The Girl From the Mountain
Sometimes I think the instinct to clear clutter out of the closets in the spring is as strong in women as the instinct to build nests is in birds. This week I found a story that one of my older students, Zou Wen Qing had related to me and I decided to pass it on to our readers. The story is set in the time of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) in China, and he was one of many who were sent to the countryside to be re-educated. Here is his story:
As I stood on the dirty, crowded platform of the train station after an all night ride in a hard seat, a solidly built man came up to me and introduced himself as the brigade leader. He took me to the house where I was to stay. I, a so-called WPS college student who came to this plain to reform my ideology, listened as he told me about the political situation, both at home and abroad, then lectured me about the crops on the plain.
After a half an hour, he came to discuss the members of the family where I would live. My host, he said, was a good man, a real Communist, and an important cadre in the district committee. His wife was also a good woman, only she sometimes acted strangely. They had four children. The eldest was a boy of nineteen. The brigade leader ended his history abruptly with a spatter of saliva on my face.
Stepping into the courtyard I saw a plump girl running up to us. Before I opened my mouth, she began her welcome speech. “Oh, great student! Great foreign language student, welcome, welcome to our humble house! But for Chairman Mao, we would never have you big scholars here on this poor backward plain.”
“Oh, how stupid I am. Give me your baggage. I’ll show you the room. It’s the best one we have.”
We climbed a narrow stairway and walked down a dark hallway.
“Yes, put your things here and come to the kitchen to freshen up. I’ll make the bed for you later.”
Down in the kitchen she ran on, “Don’t worry. You’ll be very comfortable here. By the way, what do I call you?”
“I am Zhou Wen Qing.”
“Oh, I see, Zhou. I’ll call you Teacher Zhou.
She talked all the time. My hostess and her son were silent and didn’t know what to do.
It was then that the girl entered the room. Though she was neither beautiful nor pretty, she had her own charm. The brigade leader said that she was born in a poor family in the mountains; her parents were now dead; and she relied on the Party. As a member of the Mao Tse Tung Thought Propaganda Team, she went from place to place, and in the process happened upon this man, my host, who showed a fatherly concern for her.
The brigade leader left quietly, but I noticed something in his eyes when he saw the girl. She returned with a basin of hot water and disappeared again, like a gust of wind, leaving a hint of a song with me in the dark room
As I settled in, I was aware of her busy routine. She moved quickly about the house, sweeping the floor, collecting firewood, carrying water, cooking food, feeding the pigs and sewing. She was happy and gay all day long. She was keen on learning new things and had a good sense of humor. No matter how tired she was, she always wore a smile and hummed happily to herself. Such a girl was really something special on this lazy plain.
I didn’t see my host until supper. He was serious but very polite to me. His children and wife were afraid of him, but the girl behaved strangely before him. Once she even laughed contemptuously at him. After exchanging a few words with me, my host went to bed, and the others followed his example.
The girl and I sat alone at the table, joking about her proletarian feelings, which she explained were the ones we should have for the poor and simple. When I asked why she hadn’t gone to bed like the others, she said she had to find a hen for one was missing.
She appeared very agitated, and I could see she wanted to talk with me. But I preferred not to get involved in any scandal here. What’s more, I felt the nineteen-year old boy was not happy about her staying here with me. I saw him staring at her for a moment before he left the room. So I found some excuse and withdrew to my room.
As I was not used to sleeping with bugs, I was very miserable that night. While I was tossing and turning in bed, her story kept coming into my mind. Happy girl, born in a poor family, her parents dead, she had come from the mountains to this plain. She was said to be grateful to the man, my host, and was willing to become his daughter-in-law, to be the wife of his nineteen-year old son. The boy was strong and honest, only a little gloomy. All in all, I thought, he was a good match for her. They could be a happy couple. I thought of their future, but that didn’t drive the bugs away, so I got up and tried to find something to read.
This story is too long, I’ll finish it next week
– Mary