漫步人生

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54楼 蕭振于 2020-03-24 01:52:28

Each time I took my pen, an alarm emerged immediately. I hesitated, and finally threw the pen away. It should be prosperous in your young and strong age, Unexpectedly there are so many wrongs in the evil time; I have taken up my pen several times but alarm emerged: Are you still a man, or slave, or even a ferocious ghost? Hepatitis and Farm Labor Before returning to the Medical College, I had often felt pain in the liver area. Later a liver function test showed high GPT (an enzyme related to the liver function), which required regular follow-up. Once I went to the hepatitis clinic of the First Affiliated Hospital. Walking into the consulting room I found Dr. Rao who was the head. She and I had studied together in the amateur English advanced classes of the Medical School before the Cultural Revolution. We had been acquainted but were not close friends. Dr. Rao glanced at me with a flicker of recognition. Looking down at my medical record, she commented, "Zeng Qing Si? The name is so familiar! Which unit are you in?" I replied casually, "The 3rd Construction" (the Third Provincial Construction Company). She didn't look up but just whispered, "No." I expected she might soon remember me. Asking nothing further, she wrote a prescription and a sick leave certificate for one week. Soon after, Yang Changwang, the director of personnel, informed me: "The Party committee decided you must go to the Medical College Farm." I explained that my health was not good, the liver function abnormal. I showed the lab report and the sick leave certificate to him. Yang continued, “You can rest for some time and then go. The farm will not arrange you to do heavy work; you can also come back to see a doctor regularly.” The farm was not the place I wanted to be, so I dragged my feet. Finally, after several reminders, I realized I had no choice. So I lightly packed my bag, leaving a few items in the lab as a "stash", and then went to the farm in the school truck. The College Farm was in Xundian County, a few hours drive from Kunming. The farm was the product of the Supreme Directive “Be also worker and peasant” in the Cultural Revolution. The faculty, staff as well as students took turns participating in labor. Now there were only a few people left there; occasionally staff members went for short-term labor. I was assigned to patrol the corn fields several times a day. It was not hard work. The most inconvenient thing was that I had no daily mail delivery and had to wait for the college truck, usually once a week. Meals were simpler than those at the college. Farm managers were from General Affairs and were peaceful toward me. Late one afternoon I was returning from patrol. Not far from the corner of the office, I spotted a peasant boy stealing cabbage from the vegetable field. He already had cut several heads and stowed them in baskets. I had never played a "catching thief" role, so was nervous and rebuked him in an unnaturally low voice. The boy looked up and turned pale with fright. He tried to get up but reeled and almost fell. When he finally stood, shivering, he quickly dumped the cabbages from the two baskets, afraid to speak or run. I walked over and said: "You should not be doing this!" The boy continued to stare in panic. I picked up a cabbage, tossed it in his basket, and motioned him to go quickly. Not expecting this and remaining frozen in fear, the boy finally recovered himself. As if being granted amnesty, he grabbed the baskets and quickly flew away. I noticed that he was running the wrong way, not toward the farm exit. When I yelled at him to change course, he glanced back but, apparently not understanding me, continued forward and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Xundian County was in a mountainous area with few farming fields and was known for its poverty. It was said to have been used as a Communist guerrilla base in the past. But after the Communist Party took power, the lives of the local people saw no improvement. Later, Wang San, a handyman at the College, told me the following story: One winter during the Cultural Revolution, Wang San went to the farm with Du Fen, the old dean of the Medical College, to graze three cows. They saw a woman also grazing a cow nearby. It was unclear at first sight if she was a child or an adult. Thin, dark, and gaunt in appearance, she wore a shabby sweatshirt reaching to her thighs, with no trousers underneath. She kept pulling down the sweatshirt with her hands and was shivering with cold. When she approached with her cow, Wang San chatted with her. She said she was 18 years old and lived with her sick old mother. Both her sister and brother were married and had children, but were only able to support their own families. So she exchanged her cloth coupon with others for food. Anyway, she did not have money to buy clothes. Wang San lamented to me: “So many years after liberation, this was the former revolutionary base, but is still as poor as ever!” Maybe there were words in his and my heart that we dared not say: What was the point of such a "revolution"? I was on the farm for a few months but returned several times to the Medical College for followups on my hepatitis. The liver function index remained high, and each time I got a certificate for sick leave of one week; so I asked not to go to the farm again. Regardless, I no longer went to the farm. Instead, I visited the library, or went shopping, or to chat with my cousin and fellow townsmen, or to see the Big Character Posters, which by now were rare and mainly in the department stores. The poster contents still portrayed the two factions slamming each other. In fact, the Medical College remained semi-paralyzed. Sometimes when I encountered Director Yang Changwang, he would urge me to return to the farm, but he did not insist. End of Mao and the ‘Gang of Four’ One morning in September 1976, as I walked past the college’s main building, the loudspeaker blared out that there would be important news announced at 10 o'clock that day; everyone was required to listen at the office or at home. I was surprised and puzzled until I encountered one of my former students. He had been a favored one of the revolutionary rebel factions, but now was a surgeon at the First Affiliated Hospital. After greeting me he whispered: "Chairman Mao has passed away." My heart burst in ecstasy. But after all these years of caution, I knew I still must remain calm, so in a low voice I simply replied: "Really?" then walked away calmly as if nothing had happened. It was 8:30. I turned and quietly walked to the street and bought two pieces of "high class cake" (the high-priced food introduced by the government to "retrieve folk currency") - crisp peanut cake and crisp walnut cake, a bottle of soda (I did not drink alcohol), and went back to my sleeping lab, locked the door, closed the window, and then sat quietly waiting for 10 o’clock At exactly 10 o’clock the broadcast began. I lifted the cup, took a long breath, and drank soda while eating the cake. It was truly refreshing to enjoy the roundabout heavy dirge, and quietly savor this unforgettable moment. Longing for the stars and longing for the moon, now we got them. After wrecking the country and bringing calamity to a whole people, I was tempted to imagine the arch- criminal of iniquities finally meeting his devil master. How many Chinese people with consciences were excited to cheer this moment from their hearts, although they still dared not express it? During the catastrophic decade of the Cultural Revolution, I spent all my days in fear and desperation, but there also had been three happy times - very happy times: The first time was when I learned that my wife Yu Ou had successfully fled to Hong Kong. The second time was when I received a letter from Third brother saying that he successfully fled to Hong Kong. The third time was now and ongoing! Thanks and praise to God. During the days that followed, whenever I walked out of the lab I was careful to put on a sad face. I had no doubt many of my colleagues also were feigning to mourn. After all, Mao had taught the Chinese people how to act. Now, to the four "Greats" should be added one more - a Great Director of play. Just a month later, I visited Li Huang’s home. Teacher Huang seemed unable to conceal her inner excitement and couldn't wait to say, "Zeng, did you see the Big Character Posters outside?" "What’s up?" "Jiang Qing and her cabal were arrested!" "Oh?" I burst into a shout, hardly believing my ears that Madame Mao, a villain of the Cultural Revolution, was behind bars. The news spread quickly. The Medical College posted cheering posters, and soon the broadcast rang out: Wang Hongwen, Zhang Chunqiao, Jiang Qing, and Yao Wenyuan, the "Gang of Four", had been ferreted out. The charge was very odd: "opposing Chairman Mao". For many days, newspapers, radio, posters blotted out the sky and covered the earth. Years of resentment now were transformed to a carnival-like atmosphere throughout the country. Newspapers reported that residents of Beijing and other cities rushed to buy crabs, particularly specifying orders of three males and one female. "Just look calmly at the crab, see how long it had run amok!" - This old proverb was verified and spread on the largest scale. Even shameless hack writers who had previously nauseatingly flattered Madame Mao, immediately trimmed their sails to the political winds, grandly proclaiming a newfound condemnation of her. Many Chinese began to cherish a new hope, even a great expectation, and revealed it more or less openly in their conversation. But there were still many who were cautious not to reveal such feelings, myself included. There was popular reference to the Gang of Four, although everybody knew that the so-called Gang of Four actually was "four" or "five". Even later at the trial, Jiang Qing admitted frankly: "I was Chairman Mao's dog, just bit whomever Mao ordered me to bite.” Jiang Qing later received a suspended death sentence. By that time I had returned to the Department of Physiology. At a session of political study someone complained indignantly, "Is China abolishing the death penalty?" One day I joined fellow townsmen for a chat at Chen Hong’s home. Chen Hong was born into a poor and lower-middle peasant family. Admitted to a secondary technical school of Yunnan, after graduation he was assigned to a factory as a technician. According to popular political jargon at that time, he was "root upright and seedlings red", but he had his own views on major issues. He cynically remarked, "Don't you think it is strange? A counterrevolutionary prisoner is sentenced to suspended death, but her husband is not regarded as a "counterrevolutionary family member" to be condemned, but instead to be worshiped in the Mourning Hall!" Another fellow named Ou Rong said, "Things will be changed a bit, but will be hard to change a lot, because the system remains there." What he meant was that the downfall of Gang of Four was but the consequence of factional strife among the high-level powers. Later developments proved what he said, and I admired his prophetic vision. In the following two years, Hua Guofeng, the chosen successor of Mao, shouted two "Whatevers": "Whatever Chairman Mao advocated, we must adhere to it; whatever......,” thus continuing to worship Mao’s specter and clinging to the "class struggle". Later the previously disfavored Deng Xiaoping resurfaced in the political arena and squelched Hua Guofeng. In October 1978, the "People's Daily" editorial proclaimed: "Practice is the sole criterion for testing truth." I later realized that this actually sounded the eulogy of the Mao era. Deng Xiaoping took the lead in criticism of Mao. Deng’s historic step to thoroughly criticize Mao came like a thunder storm, inspiring everyone. But before popular expectations grew too great, Deng slammed on the brakes by saying, "We should not continue to criticize Mao, otherwise it would lead to criticizing ourselves." Instead, he put forward the "four adhere to": Adhere to the Party's leadership, adhere to the socialist road, adhere to this, and adhere to that. People were greatly disappointed. I remember the responses of several fellow townsmen. One said: "See, the political system has not changed." The other said: "It still has to be the same!" I thought to myself: Just like a "conjoined twins" of an embryonic malformation, it’s difficult for officials to cut apart the system; otherwise it might endanger their lives. At last the Cultural Revolution was officially defined as a "national calamity" and was completely repudiated. I had a short-lived illusion: Since I was a direct victim of the national calamity, how should I be re-evaluated? But I was quickly disabused of my wishful thinking. The fact was obvious: The Cultural Revolution was condemned as a national calamity, but the initiator, the evil arch-criminal, was still enshrined as a god, and a mourning hall was built for his disciples and followers of blind devotion to worship him, so his doctrine would still be regarded as a revered principle. Wasn’t that absurd? With the ghost of Mao not scattered but still floating around, the “national calamity” would be coyly disguised under the new name of “turmoil”. The time of shame now had a ridiculous new moniker. Criticizing Mao remained taboo, but Mao’s "class struggle as a guide" was repudiated and a series of related policies gradually were shelved. The new measures were more pragmatic. People could finally breathe a sigh of relief. With the Cultural Revolution at an end, I tried to see how some good could come from this unprecedented calamity. It seemed that the only good benefit was a thorough exposure: From the tyrant all the way down to the minions, the evil spirits had jumped out one after another and thoroughly exposed their prototypes. The inevitable result of this thorough exposure would trigger an awakening among the Chinese people, causing them to reflect and and explore a new road. Despite the corpus being still in the Mourning Hall, the ghost of Mao was not scattered and significant resistance to change remained, but the common aspiration of the Chinese people and the positive historical trend would be triumphant. China had hope and I had confidence. In the following years, the political climate appeared alternately warm and cold. I still experienced many twists and turns. Interrogation in Solitary Confinement Hua Guofeng touted his two “Whatevers” and continued to run amok with the class struggle. A new bout of capricious power struggles erupted between Beijing and local authorities. While the winners took all, the losers were always in the wrong. When the winners came down on their opponents, they used the so-called "cow demons and snake spirits" and "five categories" as excuses to flaunt their "revolution" and strengthen their momentum. Following a burst of propaganda and with the situation growing tenser, Yang Changwang directed me to the auditorium. Following Yang, I sat near the side door. Several persons were standing on the stage bowing their heads, guarded from behind by militia with guns. After the reading of a slew of charges against them, they were handcuffed and removed amidst a frantic voicing of slogans. Yang then gestured me to leave with him. On our way out Yang informed me: "The Party committee decided you are to be interrogated in solitary confinement."

55楼 蕭振于 2020-03-24 01:53:12

I was somewhat surprised, yet not shocked, and just quietly followed him. Yang took me to a compartment in a microbiology lab in the main building. The exterior of the compartment was guarded by two militiamen from the College affiliated factory. I was deprived of freedom of movement once again! Interrogation no longer frightened me, as it had happened so often before. The question was how they would handle it. Running into the high tide of a political campaign, I might become a sacrificial victim. They might give me a political "hat" or “label”, or send me to "labor education", or whatever. I could only resign myself to the authority’s order. What an unpredictable cold spell in the late spring this was! The procedure of so-called "interrogation in solitary confinement" was to humble someone by having them write a confession, and make a self-criticism and self-derogation, all sort of officialese. I picked up a pen and wrote without making a draft. I marked "not drafting" on the paper which I formally submitted. I had long been accustomed to writing such things. Regarding my events of fleeing to Hong Kong I mentioned only the two which had actual results, but omitted those that were aborted. The next day, two members of the interrogation team interviewed me; one of them named Jie was a Party member in charge of xx Department; the other one might have been a newcomer. They sat across the table facing me. I was not sure if it was intentional or not, but they put a piece of paper on the table and calmly asked me what else I wanted to add. Catching a glimpse of what was written, I could see it was about Aunt Zhou contacting the Haifeng fisherman and being exposed by the blind fortune teller. I immediately admitted all that and wrote a supplement. That they offered such a hint was totally different from previous interrogations which had been threatening, intimidating or "squeezing toothpaste" types. Perhaps because I had always been in peace and had few conflicts with colleagues "Goodness will have a good reward". However, was this possible in the past? Now, after the Cultural Revolution, Mao Zedong's "relentless strike and cruel struggle" had been losing favor. A trace of warmth emerged in my cold heart. Later I was called in for further questioning. I was asked how I could so easily muddle through twice after being held at Xingning Detention Center. I saw no need to conceal anything and just explained what had happened. A member of the interrogation team, whom I remembered as the Party member in charge of General Affairs, said, "I know, I had been in Xingning during the Anti-Japanese War, where it was mountain area with less farming field, many people went out to make a living. After the liberation many people fled to Hong Kong. Fleeing to Hong Kong is not rare there." His remarks might make the others feel that Zeng Qing Si fleeing Hong Kong was influenced by the local environment. This, of course, could make me appear less personally culpable for my actions. Once again I wrote a confession (Later I knew it was the last time), at the end adding frankly: "I admit that escape was wrong, but I do not regret it. Because if I didn't escape, what would I be now: injured, disabled, or anything worse, who knows?" - This was really a subtle protest. Could anyone come up with facts to refute me? Once again I was deprived of freedom while in solitary confinement. Except for writing my confession, I had plenty of spare time. A set of "Selected Works of Mao Zedong" was prominently displayed, but actually I read books of Traditional Chinese Medicine, taking notes as I did so. They dared not prohibit this because TCM was acknowledged as traditional heritage. Before solitary confinement, I had been making extensive notes on the relationship between TCM and modern medical science. While in solitary, not knowing what might come next, I took every possible opportunity to write and often wrote late into the night, hoping to finish quickly. The militiamen never interfered. In fact, they were very friendly, sometimes chatting with me and exclaiming that I knew five foreign languages (I was only able to read them in medical literature), and had published an article in the national first-class medical journal, thus showing respect for me. Several times the militiamen consulted me about medicine, and one requested that I examine his youngster. Whenever I had a letter or money order from my parents in the mail room, they quickly brought it. Occasionally when I asked them to buy a snack outside, they were happy to help. Was this even possible in the past? After the Cultural Revolution, people's choice of “pro or con” had been somewhat changed and was evident even in small things. On one occasion, the head of the Armed Forces of the College (in charge of militia), a pompous official with a few strands of hair on his scarred head, came in with grand gestures for inspection. Seeing the TCM books on the desk, he reprimanded me with a stony face: "Study more of Chairman Mao’s works!" I ignored him. Anyway, Mao’s works already were displayed on the desk. A possible power struggle among authorities caused the situation to suddenly become tense. All my incoming and outgoing letters now had to be inspected beforehand. The militia guards carried rifles; when I wanted to refill my drinking water in the campus boiler room, an armed guard escorted me. Once as I started for water, the militiaman said, “You can go by yourself.” But I replied, "Yes, I can go by myself and I won't run away. But if I were seen with no escort, that might not be good for you." The guard saw my point and accompanied me with his rifle. Several times I was with a group under supervision ordered to labor on campus, often cleaning latrines. While several armed militiamen stood guard outside, we went in, swept first, and then flushed feces accumulated in the trough into the manure tank, stinking to high heaven, flies flying. Even more disgusting were maggots in the fecal trough and bloody menstrual paper discarded everywhere. Anyway, this was a rare experience in my life’s journey! One day, a member of the interrogation team said two visitors wanted to see me. Who were they, and what could be the matter? Following him to a small conference room, I found two fellow townsmen, Chen Luwen and Ouyang, the former a technician of the Provincial Third Construction unit, the latter an engineer of the Provincial Design Institute. They greeted me joyfully, "Nice to see you!" Making no further conversation, they handed me two boxes of moon cakes and cookies that had been opened for inspection, and then said good-bye. I was deeply moved and happy. After all the years of "class struggle every day", "draw clearly the line between ourselves and the enemy", and “disown all relatives”, they were not afraid of being implicated and had gone directly to the Interrogation Office to register to visit me. Such courage and personal loyalty were definitely unusual. Speaking with them about it later, they said: "What fear for? We are born with good family origin, and know that you won't have any problem." Once again I was reminded there were people who were decent, had their own thoughts, and were not easily distorted by pressure and propaganda. During this period of solitary confinement, the attitudes of the militia guard and some members of the interrogation team, as well as many other signs, revealed to me that the "official" and "people" also now marched to a different tune. In the past, even if this were the case, nobody dared to show it. A few days later, the lead militia guard, who was always friendly, escorted me to refill my drinking water. He suddenly told me, "They will let you out soon." I was surprised and asked, "How do you know?" He did not explain, only saying, "Yes." The very next day, the Interrogation Team informed me that my solitary confinement was lifted. Because classes had begun, I could no longer sleep in the lab. A member of the Security Office took me to a dormitory. My roommate was still in “labor education” in the countryside, leaving a small table assembled from wooden planks. There was also a pair of bunk beds. I decided to sleep on the lower bunk, so laid my books and clothes on the upper bunk. It felt good to be a step up from sleeping in the lab.

56楼 蕭振于 2020-03-28 08:36:33

Labor on the Campus

The Security Office assigned me to assist Wang San the handyman to plant flowers and trees and do odd jobs. Although I was just released from solitary confinement and was forced to “labor under surveillance”, Wang San called me Teacher Zeng and was very friendly. In the past, rightists or the “five categories” were always shouted at and scolded like dogs. Now people's ideas had changed. In fact, no matter whether I was on the farm or in solitary confinement, I didn't find that people looked down on me, but instead mostly sympathized. I myself also felt no sense of inferiority. I had never acknowledged in my heart that I had been wrong or shameful. Certainly there were some who were hostile to me, but I pitied their ignorance and gave them as little attention as possible. One day, I asked Wang San, “Why are the Four Season Gardens so ruined”? Wang San sighed, "After the death of Huang Shaoxian, nobody takes care of them." Huang Shaoxian, the former gardener, had kept the gardens blooming with spring-like color the year around. "Huang Shaoxian died?" I asked with surprise. "Died," Wang San said not without sadness. He explained: "When the Great Cultural Revolution 'purifying the class ranks' (1968-69, when I was forced to flee to North Vietnam), the Red Guards and “revolutionary masses” alleged he was a rich peasant, hung him upside down, and beat him to death one midnight." Wang San continued, "In fact, Huang was a poor boy. His parents died during the War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression when he was a teenager. Alone and destitute, wandering about Kunming, a suburban nursery owner took him in. Huang was diligent and hard-working, so the nursery owner recruited him to be a son-in-law. However, he became a son-in-law at an unlucky time that not even a fortune teller could predict. Before long Kunming was ‘liberated.’ His father-in-law and family had worked hard to grow flowers with piss and s--t throughout the year, and had hired someone for odd jobs at the busy season. This was regarded as exploitation and his father-in-law was classified as a rich peasant. So Huang Shaoxian became son-in-law of a rich peasant. When denouncing and struggling against Huang, his persecutors said that he planted poppies in the campus flowerbeds to extract opium. In fact, that kind of poppy was not the kind that produced opium*. Really, who would dare to plant opium poppies on the campus? However, when they were struggling against you, how could you be allowed to defend yourself?" -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- – * That kind of poppy is different from the opium poppy. It may be similar to California poppy, Eschscholzia California, which grows all over the hills north of Los Angeles. Many flower enthusiasts flock there during March and April each year. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- – I was horrified and deeply saddened to learn of this. I could mentally picture that premature aging, gray haired, wrinkle faced and tongue-tied middle-aged man working on the campus all year round regardless of the severely cold winter or intensely hot summer. I recalled the various bright and eye-catching flowers growing in the Four Season Gardens; numerous graft balls attached to different trees; eucalyptuses on both sides of the main road of the campus standing tall and straight; the bushes between them tidy and lush. What kind of people would strike a vicious blow to such a hard-working and honest person? Where was justice? Two years later, the College Party Committee announced the government policy regarding investigation and vindication of unjust, false and abusive killing cases in the Cultural Revolution, but added that cases of those belonging to the "five categories" were not included. Therefore, a case like Huang Shaoxian (son-in-law of a member of the "five categories") being mutilated to death, was considered no worse than killing a dog. This was the "government policy"! I felt extremely sad and indignant. Were there still no right and justice in this society? If I could not manage to leave in the future, would the next victim be me as the political campaigns came one after another? Wang San liked to drink tea and chat in my dormitory when we took a break. Although not well educated, he had intuitive views on many things, so-called “fairness is in the heart”. Once he talked about Yang Likun, the protagonist in the movie “Five Golden Flowers”, a beautiful and kind-hearted girl tortured and beaten mad: "Damn it saying that she was feudal, capitalist and revisionist, what’s the business with her? Jealousy is true!" He told many stories about brutal torture, abusive killing, and fierce factional fighting in past years, as well as various methods of execution which made one's hair stand on end: One method was to insert an oiled bamboo stick under a fingernail and then ignite it, threatening to repeat this on a different finger each day. Soon the victim ran a high fever and went mad, clutching his fingers and screaming, "Don’t burn! Don't burn!" Another method involved inserting a dry twig into the belly fat and igniting it for an effect known as "burning sky lantern". Others included inflicting numerous cuts and bruises, then taking the victim up a mountain, stuffing him into an empty gasoline barrel, sprinkling the inside with lime, and then rolling it downhill. I had heard of such horrors many times in Vietnam and in detention centers after returning to China. But the descriptions were not as straightforward as Wang San told me. Later when I visited the "People Visiting Office" in the Municipal Police Bureau and the Provincial Office for Overseas Chinese Affairs regarding my application for emigration, I also saw people who were wounded or disabled in the Cultural Revolution. On my “confession” written during solitary confinement, I wrote "I don't regret to flee abroad.” It was really an expression of grief and helpless protest. The facts were vivid, blood and tears. Who could say that I was wrong? Miao Ancheng and Li Zong-en Wang San told me to move a pair of bunk beds from Miao Ancheng’s home to the student dormitory. Miao lived in a suite in the general staff dormitory; like his neighbors, he set up a small hen house outside the door. The suite’s interior was less than 20 square meters, separated into front and rear rooms. In the front room there were a table and a few benches or stools, the corner was piled up with odds and ends; in the rear room was a bed, and a pair of bunk beds occupied previously by their children. Wang San and I together lifted the bunk beds and put them on a tricycle. He rode and I steadied the load as we proceeded to the student dormitory. Miao Ancheng was a member of a large family in Yunnan. His parents and grandparents were engaged in business and trade in France and the United States. Miao was born in France, grew up in the United States and obtained a medical doctorate. After returning to China, he served as the Director of Health Bureau of Yunnan Province in the Kuomintang era. When Mao Zedong came to power in 1949, all Miao’s family members fled abroad, but he believed the assurances from Communist Party's United Front and stayed to serve the new government. Miao was assigned to the Medical College to teach microbiology. In 1956 during the "eliminating counterrevolutionary campaign" he was labeled a "historical counterrevolutionary", but remained protected by the United Front. In 1957 during the “free airing the views”, after repeated assurances and persuasion from Party committee members, Miao carefully wrote an innocuous Big Character Poster. Regardless, it was proclaimed that "Miao Ancheng has always hostile sentiments" and he was labeled "ultra-rightist". After several rounds of denouncement and struggling, he was sent to a quarry to crush stone. Rain or shine, in billowing dust, Miao was required to complete a quota regardless of back and arm pain. He suffered this for a couple of years. Wang San told me a story from that time: Miao's younger brother came from the United States to visit him. In those years such an event was rare. When his brother arrived, the college authority sent someone to fetch Miao Ancheng. When the younger brother saw Ancheng wearing a broken straw hat, a patched faded blue jacket, ill-fitting pants, and a pair of dirty broken sneakers revealing a toe, he couldn't help but cry on the spot. Later Miao was transferred to the library for cataloging. I recalled an experience with Miao before the Cultural Revolution: The Medical College had organized in-service English study for teachers and physicians. I participated in the advanced class. There Mr. Miao gave a full lecture in English without Chinese interpretation; the students answered also in English. He taught two evenings a week. During the day he worked in the library. Years later, his uncle Miao Yuntai returned to China, arriving in Beijing. Formerly a celebrity in Yunnan, this time the uncle came to invest in construction of the gas pipeline system in Kunming. This was a big event, and the prestige of Miao Ancheng suddenly soared. The Medical College authority hurriedly sent Wang San and another worker to clean Miao’s suite. They removed the hen house, painted the walls, and moved a set of sofas from the reception room of the dean's office to Miao’s small front room. After a day of hard work, Miao’s suite had an entirely new appearance. Then it was learned that Miao’s uncle would not visit Kunming after all. So it was necessary to move the sofas back to the Dean’s office right away. However, the removed hen house was to be rebuilt by Miao Ancheng himself! In the early 1980's, Miao Ancheng died of peritoneal mesothelioma - a tumor of high malignancy. Its development is related to the inhalation of stone dust. I first was assigned to Kunming Medical College in 1960. I met two scholarly older men in the library who kindly helped as I searched for the original version of French and German journals. One of them was Miao Ancheng, and the other was rightist Li Zong-en who was well-known far and wide. Li's experience was similarly lamentable. He was dean of the internationally renowned Peking Union Medical College, a member of British Royal Society of Medicine and a tropical disease specialist. In 1957 Li was labeled "rightist" and sent to Kunming Medical College. Before working in the library, his job was to cut grass and feed the rabbits for experimental use. He used to wear a big straw hat, hold a bamboo basket and a sickle, squat on the campus lawn to cut grass, and then bring it to the animal house to feed eight rabbits. At that time, some wags at the Medical College circulated a mathematical calculation supposed to be a joke, but not considered funny by many: Li had been one of the very few super grade professor approved by the State Council, with a monthly salary of 500 yuan (the monthly salary of a college graduate was 46 yuan for the first year). After being labeled rightist, he was reduced to a first grade professor, with a monthly salary of 360 yuan. Therefore someone calculated: 360 divided by 8, equaled the 45 yuan cost to raise a rabbit per month, also equivalent to the monthly salary of a college graduate. In less than a month, two rabbits died, so the feeding cost of each rabbit increased to 60 yuan per month, which was 4 yuan more than the monthly salary of 56 yuan for those old assistants or physicians who were graduated more than 10 or 20 years! Li Zong-en later suffered from myocardial infarction, a form of heart attack. It was said that the hospital’s relevant department had "excavated" an ethnic minority herb which might be effective for myocardial infarction. Li was subjected to a trial but nevertheless lost his life. Li allegedly had requested to be cremated three days after his death, because after the heartbeat and the respiration stopped, other organs and cells died gradually, and the pain center - the thalamus - was completely dead in three days. However, the authority sneered, "A big scientist is still superstitious!" Li was cremated on the day of death. So this internationally renowned scholar came to a tragic end. It was said that the British Royal Society of Medicine specially sent a message of condolence. There were many other rumors about Li Zong-en’s death, here omitted. Labor: Making the Best of It The Medical College organized one day to help a commune with the harvest. I was directed to participate as part of the General Affairs Section. We were assigned to clean up the sunning ground. Not knowing we were supposed to bring our own tools, I was embarrassed after I showed up emptyhanded.

57楼 蕭振于 2020-03-28 08:37:54

Thankfully, barber Pan of the college-affiliated barber shop loaned me a shovel, and he cooperated with another person to help us turn the soil, relieving my difficulty. At lunchtime barber Pan invited me to eat with him. He gave me a pickled cucumber, explaining that it was a traditional food in his hometown and was very crisp and delicious. His friendliness was appreciated because I had just been released from the solitary confinement; many people were wary and afraid to associate with me. Barber Pan did not fear implication or what others might say, which I found really commendable. Later I went to Pan for a haircut, took a number and waited to be called. When Pan finished with his previous customer, he ignored the numbers and called me right away. During my haircut Pan liked talking with me in Cantonese. He said he had learned hairdressing as a teenager and knew that the German Double Arrow brand razor was best; all other brands including those from the Soviet Union were far behind. A few years later, I went abroad via Hong Kong, searched several shops to find a West German Double-Arrow razor, and bought it for 200 Hong Kong dollars, 10 times higher than other brands. I then sent it to my good friend barber Pan. There were two students, Shao and Qiu, who joined us in labor under Wang San. They were socalled “the worker, peasant and soldier students” and had studied three years in college. But they had ended up "on the wrong side (faction)" in the Cultural Revolution and had "made mistakes", so they were not assigned jobs temporarily. Both were smart and very serious about learning. When we worked together, they often asked me questions regarding medicine and English. We established very good friendships. Qiu had an uncle who was a professor at a university in the United States and had mailed U.S. stamps and a philatelic catalog to Qiu's father. Therefore, Qiu’s father and family were adversely impacted during the Cultural Revolution because of having “overseas relations”. During the fighting between the two factions, Qiu’s brother’s faction captured the headquarters of the opposing faction. From the ferreted files they found Qiu’s brother's name on a list "to be executed" with the charge of "overseas relations". He was very lucky not to be captured by the opposing faction. How many others were not as lucky as him? I bought a can of ground meat with egg but ate only part of it. Private refrigerators then were rare so I could not refrigerate the leftovers. When I returned to the can a couple of days later I didn’t notice the meat had spoiled. A few hours after eating, I began to have colic, vomiting and diarrhea, and profuse sweating, and lay flaccidly on the bed. I knew it was acute bacterial (maybe staphylococcal) food poisoning. If my blood pressure dropped too low, it would be dangerous. Too sick to move, I wondered what to do. Luckily Shao and Qiu came by and, seeing my condition, they ran to the College Infirmary for help. The infirmary called the First Affiliated Hospital. Their two ambulances were on other calls, so they sent a flatbed cart to transport me to the emergency room of the hospital. A doctor checked my blood pressure, only 82 / 50, indicating I was going into shock. After intravenous drip for a couple of hours, my blood pressure gradually rose to the normal range. I had experienced many narrow escapes before and really did not expect another kind of danger like this. Fortunately, my friends Shao and Qiu were there to help me. One day, my supervisor Wang San directed four of us to carry a set of bunk beds, each holding one corner. By chance Song Chen of the General Affairs Section and another person were carrying a table from the opposite direction. As they approached, Song was alarmed by my strained posture. He put down the table, ran over and said, “Teacher Zeng, I'll help you.” I knew Song, but because we worked in different sections, we rarely met. Moreover, very few people had called me Teacher Zeng since the Cultural Revolution. Now when I was in labor under surveillance, it was notable that Song had offered such friendly help to me. That would have been unthinkable in the years when “class struggle was spoken everyday”. Even more remarkable, I recalled that Song was said to be an active Party member and one of the leaders who had called for wind or rain in the Cultural Revolution. It seemed that the Cultural Revolution’s negative influence was ebbing as people began to awaken and gradually recover their humanity after the distortions of that era. I had this feeling many times after my contacts with others when I returned to Kunming. Of course, not everyone was like this. My two student friends finally were assigned regular jobs. My job was also changed to sweeping the corridors of the Teaching Buildings. Each time when I prepared to sweep the corridor in front of the Financial Section, a new staff member in his 20s, a tall man who looked friendly, hurried out to sweep that segment of the corridor, as if it should not be swept by me. Later, I was assigned to sweep the campus road and basketball courts. I put on old but clean clothes, wore a bamboo hat, and began to work exactly at eight o’clock, as was my habit. I started by sweeping the floor in front of the Main Building. Occasionally some colleague passing by stopped to talk with me or make a joke. One day while I swept before the Main Building, old Dean Du Fen saw me and slowly approached. With a sympathetic expression, he asked, "Are you okay?" "Good. Thank you," I answered in a low voice. The old dean nodded and slowly walked away. Du Fen was an expert of gynecology and obstetrics who studied in France in his early years and return to run a well-known maternity hospital in Kunming. After “liberation” the government took over his hospital and let him serve as nominal dean of the Medical School, but with no authority. He was optimistic and didn’t let that bother him. In the early period after liberation, the government issued bonds and allocated 30,000 (old currency 300 million) yuan to the Medical College. The wages of the faculty and staff were not high and the share allotted to each person was quite a hardship. Dean Du couldn’t bear to see this, so he offered to contribute half the total amount from his own savings. However, later in the many political campaigns his generous offer was turned against him. He was accused of maliciously debasing the faculty and staff's patriotic enthusiasm in an effort to win the hearts of the people. During the Cultural Revolution he and other "reactionary academic authorities" were confined to the “bullpen”, subjected to forced labor and written confessions. His persecutors hung a heavy board of a dozen kilograms on his neck, forced him to kneel to be denounced and struggled, and then paraded. After the Cultural Revolution he was restored as dean but only occasionally went to the office. He retired before I went abroad. One day I started sweeping the floor in front of the Main Building at eight o’clock as usual. The deputy secretary of the Party Committee Zhu ran up and nervously yelled, "Zeng Qing Si, go away to other places to sweep!" It turned out that there were foreign guests visiting. I calmly walked away, thinking: You were so nervous, worried about my sweeping being seen by foreign guests. But I did not think my sweeping was a shame, nothing disreputable – Who should be shamed? One Sunday, fellow townsman Chen Luwen (one of the two who visited me during my solitary confinement) came, saying that he had borrowed a camera. He asked me to put on the frayed clothes I wore at labor, don the bamboo hat, hold the broom and go to sweep the campus road. Then he would take a few pictures as a memoir of my current treatment. This was a rare opportunity and I was tempted to cooperate. However, I was afraid if I were seen I could be charged with "attempting to launch counterattack". So I suggested that we do it secretly on a weekday. But Chen said he had to return the camera that evening, so we gave up the idea. I still regret missing such a good opportunity and failing to "put this on record". I led a friend to the Second Affiliated Hospital to see a doctor. There I heard someone call, "Teacher Zeng!" It turned out to be my former student Li X. She came over and greeted me warmly: "Teacher Zeng, do you remember me?" I recalled her immediately. In those days when I asked questions in the class, she always answered clearly and methodically. I smiled and said, "Sure! A teacher usually remembers the students of two ends: the best and the worst.” Then I jokingly said, "You were one among the worst, so I remember!" Li giggled. She already knew the story of my wandering in North Vietnam, and also knew that now I was sweeping the floor. She did not regard it as right and said, “‘The Gang of Four’ has collapsed, and why should things remain so?" The sense of injustice was revealed in her words. It was said her father was a famous writer, and without exception suffered cruel persecution during the Cultural Revolution. She also got into trouble just because of her father, and was assigned to a remote county after graduation. Now she came back for short-term advanced study. Once I received a letter from a former student, a Party member and the Large Class League branch leader. He sensibly wrote, "We all admire Teacher Zeng’s cultivation. Let the right and wrong of the past be gone. We sincerely hope Teacher Zeng to buoy up, the situation will be getting better; the future is certainly bright.” I was moved and replied to him: "...... Being looked down upon, except for the external factors, is mainly due to not making every effort to succeed.” Then I wrote in bold type: "Strive for progress with determination.” I felt a mild sore throat for several weeks. One day I came across the head of the Otolaryngology Department Dr. Yuan in the doorway of the First Affiliated Hospital. Yuan was also a graduate of Beijing Medical College, two years my senior. He was a quiet man; when I casually talked about my sore throat, he just answered "Oh" with a smile, and immediately took me not to the outpatient section, but directly into his office. There he sat me on a clinic chair in the corner for examination. My throat was very sensitive and when the pharyngoscope approached it would make me nauseous. But he smiled and patiently tried again and again until successful. Then he smiled and said, "Nothing, the mucous membrane is smooth, just a little red. Don’t worry," and wrote a prescription. I was grateful to be so treated as a humble sweeper, “Fairness is in the heart”. This is always true. Nearby as I walked out of Dr. Yuan’s office was a big strong man, barefoot and with a fierce look, who rushed up asking, "Where is Qin Zuoliang?" Qin was head of the Department of Dermatology, a second grade professor. He had come back from the United States in his early years. I hesitated a second and said I did not know. Then another doctor came over and asked the man, "What are you doing?" "I want him to treat my disease." "If you want to see a doctor, just go to the Registration!" The man looked angry and said: "Oh, stinking old ninth, still airs, eh?" "Stinking old ninth" was the address for insulting intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution which was rarely mentioned in these years. Unexpectedly I heard it here again and it sounded particularly harsh. It was not difficult to imagine this man in a thug role at that time; now he still wanted to exercise his former power and prestige. The Department of Anatomy: A Pleasant Place to Work The situation continued to ease. One day the director of the Security Office (rather than the Personnel Office) informed me: "The Party committee decided to transfer you to the Department of Anatomy as a teaching aide." I asked, "Is my problem solved? Is there a conclusion?" He replied coldly that the Party committee was still reviewing. So I said, "Then I won't go until it is resolved." Then he bluntly ordered me: "You should go!" Obviously, the arm could not beat the thigh. So I went to the Department of Anatomy, and continued to receive the same 30 yuan as a monthly living allowance. In the Department of Anatomy were many of my former colleagues, a few recently graduated worker, peasant and soldier students from the college, and a couple of teaching aides who previously were workers in the college’s affiliated factory. All, from the head of the department to teaching aides, were friendly to me. I worked with a senior technician known as Old Li to manage anatomical specimens and prepare teaching materials. The Anatomy Department had a large two-story specimen house at the northwest corner of the Medical College. On the ground floor were three or four corpse ponds where hundreds of cadavers were soaked in formalin. In the passageway was a series of glass cabinets against the wall; inside were many bottles or jars containing organs or limbs soaked in formalin or other fixatives. The second floor, accessed by an outdoor staircase, was a large room with a few rows of wooden shelves on which were placed skeletal specimens. On the floor were two piles of dry bones which had been processed but not yet categorized. For a long time my job was to categorize and register these 206 different types of human bones. I was the only one there to do the job and was under no pressure to hurry. Old Li or others came occasionally to take specimens. I loved this hidden and quiet place which allowed me to steal some time to read books. Once a women came to inspect the hygiene. She saw bones everywhere but did not see me until I suddenly stood up. She screamed and hurried away, never returning for further inspection. Outside the window was a vista of rose fields. Every morning, I loved to look out from the large window and see beautiful roses of endless variety and delicate fragrance. A male singer often practiced among the flowers, bellowing out his repertoire. What a peaceful scene! But I was afraid that the sudden bluster of a thunder storm could easily spoil this Eden and turn it into a hideous mess! Spring Festival approached. One night as I was reading in the dormitory, a man unexpectedly pushed back the curtain (which was several sheets of old newspapers). Reaching in from outside the window, he handed me a piece of paper and said: "The Party branch (to which the Department of Anatomy belonged) decided to give you 30 yuan living supplement. Please sign the receipt." I was momentarily amazed, and replied without thinking, "I don't need it. Thanks.

58楼 蕭振于 2020-03-29 01:28:33

本篇最后一段删除。

59楼 钟克煌于 2020-03-29 12:19:33

[QUOTE][b]下面引用由[u]蕭振[/u]发表的内容：[/b]

本篇最后一段删除。[/QUOTE]
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问候！
祝福大家好！[em89]

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