Xiao Bai - French Concession

But slowly, he began to hint at it. This place is part of the Garrison Command’s Military Justice Unit, and it’s not within my purview, he said. It’s no secret that the Committee to Purify the Party is headed by madmen. Of course I know them well, and I did talk to them, arguing that the government should give a chance to a woman who made an honest mistake. But they asked me — is she family?

Do you understand? Is she family?

The coffee he had brewed for her was steaming. He had thoughtfully put one lump of sugar in the coffee and two more on her saucer. Somehow he had managed to get his hands on real china in the prison. This was the superintendent’s office, the best room in the building. It was sunny outside, and the room was cool even at the height of summer. He was a few years older than her — I only turned thirty last year, she thought. He told her he would pay for her to spend two years studying in Paris, as a birthday present.

Of course I knew what he was suggesting. I didn’t respond. Until the Communist Relief Society came again, and I asked for their opinion. I thought — they must be acting on behalf of the Party.

Ku had been deep in thought. He looked up and said to her: no, the Society does not represent the Party. They are only a charitable organization that offers necessary help to friends of the Party in prison. They are an organization affiliated with the Party.

I see that now. But then I said yes. I agreed. This was when he asked me again, directly. He told me Nanking’s new policy was to be tougher on revolutionaries, and another round of political prisoners would be killed. Don’t wait any longer, say yes, marry me, he said. If I can tell them you are my family — surely we wouldn’t destroy families in the name of revolution?

I only made one request: release Wang Yang at the same time that you release me. I can’t do that, he said — if you’re my wife, then what does that make him? That I cannot do. Then he hesitated for what seemed like ages, and told me that Wang Yang had been executed a month ago, in the prison yard. I cried for a long, long time.

Had she cried? she wondered. She seemed to remember that she had cried. But maybe she only cried because she was weak and despised her own weakness. She didn’t remember ever having loved Wang Yang, and if she had ever loved him, it was only because she had been young then.

Wang Yang once told her that a professional revolutionary didn’t need love, and could not permit it. If intercourse was a physical necessity, a revolutionary who felt that need should address it in the most straightforward way possible. No, a revolutionary couldn’t afford to waste his time flirting like a bourgeois.

Did she have doubts? If Ko had not asked her this question, would she have thought about the timing of Wang’s death? Had Wang Yang already been executed when Ts’ao proposed to her, or was he only executed afterward? That doesn’t matter, Ku said. Either way, Ts’ao is a counterrevolutionary army officer who slaughtered revolutionaries. But the question was of utmost importance to her, and to Ko as well.

Ko seemed to believe that this was a test not only of Ts’ao’s character, but also of Leng’s loyalties.

Ku spoke next. “Think carefully. The first time he asked you this question, did you give him a clear answer? This morning you said you didn’t give him an answer. Does that mean you didn’t say anything? We’re running out of time, and we’ll have to escort you back to Route Ferguson soon. All right, you didn’t say anything. Wasn’t that a clear signal that you wouldn’t agree to his request?” His tone of voice signaled that this was a mere formality, and all he needed was an answer to complete his interrogation notes.

Outside the window, boards clattered and the lonely sound of hooves echoed down Rue Amiral Bayle.

JUNE 8, YEAR 20 OF THE REPUBLIC.

5:18 A.M.

She heard someone sigh outside the window. Peering out through the gap between the curtains, she saw that the sky was much darker than the streets beneath it. The streets were wet with dew, like wet blotting paper on which cartwheels clattered. A donkey was harnessed to a cart full of night soil, and the driver had been yawning, not sighing.

The morning of the next day, the interrogation went on in the back room, right next to the room she was living in now. The back room had a sound-absorbing partition, and its window faced the courtyard. Her room, on the other hand, overlooked the street. One window opened out onto the longtang and the other onto Rue Amiral Bayle.

Ko had brought her here. Telling the officer assigned to her that she was going shopping alone, she had gotten into the first of two rickshaws, while Ko got into the one behind her. If someone comes in, I am Chang Tung-sheng, and I used to manage your father’s silk store, Ku said as they were going into the room. We met each other by chance on the street, and I brought you here so that we could have a quiet chat about old times. That may seem strange, but it isn’t really. After all, I did watch you grow up. When you were little, and I was working in the store, I used to hoist you onto my shoulders to buy peanuts. You don’t know where I live, but I don’t live here. These are my friend’s rooms, and he isn’t home. A young man — here he pointed to Ko — opened the door, and you heard us say that he is my friend’s new apprentice.

During their last month of Russian tutorials, Leng had audited the Polish man’s classes. He was an old Bolshevik who said he had been to Bombay, and gave classes on “the techniques of undercover work.” The class was mesmerizing, because all the stories drew on his own experience. She had paid attention in class, and she could tell Ku was fabricating a story they could use if they got into trouble. Ku must be an experienced revolutionary, she thought. He must have a senior position within the Party.

She was still unable to answer the questions they had asked her the previous day. She didn’t know whether silence constituted denial. She could not guess what they would think. Did you ever say, let me go away and think about this?

And what if I had said that? Did Ts’ao have Wang killed because he wanted to marry me? He didn’t have authority over the Garrison Command. But you couldn’t have known whether he had the authority. So you are all questioning my loyalty to the Party, and to Wang. But were you loyal to him? After accepting this marriage proposal, or even before you accepted it, did you ever once think of Wang? Remember how frightened you were, how the fear of death tormented you. You were too distraught to think of Wang. It was sweltering, the food was terrible, you washed once a day, and they only gave you enough water to wipe yourself down, so you didn’t even have a clean pair of underwear. Without sunlight, you would rinse your underwear with your last drops of water before hanging it on the iron fence to dry. You longed to get out of there, to escape the huge gates and enjoy the sunlight you craved.

Even after marrying Ts’ao, you never thought back to this time. Maybe you didn’t dare, or you didn’t want to. By the time you left prison, you had become a new person. If no one had asked you what happened, would you remember? Did you hesitate? Did you ever turn him down? Didn’t things just happen of their own accord? Ts’ao wanted to rescue you, and he needed a reason, so wasn’t making you his wife the best reason there was? When did you even ask him about Wang? Did that cup of coffee even exist? The cup of steaming coffee in your memory?