Wang Ping

When I was six, the Cultural Revolution spread to the island where I live. It was in the East China Sea. It crushed my dream to read every good book on earth. Everything was shut down. Stores, factories, schools, libraries. My father was exiled. My mother arrested for teaching Western music. As the eldest child, I had to feed my family, my grandma, two sisters, and a brother.

I raised chickens and grew vegetables in the backyard and walked six miles every morning through minefields and bullets to look for food for the family. Two years went by. My dream seemed to be more and more dangerous and impossible. One early morning, I took out my stove to light a fire. This little stove cooked three meals every day for my family. I opened the door and saw Jiajia.

She was reading Mao's book under the streetlight. Her face smeared with tears. Who would weep over Mao's words these days, let alone Jiajia, the uppity girl from Beijing who had been exiled to the island with her father, waiting for the verdict from central government, either to go back to Beijing as a general or go to Mongolia to die. I tiptoed over and peeked. I gasped.

The book she was reading had nothing to do with Mao. It was Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid, the story I had heard on the radio a year ago that sparked my dream for good books and go to college. I had begged Mama to let me go to school a year earlier so I could read on my own. Mama agreed and even promised she would buy me a whole set of Anderson's stories if I got good grades.

But the cultural revolution began Her students became Chairman Mao's little red guards. They shaved her head along with other teachers, paraded them on the street. They came to our homes, took all our books, and burned them on the street. I had rigged every book pile before burning, hoping to find my mermaid, but no luck. Now I found her in Jiajia's hands. wrapped under Mao's red book cover.

Jiajia was so engrossed with her story, she didn't know I was reading over her shoulder until she heard me sobbing. She jumped, Little Mermaid clutched her chest. Her eyes told me she would fight me to death if I dared to report her. We glared at each other. Suddenly, we laughed, pointing at each other's tear-streaked face. We know our secret is safe.

I begged Jiajia to loan me the book just for a few hours. I would read it in the cornfields. Grandma would pound me for not bringing food home today, but I didn't care. Jiajia shook her head, walked back home. I said, wait, wait, I have something to trade with you. She snorted and kept walking. I don't blame her. Why would she believe that I would have anything worthwhile for her?

I have Yi Qian Ling Yi Ye, I whispered. She paused. I took my time walking to the chicken coop to retrieve my book. I knew she would be waiting because Yi Qian Ling Yi Ye, a.k.a. The Arabian Nights was the most banned and most difficult book to get. I had found it outside Uncle Shi's apartment.

When he died of TB, his family throughout everything, including his book collection on the street, hoping the Red Guards would burn it for them. but nobody would touch his stuff. The book had been rained upon, yellowed by the sun, but I didn't care. The stories had brightened my gloomy days. Ah, Arabian nights, I sang, waving the book to Jaja's face.

She snatched the book from my hands and thrust the little mermaid into mine. How and where did you get this? She screamed. I smiled. We underground book traders have this rule. No question asked. We agreed to return next day to return the books or renew, but two weeks went by. I couldn't finish the book. I had to feed my family from morning till night. And besides, I had no place to read.

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