Anchee Min - Becoming Madame Mao

She spends the whole winter in a cold dorm room. She feels like a homeless dog. She tells herself to wait until spring. Maybe by then Yu Qiwei's ice-cold heart will melt. Maybe he will invite her out, maybe the blossoms of the spring will arouse him, and time will make him realize that he has tortured her enough.

I have tried but I am unable to let go of this feeling. Not after we separate, not after he is remarried, not even after I have married Mao. I can't make peace with him and myself although I accept that this is my fate. Emotionally I can't let go. I can't stand him being possessed by another woman. The burn lasts all my life. It doesn't end after his death, of heart failure at the age of forty-five, in 1958. I don't hide my dislike of his wife, Fan Qing.

When she looks back, she can almost see the reason. The passionate pain of abandonment. Yu Qiwei didn't let her finish her role. He left her to wonder why she didn't play it successfully. He walked out of her show before the curtain was down. It was not her character to accept humiliation. Maybe that's why he let himself slip out, die before she became the ruler of China. Maybe he knew that she wouldn't know how to live with his rejection, that she would make him pay for what he did. And he didn't want to pay what he didn't consider his debt. He was right. She spent her life cashing in the deposits of her disappointments.

I HAVE NEVER SAILED, never imagined that sailing could be this awful. I am seasick and have been throwing up. Ten days ago I boarded the Pellet, a cheap cargo ship going down the coast from Shan-dong to Shanghai. I have never been to Shanghai. I felt that I had to do something to escape my situation. What do I have to lose? When I am not retching over the side I watch the sea. I forbid myself to think of Yu Qiwei. At night I sleep on the cargo floor among hundreds of low-class passengers and their animals. One night I wake up with duck shit all over me.

Leaving seemed to be my only choice. After I got back to Shandong from Beijing Yu Shan came to see me. She tried to be a good friend. But her brother was between us. Yu Shan came again the day I left for Shanghai. I had asked her and Mr. Zhao for contacts in Shanghai. They were kind enough to provide me with a name, a man called Shi, a film-maker originally from Shan-dong. Yu Shan wished me good luck. She seemed relieved to see me go. She didn't tell me that her brother was about to get married.

Yu Qiwei never wrote after he left me. Not a word. It was as if we had never been lovers. He didn't care to know where I was or how I felt. He didn't know I once wanted to quit living because of him.

The girl is determined to leave the pain behind. Toward the future she stares hard at the horizon. In her weakest moment, she still believes that she has the power to bring life to a new role. She feels this with every fiber of her being. She has decided to return to acting-it is what she does the best. If she can't fulfill her dream of being a leading lady in life, she can realize it on stage.

It is early morning and the fog is thick. The ship finally makes its way into the East China Sea and heads toward the Huangpu River. The ship's wake is a sweeping arc of white in the dark water. When the girl turns around and faces the bow of the ship Shanghai is there, its skyline touching the clouds. The ship slips clumsily into its berth. The gangplank is lowered. The crowds rush and press. Halfway down the walkway a foreign dialect strikes her ears. Everything will be different here, she thinks to herself. Above her neon signs blink like dragon's eyes. BRITISH SOAPS, JOHNSON TOOTHBRUSHES, FRENCH VELVET ROSE LIPSTICK. She is fascinated.

Mr. Shi is a man in his early thirties. He has the features of a typical Shan-dong man, tall and broad shouldered. His laughter sounds like thunder. He welcomes me warmly and lunges for my luggage. Before we have walked two steps he tells me that he is a producer in theater and film. Yu Shan has told me as much, but I have not heard of his work myself. By the way he talks I gather that he is at least well connected. He seems pleased to see me. He calls to a pedicab.

Mr. Shi keeps talking as we pile into the cab. I can hear the faint traces of his old Shan-dong accent. Shanghai is Asia's Paris, he says. It is heaven for adventurers. It can excite as well as break people. As I listen to Mr. Shi I notice the fashion in Shanghai. Women are stylish. They dress in rather short skirts and pointed shoes with high heels. The designs are creative and bold. Our pedicab wheels though the crowd. I hold tightly to the bar to prevent myself from falling out. The buildings on each side of the streets are much taller than any I have ever seen. I get the sense that Mr. Shi plans to show me the entire city right now, but I am not in the mood. I am tired and filthy.

As kindly as I can, I ask Mr. Shi to tell the driver to take the shortest route to the apartment he has secured for me. Mr. Shi seems a little disappointed but leans forward to speak to the driver. Leaning back, he offers me a cigarette. He is surprised when I decline. Everyone smokes in Shanghai, he says. You have much to learn, and I shall be honored to be your guide.

We enter a poor neighborhood, turn onto a shabby street and come to a stop before a two-story house. The building seems to lean in on itself and is encrusted with dark soot. Mr. Shi pays the cab and collects my luggage. We make our way into the building. There is no light. The stairs are steep and some are missing. Finally we stand in the second-floor hallway. Mr. Shi struggles with the key in the lock. Turning the key back and forth, he apologizes for the condition of the apartment. For your budget this is the best I could get. I tell him that it is all right. I had expected worse. He is relieved. Finally he gets the door open. A bad smell hits my face. In the dark I can feel the cockroaches skitter across my feet.

The girl sits on the floor in the middle of the small room. Outside, daylight fades. A strange kind of peace descends. She feels as if she has found a new home. It's not going to be easy but right now she feels calmer and considers it a good sign. Even the sounds coming from beyond her walls seem soothing. The family to her right has a brood of noisy children, a father that screams to shush them. On her left, there is an out-of-tune piano, a player who is just beginning. Across the hall is the public kitchen, with its noise and smells. The clanking of pans and the aromas of garlic and soy sauce. She feels as if she has awakened from one dream and is about to enter another.

Mr. Shi doesn't quite know how to handle the girl. Every time he comes to visit she is out. A few times he catches her and convinces her to have tea with him. She reports her latest activity-she has already checked out all the contacts he had given her. Her mind seems to race constantly in every direction. One moment she asks him about how the buses work, how to get from one point to another by the most economical route; the next moment she wants to know where Tien Han, the playwright of The Incident on the Lake, lives and if she could visit him soon.

After only a week, Mr. Shi has lost his ability to track the girl. He is surprised to learn that she has already made a visit to Tien Han and is calling from his house. Not only is she staying at his house for the week, she has also gotten herself a job selling tickets at a left-wing theater. She also mentions that she has enrolled in classes at Shanghai University.

I rush from one side of town to the other. I am moving so fast that I barely have time to remember where I have been. I believe that if I meet as many people as possible something will come of it. I shoot for the top, arrive unannounced in the offices of producers and directors-I can't be rejected. I would like to star in both film and theater, I tell anyone who will listen. Some are annoyed by me. They are taken aback by my presumption. She is pretty, yes, but who is she? Others, like Mr. Tien, whose play I starred in in Shan-dong, find me attractive, and are charmed by my daring. Mr. Tien is flattered by my admiration for his work and takes an interest in me. When he learns where I am living he offers his home to me. He feeds me, gives me more contacts, and off I go again clutching my bus map.