Gao Xingjian - One Man

And you really want to cry, to roll on the floor like a spoiled brat and to cry as hard as you can. But there are no tears, no tears, none at all. Hey, man, you're just getting old!

So what if you're a worm or a dragon! You're more like a homeless dog without an owner, so you don't have to please anyone and don't have to try to get anyone to like you. You, you're a mole that bores holes in the ground. You like the dark, you can't see a thing in the dark, you can't see the hunting rifles. You no longer have goals and what use are goals anyway?

Now that you have a new life, you want to use it as you want to, and you want what's left of your life to be lived more meaningfully. Most important of all, living has to bring happiness, and you must derive happiness from living for yourself. What others think is of no relevance whatsoever.

To be self-activated and to exist for yourself is a freedom that is not external to you. It is within you, and it depends on whether you are aware of it and consciously exercise it.

Freedom is a look in the eyes, a tone of voice, and it can be actualized by you, so you are not destitute. Affirming this freedom is like affirming the existence of a thing, like a tree, a plant, or a dewdrop, and for you to exercise this freedom in life is just as authentic and irrefutable.

Freedom is ephemeral; the instant of that look in your eyes and that tone of your voice springs from a psychological state, and it is that flash of freedom that you want to capture. To express this in language is to affirm freedom, even if what you write can't last forever. In the process of writing, freedom is visible and audible, and, at the instant of writing, reading, and listening, freedom exists in your mode of expression. To be able to obtain that small luxury of freedom of expression and expressive freedom is what it takes to make you happy.

Freedom is not conferred, nor can it be bought, it is your own awareness of life. Such is the beauty of life, and, surely, you savor this freedom just as you savor the ecstasy of sexual love with a wonderful woman.

This freedom can tolerate neither God nor a dictator. To be either of these is not your goal, nor would such a goal be attainable, so rather than wasting the effort you may as well simply want this bit of freedom.

Instead of saying Buddha is in your heart, it would be better to say that freedom is in your heart. Freedom castigates others. To take into account the approval or appreciation of others, and, worse still, to pander to the masses, is to live according to the dictates of others. Thus it is they who are happy, but not you yourself, and that would be the end of this freedom of yours.

Freedom takes no account of others and has no need for acceptance by others. It can only be won by transcending restrictions that are imposed on you by others. Freedom of expression is also like this.

Freedom can be manifested in suffering and grief, as long as one does not allow oneself to be crushed by it. Even while immersed in suffering and grief, one can still observe, so there can also be freedom in suffering and grief. You need the freedom to suffer and the freedom to grieve, so that life will be worth living. It is this freedom that brings you happiness and peace.

"Don't think peace will reign once old counterrevolutionaries have been purged. Rub your eyes hard and be vigilant, those practicing counterrevolutionaries are dangerous enemies! They are carefully hidden and crafty, they have accepted our proletarian revolutionary slogans but are secretly instigating capitalist factionalism and blurring our class demarcations. We cannot allow ourselves to be hoodwinked by them, think hard about the people who were sneaking around during the movement. Those two-faced counterrevolutionaries that hold up the red flag while opposing the red flag are sleeping right next to you!"

The deputy chairman of the Army Control Commission, Officer Pang, was political commissar in the army and had come especially from Beijing to visit the farm. Wearing glasses with thick black frames, he stood on the stone mill in the drying square and waved a document in his hand as he made his rallying call: "The May Seventh Cadre School is not a haven from the class war!"

A purge of the practicing counterrevolutionary group designated "May Sixteenth" was under way, and leaders and activists of rebel factions from the beginning of the movement were all marked for investigation. He was instantly relieved of his position as squad leader, and told to stop work to write a full report on those years, detailing the dates and places when and where which people had what secret meetings and had engaged in what shady activities.

At the time, he didn't know that, in Beijing, Big Li had been interrogated for days and nights on end, and that, after being beaten and kicked, confessed to being a May Sixteenth element. Of course, Big Li also named him. Big Li further confessed that the meeting in Wang Qi's home was part of a secret counterrevolutionary plot, which allowed them to collude with members of the counterrevolutionary gang and receive instructions for the ultimate goal of overthrowing the dictatorship of the proletariat. Big Li ended up in a mental institution. Wang Qi had also been interrogated. Old Liu had been beaten to death during an interrogation in the underground room of the workplace building, then taken upstairs and thrown out of a window. It was construed that he had committed suicide to avoid punishment.

Luckily, he got wind of the hunting dogs closing in on the horizon. By this time, he already knew how the political hunt operated. Based on the Number One War Preparation Mobilization Command authorized by Deputy Commander-in-Chief Lin Biao, large numbers of personnel and their families had been sent to the countryside, and this was the sign of an even more thorough purge. The peaceful mood, despite the hard physical labor people were subjected to, swiftly vanished. With the arrival of the newcomers, hostility was reignited and replaced that bit of friendly solidarity that had developed. The old company, platoon, squad units, were dismantled and reorganized, and a branch of the Party was reestablished with cadres appointed by the Army Control Commission in Beijing. He had to watch for a chance to break through their siege and escape before the hunt closed in. In the middle of the night, he sneaked into the county town to send a telegram to his middle-school classmate Rong.

It is said that Heaven never cuts off the road for people. In his case, it was more like Heaven took pity and gave him a road out. In the afternoon, while everyone was working in the fields, he was in the empty dormitory, writing his confession. Someone was outside, so he put on an act and wrote down a few of Mao's sayings. The postal worker from the commune was on his bicycle in the square outside the door, shouting, "Telegram! Telegram!"

He ran outside; it was from Rong. He was smart: for "sender" Rong had written only the telegraphic registration number of the farm technology promotion station of the county where he worked. The message read: "In the spirit of the Party Center document on war preparation, it is agreed that such-and-such a comrade may settle down and work in the agricultural commune of our county. He must report immediately, before the end of the month, after which he will not be accommodated."

While everyone was still working in the fields, he rushed to the cadre-school office that was more than five kilometers away. No one was in the big room with a telephone and typewriter. The small inner room was where Officer Song worked and slept. The door was shut, and there was a rustling noise inside.

"Reporting to Officer Song!"

This was military practice, and he had learned well. After a while, Officer Song emerged in his army uniform, looking immaculate except for an undone hook-and-eye on his collar.