China café

My neighbour, who has just died, suffered in the cultural revolution. But no one ever tried to make amends. There's no truth and reconciliation commission in China
February 28, 2009
A Moganshan obituary

My neighbour Mr Wang Kai Xue died peacefully at home, aged 84, on 1st January 2009. His funeral was attended by 240 people. As the news spreads, many more are coming to pay their respects.

Wang Kai Xue was born in 1925 in Anhui province, one of four children. His father, Wang You Fang, moved to Moganshan soon afterwards to work as a handyman. He quickly saw an opportunity and established an ice house in the village, selling ice to the foreigners with summer houses. By the mid-1930s Wang was known as the "Ice King of Moganshan." Kai Xue came to join him when he was seven years old. In due course the news of the Wangs' prosperity reached Anhui, with the tragic result that Kai Xue's mother, who had remained at the family home, was shot and killed by bandits during a bungled kidnap attempt.

Due to the fact that the Wangs' wealth was earned from foreigners, the family suffered severe repercussions after the communist liberation of China in 1949, and during the cultural revolution from 1966-76. And because he had briefly worked in the household of an uncle who was a minor official in the pre-liberation nationalist government, Wang Kai Xue was held prisoner for 35 days by the red guards. On his release the family were "sent down to the country," where they worked as peasant farmers for five years. When they were allowed to return to Moganshan, Wang Kai Xue and his family eked out a living by digging up the roots of harvested bamboo and making scrubbing brushes for woks out of the tough tendrils. Kai Xue's final job before retirement was as a fire watcher and guardian of the village's bamboo.

Throughout his life Wang Kai Xue was a popular and highly respected member of the community. He leaves a widow and seven children. There is no truth and reconciliation commission in China.

Eaten out of house and home

Our house is being eaten. By termites. They have been quietly munching away since we renovated and moved in five years ago. We knew we had a problem and that one day we'd have to deal with it. When my foot went through the dining room's floorboards, that day arrived.

One reason we have put off action is the confusion. Lao Han, a neighbour, told us that termites were the responsibility of the administration bureau, which owns the freehold of all buildings here. Let it deal with the problem, he told me, because the process was very expensive.

So I spoke to the bureau. To be precise, I spoke to several departments, and while the officials stalled, the answer coming out of the corner of their mouths was plain: "Not our problem."

Next I asked a couple of local builders. "The chemicals to get rid of termites are very expensive," said one. "I can do it but it'll cost you 40,000 yuan [£4,000]."

The second builder I asked said: "I don't think it's that expensive, but I don't know where to find the chemicals."

"I can get them," said another neighbour, Ms Xie, who happened to be there.

"How much?" I asked.

"Don't worry." Ms Xie said. "I have a friend." Ms Xie once dealt with our bedbugs by spreading peach leaves between the covers. She'd make a good witch.

As I write, the second builder's men are replacing the floor in the dining room. It will take three days. Ms Xie will scatter her magic potions when the moon is in the right quarter, I suppose. And I'll be surprised if the total bill exceeds a couple of hundred pounds and a dinner.

How would you like your landlord?

Building and renovations are cheap at the moment, and more foreigners have slipped into the Moganshan area over the past year to restore houses for use as summer homes. (Apologies to Mark Twain, but history does repeat itself). They have not leased old stone houses like ours, which is inside the Moganshan resort itself, but instead have taken disused farmhouses in the valleys around the foot of the mountain. So far, three valleys have acquired foreign residents. Outside the official Moganshan area the leases are generally cheaper and fairer and prospective tenants deal directly with the farmers. In contrast, we had to struggle through a bureaucratic maze to get our place.

But while the leases may be fairer down the hill, the conditions can be unusual, such as the case where a landlord inserted a clause allowing his body to lie in state in his old home for three weeks (see China Café, March 2008).

One English family, resident in Shanghai, were also caught out. A condition in their lease allowed the landlord to retain the right to use and spend the occasional night in the lean-to shack that adjoined the building. It was something like a garden shed. The English family saw no problem and accepted.

After a long absence due to business, the family arrived to inspect the almost completed renovations of their summer home. It had doubled in size—but, as they were horrified to see, half of it wasn't their property. The landlord had "converted" the garden shed into a brand new semi-detached home for himself.

Now I can ask anyone who inquires in the coffee shop about renting property in the area: "And how would you prefer your live-in landlord? Alive or dead?"