Anchee Min - Becoming Madame Mao

Lan Ping begins to feel the distance. The distance between her and the role she wants to play. She is not grasping it. She wonders when she will meet people of significance.

If you are a soldier, act like one. Fairlynn's tone is serious. You don't pop out with questions like a civilian. You don't ask to see Mao, for example… Suddenly Fairlynn farts. It is a loud fart. Comes in the middle of her sentence. The smell is strong.

Too many yams, observes Sesame.

Gas pills? Lan Ping offers.

Fairlynn is straight-faced as if someone else had farted. Then she starts to fart again. The girls begin to laugh. One of the farts is so long that it lasts a minute. The group bursts with joy when the fart modulates down a couple of notes before it finally dies out.

When I have to go to the bathroom I must squat over a manure pit. It is about three feet in diameter. There is only a wooden board across the pit. On rainy days the surface becomes extremely slippery. Even thinking about it makes me more depressed than I already feel. I have learned to operate guns, throw grenades, roll through bushes, over rocks. I fight and I labor. Communism to me is a moon-in-the-pond and a flower-in-the-mirror. Everything else tells me that I am in the wrong place.

It is midnight and I again have diarrhea. I don't want to climb down in the cold and wake up Fairlynn. But after an hour of tossing I can no longer bear it. I put on my clothes and begin to climb down. Fairlynn is sound asleep. The darkness wraps me as I get out. I have a hard time imagining myself balancing on the wooden board. I think about waking Fairlynn. But I change my mind. I don't want to be called Miss Bourgeois again.

I walk, my hands touching the wall. When I reach the gate, the discomfort in my stomach increases. I push the gate but it won't open. The rings won't budge. In a hurry I make a turn and finally manage to open the door.

I am lost. In front of me is a deserted courtyard. I can't remember where the manure pit is, I only know that it is not far.

It is not like what she later told people, that she never doubted the path she had taken. She doubted seriously, as now.

In tears she visits Kang Sheng. It is on a clear afternoon that she comes to his cave office.

Comrade Lan Ping! How have you been? he welcomes her. How are you getting along with life in Yenan? Come on. Have you eaten? Join me for lunch, please.

She hasn't seen meat for months.

They talk over the meal. She is humble, begs for advice.

Well, my knowledge of things is no better than yours, he replies. It is only that I am older and have tasted more salt. Have you tried the opera troupe here? Yenan has a lot of opera fans. The Party bosses are opera fans.

I want to try, but my squad head wouldn't allow me a day off. How would I explain the reason?

Well, let me see. I can transfer you in the name of the personnel department. I'll tell your squad head that the revolution needs you.

She almost wants to stand up and give him a kowtow. Holding herself back she asks for the names of the persons in charge of the Yenan opera troupe.

The people you will work with might be politically advanced, he says, as he tears off a piece of paper and quickly writes a list of names. But they can't sing, can't play roles. You will stand out. So put your mind to it. Would I bring people to see your show? If you are good I'll bring Chairman Mao.

The subtle hint in the words. He reminds me that time doesn't allow me to wait. Youth counts. How easily city girls' fine skin fades into sandpaper here. The harsh wind doesn't argue. It whispers ancient wisdom. While many receive advice, only the wise profit by it. Use your head. Put it this way. There is a different garden of love in Yenan. A woman loves a man for what he can do for China.

A local woman comes in with a teapot. She pours Kang Sheng and me tea. She is young but she has heavy wind-carved wrinkles. Kang Sheng adds, In Yenan, a woman's height is her husband's rank. He laughs as if joking. I am sure a girl of your quality attracts admirers. You should save yourself. Of course this is not our subject today. Here, take it. He pulls out a file from his drawer. Advance yourself with knowledge of the Party-read Mao's works. Remember, only when one's life intertwines with history will one be truly great.

She begins to read what Kang Sheng recommends. Books and papers. The stories fascinate her. They are about the history of the Communist Party, but more about one man's success. One man who single-handedly established and led the Party. One man who three times fell out of the Party's favor and three times made his way back to a role of leadership.

It is the story of Mao Tse-tung.

He is a self-taught man, a son of a Hunan peasant. He established the Hunan Communist group when he was a student in 1923. His mentor was the chief of the Communist Party, Mr. Chen Duxiu. In 1927 after Chiang Kai-shek massacred the Communists, the teacher-student relationship soured. They developed opposing views. Mao believed in the power of force, while Chen believed in the negotiating table. Chen had the say at the time. Yet history proved Mao right. After Chen's negotiations failed he furthered his mistake by ordering positional warfare-building body-walls to block Chiang Kai-shek's bullets. The result: the Red Army lost ninety percent of its force.

Frustrated, Mao took a small peasant force and moved to the remote Jing-gang Mountain to hide. Mao was determined to develop and train his men into an iron force. For his action Mao was accused as a traitor and an opportunist. He was fired.

But Chen had no luck and the Red Army was on the verge of being completely wiped out. Mao was offered back his job, for he had already developed his force into thirty thousand well-equipped men. Taking the new job, Mao battled with Chiang Kai-shek's force, ten times his number. Mao played cat and mouse with his enemy. Then he faced another internal blow. The central Communist Party Politburo believed that the Red Army was so strong that it was time to claim Chiang Kai-shek's main cities. Mao pleaded to withhold action. Again he was labeled a narrow-minded bumpkin and again he was fired.

Mao fell ill but he didn't give up. By the time the bad news came-the Red Army sent to attack the city was destroyed-Mao was ready to sit back in his commander's chair. Like an ancient strategist he applied his art to war and magically turned the situation around. The Red Army not only survived but also began to win again.

Yet Mao's problems were far from over. The Russian-trained army experts expressed their doubts about his guerrilla style. They convinced the Politburo that Mao's conservative tactics were ruining the Party's reputation. The Politburo was convinced that it was necessary to launch a second attack on Chiang Kai-shek's stronghold. When Mao fought again he was criticized as losing confidence in the revolution and was named a coward. This time Mao was not only fired from his job, he was ordered to leave the base. In 193 2, as a form of exile, he was instructed to establish a Party branch in a remote province.

Mao didn't wait for his turn. He actively lobbied, talked to his friends and connections. His prediction was proven right every step of the way. The Red Army lost key battles and finally was blocked by Chiang Kai-shek's force, unable to break out.

Mao was called back the third time. Yet he didn't want to be a dispensable bridge just to save the army from its troubled waters. He wanted a permanent position in the power-house-he wanted complete control over the Communist Party's leadership including removing his political enemies.

He was satisfied.

In 1934 the god led his followers and performed a miracle. It was called the Long March.

The girl sits in front of a stack of paper. She can see her thoughts forming. The syllables pop in the air, the sense falls into place. It's overwhelming. The birth of a sudden vision. Its vital energy. The combination of forbidden intimacy and illicit understanding.