Red Love

Chapter 5 Silver Moon At least it was cool in the basement. Mold oozed from freckled walls, a rickety table, stools and a double-decker bed. Melon rinds and fruit peels strewn on the cement floor competed in their stench. Hazy lamplight fell on fatigued faces and yawning mouths. The interrogation had been going on for twenty four hours. High up on the wall, through a small window, hasty feet could be seen passing by. The campus still clamored with midnight debate and spontaneous speeches. The chairperson had a pair of drilling eyes which could turn any shady souls inside out. His eyebrows were two stumps, dark and bushy. His belt did not buckle his green uniform but was removed in the middle of his torso and hung in his hands. From time to time, his two palms grabbed each end, loosening and straightening in a spasmodic manner, cracking menacing sounds that lingered in the air. "I believe your diaries have successfully portrayed your anti-populist, anti-Communist Party, anti-Socialist artistic tendencies. Your sympathy for the remnant of the KMT Youth League dates back to your middle school days. Your 'Sanctuary' already revealed a heart antagonistic towards our blazing revolution. Your counter-criticism of Autumn Flute a few days ago... all speak loudly of your true character…” "I love our Party and..." Lishan retorted, but her defense sounded weak and waffling, holding no water even to her own ears. "Shut your fat mouth!" The belt roared, falling on her left side, then the right, avoiding a touch. "You have no right to love. That word from your mouth is filth and blasphemy." A chubby face cooperated with the leader. "Since you have touched the topic, let's talk about your love." The chairman lit a cigarette and squinted at her. All at once the lethargy dissipated. Faces were lit with anticipation. Finally the lengthy flow of the boring river had entered the turbulent section, interesting topic was introduced to the stage. All the attendants widened their eyes. "What did you do in the English professor's house two years ago?" The inquiry was issued from a sharp voice and a pretty face. "No. In the homosexual club," another sharper voice corrected her. "We had a seminar on Qi Baishi's paintings, imagism. His art has opened a new chapter..." "Bullshit!" a lanky fellow spat on the floor. "She is picking up the trivial, avoiding the critical," a mellow voice reminded the chairman. "Trying to pull the wool over our eyes!" heavy and angry. "Down with the bourgeois artist Lishan!" chorused. "What else did you do? Speak out!" I will wear out your patience, Lishan said in her heart. "Then we exchanged our annual works..." "That's when you exhibited your vicious paintings. Right? Right? Every single piece was a bomb!” “If you want my confession, you need to let me speak..." the sentence was chopped in half. “Talk back?” Lishan’s left cheek burned and then the right. The slaps were crisp. “How dare you talk back!” Lishan’s tit-for-tat strategy greatly agitated her investigators and brought herself more belts on her back and shoulders. "Then we listened to music..." “Did you dance?” “Yes.” "There you go! Stop there!" The chairman moved his chair to Lishan and drilled into her eyes, "And the dancers were all paired accordingly! Right?" A barbed smile followed the stressed “accordingly”. The chairman started to pace. No one had ever vexed him like Lishan. She dared to talk back. The old-timers simply let the chairman and his flunkies knead the dough. They were much more malleable. “Let’s be frank. The dancers were pairs of homosexuals, weren’t they?” "No. We are good friends, who know each other through our art..." Lishan shrugged her shoulders, and that fueled the chairman’s rage into a bonfire. “She is smarmy!” “She is smug and arrogant!!” “She is indifferent!” Pa, pa, pa! Belts rained on her. Welts swelled on her head. "Shame on you!" they clenched their teeth. “Rotten! Rotten to the core!” they clicked their tongues. Lishan was firm, "No." "No," she insisted. "No." Whack, whack, whack. "Comrades," panting, the chairman paused and rested his wrists, trying to regain his equilibrium, “we all know that homosexuality is a disease. Its morbidity is beyond the comprehension of us healthy youths brought up under the red flag. It is the life style of the bourgeoisie." "Disgusting!" people expressed their genuine sickness. "Down with the bourgeois way of life!" a forest of arms thrust into the air. The rising sun had dyed the east window from which footsteps were seen scurrying to the sports ground for the morning exercises. More mouths opened in yawns. It was the second sunrise they had witnessed during this interrogation session. The chairperson announced the dismissal but allowed the boys to "take care of" Lishan in their own dormitory where Lishan was shaved with razors and burnt with cigarette on her scalp. She was then escorted to her own school for further investigation. A silver disk hanging from the dark blue velvet, the moon had grown round again. In a month, the mid-autumn festival would be here, a time for reunion again, wax and wane, year in year out. Those moonlit tables piled with melons and cakes! Those full moons like tonight’s! Those neglected, uneaten moon cakes! How wonderful to bicker with one’s brothers over the food portions and accuse dad of favoring the boys! How sweet to be tortured by dad’s scathing tongue, to be taunted by her united brothers! She missed the family’s partisanship. Dad, dad. I know you love me. May we shake hands now? Dad. Mom. The moon was sailing, her pale face veiled in a wisp of cloud. The bitter sweetness numbed her heart and lulled her into drowsiness. Huifang's white butterfly bow floated over the black sea of heads on the marble steps, attracting young cadets… Jianfei leaned on a birch tree, Tagore in hand… Juhua reclined on a red carpet posing for her "Reading"... Dad entered the school gate, hand in hand with the teeth-protruding principal… "Vienna Woods" breezed in the English tycoon’s parlor… Dancers slouched on the sofa while others sidled by, tipping, sashaying, loping… A voice thundered, "Death is written on your face." Lightning cracked, illuminating a withered face and his beggar’s kit... Cold sweat stuck to her shirt. Lishan opened her eyes. Dream fragments brought on heart palpitations. Death! Was the old beggar a gifted psychic as well, hiding up his sleeve the card for her future? Death! It was a buzzard returning to spin in her head now. What is there ahead that is worth dragging this pile of flesh on to? Why should I wait to be tossed over into the street with a denunciation plate hanging from my neck? Why should I wait for the spectators to stone me with their iron fists, or drown me in their revolutionary spit? Why should I submit my heart to a scalpel? Isn’t this skinhead enough? And with the burning marks on my scalp like a newly recruited Buddhist nun? The old man flashed again, somber like the sky above him. Her hand touched her hairless head. What will Jianfei think of me in this fashion? Jianfei! She sighed. Sourly she pictured Jianfei with her blue sweater boy. She felt for Jianfei when Huifang revealed to her Jianfei’s tears—maybe a failed love affair with Yang Bing? Jianfei had replied to Lishan’s numerous letters only once since the salon, and her reply was cold and formal, expressing her viewpoint towards the Cultural Revolution and angrily criticizing Lishan regarding the proper course of revolution. Jianfei’s extremism was shocking and a little frightening to Lishan.