

  It was late. We were getting ready for bed when Dad talked to us.

  “Children, tomorrow I want you to go to the park with Grandma. You’ll have to take something for lunch.”

  Grandma’s been sick, I thought. Is this so she can rest?

  “A picnic!” Ji-yun shouted. “Oh boy!”

  “That’s right,” Dad answered. “A picnic.” His voice sounded odd somehow. “You all go and have a good time.”

  The morning was still relatively cool when we set off for the park, but the sun was bright and it was sure to be hot before long. I carried a book and a bag that rattled with the dishes we had packed for lunch. Ji-yong and Ji-yun skipped ahead and were already running across the grass by the time Grandma and 1 arrived.

  The park was almost empty. A few old men sat on benches playing chess, and in the shady places some old people did tai-chi exercises. We strolled around the lawn, and then Grandma picked a shaded bench and pulled out her knitting. “You go ahead and play,” she said. “I’ll be right here.”

  “Let’s play tag,” Ji-yun said excitedly. We had not been to the park in ages, and the three of us raced around the nearly deserted paths having a wonderful time. We were evenly matched. Ji-yun may have been the youngest, but she was very fast.

  Grandma called us to lunch. It was hot now. We gladly rested in the shade while she unpacked hard-boiled eggs and made sandwiches for us. We ate and shared a bottle of Juice. We laughed about a trip the whole family had taken to another park last spring, when Ji-yong had dropped the knife out of a rowboat so we had to eat our apples without peeling them. Finally Ji-yong and Ji-yun lay down on some benches and went to sleep. I helped Grandma tidy up before sitting down to read my book. Grandma took out her knitting again but did not set to work. Instead she sighed and stared into space. Her face was pale.

  I put my hand on her shoulder.

  She turned to me and smiled a little. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ve just been worrying too much.” She took my hand and patted it gently. “Every time I hear drums and gongs, I’m afraid that they’re coming to our house. My heart starts racing, and the closer they come, the worse it gets.

  “Now, after seeing poor Old Qian kneeling on that washboard, I haven’t been able to sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, I see the Red Guards coming in. I couldn’t bear it if they made me kneel like that. Or if they beat me.…” She smiled sadly. “Your father and Uncle Tian thought this would help me relax. I can sit in the park all day, and then even if the Red Guards come, I’ll be safe here.”

  “But what if the Red Guards are at our house when we get back?”

  “Your father thought of that too. Did you see the mop on the balcony? That’s our sign. If the Red Guards come, the mop won’t be there and I’ll know not to go in.”

  I was intrigued by the idea of secret signs, but I was scared too. I glanced around to see if someone was watching us.

  “It’s really not much of a solution,” Grandma went on. “I can’t stay here all night, and I can’t even stay in the park every day for months. Really, I just hope that I’ll get used to the situation and won’t have to come here anymore.” She shook her head sadly.

  The breeze blew a strand of hair over her ear, and I gently patted it back into place. She had more gray in her hair, I noticed. And more wrinkles on her face.

  She doesn’t seem like a landlord’s wife, I suddenly thought. In the movies the landlord’s wife was ugly, cruel, and stupid. Grandma was beautiful, kind, and smart.

  I remembered coming home from kindergarten and showing Grandma the songs and dances we had learned. Grandma sat before us with her knitting, nodding her head in time to the music. Sometimes we insisted that she sing with us, and she would join in with an unsteady pitch and heavy Tianjin accent, wagging her head and moving her arms just as we did.

  When we tired of singing, we would pester Grandma to show us her feet. When she was young it was the custom to tightly bind girls’ feet in bandages to make them as small as possible—sometimes as small as three inches long. This was considered the height of a woman’s beauty. Grandma’s feet were half bound, and when she was only seven she fought to have them released. As a result her feet were smaller than natural feet but larger than bound ones. We loved to touch them and play with them. If she refused to let us, we would tickle her until she panted with laughter.

  All my friends loved coming to our home because she was so friendly. She had lived in our alley for over thirty years without a single disagreement with any of the neighbors. Everyone loved her and respected her.

  Dad had said that she had never been classified as a landlord’s wife. She couldn’t be, I told myself.

  Mom got home from work that evening looking nervous. She whispered to Dad and Grandma, and as soon as we finished dinner, she told us to go outside and play.

  “We have something to take care of,” she said. I knew this had something to do with the Cultural Revolution. I wished she would just say so. We were too old to be fooled like little children. But I didn’t say anything and went outside with the others.

  When it was nearly dark, Ji-yun and I went back home, leaving Ji-yong with his friends.

  As we entered the apartment, I smelled smoke, acrid and choking. I looked around in alarm. But Grandma was sitting alone in the main room, showing no sign of worry.

  “Grandma, is there a fire?” we shouted anxiously. “Don’t you smell the smoke?”

  “Hush, hush!” Grandma pulled us to her quickly. “It’s nothing. They’re just burning some pictures.” We looked puzzled. “Your mother heard today that photos of people in old-fashioned long gowns and mandarin jackets are considered fourolds. So your parents are burning them in the bathroom.”

  “Can we go watch?” I loved looking at pictures, especially pictures of all those uncles and aunts I had never met.

  Grandma shook her head
. I winked at Ji-yun, and we both threw ourselves into her arms, begging and pleading. As always, she gave in, and went to the bathroom door to ask Mom and Dad.

  Mom opened the door a crack and let us in.

  The bathroom was filled with thick smoke that burned our eyes and made us cough. Dad passed us a glass of water. “We can’t open the window any wider,” he said. “The neighbors might notice the smoke and report us.”

  Mom and Dad were sitting on small wooden stools. On the floor was a tin washbowl full of ashes and a few pictures disappearing into flames. At Dad’s side was a stack of old photo albums, their black covers stained and faded with age. Dad was looking through the albums, page by page, tearing out any pictures that might be fourolds. He put them in a pile next to Mom, who put them into the fire.

  I picked up one of the pictures. It was of Dad, sitting on a camel, when he was about six or seven years old. He was wearing a wool hat and pants with suspenders, and he was laughing. Grandma, looking very young and beautiful and wearing a fur coat, was standing beside him.

  “Mom, this one doesn’t have long gowns or anything,” Ji-yun said. “Can’t we keep it?”

  “The Red Guards might say that only a rich child could ride a camel. And besides, Grandma’s wearing a fur coat.” She threw it into the fire.

  Mom was right, I thought. A picture like that was fourolds.

  The flames licked around the edges of the picture. The corners curled up, then turned brown. The brown spread quickly toward the center, swallowing Grandma, then the camel, and finally Dad’s woolen hat.

  Picture after picture was thrown into the fire. Each in turn curled, melted, and disappeared. The ashes in the washbowl grew deeper. Finally there were no more pictures left. Mom poured the ashes into the toilet and flushed them away.

  That night I dreamed that the house was on fire.

  By the third day Ji-yong and Ji-yun had tired of spending their days in the park, so they stayed home with our Fourth Aunt. I was bored too, but I wanted to keep Grandma company. So I brought a book and bought a pomegranate. Pomegranates had so many seeds that they took a good long time to eat, and I had plenty of time to spare.