"Now all the members of the revolutionary committee are following the proletarian line," he added. A young electric worker in Sian sounded less sure: "Struggle is still necessary," he said firmly. What had he done during the Cultural Revolution? "I made rebellion against the revisionist line," he said, grinning broadly.

I hope that some of this has helped clarify how I found China more good natured than I expected. There were other things, too. There was the retired pharmaceutical worker in Shanghai, proud of the neat 12' by 15' room he shared with his wife and son, and of his ability to save part of their $90-a-month pensions, but apparently prouder of the basket of peaches a visiting relative had brought from the country. There was the Hangchow high school student explaining that anyone could play basketball, but to play for the school team you had to be a good student and a good Marxist-Leninist as well as a good player. Someone asked if basketball stars had prestige in the school, and he said, "We don't talk about prestige so much. After all, we're all students." There was the fifth-grader who said her favorite subjects are reading "about heroes who fight" and swimming, and who wants to be a doctor. She was the only school kid who didn't say "worker" or "peasant." Would she like to be a worker? "Well," she said, "maybe a worker or a worker-doctor." And there were others.

There was also one exception that seemed particularly outstanding--the People's Liberation Army camp we visited. Some of it was all right. There was a young squad leader whom I liked, with a nice smile like a policeman I remember from President Eisenhower's funeral procession. Whenever an officer told a story about being criticized by his men he looked pained and assured us that this was unusual because in general the officers and men got along just fine. He seemed hard-working and sincere and so on, and his men said he was very concerned with their welfare, too.

It was the camp's vice political commissar who I didn't like--a fat-faced, tough-looking character with a scar, who drove around in a chauffeured automobile, explained that soldiers on duty did not have the right to put up critical posters, and almost blew up at a hostile question about the Korean War. I might write off the People's Liberation Army because of him, except for what happened at a high school in Shanghai.

There were three high school girls, apparently best friends, sitting across from me, while one of their classmates gave a talk about the school's history and how the Red Guards served as substitute teachers and so on. He was evidently proud and a little nervous and certainly a little boring, and one of the girls seemed a little amused by it all. One of her friends occupied herself by exchanging Chinese and English words with Shep Hoffman, a B.U. law student who was sitting next to her. When a teacher finally gave her a disapproving look, they switched to playing tic-tac-toe.

Later we asked if any of the students had put up posters criticizing the school, and the third girl nodded vehemently. People elaborated a little--there'd been recent posters criticizing teachers for ranking their students and for tearing up a student's comic book--and then we went outside to play fris bee: teaching fris bee was our main effort at building Chinese-American friendship. When we went back for more discussion, Shep Hoffman asked what people's ambitions were, and the three girls answered--if I hadn't liked them so much, I guess I'd have hated it, it was so pat.

"I want to go to the countryside to be a peasant," the one who'd been playing tic-tac-toe said.

"I want to help transform some barren area into fertile land, and reduce the difference between the city and the countryside," said the one who'd put up the poster.

"I want to be a PLA woman to safeguard our motherland," said the third, the one who'd looked amused. So it was clearer than ever how little I knew; because in a battle between her and the vice political commissar, how could I tell who would win, or whether it would even be a contest? All I could tell for sure is that once in a while, now, I miss Shanghai, where the lights stretch on for miles at night but it feels as though everyone knows everyone else. So I guess that will have to do.