Escaping The Cultural Revolution ~by Adam

Sayman gazed out the window to the bustling streets of 1996 Shanghai. Children laughed and darted about without a care, their parents striding past the colorful market stalls. Sayman sighed sadly. She knew she did not have much time. The cancer resigned her to a miserable fate. The sparkling sunbeams filtered into the hotel room, a balmy glow making her feel drowsy. Sayman knew that the time had come for her children to know of her story.


"In the small town where we resided, your father, Nounsan, and I were celebrating your sister Jacqueline's half birthday. The door burst open, and a telegram was delivered. I glanced at my husband's face. He frowned. 'I must leave tonight, or they will kill me.' While this was not overly surprising, as China had been under communist rule for over a year, and Nounsan was bourgeois, capitalist, and belonged to the five black categories, I was stunned. His voice burst through my thoughts. 'We will leave separately and meet in Hong Kong as soon as is possible.'

"No!" the strength of my own voice surprised me.

"Sayman," Nounsan whispered, "it is for the best." I followed him to the door where he held Jacqueline and smiled. The warmth of that smile would heat the coldness of the coming months. "I will see you soon." It was not a plea or question; it was a fact.

Through my tears, I made out the figure hurrying through the dark night. I wandered throughout the house remembering the long, happy years spent here. I left just minutes after Nounsan's departure with Jacqueline in one arm and a small bag with food and a box of matches in the other. Glancing back through the small doorway, I saw three bowls of rice still warm on the table, a reminder of the happy celebration interrupted just hours before.

I ran. Feet pounding against the dry ground. Stumbling occasionally, I did not feel the burning of my legs. I felt only the sorrow of my heart. The sorrow for a girl who may never again see her father. The sorrow for a man fearful for his family. Sorrow for a world filled with war and power struggles. But for myself, I felt only the anger fueling my lungs. For the first time, I hated Mao, the one who started it all.

I slowed and tramped for miles, until the dusk engulfed us. I continued until the dawn lengthened our shadows once more. Jacqueline's plump face was peaceful, and she had not made a sound for hours. I trekked along the rutted path for a mile more. Over the fertile hill appeared a rural farming town. Entering the largest of the random roads, and weaving through small homes I wandered aimlessly through the town. . We slept. Everywhere I looked, Mao was there, red painted on the background around his face. The people of this village had calloused hands and worry lines from their hard and tiring work. After the communists came to power, everything changed, and yet nothing had. (more powerful shorter.) We slept in an abandoned, mud splattered cart found on the road that night. The cart was a weary companion for countless travelers. For the first time, Jacqueline and I slept under the starry skies of the heavens.

Months later, I had relocated from town to town countless times. I allowed myself to stay at each town for no more than a month, because of the fear that we might be found by the Chinese police. All the time, I towed the cart with Jacqueline inside. She had adapted and become a quiet baby. This was necessary or she would endanger our lives. We had learned many things traveling. We had learned how to satisfy our hunger with stream water, and not to trust those who could not think for themselves, those who Mao had brainwashed and blinded with propaganda. We had learned how to pick berries from bushes, and while the berries never filled our bellies, we would not steal. But on that well trodden path to a town by the sea, I realized that nobody could ever succeed in preventing determination from reaching its destination. Corruption, evil, hate, and malice could delay the eventual outcome of a struggle, but they could never change it. I paused to rest under the shade of a peach tree. The half-formed blossoms swayed in the gentle breeze. Like this tree, I would bend to the communist party, but I would not break. I continued down the slight incline to the boat headed for Shanghai.

I clambered onto the slow cargo ship, Jacqueline toddled beside me. At one and a half years, she was surprisingly large and strong. We had bribed the crew hands to smuggle us to Shanghai, but only after we were sure they would not betray us to the authorities. When we snuck on board, a man holding a lantern beckoned to us. We followed him into a hold full of goods that were headed to the big cities. The goods were under tarps and I did not dare to ask exactly what the cargo was. The man lifted a small plank to reveal the handle of a trapdoor. "Get in!" he ordered.

I descended the ladder. A difficult task with a small toddler. As we climbed down into the darkness, I heard frightened whispers. At the bottom of the ladder, I lit one of my remaining matches. The match's small aura of light revealed many faces huddling together, a small taste of the sorrow that communism had secretly brought to our country. "Who were you?" a small refugee asked in a pinched, tired voice. I recounted my story, the tale of my content life before, and others quietly recounted their stories as well. It was strange: a group of the oppressed shivering in the rags of their former wealth. A musty ship's hold their palace, and rats their courtiers. Lost in our stories, the only possessions we deemed fit to share with others, we barely realized that we were on our way to Shanghai.
The ship stopped with a jolt. We had traveled only half of the time needed to arrive at Shanghai, and this terrible fact silenced all conversation. Boots traveled heavily on the deck above, ripping sounds echoing as the tarps were torn. Soldiers. Jacqueline cried, a testament to how frightened she felt. The tramping stopped. Urgent hisses told me to quiet her. I smothered her mouth, so she could breath but not make noise. The soldiers continued their search. Jacqueline fell asleep my to my relief.

My eyelids, crusted over with salt, opened. The movement of the ship was eerily absent, and the water lapped at the hull. The refugees began emerging from the boat, one by one into the darkness. The stragglers waited under the deck, half expecting screams and gunshots. Nothing. Only the wind swishing over the water. I emerged, cradling Jacqueline in my arms. A shadow darted from a bush, and I froze, hardly breathing. I waited for the gruff voice of a tired soldier, but heard a familiar one. "Sayman?"
Nounsan! I ran toward him. As we walked slowly so that Jacqueline could keep up, we could not control our feelings of disbelief. At last, we had been reunited. Nounsan had waited for almost a year for us, checking continually for our arrival at the corner of Haiying Cun. Jacqueline looked up at her father's face, now the face of a stranger. The black waters of the harbor embraced the land. Lights from the surrounding city mimicked the stars of the night sky. I took a breath. It tasted cool and moist upon my tongue, the taste of freedom, of safety, of the promise of a new life.



The day passed as I told my tale. The velvet folds of night had enclosed us. I looked at the world around us. I knew I would savor this life.

by ~ Adam