Naked Earth Read Free Page B

late summer kao-liang . Then came cabbage patches and the small humps of burial mounds and an occasional thatched hut. In the greenish twilight of the shower, everything looked dark and clear like preserves swimming in a green glass jar.
    The driver looked over his shoulder and said something to Comrade Chang. He nodded “We’re there!” Everybody cheered.
    The vegetable patches gave way to an endless stretch of yellow mud wall about ten feet high. In this part of north China all villages had been walled in as protection against brigands.
    With sudden shouts and clanging cymbals and thumping drums a crowd of peasants surged forth from a rectangular entrance dug in the wall. White towels tied around the militiamen’s heads bobbed behind the soaked and tattered paper flags they were waving. A double file of youths and children moved forward wriggling the Rice-sprout Song. The girls had trouble with their sticky wet silk sashes which clung to their bodies and legs instead of whirling gracefully around them.
    The people on the truck, a bit nervous at this noise, could not hear the slogans being shouted. But of course these were the villagers out to welcome them in spite of the rain. They waved back shouting “Thank you, kinsmen!” and broke out into the deafening chorus of “Unite, hey!—Tillers of the land!” Meanwhile the truck had splashed its way through the crowd, pushing them into the field or against walls, their little bamboo flag-poles tilting en masse like windblown reeds.
    When the truck finally pulled to a stop, the crowd had been left behind. But two men who were presumably kan-pu (cadres), puffing along behind the tail-gate, caught up with the truck as it slowed down. They were all ready to help everybody down but seemed a bit put out upon noting the youth and good looks of the girls in the group, fearing criticism if they should appear too eager to hold the young women by the hand. They decided instead to lead the way to the temple where their guests were to be quartered. Sitting on top of a small wooded mound, the vermilion-walled temple had two large white vertical signboards on either side of the gate, both saying “Primary School of Han Chia T’o, 3rd District.”
    The fast walkers in the welcoming party were catching up now too, gongs and cymbals clanging thinly in the damp. The Land Reform Workers, their knapsacks on their backs, jumped down from the truck into the mud and hurried after the kan-pu up the steep winding steps of crumbling brick. Liu Ch’üan lingered behind to herd them along. Then he ran up alone, shielding his head with an arm. Midway up the steps an umbrella tilted over him.
    “Comrade Liu,” Su Nan said.
    “No, it’s all right,” Liu said smiling in perfunctory polite refusal. Then he took the umbrella from her. “Let me hold it.” After a few steps he realized that he was holding it away from himself, almost at the length of his arm. He hadn’t been so old-fashioned with other girls he had known at college. But he was not at ease with Su Nan. Water slid off the edge of the umbrella in silvery sheets, dripping on his head. He was considerably worse off than before. And then he also had to slow down his pace. Two could not run as fast as one. Su Nan probably noticed his plight. She said nothing, but as they neared the end of the climb she was walking quite close to him, forcing him to come under the umbrella.
    Those who had arrived before them were crowded on the porch of the temple, busy shaking their caps and wringing out their trouser legs. Everybody looked up when they came in together. When Liu Ch’üan went up to talk to the men he thought he could sense quiet disapproval, then had an uncomfortable feeling that he was becoming supersensitive.
    Chang Li was surrounded by several village kan-pu . He turned to introduce them to the students. The secretary of the Party branch office, Pao Hsiang-ch’ien, Go Forward Pao—a name obviously adopted after the