Red Azalea by Anchee Min

clouds when I awoke. The sun had yet to rise. I lay in the mud, joints sore, knowing I hadn’t finished the work. The thought of having to resume my work brought pain to my back. Leeches parked on my legs. I had no energy to pat them off. They sucked my blood until they were satisfied and fell off. I was in despair. Yet I knew there was no way to escape. I had to finish my work. I had no guts to face the Party’s abandonment. I feared being disgraced.
    I forced myself to sit up. I looked around and thought I was dreaming. My work had been done. It had been done all the way to the edges. I looked toward the sun. There was someone. Someone about thirty yards away, pacing the field.
    My tears welled up, because I saw Yan. She was pacing in the sun. She was the sun. My cold heart warmed.
    I stood up and walked toward her.
    She turned around, hearing me approach.
    I stopped in front of her. I could not say anything.
    She nodded at me, then bent down to finish the last few patches. She washed her hands in the irrigation channel. She saw the leeches on my legs and told me to pat them off. She said that Orchid came to her last night and told her everything. She said she was pleased that I stayed all night in the fields. She said I did what I was supposed to do. She unknotted her braids, bent and washed them in the channel. She squeezed the water from her hair and flung her head. She combed her hair with her fingers and braided it. She said when she had found me I looked like a big turtle. She thought I had fainted or something. She paused and said that I made her feel guilty, because I could have caught a disease like arthritis. It would be the Party’s loss if I did.
    I rubbed my eyes, trying to look fresh.
    She looked me in the eye, a thread of a smile on her face. She said she guessed that I was strong-willed. She said she liked strong-willed people. She looked at the sun for a while. She said, I want you to be the leader of platoon number four. She would arrange to move me to her room so that I could discuss problems with the company heads. She then walked quickly back toward the barracks.
    I stood in the sunshine, feeling, feeling the rising of a hope.
    I moved in with Yan and six other platoon heads. Yan and I shared a bunk bed. I occupied the top. The decorationin Yan’s net was a display of Mao buttons, pinned on red-colored cloth, about a thousand different kinds of them, from different historical stages. I was impressed. Yan put them up during the day and took them down at night. The room was the same size as the room I had lived in before. It served as a bedroom, conference room and makeshift dining room. It was also a battlefront. Although Yan was officially in charge and Lu was her deputy, Lu wanted much more. She wanted Yan’s position. She was obsessed. She called meetings without agendas. We had to obey her. We had to sit through her meetings in our drowsiness. She liked to see people obey her. To feel powerful was a drug she needed. Only in meetings could she feel that she was as in control of other people’s lives as she was with her own. She made warnings and threats at the meetings. She enjoyed our fear. She aimed at all our possible mistakes. She waited, had been waiting, for a precise moment, to catch a mistake and beat it into submission. She had been trying to catch Yan. Her incorrectness. I could tell that she would have pushed Yan off a cliff if she had a chance.
    Lu’s full name was Ice Lu. She was the daughter of a revolutionary martyr. Her father was killed by the Nationalists in Taiwan. He was murdered when carrying out a secret assignment. Her mother suffered this loss to her death. She died three days after giving birth. It was a terrible winter. Strong wind, like scissors, cut through the skin. She named her baby Ice. Ice was raised under the Party’s special care. She grew up in an orphanage funded by the Party leaders. Like Yan, she was also a founder of the Red Guards. She had gone to visit