"Such intimacy doesn't exist in the world of the true proletarians. The rule is: we live for one thing, to serve and sacrifice for Chairman Mao."

"So you don't acknowledge love."

"That is a bourgeois word. You should delete it from your vocabulary."

We were standing by the garbage dump where Wild Ginger had stabbed her hand once. It seemed a safe place to carry on our discussion, where no one would be able to hear us.

The late autumn leaves were blown by the wind and danced in the air. In sandals, my bare feet were getting cold. To keep them warm, I crunched the leaves and hopped once in a while. Our discussion was going nowhere. We fought, trying not to raise our voices. I was surprised to learn that while she was in Beijing she had sworn her loyalty by writing a letter of promise. The idea was generated by the secretary in chief of the National Communist Youth League. The letter stated that she would give up her personal life, including marriage, to be a people's servant and a Maoist. The People's House of Letters and Literature had given her a contract to publish her diary of the next ten years. The text would be included in school textbooks and recited by students at all levels.

"It's such an honor that I was set to be an immortal," she said.

I asked if she believed that this was the right thing to do.

"No doubt I do," she answered.

"What about Evergreen?"

"I'll overcome my feelings for him."

"You mean you won't-"

"We are revolutionary soulmates."

"No, I mean, will you ever become ... involved?"

"You mean like-"

"I mean like ... lovers."

"Never."

"You expect me to believe you?"

"Chairman Mao teaches us, 'A true Communist is one who keeps her word.'"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Be proud of me."

"I am. But I also feel sad."

"Why?"

"I can't imagine your life being companionless. It'll be lonely."

"Loneliness doesn't belong to a Maoist. Don't you see I have people? I have one billion people loving me and looking up to me."

"You are missing my point."

"Grow up, Maple."

"You ... you don't want to be with Evergreen, is that right?"

"Wrong."

"I don't get it."

"I'll be with him. We will spend a great deal of time, even our lives, together, but without any physical contact."

"Without any?"

She nodded, in full confidence.

"What about Evergreen? Will he accept your condition?"

"He has to, if he is what he says ... if he cares about me."

"What if he discovers that love has to be expressed beyond spirituality?"

"Then he has to go."

"Would you let him?"

"Like I said, my loyalty toward Chairman Mao comes first."

"What about your desire?"

"That's where I need you, Maple. I am determined to fight the beast inside me and win. It will be hard at the beginning, but I'll pull through. Evergreen and I will get used to being with each other like-"

"A brother and a sister?" My tone was ironic.

She didn't mind. "We will have to work on reforming our thinking. Any bad thought will be nipped in the bud. We will conquer ourselves and then the world."

"What about impulse?"

"You'll be the one to help me to hold the leash."

"Well, I'll do my best to help, but-"

"You'll be all right."

"Describe my duty."

"Just be there."

"Be where?"

"Be where we are."

"We? You mean you and Evergreen? You want me to be a big bright bulb hanging in between you and him-"

"Exactly. With your presence, my instinct will be caged."

"But Evergreen will throw me out!"

"He won't know that you're there."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll hide you."

"Where?"

"In the closet."

13.

After dinner she hurried me into her closet, which stood in the middle of a long wall. She had rearranged its colored gla.s.s panes so I could peek through without being seen. The closet was originally a living room fireplace. The remodeling knocked down the bedroom walls and turned the whole house into one big s.p.a.ce. There were sets of red panels elegantly calligraphed with Mao poems. Wild Ginger said that these would be used to divide future Mao study groups into small discussions. The living area occupied a quarter of the s.p.a.ce. Her bed was on its left, kitchen on the right, and her dining table with a set of benches was in the middle.

We were waiting for Evergreen.

"It's such a relief to think that there will be a real skeleton in the closet," she said excitedly. "I feel that I am protected." She was full of spirit. She wore a clean white cotton shirt with red plum flowers around the collar. Her developing chest made the shirt look tight. She had been using the smallest-size bra. I thought, She doesn't have a Chinese body.

"Are you all set?" Her voice was charged. "He could be here any minute."

I had mixed feelings about doing this. I didn't feel comfortable spying on Evergreen. Reason one was that I respected him. Reason two was that I was, to be frank, jealous. Although I hadn't had the good fortune to attract Evergreen's attention, I was not without feelings toward him, so I felt awkward watching him pursue Wild Ginger.

Yet I couldn't say no to her. The moment she rescued me from Hot Pepper's umbrella, I was determined to repay her kindness. To lend her a hand when she needed it was my duty. And I wanted to protect her.

Finally there came a light knock on the door. Evergreen showed up with a Mao book under his arm. A comrade handshake. They both looked uneasy. "Make yourself comfortable," she said and walked away to fetch him water. He stared at her new soft-soled black sandals. A skillful shoemaker, she had made them herself. I made crooked shoes. My biggest problem was that when I st.i.tched the sole and top together, the right shoe always ended up looking like a poorly wrapped wonton. I had to hammer the shoe to get it to match the other.

Evergreen settled down on the bench. He was wearing slacks and a blue sweatshirt with the number 8 on the front. On the back was THE GREAT WALL CLIMBER. THE GREAT WALL CLIMBER. He wore a pair of white tennis shoes. He wore a pair of white tennis shoes.

"Have you eaten?" he asked Wild Ginger almost nervously.

"I've eaten," she replied, flushing.

He scratched his head, then wiped his brow.

She sat down on a bench across from him. "Shall we start?"

He nodded, opening the Mao book.

"By the way, what do you think of the place?" she asked, flipping the pages of the book.

"Neat. It reminds me of the warehouse where my father used to work. I like the s.p.a.ce."

"I ordered the four walls painted deep red, did you notice?" she said proudly. "I did the Mao portraits myself. They aren't perfect but they're from my heart. I intend to make the s.p.a.ce an ongoing Mao exhibition."

"Well, you have it." He got up to admire the calligraphy of Mao poems.

"Be careful with the statue," she warned as he turned. Toward the entrance there stood a life-size glow-in-the-dark Mao sculpture, its right hand waving above the head in the air.

"Does it really glow at night?"

"It comes alive."

"I can see you talking to him."

"I do."

He went back to sit down. He looked at Mrs. Pei's old clock on the wall, which had been damaged by one of the Red Guards during the looting. After Wild Ginger's meeting with Chairman Mao, the district party secretary was personally ordered to locate the clock and bring it back to Wild Ginger fixed.

"This is really fancy!" Evergreen pointed at the gas stove. "What a luxury!" He played with the k.n.o.b and was amazed to see it work. "You never have to visit the filthy coal shop and carry the heavy loads again. Your mother would have enjoyed it if she had lived."

"She would." Wild Ginger lowered her head and looked at the plants on the floor. The camellias, red gra.s.s, orchids, and thick-leaved bamboo-all Mrs. Pei's favorites.

"'To be good at translating the party's policy into action of the ma.s.ses, to be good at getting not only the leading cadres but also the broad ma.s.ses to understand and master every movement and every struggle we launch-this is the art of Marxist-Leninist leadership. It is also the dividing line that determines whether or not we make mistakes in our work..."'

They were taking turns reading Mao's paragraphs. Next was Evergreen's turn. He had a great voice, and his Mandarin was perfect. "'...However active the leading group may be, its activity will amount to a fruitless effort by a handful of people unless combined with the activity of the ma.s.ses. On the other hand, if the ma.s.ses alone are active without a strong leading group to organize their activity properly, such activity cannot be sustained for long, or carried forward in the right direction, or raised to a high level.'"

Wild Ginger took over again. "'Production by the ma.s.ses, the interests of the ma.s.ses, the experiences and the feelings of the ma.s.ses-to these the leading cadres should not only pay attention but great focus..."'

I wished that I could be more interested in the content. Bored, I waited impatiently for their break.

Finally, after the clock struck ten, there was the sound of a movement.