Emmett's Epoch of Endeavor Chapter 9

In 1966, China was on fire.

The skyscraper's pyramids were set on fire.

Fire takes advantage of the wind and comes with great force. The wind blows downward from the top of the tower. The arsonist may have intended to burn only the waist of the tower, rather than the entire pyramid. Those comrades sitting on the steps at the waist of the tower are the so-called "people in power within the party who are taking the capitalist road". Among them are a very small number of wise and courageous people who rise up against the crime and brave the wind to put out the fire for the people. They "will never repent." . Most of the rest, some sacrificed their lives to remonstrate, some acted wisely to protect themselves, and most of them just submitted to compromise. There are also some people who, how can I put it, have no good way to put out the fire, but they have a wonderful way to move the fire. They put on fire-proof clothing, and then follow the wind to blow the fire downwards and burn the bottom of the tower. The people who had been sitting at the bottom of the tower for many years were pitiful and weak. They couldn't run away or hide, so they had no choice but to huddle there and be scorched by the fire before their eyes. They were the scapegoats in the early stages of the movement. My sixth brother was just one of them. There were many people burned around the bottom of the wide tower.

Two days after my sixth brother died, on the evening of June 2, at a place formerly known as Zhuyilou, the town government held another struggle session to "strike at the current sabotage activities of class enemies." Like other "five types of elements," I was taken there to "accompany the struggle." The person being struggled against was Chen Guozhi, a pale-faced lame man who leaned on a bamboo cane and looked like he was not convinced. Before liberation, he was a low-ranking officer of the Kuomintang. After 1959, he was labeled a counter-revolutionary and was placed under supervision and control. His crime was resisting reform and wanting to restore the old order. The evidence was that he had said to others, "When the Kuomintang comes back in a few days, I will throw away this cane." In addition, there was something else called arrogance, which I can't remember clearly. Not long after, he was sentenced to a fixed-term imprisonment of about ten or fifteen years. Only then did I understand why my sixth brother wanted to commit suicide. If he were alive, he would be tied up on the stage and taken to the generals. It is better to die than to be embarrassed. He lost his life to save face.

In the hot summer of June, within 23 days, the town held six struggle sessions, sentenced seven criminals, and held a mass demonstration to denounce the sabotage activities of counter-revolutionaries. I have written all these things in my diary, but I am afraid that there are omissions. Looking back two months ago, when I first returned to my hometown, the streets were so quiet, the alleys were so deep and interesting, and the people were so harmonious and polite. 

Even if these were just superficial atmospheres, I was surprised and fortunate. I thought that I would spend the rest of my life in my hometown and let people forget me. I have nothing else to ask for. Little did I know that "the tree wants to be quiet but the wind does not stop." In just two months, the world has changed. The left wind blew down from the top of the tower, and more from the waist of the tower, like a mountain waterfall, blowing the fire around the bottom of the tower more and more vigorously, burning my dream of a peaceful hometown. 

On July 1, the People's Daily editorial "Long Live Mao Zedong Thought" added to the prestige. On July 7, the Sichuan Daily published an article criticizing Li Yaqun, deputy director of the Provincial Party Committee's Propaganda Department. On July 10, He Jie came to see me from Chengdu, bringing the bad news that the great turmoil had begun, which frightened me. She blamed me for not accompanying her to visit Qingyang Palace and Du Fu Thatched Cottage. She said that these two places of interest might be swept away in the future, and if I go there again in the future, I am afraid that I can only pay tribute to the ruins with sadness. 

She sighed and said, "It is easy to say goodbye, but it is hard to meet again!" I was secretly surprised, wondering if she was referring to Qingyang Palace and Du Fu Thatched Cottage, or to me and her. On July 13, the Sichuan Daily published an article signed by 31 members of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles to expose their old leader, contemporary literary giant Sha Ting, which made me marvel at the decline of the world and the decline of people's hearts. Fortunately, it had nothing to do with me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. In this kind of thing, I am most afraid of blood splashing on my body, and the farther away from it, the better. But who knew that the disaster could not be avoided. 

Four days later, the newspaper threw out another article, occupying a whole page, which was shocking: "Unveiling the dark side of the gangster group of Ma Shi Tu, Li Yaqun, and Sha Ting." My hands were shaking as I read the newspaper respectfully. Finally, I came across this sentence in the article: "They even brought the extreme rightist Liu Shahe, who was dismissed from his public office, to the editorial department to revise the manuscript." My eyes went dark and dizzy. Frankly speaking, I was very scared. There were hundreds of articles criticizing me in 1957, but I was not afraid. At that time, I was young and lived in a peaceful and prosperous era. The party discipline and national laws were not in chaos. I had faith in the country and myself, and believed that the future would always be good. 

Now the situation is very different. I have experienced many hardships and encountered troubled times. Tyranny and cruel laws are on the rise. If they say they want my life, they will kill me. How can I not be afraid? Now, if you just touch me lightly with your little finger, I will jump with pain. What's more, if you mention my name in the party newspaper and slap me into the "gangster's dark side"! The author's signature on this article is very strange. It seems to be Zuo something------Zuo Feng? Zuo Feng? I can't remember clearly. I wanted to go to the library to check old newspapers, but I was afraid that others would say that I was looking back. 

Forget it! On July 24, Sichuan Daily published another article, adding fuel to the fire of Sha Ting, who had already been defeated. It also brought up the fact that I helped to revise manuscripts in the editorial department of Grassland, a magazine of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles in 1959, which made me even more scared. Is it that people with anxiety are more sensitive to premonitions? No. Readers should know that a person who was considered a "criminal" by his neighbors was named twice by the party newspaper. In that isolated town, this was a shocking thing!

The results were immediate, and disaster struck. One night, I was sitting on the steps of the courtyard enjoying the cool air, and I was pointing at the stars. My church girl Xun Jin knew the constellation Lyra. A carpenter from the Wood Furniture Company came to my house and said that President Yue asked me to go quickly. I was worried and followed the carpenter. When we arrived at the company, it turned out that the revolutionary workers of the company were having a meeting and the lights were brightly lit. The carpenter asked me to stand in a dark place outside the venue and wait while he went in first. I heard President Yue lecturing, his tone was serious, as if he was saying "Strictly guard against class enemies causing trouble." After waiting for a while, the lecture was over, and I heard him shouting: "Bring Rowan Yu in!"

I walked into the venue, stood in the middle, and bowed to the great leader on the wall. I saw that the piles of wood around me were full of people. In addition to people from the company, there were also people from other units. They all had straight faces, nothing like before. If you look at the harmonious atmosphere, you will know that something is not good. This is the pattern of criticism meetings.

President Yue handed me back a copy of the "Reform Protocol" that I was asked to write a few days ago and asked me to read it to everyone (I later learned that President Yue was illiterate). After reading it, I returned it to President Yue. President Yue cleared his throat and said, "This man has a great background and is well-educated. We must expose his poisoning and tell him to behave himself and not cause trouble!"

The facts revealed at the meeting were all beyond my imagination. First, the words "Chairman Mao" in the "Reform Rules" were not preceded by the words "Great Leader". The informant asked, "Do you think Chairman Mao is not great?" Second, I cursed Marxism-Leninism as a beast. The reason was that I wrote this sentence in the "Reform Rules": "I only learned the superficial aspects of Marxism-Leninism before." If I have both superficial aspects and fur, what else can I be but a beast! Third, I looked down on the working people. The reason was that the "Reform Rules" wrote carpenters as carpenters - carpenters were called carpenters in the old society, but carpenters are called carpenters in the new society. Fourth, I wanted to reverse the verdict. The reason was that the words "Rightist" were not placed before my name in the "Reform Rules". The informant asked me, "Do you think you are not a Rightist?" And so on, leaving me dumbfounded and not knowing how to answer. Seeing my embarrassing appearance, I was defeated as soon as I took the stage, and the speakers became more enthusiastic. The atmosphere in the meeting hall changed from tense to lively. Some smoked, some fanned themselves, and some laughed. The gunpowder smell of class struggle gradually dissipated. Later, I realized that in such occasions, it is better to lose the battle and avoid arguing.

The carpenter nicknamed White-Faced Chicken, who was in charge of my renovation, spoke up:

"Explain why you are still reading Su Xiu's books!"

I shook my head and said no.

"You are not honest! Your brother told you about it!"

I remembered that my eldest brother saw me reading a book called "Collected Essays of Gorky" a few days ago. I explained that Gorky was a revolutionary writer, not a revisionist.

This is not a problem for the white-faced chicken. He calmly asked in a thin voice: "You said he was revolutionary, so why did the Soviet Union come up with revisionism again?"

I was dumbfounded again, defeated, standing in the middle of the meeting, rubbing my trouser seams with my hands. Then shouts of rebuke came from all sides: "Tell the truth!" "Behave properly!" "Keep your head down!" "Don't embarrass us working people!"

The most brilliant speech came from a technician from another unit, named Wu. He was well-educated and articulate. It was no wonder that he later became the leader of the rebels. He stood up, waved his arms and said categorically: "Intellectuals are as bad as Chili Peppers"! The author of this article has a strange signature. It seems to be something from the left------Zuo Feng? Left winger? Can not remember. I wanted to go to the library to look up old newspapers, but I was afraid that others would say I looked backwards, so let’s forget it! On July 24, "Sichuan Daily" published another article to add fuel to the fire of Sha Ting, who had been defeated. It also brought up the matter of me helping to revise the manuscript in the editorial office of the Provincial Federation of Literary and Art Circles "Grassland" in 1959, which made me even more frightened.

Is it that the anxious person is quick to foresee? No. Readers should know that a person who was considered a "criminal" by his neighbors was named twice by the party newspaper. In that isolated town, this was a shocking thing!

The results were immediate, and disaster struck. One night, I was sitting on the steps of the courtyard enjoying the cool air, and I was pointing at the stars. My church girl Xun Jin knew the constellation Lyra. A carpenter from the Wood Furniture Company came to my house and said that President Yue asked me to go quickly. I was worried and followed the carpenter. When we arrived at the company, it turned out that the revolutionary workers of the company were having a meeting and the lights were brightly lit. The carpenter asked me to stand in a dark place outside the venue and wait while he went in first. I heard President Yue lecturing, his tone was serious, as if he was saying "Strictly guard against class enemies causing trouble." After waiting for a while, the lecture was over, and I heard him shouting: "Bring Rowan Yu in!"

I walked into the venue, stood in the middle, and bowed to the great leader on the wall. I saw that the piles of wood around me were full of people. In addition to people from the company, there were also people from other units. They all had straight faces, nothing like before. If you look at the harmonious atmosphere, you will know that something is not good. This is the pattern of a criticism meeting.

President Yue handed me back a copy of the "Reform Protocol" that I was asked to write a few days ago and asked me to read it to everyone (I later learned that President Yue was illiterate). After reading it, I returned it to President Yue. President Yue cleared his throat and said, "This man has a great background and is well-educated. We must expose his poisoning and tell him to behave himself and not cause trouble!"

The facts revealed at the meeting were all beyond my imagination. First, the words "Chairman Mao" in the "Reform Rules" were not preceded by the words "Great Leader". The informant asked, "Do you think Chairman Mao is not great?" Second, I cursed Marxism-Leninism as a beast. The reason was that I wrote this sentence in the "Reform Rules": "I only learned the superficial aspects of Marxism-Leninism before." If I have both superficial aspects and fur, what else can I be but a beast! Third, I looked down on the working people. The reason was that the "Reform Rules" wrote carpenters as carpenters - carpenters were called carpenters in the old society, but carpenters are called carpenters in the new society. Fourth, I wanted to reverse the verdict. The reason was that the words "Rightist" were not placed before my name in the "Reform Rules". The informant asked me, "Do you think you are not a Rightist?" And so on, leaving me dumbfounded and not knowing how to answer. Seeing my embarrassing appearance, I was defeated as soon as I took the stage, and the speakers became more enthusiastic. The atmosphere in the meeting hall changed from tense to lively. Some smoked, some fanned themselves, and some laughed. The gunpowder smell of class struggle gradually dissipated. Later, I realized that in such occasions, it is better to lose the battle and avoid arguing.

The carpenter nicknamed White-Faced Chicken, who was in charge of my renovation, spoke up:

"Explain why you are still reading Su Xiu's books!"

I shook my head and said no.

"You are not honest! Your brother told you about it!"

I remembered that my eldest brother saw me reading a book called "Collected Essays of Gorky" a few days ago. I explained that Gorky was a revolutionary writer, not a revisionist.

This is not a problem for the white-faced chicken. He calmly asked in a thin voice: "You said he was revolutionary, so why did the Soviet Union come up with revisionism again?"

I was stunned again, defeated, and stood in the middle of the venue, rubbing my trousers with both hands. So there were shouts and shouts from all sides: "Be honest!" "Have a correct attitude!" "Lower your head!" "Don't belittle us working people who don't understand!"

The most brilliant speech came from a technician from another unit, named Wu. He was well-educated and articulate. It was no wonder that he later became the leader of the rebels. He stood up, waved his arms, and said categorically: "The badness of intellectuals is like the spiciness of chili peppers! Chili peppers, no matter how you make them, they are spicy. Chop them raw, chop them into pieces, make bean paste, they are spicy; dry them in the sun , cut into pieces and fried in oil, it is still spicy; throw it into a kimchi jar and soak it for a year or two, and it is still spicy; use a pot to pound it into thin noodles, and it is still spicy when you eat it. It's spicy in your mouth; it's spicy in your throat when you swallow it; it's burning in your stomach when you spit it out, and it's so damn spicy in your A**h0le!"

What a good article "Ode to Chili Peppers", but unfortunately I don't deserve it. I am ashamed. When I was young, I dared to make it spicy for three minutes. In the past nine years, it has been reformed and reformed, and its sharpness has been worn away. It has been living a mediocre life and has long been transformed into the lantern chili pepper, a specialty of Sichuan, which is only big but not spicy. This rare candid speech made me suddenly realize how "Zuojiazhuang" hates intellectuals.

At the end of this small criticism meeting, President Yue ordered me to rewrite the "Reform Statutes" and post them on the wall of the meeting place to facilitate the revolutionary workers to strengthen their supervision of me. In addition, from now on, a written report must be submitted to President Yue once a week. He said that written reports must state where they went, what they did, who they met, and what they talked about every day. They must also report others and strive to make atonement for their crimes. In addition, I must move into the club's accommodation as soon as possible and cannot stay at home to facilitate constant supervision (for fear that I will escape). Also, he said, no matter where you go, as long as you go out of the town, you must ask for leave in advance and cancel the leave afterwards without any mistake. Finally, he said: "Go back."

I walked out of the meeting with my head down. Suddenly, a chorus of voices started shouting at me from behind, calling me to go back to the meeting. So I walked back to the meeting with my head down again, stood there, and looked at President Yue in confusion.

"You just left like this?" the white-faced chicken asked with a sneer.

I didn't understand what this meant and scratched my hair stupidly.

"Think about what else has not been done." said President Yue.

The venue flickered with snickers, seemingly in good faith. I caught a glimpse of Old Cooper Lee nearby, a thin, stooped old man. He smiled and pointed at the wall with his raised lips, hinting at me. I finally understood. I quickly turned around, faced the great leader on the wall, and bowed once, twice, and three times. Mr. Li's eldest son, Mr. Li, was afraid that I would keep bowing, so he said, "That's enough. It's not just three kowtows to the Bodhisattva. Just one bow will do." Mr. Li was always very kind to me. . He has never read a book, but he knows how to respect knowledge and never thinks that I am a bad person. Not long after that, I once walked up to him and watched him hoop the barrel. He raised his head and comforted me in a low voice: "As the saying goes, people have to lower their heads when they are under a low eaves." He often quoted "Zengguang Xianwen" in his conversation, saying "If you keep the green hills, you won't be afraid of running out of firewood." What is "A man is not rich without windfall, a horse is not fat without night grass", and "It is difficult to paint a tiger's skin but not its bones, knowing a person's face but not his heart", etc. During the middle period of the movement, Old Li Cooper went to the countryside with his employees to support farmers and help cut wheat. However, he was overzealous and became paralyzed from exhaustion. He was bedridden for more than a year and died of illness. Little Cooper is also kind to me, but he lacks the loyalty of his father and loves to show off. Two or three months later, one day while I was working on the big saw, he came back from Chengdu and was infected with the epidemic of rebellion and had no intention of continuing to make barrels. He slammed the tool in his hand and muttered to himself: "I'll be your mother's Concub!ne! I and the others will rebel too!" He organized a little tiger group and appointed himself as its leader, which became a hit. These are all things for later and will not be mentioned for the time being.

After the first struggle session, I followed orders to move into the commune the next day, and still ate my three meals at home. There were only four employees living in the commune, including me. President Yue and my partner, Master Luo, lived next to the meeting place in the front yard. The old carpenter, Mr. Bai, lived in the right corner of the back yard. I lived in the left corner of the back yard, close to a wall. A washing table made of ancient monuments was placed horizontally at the door. Large timbers were piled up like a mountain, blocking the door. Coming and going, passing through the wood hills, you have to walk in a zigzag pattern. A little further away there is an old walnut tree, and birds sometimes chirp. There are many rats and snakes in the wood hills, and there are also weasels running around. Sitting in front of the door at dusk, you can't see anyone, it's very quiet. The original floor in the room was removed, so the ground is low and wet, and you can smell moldy when you enter the door. There are no windows, and when the door is closed, day becomes night. There are no tables and chairs in the room, only a horse stool used by carpenters for work, which is seven feet long and eight inches wide, and uneven. I wrote my diary and letters to He Jie while lying on this unforgettable horse stool. There was no electric light, so I used an ink bottle to make a kerosene lamp to illuminate the night. It rained a lot on summer nights, and the rain flowed to the lower places and into the room, forcing cockroaches and centipedes to crawl onto my bed. Sitting alone in the room, with no one to talk to, I silently recited the preface to Wen Tianxiang's "Song of Righteousness": "I was imprisoned in Beiting, sitting in an earthen room, eight feet wide and four feet deep, with a single door, low and small, the white room is short and narrow, sweaty and dark..." I couldn't help but sigh, thinking that this was the sweetness of being named twice by the party newspaper.

I thought the situation had developed so far, but I didn’t know there would be a chain reaction behind it. A few days later, in early August, big-character posters attacking me took to the streets. Two pictures appeared on East Street. Damn it, I was asked to honestly explain my relationship with Zhou Yang and Sha Ting's "group of gangsters". One is posted on the paving board of the North Street Wooden Furniture Shop, and it is an introduction to pedestrians on the street: the Liusha River is here! This big-character poster was written in the name of "all revolutionary workers of our company" and is as follows:

Warning to the big rightist Emmett that you must bow your head to the revolutionary masses and confess your guilt. Hurry up and hand over the large number of black books you brought home from Chengdu. Otherwise, revolutionary actions will be taken against you. This is hereby ordered.

The first two big-character posters were nonsense, so I wasn't afraid. But this one was powerful, and it was not groundless. I took more than 600 books home, and measured them with a ruler. It can be said that they were all "feudal, capitalist, and revisionist" and were swept away. I had no choice but to sort out more than 120 books overnight, ranging from oracle bone inscriptions to the Christian Bible, from Confucius to Plekhanov, and my mother sent them to the town government in three batches in a backpack. My mother sent books away like sending away ghosts, and she never complained. She thought that sending away these evil books would bring good luck to the family.