Anchee Min - Becoming Madame Mao

Oh, that was my favorite.

I studied the image when I was a photography student. I'm glad I have caught the heroine in you again. Your expression moved me. I shall develop the negatives and send you the prints in a few days. You'll know what I am talking about here. It is the best picture I have ever taken.

The negative never makes it to the positive.

October 5, 1976. The war room of the China military headquarters is packed with marshals and generals. With a picture of Mao hanging above the map, action begins. Around the table sits Commander in Chief Marshal Ye Jian-ying. Next to him is Hua Guo-feng, Vice Premier Li Xian-nian, Chen Xi-lian, plus the newly promoted 8341 Garrison head, Wang Dong-xin.

A phone ring breaks the silence. Wang picks up the receiver. After a few seconds he reports. The enemy has made a move. Navy intelligence by the East China Sea has found out that the Shanghai Jiang-nan ship factory has turned two ships into armed vessels. The workers' force have built a defense around the entire bay. A moment ago they came to claim the army's Wu-song artillery base.

The members in the war room sit back in their seats. The only thing that troubles their minds is the consequence of destroying Madame Mao only twenty-seven days after Mao's death. Will the nation agree with the action? Could it backfire?

October 6. Hua Guo-feng calls Jiang Ching to meet at the Hall of Mercy in the evening. Jiang Ching's secretary, Little Moon, asks the reason for the meeting.

The publication of the late Chairman's fifth volume of works. The reply is smooth.

Comrade Jiang Ching will be absent. Little Moon's voice is gentle but clear. Sure, I'll get the message to her as soon as possible.

Madame Mao Jiang Ching appears by the door. She is in a suit with a sand-colored scarf around her neck. My sixty-third birthday is coming, she utters. I've never celebrated my birthdays. There hasn't been much to celebrate. But my life is changing and the people will begin to celebrate my birthday. I trust their judgment.

Like a weed she breaks through the sidewalks. She extends her arms far out and begins to sing like her opera heroine. Cracks the patio pavement, and she will pierce the most desolate corner to find air and light!

Evening wraps the room. Little Moon sits by the phone.

Still no answer from Chun-qiao's office? Madame Mao asks.

No.

What about Yao?

No answer either. By the way, Madame, we have also lost touch with Wang.

There is a sudden collision of thoughts in which fear realizes itself. Madame Mao feels the gradual stifling of her breathing. Pictures pass through her head like a movie, which later proves to match what really happened.

The first shot is the clock hanging on the wall of the Hall of Mercy. The time is seven fifty-five in the evening. At the hall's entrance Chun-qiao enters with quick steps. He is in a Mao jacket and looks small and thin as if in a wide-angle lens. Suddenly behind him two guards appear. They hop on his back and press him to the floor. His glasses are taken off. There is no struggle and he is taken away. The time is eight-fifteen.

The set changes. It is now the Hall of the East Wing. Disciple Yao enters. Two guards come out and block his way. He looks around and falls on his knees. Then comes Wang Hong-wen. When Wang sees the guards approaching he turns around to run but doesn't make it to the gate. He puts up a fight but is tied up eventually.

One guard walks toward the camera. There is elation on his face. He stretches out his arm and turns the camera off.

No one is picking up her calls for help. No one is at home. Everybody has "hospitalized" themselves in order to avoid her.

Suddenly she is attacked by a feeling of worthlessness. Her childhood memories rush back to her. The face of her father. The tears of her mother. Pain surfaces. Terror. The water rises, and now is throat deep. She hears her father's yell. Give it up!

Why is it so quiet here? Why are you, Little Moon, looking at me like a wakening soul? Was my guess right? Have the wolves finally infested my land? Stop it! Stop trembling like a coward!…There is… nothing I can do, I suppose. The military has always been my weak point. The Chairman didn't leave me enough time to manage the warlords. The warlords… maybe… I cannot say that the trap was not set by Mao himself… Come here, Little Moon.

Little Moon rises. Her stick-thin body is stiff and her eyes dwell freezingly.

Come, girl, and sit down by me. Let's chat. Cheer me up. Let me tell you stories of my life. Because in a few minutes it will be a different story. I will be called the White-Boned Demon. Come on, Little Moon, unzip your pursed mouth. It doesn't look attractive when you clench your jaw tight. You are a pretty girl. Why don't you let me fix your eyebrows? Bring me the little scissors. I have to do it now or never. No? What's wrong? Don't stare at me as if you have just swallowed a spoiled egg. Come on, courage!

Little Moon twists her mouth and breathes unevenly.

I'm getting bored listening to the sound of my own voice. Where are the wolves?

Quietly she eats her last meal as Madame Mao. Little Moon is ordered to join her. But the young woman can't make herself eat. She unshells clams with her chopsticks and puts the meat onto Jiang Ching's small side plate.

Thank you. I appreciate your loyalty and I wish you were Nah. It's a mother's foolishness. It seems now… that she was not unwise… Ninxia Desert she has escaped… The realm of laxity… Anyway, this is to cap my life. It's time to be a martyr, to stick a chopstick into my throat-I am preparing myself. A good actress can handle any scene… Where is Yu Hui-yong? I need to hear my operas. Yu is a born coward. It wouldn't surprise me if he ends up killing himself. He is too delicate and lives with feelings and fear. That is an artist's problem. We are artists. That is why Yu will kill himself. So would I, I am afraid. Why am I talking about this? Why am I talking about being an artist? Yu's music makes me cry. I already miss him. Chun-qiao is the toughest among us, and that is his luck.

The sound of her silk skirt has stopped

On the marble pavement dust grows

Her empty room is cold and still

Fallen leaves are piled against the doormat

Midnight, October 6. The Garden of Stillness. Along the deep walls come noises. The sound of steps rises behind the gates. Whispers. Someone is talking with the guard. Yes, sir, the guard answers. A tall shadow approaches. A man leaps. It is Zhang Yiao-ci, the second in command of the 8341. The sound of the gate clashes and locks behind. Zhang Yiao-ci freezes at the entrance. After a moment he advances and enters the mansion. He pounds on the door. His fingers tremble.

It's open, the first lady's voice comes.

Zhang Yiao-ci lunges in. His right hand rests on top of the weapon behind his back.

Madame Mao Jiang Ching sits on the sofa, holding a mug of tea. Her calm freezes the man.

The man looks around. Sweat oozing.

A long-legged bird from the painting on the wall stares down.

Madame Mao speaks, then laughs shrilly. I have long anticipated this day! I have spread flowers all the way from my bedroom to the gate.

The man gasps and wills himself to push the syllables out of his mouth: Jiang Ching, the republic's enemy, the Politburo has ordered your arrest.

When the imaginary curtain comes up the actress presses herself forward. She envisions the billion-large audience cheering at the top of their lungs and waving flags. An ocean of red. The color sears her eyes. She smells the warm sun. In the music of her opera she strides. In her head, the drums and trumpets come together. She remembers once how Yu described his feelings when composing on her order: it is the sound of hundreds of train engines puffing smoke and churning their pistons. The notes tighten and twist to the point of breaking. It is as if the composer were choked by the claws of the madness and took each note separately off of his mind's hook and threw them all together into a giant bucket and began to stir.