The Execution of Mayor Yin and Other Stories from the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, Revised Edition

Night Duty

62 Night Duty Liu Xiangdong strode into the dining hall of the collective farm, a large bowl tucked under his arm and a pair of chopsticks in his hand. The place was already packed, with long lines in front of each food-stall window, even the one in the far corner where soup was usually sold. There was good reason why the hall was more crowded than usual that night: the teachers who had just arrived that afternoon had come in for dinner after being assigned their beds, and those who were returning to Nanjing the next morning lined up early to enjoy their last meal at the farm. Since there was no more room at the tables, most of the people were eating their food standing up. Xiangdong took his place at the end of one of the lines and dug into his pocket for his rice and vegetable coupons as he studied the menu pasted on the wall. The day’s menu, written with black ink on a piece of bright red paper, had caught his eye at once. To express their welcome to the newcomers and their farewell to those who were leaving, the kitchen sta√ had prepared several special dishes: a meatball night duty 63 called lion’s head, sweet-and-sour pork, and the saltwater duck of which Nanjing people are so proud. The menu stimulated his appetite, and as he watched the people around him devouring their food, his stomach began to growl. His appetite had greatly increased since his return to China the year before. He was eating twice as much and having no more stomach trouble; in America he had always been concerned that he might have ulcers. The thought struck him that a man’s stomach really adapts in quick order. Soldiers of the revolution, each must remember To observe the three regulations and eight points: First, obedience in every action . . . The farm’s broadcasting had begun. Xiangdong did not need a watch to know that it was five-thirty. Every morning the loudspeakers blared out ‘‘The East Is Red’’ to rouse everyone out of bed; then there were revolutionary songs for relaxation during lunchtime and work breaks; and finally ‘‘The East Is Red’’ sent everyone o√ to bed again. Life was thus regulated, never changing, making a watch entirely superfluous. During his first days in Nanjing, before he’d grown accustomed to the shrill loudspeakers, Xiangdong had felt that they violated his personal freedom, interfered with his train of thought, and virtually forced him into conforming. He’d even toyed with the idea of mentioning these objections to the comrade leader as a suggestion for improvement. But he soon discovered that the broadcasting was an integral part of daily life in New China, so he forced himself to accept it, eventually learning to take it in stride. Once, during rice planting season, when the work was heavy and especially tiring, he’d actually fallen asleep before the broadcast ended. 64 chen ruoxi ‘‘Hurry! Hurry! We’re all out of saltwater duck! Cabbage is three fen a plate.’’ This shout greeted him as he reached the window. Peering in through the small opening, Xiangdong could see that all the good food had indeed been given out, so he had to be satisfied with two small dishes of sliced meat with greens and some rice. Holding his bowl carefully, he looked around for a place by a window, where it would not be so crowded, to stand and eat. ‘‘Liu Xiangdong! Come join us!’’ Lao He, from Xiangdong’s dormitory, was signaling with his chopsticks. Lao He and three or four colleagues from Xiangdong’s department had a table to themselves and were already eating heartily. They squeezed over to let him have a corner of one of the benches. ‘‘You’re late. The duck is already sold out,’’ said Lao He. ‘‘It doesn’t matter,’’ Xiangdong said with an indi√erent shrug. Being a ‘‘grasslander,’’ a Taiwanese peasant, he still could not appreciate saltwater duck and found the plain cooked duck of his native Taiwan much tastier. From the piles of bones at both ends of the table, he could see that the others had all eaten duck. ‘‘Xiao Liu, will you be getting into the classroom when you return?’’ a comrade sitting opposite him asked, as he spit out a bone and noisily scraped his bowl...