Three Sisters Read online

  Ms. Huang, a woman in her forties who had been mistakenly condemned as a rightist, had been sent from the county level to teach at the school after her rehabilitation. Unlike Director Qian, she was friendly and approachable, always ready with an easy smile, like a mother, or, perhaps, a big sister. Though she was an assistant director, she told the girls to call her Teacher Huang, not Director Huang, and for that she earned respect and credibility from the teachers and students alike. After checking Yuyang out, she smiled and asked, "So what does this prove, Wang Yuyang?"

  Yuyang pondered the question and had to agree that it really didn't prove much. The special condition only confirmed that she had returned to the dorm alone, which conversely proved that she had been at the scene of the theft. Sweat beaded the tip of her nose as she stood there dumbfounded before blurting out, "I didn't do it."

  "Before the thief is found," Teacher Huang softly replied, "everyone is a suspect, even me. That's a possibility, isn't it?" What more could Yuyang say since even the teacher included herself among the suspects? Aggressively defending herself at this point would reflect badly on her attitude.

  The scope of the investigation kept changing, sometimes it expanded, sometimes it contracted, but nothing came of it. Four days quickly passed without a breakthrough. During those four days, the girls in Section Three gained a keen and personal understanding of the terms "steely discipline" and "steely character." Steel was a metal they came to know well. It was expressionless, wordless, silent—but heavy and hard, with an oppressive power. They developed a fear of steel because its absence of motion was always temporary. Once it began to move, no one knew what might happen. They also learned that at a certain temperature anything could turn to steel—an event, time, or a mood. Once any of these became steel, they turned heavy and hard and lodged in the hearts of all the Section Three students. Gloom lay heavily over their classes, where everyone walked softly, afraid of bumping into the steel— clang. Another possibility was that steel would silently take a large chunk of their flesh.

  In relative terms, Wang Yuyang felt more pressure than the others, and not just from the school administration; it came largely from other students, even from herself. Not knowing what she'd done or what others might be thinking she'd done and not being particularly articulate to begin with, she decided not to say anything. But that made it difficult to hold her head up in public. She could be numb to the pressure, but she couldn't work the same magic on her fellow students, whose eyes were deeply penetrating. More significantly, their imagination was equally penetrating. A rumor was already spreading that Wang Yuyang and Director Qian had entered a stage of stalemate as they waged psychological warfare, waiting to see who would blink first; either the east wind would have the upper hand or the west wind would prevail. The other girls all knew that this was the calm before the storm; it was just a matter of when.

  The storm struck without the usual warning signs. Tranquillity had reigned, though only among the school administrators; the turmoil among the students had never ceased. As the saying goes: "The trees want to stop moving, but the wind keeps blowing." At nine o'clock Saturday morning Beijing time, Director Qian, followed by Teacher Huang and the homeroom teacher, walked into Section Three's classroom; all the girls were present. Director Qian was all smiles, uncharacteristically relaxed, as if he'd shed a heavy load. Teacher Huang, on the other hand, seemed depressed. Her usual amity was gone, and she seemed to be under substantial strain. One look at Director Qian and the students knew that the case had been solved and that the affair had come to an end. But their anxiety was palpable as they waited to hear a name; the atmosphere was oppressive. Yuyang swallowed, so did the other students. There was plenty of reason for them to be nervous. A chunk of steel was about to drop from the sky, and before it fell, who could predict whose head it would strike?

  The students were touched the moment Teacher Huang opened her mouth to speak. Her voice was low, a bit raspy, but they could tell she was trying hard to turn her grief into strength. She began by talking about her son and daughter, the former a student at Beijing University and the latter a student at Nanjing University. Saying she was proud of her children, she spoke in a soft voice, her gentle expression brimming with motherly love and concern, which, for no apparent reason, elicited sorrow from everyone in the room. The students were in a fog, confused over why she was talking about her family at this critical moment. Nonetheless, from her speech they could tell how much she cared. A meeting had been held the night before, and it had been decided to expel the "recalcitrant, unrepentant student." With a misty gaze coming from her reddening eyes, Teacher Huang said forcefully, "I did not agree."

  She began to reminisce, recalling the dark days when she had been treated unfairly. There had been her son's dangerously high fever in the countryside, which, since he'd had a seizure, had required half an hour of emergency treatment; and there was the nearly fatal food poisoning her daughter had suffered at the age of four. All these sad moments in her life evoked sympathy. She began to cry as she turned to Director Qian. "Is there a child anywhere who never gets sick? Is there one who never makes a mistake?" Qian could say nothing. Like a gentle breeze and a spring shower, her words caressed and sprinkled the students' minds, drizzle by drizzle, bit by bit, and drenched their hearts. Lowering their heads, they shed tears of remorse. Teacher Huang dried her tears and continued, "I've asked the school's Party committee for one last chance, two more days. I'm convinced that the student who made the mistake will repent by admitting it; that she'll go to the post office and mail me the money and coupons, things that do not belong to her. As a mother and a Party member, I promise you that we will handle the matter internally so long as you send everything back. Please believe me, my dear children. Don't trust to luck in this matter. The police have taken fingerprints from Pang Fenghua's case. They know and we know who has touched it. Once the police come to campus to make an arrest, it will be too late." She was anxious, fervently and tearfully hoping that the guilty student would own up to what she'd done. "Please believe me, my dear children, this is your last chance. You don't want to break your mother's heart."

  Her plea was so ardent, her expression so intense that she actually choked on her words several times, nearly crying out loud. Those words warmed the hearts of the students, brightened their eyes, and stoked their courage. The result was immediate. A money order arrived Monday morning after the second period. But Teacher Huang was caught in a bind, a truly serious bind. The original plan, elementary and simple, had been to find the thief by matching the handwriting on the money order. Who could have predicted that there would be not one, but four money orders? No matter how you looked at it, the pilfered twenty yuan could not possibly have returned quadrupled. By comparing the handwriting with that on student essays, Director Qian and Teacher Huang found three matches: Kong Zhaodi, Wang Yuyang, and Qiu Fenying. The fourth sample could not be immediately assigned because it had been written with the left hand. Slamming the four money orders down on Qian's desk, Teacher Huang said, "Take a good look. Can you tell who it was?"

  Qian smiled and sighed. "Old Huang, you've had twenty years of political experience, positive and negative. When someone comes forward to take the blame, what's the problem?"

  Slapping the back of her right hand against her left palm, she said, "What I mean is, what do we do about the eighty yuan?" Qian fished out the one with unidentifiable handwriting and placed it before her. "Cash this and return the money to Pang Fenghua."

  "What about the other three?"

  Qian put the three money orders in his drawer and locked it. "Leave them here for now."

  "Sixty yuan is not a small amount, and we shouldn't let it go to waste."

  "How would we be doing that? How?" Qian asked.

  Confused, Huang asked cautiously, "What exactly are we going to do with the money?"

  "Look at you. What can I say? With some matters, we mustn't be too detail-oriented. Sometimes it's better to leave an issue hanging
rather than try to resolve it. That's all I'll say for now. So put this aside and don't mention it again, all right? It's over."

  The stolen money had been returned, and everyone in the school now knew; they could breathe a sigh of relief. "I didn't do it. It wasn't me."

  What better result could they have hoped for?

  None.

  Their relief was followed by anticipation as they waited to learn the identity of the thief, but the outcome was disappointing. Four or five days passed, but no punishment announcement was put up on the bulletin board, a clear indication that the theft had indeed been dealt with internally. Yuyang was filled with gratitude and happiness for escaping what can only be described as a "near death." And yet, gratitude and relief aside, she felt somehow wronged. Why? She had confessed to something she hadn't done by sending in money. On the other hand, what options did she have? The police had taken fingerprints, and she could not recall whether she had ever touched Fenghua's case. Maybe yes, maybe no. But common sense would dictate that not touching it would have been just about impossible because the girls shared a dorm room.

  What if the police had retrieved Yuyang's fingerprints and publicized the fact? She'd have been in hot water, and that was a risk she could not afford to take; it was simply too big of a gamble. She told herself that it was better this way, since no one could be sure of anything. The other students could play their guessing game if they wanted to, so long as she avoided an outright disaster. As the saying goes, "Take a step backward and you can see the whole world."

  In any case, Yuyang finally managed to get a good night's sleep, and what could be better than that? But why hadn't anyone spoken to her yet? Was this what they meant by "internally"? It must be. So the leaders had kept their word and she had reason to trust them. She should stop her second-guessing now that they had decided on leniency; otherwise she would not be worthy of their good faith.

  Responding to the new situation and conditions at the school, a security team was formed the day before the new year arrived. A special fund was set up to purchase yellow army overcoats for each of the security guards, who were also given army belts. At the inaugural meeting, Director Qian made it clear that the coats and belts were public property and were to be returned upon graduation. The guards were instructed to treat their new uniforms with care. Completely ignoring his admonition, the students carried their coats over their shoulders and cinched the belts around their waists in order to show that they were special. That, of course, was perfectly understandable since it was an honor to be chosen for the school security team. These items showed that the users were class activists and had been elected democratically by secret ballot and then screened carefully by the school administration. Only one student, boy or girl, could be selected from each class.

  Director Qian called a meeting for the team, stressing the importance of their mission to protect the school and ensure the integrity of the people's property. He stood up and shouted, "Can you do that?"

  "We can," they replied in unison, the boys' deep, powerful voices merging with those of the girls, which were crisp and resonant, and seemed to linger forever in the rafters of the auditorium. Pang Fenghua's was among them.

  How in the world had the loss of money increased Pang Fenghua's popularity on campus? It was as if she'd not only lost money but had found some and returned it, or had done something quite courageous. Naturally, it didn't make her smug; on the contrary, she was more humble than ever, a perfect example of an outstanding student who excelled both in her studies and her temperament. All that went to show how much she had changed, which caused Yuyang to wonder why she couldn't be lucky enough to lose a little money. Things like that simply didn't happen to her.

  Fenghua had received enough votes in the security team election for a second-place finish. Even Yuyang had voted for her. In retrospect, Yuyang realized that this made no sense. She just went ahead and cast her vote—people are strange animals.

  Normally, in accordance with the principle of democratic centralism, Fenghua should not have been counted as being elected to the security team, but after centralizing, the homeroom teacher allowed her to join, saying that the student who'd received the most votes, a member of the athletic committee, was needed to work elsewhere. So Fenghua was on the team. She put on the army overcoat and leather belt, cutting a striking figure—brave and imposing—like a soldier or a policewoman.

  Now that Fenghua was involved in school security, the homeroom teacher summoned her to his dorm room for a talk. He said that he expected her to be more active in all aspects of school functions, to become a true activist, and thereby to serve as a role model. He invited her to sit down, but she declined; instead, she stood by his desk, her finger rubbing the glass top under which the ten-yuan bill remained next to the teacher's class schedule. It hadn't been touched.

  Her finger flitted back and forth, and she couldn't stop smiling. Every sweep of that finger rubbed against the glass covering the ten-yuan bill. The teacher got up, paced the room, and shut the door. When he sat down again, Fenghua was overcome by a sudden unreasonable anxiety, and the smile disappeared from her face. Her fingers now moved mechanically over the desk as she cast her eyes upward, an absent-minded look on her face. The silence dragged on for a long time, since the teacher said nothing. Then, without warning, Fenghua blurted out, "You must have fallen in love in college, didn't you?"

  What she was asking—not to mention the fact that she'd addressed him as "you" and not "teacher"—echoed like a thunderclap.

  "What kind of question is that?" he said sternly. The silence returned briefly until he spoke up again. "Who'd have fallen for someone like me?"

  "That's silly, teacher," she said. "Teacher, you're talking nonsense," she added even more strongly. At this point she dared not look at him. Fenghua's gaze returned to the money under the glass. "Why don't you put that away? Are you that rich?"

  He laughed. "One of my students ran into some hard times, but she wouldn't accept my help."

  She smiled. "Who was the ungrateful wretch?"

  She lifted the glass, fished the money out, turned, and walked out the door. Caught off guard by her actions, he sat frozen in his chair and stared at the door, which seemed to sway before his eyes. He was lost in thought, caught in flights of fancy.

  The following morning, the homeroom teacher strode up to the podium only to find Fenghua's seat unoccupied. A few minutes later she walked in—or, more accurately, sauntered in. She wore her army coat, and around her neck was a bright red, eye-catching scarf, obviously brand new.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said.

  "Please, come in," the teacher said. All quite proper and expected, as was the way she went over and took her seat—nothing out of the ordinary. But the teacher appeared inspired by the bright red scarf, having seen a connection between it and the ten yuan. His eyes lit up, and he was energized. "Why do we say 'capital came into this world dripping in blood and filth'?" he asked in a booming voice. "Please open your books to page seventy-three." His voice bounced off the walls. Only he was conscious of this—he and also Pang Fenghua—for it touched on no one else in the room but them. Even among all those prying eyes, it was their secret. And it was wondrous, exquisite.

  Wei Xiangdong, in charge of daily concerns for the school union, was the head of the new security team. He stood out as a unique case at the school. A former student who was kept on as a teacher, he could boast no special quality except for a willingness to work hard. Mild-tempered and rather timid, he shocked everyone, himself included, at the onset of the Cultural Revolution, for no one ever expected that he had—and was willing to use—hard fists and that he was capable of decisive action; but he did and that quickly moved him up the ladder. Due to his actions, the school entered a new stage in the Revolution—as they say, "A single spark can turn into a prairie fire." However, this new stage did not last long because history quickly exposed his true nature. Not a good person, he was someone actively engaged in beating, smash
ing, and looting during the Revolution.

  When the old Party secretary was released from prison after the Cultural Revolution and resumed his position, the teachers thought that Wei would be in for a bad time. This did not happen.

  "Let us not engage in class retaliation," the Party secretary said. "Instead, let us unite in favor of stability. Class retaliation is not the correct attitude for historical materialists." That public statement altered Wei's fate.

  After seventeen self-examinations, twenty-six tearful demonstrations, and nine solemn vows, he was returned to the school and assigned to the security section. Being the sole person in that section, he was also appointed as a member of the school union committee, which was responsible for duties related to daily life. The union was an interesting place because the position of chairman was traditionally assumed by the vice principal.

  In practice, however, Wei was in charge, although the vice principal's name was on the door of the chairman's office. As a result, the school union stopped being a true union and became the security section, an organ of the dictatorship. The daily duties conducted by the union all related to women: distributing birth control pills, condoms, sanitary napkins, and shampoo to the female faculty. Wei worked hard, and that, of course, was good. But most important was how he adjusted his attitude to fit each situation, whether the position was high or low. A true man knows when to be humble and when to be assertive.

  Once, at a section meeting, he announced to the female faculty, "From now on, don't think of me as a man, no, don't even treat me as human. I am a feminine product you can use whenever you want." With words like these coming from a big, husky man like Wei, the teachers laughed so hard they nearly doubled over. If it had been any other man, they'd have called him a scoundrel, but coming from him, the words sounded different. It was no easy matter for a rugged man like Wei to bounce back after taking such a fall, but he developed a cordial relationship with the female faculty. When the teachers came for their items, for instance, he'd say, "Here you are, Teacher Zhang, 3.3 centimeters long for your husband. Teacher Wang, this one is yours, 3.5 centimeters."