Anchee Min - Wild Ginger

"Do you win in the fights?"

"Well, most of the time I lose. Once I almost got my teeth knocked out."

"You are brave."

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"I am sure you… you are aware that you do look a little foreign. Is your father really French?"

"Half French. My grandfather is French."

"Where is France? Is it an imperialist country like the U.S.A.?"

"I have no idea. I have never seen a world map. My mother once said that it was in Europe and was a beautiful agricultural country. But how can I trust my mother?"

"So Hot Pepper was right about your dossier?"

"Well, one can't choose one's parents, can one?"

"Of course not."

She made a deep, old-woman-like sigh.

"I'm sorry, Wild Ginger."

"My mother was wrong. She thought that transferring me to another school would help."

"Well, you didn't fight for yourself this time."

"Believe me, it makes no difference. Sooner or later my looks will be everyone's excuse to hit or make fun of me. To tell you the truth, at my old school people were rougher. They beat me with metal belt buckles."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't stop them. Being submissive is not going to do it either, and that I know for sure."

I sighed, thinking about my own situation. Every muscle of my body ached.

"You take it as if you deserve it." She started to walk toward the gate and I followed. "Why don't you fight back, Maple? At least you should show them your disapproval."

"What's the use? In any case I won't win. I am alone."

"Not anymore." Wild Ginger picked up a willow branch and swung it in the air.

I looked at her.

She cracked the branch like a whip. It snapped and made a crispy sound.

A strange warm feeling came through me. My tears gushed up involuntarily.

"Here's your abacus," I managed to say. "Hot Pepper will break it again if she sees you hanging out with me."

"Or you with me." She smiled. "Where do you live?"

"Number 347 Red Heart Road. And you?"

"Not far from you. Stalin Road behind Chia Chia Lane."

"I like your name, by the way."

That night for the first time in a long while I felt at peace. Life was changing its color from dark to light. My despair eased. Wild Ginger filled my mind. I told my mother about my new friend. I described her fearlessness. I didn't mind when Mother fell asleep. She snored before I finished. I kept going. I needed to hear Wild Ginger's name and hear her story.

The late summer night in Shanghai was humid. I could hear my stomach rumble. We were too poor to afford full meals. My family slept on the floor on a bamboo mat. My three sisters and three brothers laid their arms and legs across one another. In sleep they were engaged in a war. They were fighting for food and space. My second brother's toe was in my third sister's mouth. My youngest brother's butt was on my mother's chest. My second sister shouted "Buns! Green onion buns!" and rolled off the mat as if chasing someone who had taken her buns. My oldest brother wiggled his body and stuck his head in between the table leg and the chair. "Buns? Where is the bun?" His hands grabbed my shoulder.

Unable to sleep, I got up. I decided to write a letter to my father, who had been sent to a forced labor collective. I hadn't seen him for almost a year. I told him that I looked forward to school now. Although I still expected beating and assault, the thought that I was no longer alone cheered me.

Lists of the names of the "newly discovered enemies" were posted on the neighborhood's bulletin boards. Among them was Mrs. Pei, Wild Ginger's mother. She was accused as a spy and was ordered to attend public meetings to denounce her husband and confess her crime. The neighbors and children were asked by the head of the district to keep their eyes on her and report any sign of resistance.

I ran to Wild Ginger to tell her the news. Her house was in an elegant compound located at the deep end of the lane. It was built during the French colonial period before the Liberation and was the greenest district in the city. The house was half hidden in the shade under a large fig tree. The entrance was run-down but still had an elegant look. It reminded me of an abandoned, aging concubine.

I knocked on the door. It was half open. A limping dog came out. "Come on in," Wild Ginger greeted me. "Maple's here, Mother."

I entered the hallway. It was spacious. Off it were old white rooms with windows on three sides. The leaf-patterned curtains were drawn, making the light inside dim and soft. Lying on an old sofa, Mrs. Pei, a middle-aged, gray-haired woman, welcomed me. She was very thin although still pretty, like an old porcelain goddess. Layers of sheets and blankets covered her from the waist down. In front of her, scattered across the floor, were a variety of potted plants. There were orchids, thick-leaved bamboo, camellias, and red grass.

"Mrs. Pei," I said politely.

She made an effort to sit up, but her strength failed her. She lay back down and gasped, "Excuse me." She looked nervous. "Water, Ginger. Come on in, Maple dear. Has anyone seen you coming to the house?"

"No. I hid behind the fig tree for a long time before I knocked at your door. I made sure no one saw me."

Mrs. Pei sighed with relief.

"Have you seen the bulletin?" Wild Ginger asked me.

"That's why I'm here, to tell you about it. It's on everybody's door."

"The neighborhood activists posted them this morning." Her voice was strangely distant and matter-of-fact.

"What… are you going to do?" I turned to look at Mrs. Pei.

Mrs. Pei said nothing. She stared at the ceiling.

"Does Mother have a choice?" Wild Ginger poured me a cup of water. "She made the mistake of marrying a foreigner. She has to live with the consequences. She knew that. But it's not fair to me. I am the victim. I am the casualty of her battle. But, Maple, let me tell you, that marriage was not a crime, it was a mistake. A human error."

"It was not a mistake." Mrs. Pei pushed herself to rise. "Nor an error. He is your father!"

"Mother, enough. I hate that man."

"How dare you disrespect your father! You daughter of no piety!" Mrs. Pei groaned.

"I hate that very thought."

"You carry his blood."

"I am disgusted."

"You don't know who he was."

"He was a spy."

"He was not."

"Why did he come to China? What business did a foreigner have to do with China?"

"He loved China. He was a diplomat. It was his job. He wanted to help China thrive."

"No. He was a spy. Spying was his job. He was sent by the Western imperialists. Helping China thrive was his disguise. It was false. Helping the Western imperialists to exploit China was the truth. You were too blind to see it. You were foolish."

"You bastard!"

"The sound of truth hurts your ears, doesn't it?"

"How could you trust what the authorities tell you?"

"I trust Chairman Mao's representatives! I trust Chairman Mao!"

"You've been brainwashed!"

"Watch out, Mother! You are sounding dangerous!"

"I am your mother. I'll risk my life to tell you the truth!"

"You are a pitiful victim."

"Shut up!"

"I pity you, Mother. I truly do. And I pity myself too, although I don't want to."

"Don't listen to her, Maple…" Mrs. Pei fell back to the sofa. Closing her eyes she breathed with difficulty. Her chest was rising and falling. "Ginger is mad, like the rest of China."

"I am not mad, but you definitely are, Mother! You have been living in a dream created by that Frenchman, and worse, you refuse to wake up."

"Ginger!"

"Wake up, Mother!"

"Ginger! I should have listened to my great-aunt! I should have given you the name she had suggested, 'Plain Water.' It was to calm you and tame your character. Oh, how I rejected and upset her! She hired a fortuneteller who told us that there was too much fire in you when you were born. I was told that you would burn yourself into a wasteland. But I didn't care. I liked the passion that fire signified! Your father and I named you Wu-Jiang, 'Wild Ginger,' because we loved the fire in you! We thought that it was special. Your father treasured the wildness. We hoped that you would grow up to be as free as you want to be. But how could I have known it would turn out like this! What a retribution!…Maple, Ginger's father loved China and he loved his daughter. He died of cancer when she was five. He was a noble man."