Free Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine Page A

has to be mentally calm and his disposition firm. He should not give way to wishes and desires but must first develop a marked attitude of compassion. He should commit himself firmly to a willingness to make an effort to save every living creature.
    A great physician should not pay attention to status, wealth, or age. Nor should he question whether his patient is an enemy or friend … . He should meet everyone on equal ground; he should always act as if he were thinking of himself; he is not to ponder over his own fortune or misfortune and should thus preserve life and have compassion for it.
    Whoever acts in this manner is a great physician for the living. Whoever acts contrary to these commands is a great thief of those who still have their spirits.

    After the last Red Guard raid, Father was ordered to mop floors and scrub bathrooms in the hospital. He could no longer work as a doctor.
    Instead of treating patients with herbal medicines, Mother had to work nights as a nurse in the emergency room. I didn’t know how she got any sleep. All day long, loudspeakers outside our apartment shouted out Chairman Mao’s teachings, played revolutionary songs, and announced the names of people accused of being counterrevolutionaries. My breath shortened whenever I heard Father’s name.

    Despite all this, Father told us we should look for joy even during hard times. The nights when the electricity to our building was cut off and Comrade Li was not home, Father closed the windows and lit a small candle. He taught me how to dance the two-step and the waltz. I was quick to learn.
    I asked Father to teach me the tango, but he said our living room was too small to practice. When Father and Mother used to tango at parties, everyone had stopped to watch. Mother wore her long white silk dress. As she gracefully swung out her leg, I could see her shiny silver high heels.
    â€œThey can’t keep people from dancing forever. Someday I will teach you at a dance hall.” Father made a graceful turn with one hand spread out and the other resting on his hip.
    I dreamt of wearing a red silk dress and dancing with a handsome young surgeon. Niu didn’t want to practice with me after he stepped on my shoes a few times.
    I was sad he had lost both his parents and had no one at home to take care of him. But in my heart, I had to admit that I wished he wasn’t spending so much
time with us, taking my parents’ attention away from me. During our English lessons, he loved to show off, acting as if he already knew every new word. I missed those times when Father taught only me.
    One good thing about having the lessons with Niu was that he suggested Father teach us English folk songs, since now we had only one English book left, a small dictionary. Father had hidden it in his boot before the Red Guards’ raid.
    After school, when we were sure Comrade Li wasn’t home and my parents were still at work, Niu and I hid under the heavy cotton blanket, like Father did at night, and searched the dial for English stations. When we found one playing folk songs we knew, he tapped his left foot and wiggled his head as he sang along. Occasionally, he’d scrunch up his nose to nudge his glasses into place. I was happy to see a smile on his face. In less than a week, I memorized every word of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” The song filled my heart with happiness. Niu and I hooked our pinkies and promised we would never tell anyone about listening to foreign stations. I thought of Niu even more like a real brother now.

    Â 
    Â 
    Mother served us less and less food each day. No longer did she put the best food in my bowl; she now split it between Niu and me. I used to hate tofu and seaweed, but these days I ate every bit Mother offered.
    One evening we were just sitting down for dinner when Comrade Li barged in.
    â€œWell, well, Niu fits right in here.” He stretched out his neck and coughed over the dishes on the