Planting the Willow

II

It was a point of pride that the performances in the capital were done with as much splendour as ever, but it was becoming obvious that the grounds there were less well kept and the buildings repainted and refurbished with less frequency. Living as I did, it is not surprising that I took very little interest in politics, but it was well known that the wars in neighbouring countries were spilling across our borders and that the tides of rebellion and communism were beginning to swirl around us. Even to me, it was noticeable that the capital was swamped with poor refugees. Our performances in outlying provinces had been curtailed. When we did go outside the capital to perform, we could see that many villages were in ruins and had been abandoned and many fields lay fallow. Also, the people’s faces seemed darker, more resentful and afraid. Fewer and fewer little girls auditioned each year for a place in the company.

That it all changed so suddenly was, however, shocking. We had become accustomed to the sound of distant gunfire in the night and even to the departure of almost a third of the attendants and one of the senior teachers. We said to ourselves that it was just a bad time. Soon things would be set right. The Master was drawn and tired. He said nothing about all this. He continued to coach us and teach the new students in his calm quiet way.

But one morning, there were no attendants to wake us and bring us tea. We milled around in the dormitories and halls wondering what could be the matter. We saw one of the oldest attendants shuffling across the lawn with all her possessions in a bundle on her back. We called out to her:  “What is happening? Where is everybody?”

“The King has fled the country,” she called back. “You’ll have to go home.” We were upset, but didn’t know what to do. We were creatures of deeply ingrained habit. We got dressed and went to the main hall. It was unchanged since my first day at the school and still as airy and splendid as ever. There the Master waited for us, seated at the far end, dressed in his white shirt and trousers.

“My dear, dear friends,” the Master’s voice was very soft. We had to lean forward to hear him. “As I think you know, the King has left. He may, of course, eventually return, but it is most likely that the communists will very soon be taking over. Their troops are within four miles of the city. There is very little to oppose them. The King’s departure means that the world that we have known and functioned in has ended. Our futures are now highly uncertain. I cannot insist that any of you remain here. But I have given my life to our sacred dance. I am not about to stop now. For those who wish to stay, I will make sure you continue to be fed and housed. Our work together will go on. We may have to improvise a bit, but I am sure we can manage.

“Nonetheless, we should be under no illusions. Things will change, perhaps beyond recognition. It seems likely to me that even a communist government will continue to support this dance company, if only for reasons of cultural prestige and propaganda. Even so, your way of life will be profoundly changed. But regardless of what happens, regardless of whether you feel you must stay or leave, I want to ask you to do one thing: please, whatever life you may end up leading, do not forget the true meaning of our dance. Do not let go of the deep harmony which it represents. This harmony is really true. It is the real basis and the real goal. Nothing can change that. Please hold to what you know and perpetuate it as you can.

“Other than this, I can only thank you for your long hard work, for your devotion, and for your many beautiful performances. No matter what happens to me, you have made my life meaningful. Thank you.”

The Master walked quickly from the room, and we all cried. But the Master was as good as his word. Almost at once, food was delivered from some nearby restaurant. We had our breakfast. Teachers and a few musicians returned. We rehearsed. Except for three older girls, everyone stayed.

It was hard to sleep that night and for the next few weeks.

Sometimes they were very close. There were fires in parts of the city that lit up the sky. Often we heard screams and shouting from crowds on the move. But we kept on practicing. With so little sleep, we were like zombies and with such uncertainty, we were nervous. Then there was silence. Somehow this was much more ominous. Things had been settled but we were completely ignorant of the result.

The morning after the second night of silence, we awoke to see the palace grounds filled with groups of ill-dressed and fierce-looking soldiers. In the rehearsal hall, the Master stood in front of his seat. Beside him stood a short slight man in a clean uniform with epaulets. Behind them were three tired-looking soldiers with machine guns. The officer introduced himself as Major and said that he was now in charge of the people’s dance collective under the authority of the ministry of art and culture. He was replacing our former Master. The Master nodded curtly, asked us to remember what he had said before and urged us to continue our work. The Major nodded. The soldiers escorted our master from the room. We were in a state of shock. The Major spoke sharply and told us to resume our work. Somehow we did.

The eldest teacher was made acting head of the school. He could not look any of us in the eye. The Major came every day. Other military people often accompanied him. Some watched with interest, some with peasant-like amazement and some with unconcealed animosity. After a few weeks, the Major was joined by a tall stern Chinese woman, also in military dress. Soon he announced that this woman was our new master. He explained that our art, while remarkable, had been a tool of the King’s oppression and mystification of the people. We were not to blame since we were children of workers and peasants. But now a new era had begun. It was necessary that we re-educate ourselves. We had to abandon old royalist attitudes. It was now our duty to serve the people in their struggle for freedom. He bowed to the tall woman and went on. Comrade Chen had long been a people’s artist. She was experienced in working with ethnic groups. She would help us transform our traditional dances into expressions of the people’s revolution.

Comrade Chen addressed us in a harsh stiff voice. She told us we had to re-educate ourselves in two ways. First, we had to recognize we had been unwitting objects and agents of oppression. We had to purge ourselves of mystical thinking about our work and recognise its true nature. Second, dances that glorified monarchy or the fictional deities that sanctioned it would be eliminated. Works expressing the aspirations of the people’s liberation would take their place. We would learn these new dances and perform them to encourage the people.