climb the tree by the village teacher's window to listen to the young students reading their lessons aloud, and that was how I learned to recite Tang poetry. The old teacher saw that I was eager to learn, so he didn't charge me tuition fees. From time to time, I would bring him a load of firewood, and whenever I had free time, I attended classes and learned to read. When I was fifteen, I shouldered a musket and went off to join the guerrillas.'
This whole stretch of mountains used to be the territory of Lu's guerrilla band in those times, and, although now it was where he had been sent, without his being appointed, he was regarded as the secretary of all the newly reinstated Party secretaries by the communes all around. Lu lived here as a recluse. Lu told him he had enemies – of course, not the local armies belonging to landlords, rich peasants, and local tyrants; they were all suppressed a long time ago. They were 'some people up there.' He did not know where 'up there' was, or who the 'some people' he referred to were, but, clearly, the cadres in the county town wouldn't be able to get rid of Lu. Lu could defend himself any time, the grass matting under his pillow concealed a bayonet, and, in a wooden box under the bed, was a light machine gun, which was in good condition and polished to a shine. There was also an unopened crate of ammunition. All this was commune militia equipment, yet he was storing it in his room with impunity.
Was Lu waiting for an opportunity to win back political power? Whether he had taken these precautions in case troubles should erupt, it was hard to tell.
'In times of peace, the people who live on these mountains cultivate the land, but in times of chaos, they are bandits. Beheadings used to be common, and I grew up watching them. Back in those times, the bandits were bound, but they held their heads high as they stood waiting for the ax, and they wouldn't so much as flinch. It's done differently nowadays. Those to be shot have to kneel, and their necks are tied. The guerrillas were bandits!' Another startling statement came from Lu's lips: 'But we had the political objective of overthrowing the powerful tyrants and dividing up the land.'
Lu did not say that the land divided up now all belonged to the state, and that, while a small amount of grain was allocated to each person, any surplus had to be handed over to the state.
'What the guerrillas wanted was money and grain. They kidnapped for ransom and tore their victims apart. If, at the designated time and place, a ransom was not delivered, they carried out the same acts of cruelty as the bandits. Two young bamboo saplings, the size of a rice bowl in girth, were held down, as a leg of the victim was tied to each sapling. With a cheer, they would let go of the saplings, and the victim would be catapulted up and torn apart!'
Lu had never done this, but he had obviously seen it done, and he was educating this bookish person, him.
'You're a bookish outsider. Don't make the mistake of thinking that it's easy to get by and that it's peaceful here, in these mountains! If you don't put down roots, you won't survive!'
Lu didn't talk the bureaucratic talk of the petty cadres who were doing their best to get promoted, and he completely swept away any lingering childhood fantasies he had about the revolution. Could it be that Lu would someday need him, and had to make him equally cruel and ruthless so that he could serve as a helper when this mountain king made his comeback to power? Lu also talked about the pale-complexioned intellectuals from town, who joined the guerrillas.
'What do students know about revolution? What the old man said was right.' The 'old man' he was referring to was Mao. 'Political power comes from the barrel of a gun! Which of those generals and political commissars doesn't have blood on his hands?'
He told Lu he could never be a general, he was terrified of fighting. He wanted to make this quite clear in advance.
Lu said, 'If that was not the case, why else would you have fled to these mountains? But you must be on guard against being butchered.'
This was the law of survival and this was based on Lu's experiences in life.
'Go to the town and do a social survey, say that I sent you. You won't need an official letter, just say it's a job I've given you. I want you to write up historical materials on the class struggle in this town. Just listen to what people say, but, of course, don't completely believe what anyone tells you. You don't need to ask about what's currently happening because you won't get any answers. Let people prattle on, it will be just like listening to a story, and everything will become clear to you. Earlier on, there was no motor-vehicle access into this area, it was a bandits' hideout. Don't think that because the metal worker kowtowed to you he will obey you. He was let off and he was grateful, but, put under pressure, he would chop you down in the dark from behind! That old woman with the limp, operating the hot-water urn on the street, did you think she had bound feet? Having bound feet was never the done thing in these mountains. After being kidnapped by guerrillas, the woman had her shoes stolen in the middle of winter, so all her toes froze off. But she was a woman, and, at least, her life was spared. This house belonged to her family. Her father was executed, and her eldest brother died on a prison farm. They say that her other sibling escaped overseas.'
He thus instructed you, and life, too, thus instructed you. As a result, the moral indignation and righteous anger imperceptibly rising from your residual feelings of sympathy and sense of justice were completely snuffed out.
'We've had too much to drink!' Lu said. 'Tomorrow, when you wake up, come for a walk with me up to Nanshan. There used to be a temple on the mountain, but it was razed to the ground by Japanese bombs. The Japanese didn't get there, they only got as far as the county town. The guerrillas had hidden on the mountain, so the Japanese could only bomb the temple on top. A monk had built the temple after the defeat of the Heavenly Kingdom of the Taipings, the Long Hairs. Hadn't the bandits provided just the right environment for the rebellion of the Long Hairs? Still, the Long Hairs couldn't compete with the imperial forces, and, when they lost, they fled to this mountain and became monks. There's a broken tablet on the mountain. Some of the words are missing, but come and have a look at it.'
48
If one views the world through a lens, the world instantly changes, and even the ugliest things can become beautiful. You had an old camera, and, during those years in the countryside, it always went with you into the mountains. For you, it was another eye. You photographed scenes of the mountains, a mountain of bamboo swaying in the wind, green waves like a mass of feathers fixed on the negative as the shutter clicked. At night, you developed the film in your room, and, even though the color was lost, the brilliance of light in the contrasting of black and white was intriguing, as if it were a dream world. You were using expired movie film, a big two- hundredmeter spool, bought through a friend from a film studio before you left Beijing. For thirty yuan, it was virtually a gift. Back in those times, film studios only made news documentaries celebrating the revolution, and it was always with a jubilant fanfare of gongs and drums: the Great Leader inspects the Red Guards, the hydrogen bomb is successfully exploded, and acupuncture is used for anesthesia. Mao's Thought brought victory after victory. By studying Mao's Thought, patients underwent operations on their chests or stomachs, or Mount Everest was climbed and red flags fluttered on the rooftop of the world. The film studios had all gone over to using the overly reddish color film they had started producing in China, but you preferred black-and-white photographs, and could look at them endlessly, without tiring of them.
You looked at the colorless houses of the village, a gray-black roof and a pond in drizzling rain, a log bridge with a hen on it. You were especially fond of the hen. This black creature in front of your camera was pecking on the ground and had cocked its head to look around. Not knowing what a camera was, it stared right at it. Those shiny beady eyes were amazing, and you saw endless meanings in its cocked head and stare.
There was also a photograph of ruins. The insides of the buildings were overgrown with weeds, and the roofs had collapsed. It was a village that had died, and no one since had settled there; it had fallen into total decay and not a trace of the Great Leap Forward of that year remained. That year, all the grain harvested was handed over to the state, and the whole village, including the village Party secretary, was reduced to starving corpses. But the Party was dismissive, and had people put on guard at the county-town bus stop to prevent anyone sneaking in to beg for food. Anyway, the people in the town also had fixed grain rations, and the villagers would not have found anything to beg for. On this mountain, the bigger children all remembered digging up the roots of kudzu vines to
