One morning last week when the girls were in school, Art and I found ourselves with a rare few hours with no classes to teach, no office hours, no meetings, and no skype calls with my office… so we did what any loving couple would do: we went to see Mao’s dead body.  I didn’t really want to go, but Art promised it would be fun.  He’s like that.

For the sake of time, we taxied over to Tiananmen Square and got there right at 9am.  And for the first time ever since we landed here in February, so did 65,000 other tourists.  Sorry, babe.  Neil Young.  OK.  But I am not standing in line for three hours to see a dead body.  And then…

Either Art was channelling Steven Spielberg on this morning and looking quasi-famous (seriously, this has happened before) or else we looked totally pathetic (equally plausible) because as we stood there debating what to do, a short older Chinese guard grabbed my arm, grabbed Art’s arm, started shouting and barking at us, then hustled us away from the line (running two steps ahead of us, waving one arm in the air, pushing through the crowds, and glancing behind every three feet to make sure we were keeping up with him).  We ran two blocks up and away from Mao’s mausoleum, across a wide avenue, up another block, and into a building where he kept shouting and grunting and pointing until we realized we needed to check our bags.  We did this (leaving all of our worldly goods behind) and ran back outside with this strange little man… down the block, then down stairs to an underground tunnel and back up again, then several blocks down to where the line was now even longer.  And he just kept on barking loud and mean while he marched us right up to the front of the line, winking at the dozen or so guards we passed by.  Then he lifted the rope, pushed our heads down, ducked us under and put us in line less than a 10 minute wait from the entrance.  He took 50 yuan from Art (about $7.50) and disappeared.  I don’t normally cut in line… but it’s not like we went looking for it.

So.  Mao died in 1976.  Immediately upon his death and against his wishes, he was embalmed, stuffed and dressed for exhibit.  They put him “on ice” in this great big ugly square communist building where people have been lining up to pay their respects for 35 years.  The Russians did the same thing to Lenin in 1924 (note: Art has seen Lenin’s dead body in Moscow.  Twice.)  Anyway.  I can only imagine the emotion that Chinese people (anyone between the ages of say 40 and 80) must feel for Mao.  He was great, I suppose.  He won the civil war and unified China (“Long live the People!”).  But mostly he was a mess.  In his effort to eradicate everything western, he forced all progress and all progressive thought to a grinding dead stop.  Thousands of people – mostly educated people – mysteriously disappeared under Mao.  Millions more starved, and 30 million starved to death.  Food production ceased, his steel industry was a disaster, and his economics even worse.  A complete mess which left China wrecked.

The crowds are moved through the mausoleum at a regular clip.  We had just a passing moment to get a look at him, and really all we saw was his puffy chest and the side of his face.  There’s an odd gold lightbulb shining on him.  Sure enough, he’s dead.

Afterward we walked around T Square for a while then down the avenue, past that spot where “Tank Man” had his brave standoff in 1989… then over to Wangfujing Street for spicy hot Chinese noodles and beer.

Tonight the girls are going to a slumber party so we’re having another date.  A Night of Puccini at the National Grand Theater…