Ha Jin: In the Pond

In three weeks the cartoon appeared in the literary and art section of the Lüda Daily. Apparently, the editors of the newspaper hadn’t taken it as a significant piece of work; it came out only four by three inches, inserted in the bottom left corner of the page. Yet the author’s name, authenticated by the mention of his workplace, stood below the drawing. Anyone with a little imagination wouldn’t fail to link the happy crowd in the cartoon to the cadres of the Harvest Fertilizer Plant.

Though only a few people in the plant subscribed to the newspaper, more than half of the three hundred workers and staff saw or heard of the cartoon on the day of its publication. That night, someone even pasted a copy of it on the notice board at the front entrance. Because Bin was its author, people assumed he had sneaked to the plant at night and posted it there. In fact, he didn’t know of its appearance in the newspaper until he came to work early the next morning.

On arriving at the plant, Bin was surprised to see his cartoon on the notice board. Several workers were gathered near it, chattering and smoking. They all congratulated him, but Bin nodded without showing any enthusiasm. In his heart he was happy and couldn’t help thinking, Good, see how those bastards will patch up the whole thing. This will make them remember that I don’t forget an offense in a hurry.

Entering the workshop, he ran into the director of Maintenance, Hsiao Peng, whose rank was not high enough to qualify him to compete for one of the four larger apartments; so Hsiao was among the outraged too. With a cunning smile he said to Bin, “That’s not a bad drawing, Young Shao. I’m impressed.”

“I aimed it at some people,” Bin said, his jaw jutting out.

“I know, you mean to correct the unhealthy tendency in our plant.” Hsiao was chewing a toffee, his round eyes blinking.

Bin knew Hsiao was also one of the wolves, who grumbled only because he hadn’t got a piece of meat this time. Quietly he turned away to put on his work clothes.

Within an hour after the morning shift started, the cartoon disappeared from the board. In the director’s office, Liu and Ma were restless, thinking how to handle this situation. Now they were notorious in the entire prefecture, only because they each had a faucet and an extra room in their new homes. Many leaders of higher authorities must have seen the cartoon and might have inquiries made about the people involved. That damn dog Shao Bin had turned upon his masters. No wonder people called him Man Hater. He simply hated everyone and couldn’t bear to see anybody better off than himself. They had to figure out a way to subdue him now; otherwise some workers would follow his example and make more trouble for them.

That evening the plant held a workers-and-staff meeting in the dining hall. After everybody was seated, Secretary Liu began to speak about the allocation of cabbages, turnips, carrots, and rutabagas for the coming winter, and also about the coal that the plant would sell to its employees to supplement the fuel the state had rationed. After that, he turned to the main topic: the cartoon and its author. In a thick voice, the squat secretary announced that this was a serious political case and that Shao Bin, “a representative of bourgeois liberalism,” had to be responsible for all the consequences.

Liu explained, “Comrade Shao Bin never expressed his dissatisfaction with the housing assignment. Then without the leaders’ knowledge and permission, he sent the cartoon to the newspaper. This is a sniping attack. As a result, he has damaged our plant’s reputation and slung mud in our faces. Besides, this is pure slander. You all know that only five single-story houses were built this year, but Shao Bin set up a tall building with his brush. In our commune no house is taller than White Mansion, which has only two stories. That’s a fact. How could our plant own a six-story building? If Comrade Shao is so constructive, we’d better invite him to build us a few great mansions. Then everybody here will have a spacious, beautiful unit. That will solve the problem of our lack of funds. In a couple of weeks we’ll realize the ideal of Communism in our plant, and we’ll become a progressive model for all of China.”

The audience laughed.

Liu went on, “In the cartoon twelve adults, men and women, are painted as one family; this is an insult to those who have moved into the new apartments. Everybody knows that many workers got housing this time. How dare Shao Bin call the twenty-four families that live in the new houses ‘one family with power’? Comrades, we are not animals but human beings. We grew out of group marriage thousands of years ago. You know, only the reactionaries would say the Communists live together, sharing wives and husbands. In the old China I often heard that kind of propaganda on Chiang Kaishek’s radio. Perhaps Comrade Shao Bin is too young to know the malicious nature of his drawing, but obviously it has nothing to do with constructive criticism. If he was not full of reactionary intentions, he at least called us names.”

Some angry eyes turned to Bin, who was sitting by a window. He hung his head low, dragging at a self-rolled cigarette.

“You want to say something, Old Ma?” Liu asked the director, returning to his seat.

“Yes.” Ma went to the front and began speaking in a hoarse voice. “Comrades, it’s true that the larger apartments each have an extra room, but it was designed for work, not for comfort. Don’t you think the leaders need a room to talk with you when you have a problem and come to see us? We can’t discuss it at a dining table with women and kids around, can we? Besides, all the leaders have large families, you know that, and we need an extra room. This is not our fault. When we were young, the government encouraged us to make babies, the more the better, and there was no family planning at the time. Chairman Mao announced at a conference, ‘Among all things in the world the most precious are human beings.’ We responded to his call, making more babies to increase our national wealth.” Some women giggled. Ma kept on, “So I say an extra room in our homes is not a privilege but a necessity.”

Damn you! Bin cursed to himself. How about the faucet and the closets? How about taking the sunniest side of each house? How about the cement floors? I hope the hard floors will break your women’s hips.

Ma then announced the Party Committee’s decision about the cartoon. “In view of comrade Shao Bin’s wrong, we propose a threefold solution here. One, Finance will stop giving him a bonus for six months. Two, he must write out a self-criticism and admit his wrong publicly, in front of all of us. Three, he must send a letter, without delay, to the Lüda Daily and explain the facts and his true intention, and ask the editors to publish a note of correction. Comrades, we believe this is the only way to restore our plant’s reputation and repair the leader’ image. Let me make it clear here: we will adopt other measures if Shao Bin doesn’t change his attitude toward—”

“This is oppression and vengeance!” Bin bellowed and jumped up. “I won’t write a word. I will report you to the State Council in Beijing.” He flourished his cigarette.

The room rang with laughter. Ma waved to adjourn the meeting, and people stood up, moving to the door. Bin knew there was no use arguing with the leaders, who would simply enjoy seeing him rage and wrangle, so he left the dining hall without one more word. His eyes turned triangular, glowing with anger.

After hearing of the Party Committee’s decision, Meilan changed her mind and begged her husband to give up confronting the leaders, because there was 120 yuan involved. The loss really hurt. Without the money, they wouldn’t be able to buy a TV the next year. They had saved almost 300 yuan for that and needed the bonus to make up the total amount. But Bin refused to give in, saying he wouldn’t have to watch television and he would rather spend his time more meaningfully, studying and painting. Besides, how could he retreat now? People would think him spineless if he bowed to the leaders’ wishes.