as people from all over the country lodged complaints. Baozi stood on his toes as he strained to hear in between people's heads about the 'thinking of the Party Center,' but it was too noisy. As soon as people got to the desks, they started shouting to be heard as they struggled to ask questions. The receptionists gave brief, discreet, standard responses, and in some cases simply took notes and answered without even looking up. The two of them were pushed away before they got anywhere near the desks, and were pushed, helpless, all the way into the corridor downstairs.
Posters protesting against persecution and extracts of speeches by important officials covered the walls. The speeches of these Party Center leaders who had been newly appointed or had not yet fallen from power were full of malice and hidden meanings, and also contradicted one another. Baozi started to panic and asked if he had pen and paper with him. He told Baozi not to worry about copying it all down because he had collected lots of these notices as well as stenciled copies of speeches. When they got home, they could go through them carefully.
All the offices in the building were open and officials here were also dealing with complaints. It was not as crowded, but there were queues outside the doors. In one of the offices, a youth, holding an old army cap that was white from washing, wept loudly as he related his grievance; tears streamed down as he spoke in thick, almost incomprehensible Jiangxi or Hunan dialect. He was telling about a local massacre. Men and women, old people and even babies, had been herded onto the threshing square and, group after group, beaten to death with hoes, meat cleavers, and metal-tipped carrying poles. The corpses were thrown into the river, and there was a terrible stench. The youth, almost certainly a descendant of one of the Five Black Categories, clutched the old army cap as his credential, otherwise he would not have dared come to the capital to report this grievance. The people crammed inside and outside the door of the office listened in silence as an official took notes.
After leaving the reception office and coming onto Chang'an Avenue, Baozi wanted to go to the Ministry of Education to see if there were directives for middle-school teachers. The Ministry of Education was located in the west of the city, just a few stops away, but blocking the road at the bus stop were schoolchildren from out of town, each carrying a school bag with an embroidered five-point red star. When the bus arrived, even before it came to a stop, they started surging on. The bus had already been full, so those getting off and those getting on had to grapple with one another. The doors unable to close, the bus started to move off with people caught in the doors. Although Baozi could scale drainpipes and jump out of buildings, he could not squeeze past these children who were as agile as monkeys.
They made their way by foot to the Ministry of Education. The whole of the building had been converted into a hostel for students from out of town. From the main hall downstairs to the corridors of every floor, all the offices had been vacated, and everywhere there were wheat stalks, grass mats, gray blankets, plastic sheeting, and disorderly rows of bedding. Enamel basins, bowls, chopsticks, and spoons were strewn all over the floors, and there was an all-pervasive stench of sweat, preserved radishes, shoes, and unwashed socks. Boisterous students with nowhere to go in the harsh winter cold had fallen fast asleep from exhaustion as soon as they lay down. They were all waiting for the Commander-in-Chief's seventh or eighth review the following day or the day after. There were around two million at each review, and youngsters started assembling in the middle of the night, first filling Tiananmen Square and then both sides of the square for ten kilometers from east to west along Chang'an Avenue. The Commander-in-Chief, accompanied by Deputy Commander-in-Chief Lin Biao holding his little red book of Mao's Sayings, would drive in an open jeep past walls of frozen students, many layers deep on both sides. These youngsters, waving the precious little red book, hot tears streaming down their faces, screamed themselves hoarse, wildly shouting 'long live' to wish a long life to Chairman Mao. Then, fired with revolutionary zeal, they all went home to smash up everything that was old-wrecking schools, destroying temples, and attacking workplaces.
When he and Baozi got back to his room, it was very late and everyone was asleep. He opened the door of the coal stove, and the two of them warmed their frozen hands. As the wind blew through the cracks of the door and window, their faces glowed from time to time, reflecting the flames. Their meeting was unexpected, and neither of them had any intention of recalling childhood memories of what seemed to be another world.
20
'There's a rock there,' the joker in front of you points out.
You couldn't fail to see a rock that size and are on the point of going around it, when you hear the joker say, 'Try moving it!'
Why waste the energy, you wouldn't be able to move it anyway.
'So, you think an insensate rock can't be moved?' the joker says triumphantly.
You prefer to believe that is so.
'There's no harm trying,' the joker's baiting you, and his face is all smiles.
You shake your head, not wanting to try something stupid like that.
'It's flawless and more solid than granite, a magnificent boulder!'
The joker circles the rock, clucking his tongue.
Even if it's a boulder, it's got nothing to do with you.
'What a solid foundation it would make, such a pity not to make use of it!' The joker can't stop himself from giving a big sigh.
You're not erecting a monument and you're not building a tomb, what would you want it for?
'Go on, try to move it!' The joker puts his arms around the rock and holds onto it.
You wouldn't be strong enough anyway.
'It wouldn't move even if you kicked it.'
You're quite sure that is so, but still touch it with your foot.
This gets the joker all excited and he goes on baiting you, 'Stand on it and have a go!'
Have a go at what? But succumbing to his egging you on, you stand on it.
'Don't move!' The joker circling the rock is, of course, also circling you. You don't know if he's watching the rock or watching you. You can't help following his eyes and, in so doing, you also turn a circle while standing on top of the rock.
At this point, the joker looks you squarely in the face, his eyes narrowing as he smiles, and says in a friendly tone, 'So, it can't be moved!'
Naturally, he's talking about the rock and not you. You smile back at him and go to get down, but the joker puts up a hand and stops you, 'Not so fast!'
He sticks out the index finger of his raised hand and, watching his finger, you let him talk on.
'Look, you've got to admit that this rock is solid and can't be moved, don't you?'
You have no choice but to agree.
'Feel it!'
The joker's pointing to the rock at your feet. You don't know what he wants you to feel, but, in any case, your feet are standing on the rock.
'Do you feel it?'
Does the joker want you to look at the rock or at your feet?
The joker's finger suddenly moves upward; he's pointing above your head, and you can't help looking up to the sky.
'The brightness and purity, transparency and boundlessness of the sky opens up the heart!'
You hear the joker talking, but the sun is hurting your eyes.
'What do you see?' the joker asks. 'Try saying what you see, just say whatever you see!'
You try to look at the sky but see nothing and only get dizzy.
'Have a good look!'
'What do I actually have to look at?' you find you have to ask.
'The unblemished sky, the sky with its authentic, true light!'
You say the sun is hurting your eyes.
'That's right.'
'What's right?' You close your eyes and there are gold stars inside your eyelids. Your feet are unsteady, and
