Life and Death in Shanghai

When Lao Chao announced him, I was surprised. But I told Lao Chao to usher him to the drawing room and serve tea.

Mr Hu had been the owner of a factory manufacturing paint. His product was well known in China and was exported to Hong Kong and South-East Asia. After the Communist Army took over Shanghai, he continued to operate under the Communist Government’s supervision. In 1956, during the Socialization of Capitalist Enterprises Campaign, his factory was taken over by the government who promised all the capitalists an annual interest of 7 per cent of the assessed value of their enterprises for ten years. While the assessed value of each of their enterprises was only a fraction of its true worth, the capitalists had no alternative but to accept. Because of his technical skill, the government invited Mr Hu to remain with his factory as the chief engineer and assistant manager when Party officials were appointed as Party Secretary and manager to run his factory.

A well-educated Chinese, Mr Hu was quite untouched by western civilization. He wrote excellent calligraphy; his conversation was interspersed with traditional literary allusions. He was not bothered by the anti-foreign attitude of the Communist regime because his own knowledge and interest did not go beyond the borders of China. On the whole he fared better during political campaigns because Party officials were less suspicious of people like Mr Hu who had no foreign contact than they were of those who had been educated abroad. His philosophical attitude towards the loss of his own factory and his ready acceptance of a subordinate position never ceased to amaze me. My husband once told me that while most capitalists found the Party officials assigned to their factories extremely difficult to deal with, Mr Hu managed to establish a friendly relationship with his Party Secretary who had superseded him as head of his factory.

‘I heard you are involved in this latest political movement, the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. I wonder how you are getting on,’ Mr Hu said, explaining the reason for his visit.

‘Not very well, I’m afraid. The Shanghai office of Shell is being investigated. I have been questioned and I had to attend a struggle meeting against our former chief accountant,’ I told Mr Hu. ‘The men who talked to me seemed to imply there were some irregularities in the firm’s activities. But they won’t say what they mean. I’m really rather puzzled. I have never been involved in a political movement before.’

Lao Chao brought in the silver tea set, my best china and a large plate of small iced cakes as well as thinly cut sandwiches in the best British tradition, something I reserved for my British and Australian friends who understood the finer points of afternoon tea. This was Lao Chao’s idea of treating Mr Hu as an honoured guest. As he placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa, the telephone in the hall rang and he went out to answer it. He came back almost immediately and said, ‘It’s those people again. They want you to go over there straight away for another interview.’

‘Tell them I’m busy. I will go tomorrow,’ I said.

Lao Chao went out. I could hear him engaged in a heated argument on the telephone. Then he came back and said, ‘They insist you must go at once. They say it’s very important.’

‘May I ask who is calling? If it is important, don’t delay going because I’m here,’ Mr Hu said to me.

‘It’s those officials who have been questioning me,’ I told him.

‘Oh, you must go at once. How can you refuse to go when those people call you! Please make haste. I’ll stay here and wait for you. I want to know more about your position. I owe it to your husband, my dear old friend, to give you some advice. It’s my duty. You are inexperienced in dealing with those men. They are mean and spiteful. You must not offend them,’ Mr Hu said. He appeared really worried.

I was glad that he was going to wait for me because I very much wanted to hear what he had to say about the Cultural Revolution and the recent Central Committee meeting. I left the house just after four. When I returned at eight, Mr Hu was still there. As I walked into the house, he came out of the drawing room to welcome me back and beamed with pleasure and relief.

‘I’m sorry I have been so long.’

‘Do sit down and rest. Tell me, how did it go?’

Lao Chao brought me a cup of hot tea. While sipping it, I described to Mr Hu my interview with the Party officials.

In addition to the usual two men, there had been a third person present who might have been their superior. Perhaps to impress this new man, they were even more unpleasant than usual. When I entered the room, one of them said sternly, ‘Why didn’t you want to come?’

‘I was busy. You should have telephoned this morning.’

In the past, one of them had always indicated the chair for me to sit down. But today they just let me stand.

‘We are not conducting a dinner party. We are conducting an investigation. Whenever we need to talk to you, you just have to come immediately,’ he said with a sneer.

I decided to sit down anyway.

‘Look at this long list of your foreign friends! How come you have so many foreign friends? You must like them and admire their culture.’ He looked at me accusingly. Then he went on, ‘You said they were all friendly towards China and the Chinese people and that some of them were born here and spent their childhood years here. You claim some of them admire Chinese culture and speak our language. Yet included here are men whose ancestors made fortunes in the opium trade. They used to own factories, warehouses, ships, everything under the sun, in China. Now they have lost them all. So how could they have friendly feelings towards the People’s Government? Yes, they might have liked China when the Kuomintang was here, when they exploited the Chinese people as much as they wanted, and were able to amass huge fortunes. But they definitely cannot like China now. And you talked about the diplomats having friendly feelings for China. That’s even more ridiculous! Diplomats are spies sent here by their government to gather information to be used against us. How could they feel friendly towards us? It’s no use your pasting gold on their faces to make them look like benevolent Buddhas. They are our enemies. But they are your friends. Now, it is quite clear where you stand, isn’t it?’

‘I got to know these people not because I went out of my way to seek their acquaintance or friendship. Most of them I met when my late husband was a diplomat or when he was in charge of the Shanghai Office of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the old days.’

‘The Shanghai Office of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the reactionary Kuomintang Government! Your husband was a senior official of the reactionary Kuomintang Government and later he became the general manager of a foreign capitalist firm,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Your husband’s career was nothing to be proud of.’

‘He became the general manager of the Shanghai Office of Shell with the approval of the Shanghai Industry and Commerce Department of the People’s Government. The department had to accept his Power of Attorney for the appointment. As for being an official of the Kuomintang Government, he stayed in Shanghai in 1949 instead of going with the Kuomintang Government to Taiwan. Doesn’t that show he supported the Communist Revolution and was ready to welcome the establishment of the People’s Government?’

‘There might have been other reasons why he stayed. We will deal with his case later. Now we want you to denounce British imperialism and confess everything you did for Shell as their faithful agent.’

‘Everything I did for Shell was in accordance with the law and regulations of the People’s Government,’ I declared emphatically.

The new man had not spoken but smoked incessantly, filling the room with the smell of bad tobacco. Now he tossed the butt of his cigarette on the floor and crushed it with his foot. He looked at me steadily for a few seconds to intimidate me before saying, ‘Have you lived a completely blameless life? All your life you have been associated with foreigners, especially the British. Do you mean to say that you have never done anything or said anything that was not altogether correct?’

‘Whether I did or said anything incorrect or not, I know for a certainty that I never did anything against the People’s Government,’ I said firmly.

‘That’s for us to judge. At least you now admit the possibility that you might have done or said something that was incorrect,’ he said with a smile.

‘Nonsense! I admitted no such thing!’ I said.

The new man seemed to me more subtle than the other two. Though he spoke in a quiet voice instead of shouting, I was sure he was looking for an opportunity to trick me. Now he changed the subject, saying, ‘Give a resume of the activities of your office.’

I gave a brief account of our work at the office. When I had finished speaking, the man said, ‘What you have just told us is almost exactly what you have already written. I believe you took the trouble to memorize what you had written. Why this precaution?’

‘What I have told you and what I have written are just the same because facts are the same, no matter how many times you talk about them,’ I said. This interview seemed to have gone on a long time already. I thought of Mr Hu waiting for me so I looked at my watch.

‘Are you in a hurry to be gone? Perhaps you find this conversation uncomfortable?’ The man was enjoying himself, twisting words and situation to suit his purpose.

‘I just think you are wasting your time,’ I said.

‘We are not afraid to waste time. We’re patient. It took us, the Communist Party, twenty-two years to overthrow the Kuomintang Government. But we succeeded in the end. When we set out to achieve our goal, we pursue it to the end.’

There was dead silence. We had reached an impasse. Suddenly the man who spoke at the struggle meeting reverted to his former tactics. He shouted, ‘We won’t let you get away with it! You must provide us with a list of the things you did and said that were wrong, in order to show your sincerity in changing your standpoint. Otherwise, the consequences for you will be serious. We know for a certainty you are a spy for the British!’

This was the first time any of them had actually used the word ‘spy’. Hitherto they had merely hinted at it. Perhaps in the heat of the moment the man exceeded their instructions for the other two glanced at him in surprise.

I laughed at his outburst and said calmly, ‘You are quite wrong. I am no more a spy for anybody than you are.’

The new man said quickly, ‘Perhaps there are things you did or said which you don’t remember offhand. Why don’t you go home and think about it? Write down everything you did and said, no matter how trivial or insignificant. We will give you plenty of time. What about two weeks?’

‘Two years will make no difference. I don’t intend to make up any story,’ I told them.

‘Well, let’s say two weeks. It’s painful to admit mistakes. But it has to be done. Our Great Leader compared confession to having an operation. The operation is painful, but only after it is done can one become a new man. You want to be a good citizen of our socialist state, don’t you? Then you mustn’t lag behind the others. We want you to confess, not because we don’t know the facts already, but because we wish to give you a chance to show your sincerity.’

I wanted to tell him that he was mad, but I bit my lip and remained silent, hoping not to prolong the senseless dialogue.

He took my silence as a sign that I was ready to do what he wanted so he dismissed me by saying, ‘It’s getting late. Go home and think about what I have said. We will call you in two weeks’ time.’

With anger and indignation boiling inside me, I walked out of the building. There were no pedicabs. After waiting at the bus stop for a long time, I had to walk home.

Mr Hu listened to my story in silence. Lao Chao came in to announce dinner. My cook had prepared an excellent meal of Chinese dishes because he knew Mr Hu did not enjoy European cooking. During the meal we did not talk about the unpleasant subject of the Cultural Revolution but discussed my daughter’s and his children’s activities. We were both proud and pleased that our children seemed to have done well in Socialist China in spite of the handicap of their family background.

When we were seated again in the drawing room, I asked Mr Hu a question that had been in my mind all the time I was with my inquisitors.

‘These men gave me the impression that they wanted a confession from me even if I made it up. Could that be the case?’

‘Oh, yes, yes. They don’t care whether it’s true or not as long as they get a confession. That’s what they are after.’

‘But what’s the point? Won’t they themselves get awfully confused if everyone gives a false confession?’ I was genuinely puzzled.