The Dragon's Village: An Autobiographical Novel of Revolutionary China by Yuan-Tsung Chen Read Free Book Online

they knew my proposal was not unreasonable, and they didn’t oppose it too vigorously. They were apprehensive of provoking me to revolt at a time when more and more young people were boldly going their own way. Tired of school and home with their constraints, with adolescent, half-baked convictions but ready to try out our own wings, we were eager to join the revolution that now surrounded us. However, my family insisted on one condition that I, in turn, could only agree was reasonable: I had to complete my last term of high school. So, as normal life returned to Shanghai, I went back to St. Ursula’s.
    The week before my aunt left for our new house in Hong Kong, I spent all my free time with her. Despite our growing differences we still had a deep affection for each other and tried our utmost to avoid thoughts of parting. Only once did she let go. She had come into my room to tell me something, but as she walked back to the door, she suddenly spun around and spread her arms against the opening as if to stop me from running out of it.
    â€œLing-ling, come with me!” she pleaded. Her face, once plump and commanding, now sagged like a dried, slightly squashed pumpkin. I felt a surge of pity for her, but I knewthat what she asked was already impossible. I could not share the life she wanted to lead in Hong Kong any more than she could live her old life in the new Shanghai. The Western world was boycotting the new China. Foreign ships no longer called at the ports. The cinemas were running out of their store of American movies and eventually would cease showing them altogether. Nearly all the foreigners had either left or were leaving. The party-going and hobnobbing among the wealthy and influential had ended. Austerity was the watchword. Shanghai, resilient and adaptable, was learning new ways, but for people like my aunt and uncle it was hard, almost impossible, to change.
    â€œAuntie, I’ll come to you as we agreed, when young Bob Lu leaves.”
    â€œI hope so,” was all she said with a deep sigh.
    My aunt left Shanghai in the autumn of 1949. When the train started moving I ran along beside it on the platform waving frantically, hardly seeing for the tears in my eyes. For a second I had the urge to jump on it and go with her.
    On October 1, 1949, the People’s Republic of China was formally established at a great meeting in Peking. By the end of the year, the Guomindang had withdrawn from the mainland completely. I left St. Ursula’s at Christmastime, armed with my high school diploma, and Ma Li immediately made an appointment for me to see one of the leading officials of her theater. His name was Wang Sha; he was a playwright who now devoted most of his time to theatrical administrative work and helping younger playwrights.
    Ma Li met me at the theater entrance and led me to a corridor of offices backstage. She knocked on a door, put her head in, and without ceremony said to the person inside, “Comrade Wang Sha, here is Guan Ling-ling whom I told you about.” I was surprised at the familiar way she addressed him, but she whispered, “He hates formality.”
    â€œPlease come in.”
    â€œI hope I’m not interrupting your work.” I lookedaround as I entered to see a workroom more than an office, with well-stocked bookshelves around the walls, an old, greyish-white, cloth-covered table piled with papers and magazines, his desk, and a few plain wooden chairs. That was all.
    â€œNo, I was expecting you. Come in.” He stood up to greet me. He was lightly but strongly built with slightly bowed shoulders and a shock of black hair topping a high-browed, thin face. He seemed quite pleasant-looking. “Please sit down,” he said, indicating a chair next to his desk. “So what work would you like to do?”
    â€œThis will be my first job,” I apologized.
    But he put me at ease: “We have quite a few young people doing work for the first