Gang of One: Memoirs of a Red Guard

17. Li Ling

 Li Ling The Chinese have a saying: There would be no books if there were no coincidences . And that was what flashed through my mind one Saturday afternoon in the factory’s puny library, a single room that contained little more than a few technical magazines. It was my habit to come here after a week’s work to browse through the magazines. The room was always quiet, always empty, and it had become my ‘‘Lotus Bower,’’ where I could enjoy the luxury of quiet for a few hours each week. Only occasionally would an engineer or technician come in to check something. Most of the time, I was the only one in the room. About six months after I came to the factory, I was flipping through an issue of Modern Aviation when the door opened and a girl quietly slipped into the room. She took a magazine and sat down opposite me at the big oval table, the only table in the room. Over my magazine, I stole a glance at the unusual visitor and was startled to notice a pair of eyebrows that arched upward like Turkish swords. Instead of the ‘‘combat style’’ short hair of the Cultural Revolution, however, her hair was now long, and tied up with a black silk band. Her face was tranquil and smooth, with a touch of healthy pink in the cheeks, and her large eyes, fixed on the page in front of her, looked thoughtful. She was wearing a dark-green plaid jacket, which might have been a man’s jacket. For ten minutes, I observed my new companion over the magazine. Finally, I got up my nerve and put down Modern Aviation. ‘‘Aren’t you Li Ling?’’ I asked. ‘‘I used to be a barefoot doctor, and I treated your back at the reservoir construction site last year.’’ For an instant, she seemed surprised, but her large and shining eyes quickly resumed their tranquility. ‘‘I thought you looked a little familiar. So you are the barefoot doctor who saved my life,’’ she said, her words flowing like a leisurely mountain stream, cool and pleasing. ‘‘I never had a chance to thank you. What’s your name?’’  metal ‘‘Fan Shen,’’ I said. ‘‘Ha, one of the masses. Your parents must have wanted you to be a revolutionary,’’ she said, smiling. I blushed a little. I felt uncomfortable when she caught the meaning of my revolutionary name but I did not tell her how I felt about revolution now. ‘‘How is your back now?’’ I asked, trying to change the subject. ‘‘It still bothers me from time to time, and sometimes it is quite bad. I have been to several hospitals in Beijing, and have had countless acupuncture treatments, but nothing can completely cure it. I had a fracture in one vertebra, and it did not heal properly.’’ ‘‘Sorry to hear that. Do you read technical magazines too?’’ I said, knowing I was asking the obvious. She smiled mysteriously. ‘‘Do I look like someone who cares about MiG- and F- Phantom Fighters?’’ ‘‘But aren’t you reading International Aviation Today?’’ I nodded at the magazine in her hands. ‘‘That’s the cover. You can never judge a book by its cover. Don’t you know the saying?’’ She laughed. ‘‘I sense that I can trust you. You seem to be a bookworm, too. I have seen you coming here before. All right, I’ll let you know my little secret, but keep your mouth shut.’’ Slowly she lifted the technical magazine and revealed a small book behind it. It had a crude brown paper cover. In large block characters, neatly written by hand in black ink on the cover, was its title: The Biography of Karl Marx. I was more confused than ever. There was no need to be so secretive and sly when you were reading a book about the founding father of communism . ‘‘Oh, Karl Marx,’’ I said. But why in the world she would be interested in the man who wanted to eliminate bourgeois families like hers? ‘‘Didn’t I say ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’?’’ She giggled, obviously enjoying her second triumph. Closing the book, she slid it across the table. I took it and turned the cover page. On the inside was a very different title: The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli. I had never heard of the book. The pages were old and yellow, and the text was in old Chinese characters...