Feather in the Storm: A Childhood Lost in Chaos by Emily Wu, Larry Engelmann Page A
Book: Feather in the Storm: A Childhood Lost in Chaos by Emily Wu, Larry Engelmann
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Authors: Emily Wu, Larry Engelmann
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sense.”
If Papa had known I was in the room, he would have spanked me. He didn’t want me to hear his stories and he didn’t want me to know his private pain. But I did hear and know. Just me. Night after night.
I understood little except that this was another face of Papa. When he thought he was alone at night, he removed the mask he wore in the light and I saw him not only as Papa but also as a secretly sad and haunted man.
One phrase that he repeated mystified me. I wanted to ask him about it but could not without revealing I’d been in the room with him. The phrase was “It’s not over. It’s coming … I see it.” Sometimes he said it with resignation. Sometimes with regret. Sometimes with fear, and sometimes with something like humor, but in a strange unfunny way.
I imagined that Papa looked out the window one evening and saw someone in the street outside. Whoever it was looked up and saw him before he stepped away from the window. Now this person knew where we lived. Now maybe he was crouching at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting.
I wanted to scream and run away. I had no idea what to do. Even worse, I concluded, neither did Papa.
I told Xiaolan what Papa said. I asked what she thought it meant. She said she’d never heard her parents use the phrase but she didn’t think it was about anything bad.
Papa didn’t know that during those nights he had a secret sharer listening to his stories, his memories, his sorrows, his songs and his sobs. He never knew that his daughter lay beneath his son’s crib, like a trapped angel or a cornered god, unable to do anything but listen and wonder.
12
On the night of January 20, 1966, Papa toasted the arrival of the Year of the Horse. He raised his cup of wine and proclaimed, “To a year of changes. Everything is going to get better.” The rest of us at the table responded by raising our teacups and chorusing agreement.
“The Year of the Horse—that means … happy times,” Mama added.
We took turns describing the changes we wished for. But Grandmother cautioned, “The Year of the Horse also bring chaos and turbulence. We must not forget that.” Her words cast a momentary pall over our celebration. But Papa responded, “This may be true, Mother. But we will hope for the best.”
Yiding jumped to his feet, poked me in the ribs and shouted, “Happy times! Happy times!” and ran away. I leaped from my stool and chased him down the corridor while Yicun, laughing loudly, followed close on my heels. We ran in and out of the bedroom and chased one another in a circle until we fell in a heap on the floor, tickling one another and laughing uncontrollably.
At midnight we went outside and ignited a string of firecrackers. We giggled and screamed and covered our ears as red and yellow flashespunctured the darkness and explosions echoed off nearby buildings. Our neighbors were also outside celebrating. I saw Xiaolan and her parents huddled together nearby, lighting firecrackers. I waved and shouted “Happy New Year” during a lapse in the noise. She heard me and did a playful little dance and waved back.
————
In mid-May the Central Committee of the Communist Party issued a call for a Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. Chairman Mao denounced Party officials who were “following the capitalist road” and cautioned against “counterrevolutionary revisionists” within the Party. The moment had come for purging the Party, he said, for eliminating enemies of the state and their ideas.
A huge poster was put up on a wall on the campus of Beijing University, calling on all students to “resolutely, thoroughly, cleanly and completely eliminate all demons and monsters, and counterrevolutionary revisionists.” The
People’s Daily
, official organ of the Communist Party, printed the text of the poster and called on true revolutionaries to embrace the leadership of Chairman Mao. Those who opposed him, the paper declared, must be struck down.
Students
If Papa had known I was in the room, he would have spanked me. He didn’t want me to hear his stories and he didn’t want me to know his private pain. But I did hear and know. Just me. Night after night.
I understood little except that this was another face of Papa. When he thought he was alone at night, he removed the mask he wore in the light and I saw him not only as Papa but also as a secretly sad and haunted man.
One phrase that he repeated mystified me. I wanted to ask him about it but could not without revealing I’d been in the room with him. The phrase was “It’s not over. It’s coming … I see it.” Sometimes he said it with resignation. Sometimes with regret. Sometimes with fear, and sometimes with something like humor, but in a strange unfunny way.
I imagined that Papa looked out the window one evening and saw someone in the street outside. Whoever it was looked up and saw him before he stepped away from the window. Now this person knew where we lived. Now maybe he was crouching at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting.
I wanted to scream and run away. I had no idea what to do. Even worse, I concluded, neither did Papa.
I told Xiaolan what Papa said. I asked what she thought it meant. She said she’d never heard her parents use the phrase but she didn’t think it was about anything bad.
Papa didn’t know that during those nights he had a secret sharer listening to his stories, his memories, his sorrows, his songs and his sobs. He never knew that his daughter lay beneath his son’s crib, like a trapped angel or a cornered god, unable to do anything but listen and wonder.
12
On the night of January 20, 1966, Papa toasted the arrival of the Year of the Horse. He raised his cup of wine and proclaimed, “To a year of changes. Everything is going to get better.” The rest of us at the table responded by raising our teacups and chorusing agreement.
“The Year of the Horse—that means … happy times,” Mama added.
We took turns describing the changes we wished for. But Grandmother cautioned, “The Year of the Horse also bring chaos and turbulence. We must not forget that.” Her words cast a momentary pall over our celebration. But Papa responded, “This may be true, Mother. But we will hope for the best.”
Yiding jumped to his feet, poked me in the ribs and shouted, “Happy times! Happy times!” and ran away. I leaped from my stool and chased him down the corridor while Yicun, laughing loudly, followed close on my heels. We ran in and out of the bedroom and chased one another in a circle until we fell in a heap on the floor, tickling one another and laughing uncontrollably.
At midnight we went outside and ignited a string of firecrackers. We giggled and screamed and covered our ears as red and yellow flashespunctured the darkness and explosions echoed off nearby buildings. Our neighbors were also outside celebrating. I saw Xiaolan and her parents huddled together nearby, lighting firecrackers. I waved and shouted “Happy New Year” during a lapse in the noise. She heard me and did a playful little dance and waved back.
————
In mid-May the Central Committee of the Communist Party issued a call for a Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. Chairman Mao denounced Party officials who were “following the capitalist road” and cautioned against “counterrevolutionary revisionists” within the Party. The moment had come for purging the Party, he said, for eliminating enemies of the state and their ideas.
A huge poster was put up on a wall on the campus of Beijing University, calling on all students to “resolutely, thoroughly, cleanly and completely eliminate all demons and monsters, and counterrevolutionary revisionists.” The
People’s Daily
, official organ of the Communist Party, printed the text of the poster and called on true revolutionaries to embrace the leadership of Chairman Mao. Those who opposed him, the paper declared, must be struck down.
Students
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