Gang of One: Memoirs of a Red Guard

33. "I'm the Only One Who Reads Your Letters"

 ‘‘I’m the Only One Who Reads Your Letters’’ If I was surprised that I single-handedly ‘‘launched a satellite’’ in Tanggu , I was even more surprised when I bumped into Li Ling in the National Art Gallery in Beijing, just a month after my transfer to the main campus. I had not seen her since we left the East Wind Aircraft Factory nearly five years earlier, and we had lost touch after her marriage. She had not changed much. She still had her unique way of dressing elegantly but not extravagantly. She wore an unusual dark green shortsleeved blouse and a cream-colored skirt. She was examining a modern painting and I called her name. ‘‘Fan Shen?’’ she asked, turning and drawing closer. Her eyebrows arched a bit, but her voice was calm and even. She did not seem surprised . ‘‘You have changed so much that I would not have recognized you on the street. With your glasses, you seem a much more mature person now, not like the little boy who once sat in my dormitory looking at my stamps.’’ I blushed a little at the mention of that memorable moment . ‘‘You look taller and thinner now. A bit too thin. Were you sick?’’ she asked. ‘‘Yes, but I am fine now,’’ I answered. ‘‘It’s a long and interesting story. I will tell you about it someday. But how have you been? You haven’t changed a bit.’’ ‘‘Nonsense. I am much older now,’’ she said, smiling. ‘‘But a woman has many tricks to hide her age. And I am not going to tell you about them.’’ I felt my face grow hot. Changing the subject, I asked, ‘‘Do you come here often? I bet this is a place you frequent. I remember how much you loved art at the factory.’’ ‘‘Yes, I spend a lot of time here, almost every weekend, just by myself,’’ she said matter-of-factly, which surprised me a little. ‘‘I’m the Only One Who Reads Your Letters’’  ‘‘I heard you were married,’’ I added. ‘‘How is your husband? Is he always busy on weekends?’’ There was an awkward pause, which made me regret the question. ‘‘He has other interests,’’ was her terse reply. She sat down on a bench by a bronze bust of the Great Leader. All of a sudden, she looked tired. I sat down by her. ‘‘I have always wanted to thank you for all the books that you lent me during those years,’’ I changed the subject again, not wanting to embarrass her. ‘‘They helped me a lot during those crucial, difficult times. Remember the book by the German composer Schumann that you lent me? I still carry quotations from the book everywhere I go.’’ It took her a moment to remember the book. She had read so many books; it was natural that she had to search her memory for a few seconds to remember it. But when it came to her favorite books, she always had a perfect memory. ‘‘Are you still reading Nietzsche? Are you still studying German?’’ I knew her twin passions and how mention of them would always relax her and excite her. ‘‘Yes, I still read Nietzsche,’’ her face brightened up. ‘‘More than ever these days. It is difficult to be a woman, especially in China. And, ironically , Nietzsche gives me the strength to be a real woman.’’ I understood what she meant by ‘‘ironically.’’ Nietzsche seemed to have contempt for women in general. ‘‘Men just do not understand what a woman has to go through in life,’’ Li Ling started to talk in the familiar tone of a philosopher. ‘‘Most women don’t understand themselves, either. That’s why Nietzsche belittled women.’’ As often happened, her words soon started to fly past me, uncaught. When she spoke, I was frequently more fascinated by her facial expressions than by her words. When intellectually engaged, she spoke slowly, testing each word before setting it free. In the Gallery that day, she was engaged. Her white face started to flush, and her eyebrows arched upward one at a time. I could not take my eyes off her, and absorbed her image and her tone more than her words. I had not read much Nietzsche since leaving the aircraft factory—and even then, I read just enough to be able to converse with Li Ling. That was why I felt inadequate once again in the Gallery, just as I had many...