My memory about the Red Guard came between 1966 and 1967. Before the infamous Cultural Revolution, kids were picked up by parents on Saturdays. Then all the sudden parents stopped coming regularly instead we were transported to the factory at the end of the weekends by many means, open-covered trucks, cars, public buses or other means what I do not remember now.
I remember clearly one of the bus trips. It was a Saturday afternoon and the red, midsize bus we rode on was extremely crowded. I stood by one of the two ticket-selling women who looked nice to me as she stood next to the front door and by the half opened windows in order to observe the passengers’ boarding and departing. Many Red Guards, young males and females, were seen everywhere on the street, wandering around, waving arms and shouting to everybody or nobody. They seemed looking for troubles other than engaging any serious activities. At one of the many stops, a group of Red Guard in army-imitating outfits, a matching hat and a red cloth band circled on the left arm with yellow Red Guard printed on it tried to board the bus. For the bus too crowded to make extra room for even one person, she asked them wait for the next bus that would be coming in about five to ten minutes. Those Red Guards left outside got angry at their failed arguments, starting shooting out cursing words and spitting up to the windows, which triggered her sense of cursing back. Bad words began to exchange as the woman forced the door closed and ordered the bus driver leave the stop. Witnessing the fight, I was terrified, at the meanwhile, astonished by the sudden attitude change of the nice-looking lady.
Another trip I remember was by car. There were four passenger cars, making several round trips to finish the delivery. My ride was the last round of the last car. One of the kids was Gao Yang who was my sister’s age and whose brother, Gao Jie, was one of my childhood buddies. Both their parents worked in the factory and their father was one of the factory head. I do not remember the details about this trip, only its excitement.
One of the open-covered truck trips deeply hurt my feelings, not because of the trip itself but the parent escort. Parents made turns to escort the kids in all the trips during the chaotic period and my mom volunteered a few times. This time we sat on the floor of the truck as each of the escorting parents cuddled one or two small children as the older kids snuggled by each other. Naturally, I was expecting to be held by mom or to lean on her. Instead, mom held a little girl named Xiao Ju who was three years old and whose sister was my age and brother two years older, leaving me sitting a few children away from her. I was unhappy and jealous all the way during the trip and secretly refused to get over it for a long period of time. At this moment of writing, I am laughing at my innocent madness, wondering why I did not think in the past that she was only a tiny girl of three-year-old. A mild rock of the truck could knock her down or a light blow of the wind could toss her off the truck.
