The Mao Case

quota — each work unit had to report a given
     number of rightists to the authorities. The driver’s father must have been labeled a Rightist because of that. Whatever the
     personal grudge against Mao, however, people shouldn’t talk that way about the dead.
    “The times have changed,” the taxi driver said, poking his head out of the window, as he drove off. “A cop can’t lock me up
     for talking about a feng shui theory.”
    And whatever its feng shui, the front of the splendid mausoleum, surrounded by tall green trees, had drawn a large group
     of visitors, standing in a line longer than he had expected. People seemed to be quite patient, some taking pictures, some
     reading guidebooks, some cracking watermelon seeds.
    He joined the end of the line, moving up with others. Looking at a body sometimes helps, if only psychologically, he told
     himself again. He had to zero in, so to speak, to get a better understanding of someone who was possibly involved.
    Peddlers swarmed, hawking watches, lighters, and all sorts of small decorations and gadgets bearing the name of Mao. Chen
     picked up a watch with an ingeniously designed dial — it showed Mao in a green army uniform with the armband of the Red Guard.
     The pendulum consisted of Mao’s hand waving majestically on top of Tiananmen Gate, endless like time itself.
    A security guard hurried over, shooing away the peddlers like insistent flies. Raising a green-painted loudspeaker, he urged
     the visitors to purchase flowers in homage to the great leader. Several people paid for the yellow chrysanthemums wrapped
     in plastic as the line swerved into the large courtyard. Chen did as well. There was also a mandatory booklet on all the great
     contributions Mao made to China, and he bought a copy, but didn’t open it.
    Scarcely had the line of people turned into the north hall, however, when they were ordered to lay the flowers beneath a white
     marble statue
of Mao standing in relief against an immense tapestry of China’s mountains and rivers in the brilliantly lit background.
    “Shameless,” a square-faced man in the line cursed. “Only a minute after you’ve paid for the chrysanthemums. They cash in
     on the dead by reselling the flowers.”
    “But at least they are not charging an entrance fee,” a long-faced man said. “At all the other parks in Beijing, you now have
     to buy tickets.”
    “Do you think I would come here if I had to buy a ticket?” the square-faced man retorted. “They just want to keep up the long
     lines by promising no charge.”
    Chen wasn’t so sure about that, but it took no less than half an hour for the line to edge into the Hall of Last Respects,
     and then to move up, finally, to the crystal coffin, in which Mao lay in a gray Mao suit, draped with a large red flag of
     the Chinese Communist Party, with honor gaurds solemnly standing around, motionless like toy soldiers.
    In spite of his anticipation, Chen was stunned at the sight of Mao. So majestic on the screen of Chen’s memory, Mao now appeared
     shrunken, shriveled out of proportion, his cheeks hollow like dried oranges, his lips waxy, heavily painted. The little hair
     he had left looked somehow pasted or painted.
    Chen had stood close to Mao in the crystal coffin for less than a minute before he was compelled to move on. Visitors behind
     him were edging up and pushing.
    Instead of turning into the Memorial Chamber with pictures and documents about Mao on display, Chen headed straight to the
     exit.
    Once out of the Memorial Hall, he inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. Peddlers again came rushing over. It was close to twelve,
     so he decided to start moving in the direction of his appointment.
    Passing under the arch of the towering Tiananmen Gate, he purchased a ticket to the Forbidden City Museum, mainly for the
     short cut. With the traffic snarl along Chang’an Avenue, it could take much longer for him to get to the park by taxi.
    The Forbidden City, strictly speaking, referred to the palace compound, including the court, various imperial halls, offices,
     and living
quarters, but just beyond the palace, there were royal gardens and other imperial complexes no less forbidden to the ordinary
     people. After the overthrow of the Qing dynasty, the palace proper was turned into a museum, with various exhibition halls
     displaying the splendors of the imperial dynasties.
    The palace was apparently too huge for a museum. So booths appeared in the courtyards,