by Zoë S. Roy
“No, why?” replied Liya.
The lad whistled long and low to halt his sheep, and then walked over to them. “Wang’s people come here to pray for blessings. I thought you might be one of them.
“Sit here,” Liya said. “Do you need water?” She shook her canteen.
“No, thanks. I have my own.” The youngster patted a felt bag hanging on his waistband. He then inserted his whip into the band.
“How about an apple, then?” Nina asked, passing one to the boy.
He accepted the apple and took a big bite. “Tastes good. Thanks. So, why are you here?”
Liya said, “We just wanted to see the Green Mound.” She paused, then asked, “Can you sing ‘Gada Meilin’?”
“Absolutely.” The teenager hummed the tune and Liya joined him in the song. “The young wild goose from the south longs to fly to the Yangtze. I’m telling the story about Gada Meilin. He led an uprising against the tyrannical warlord.”
Nina had heard the Chinese version of the Mongolian folk song as a child and remembered some of the lyrics, so she joined them. The boy sung loudly. He held the unfinished apple, his hand waving in the air. Liya could not follow him since she only knew a small portion of the lyrics that had been translated into Chinese. The mellifluous voice of the young singer floated over the weeds and delicately wound around the Green Mound. Nina imagined the spirit of the Mongolian rebel resting in peace, while the song told of his exploits. Ten minutes later, the boy paused. “It would take me a couple of hours to sing this entire song,” he said, returning to his apple.
Nina and Liya clapped enthusiastically. “That was wonderful! Where did you learn it?” asked Nina.
“From my parents, my grandparents, and my neighbours. Everybody can sing it. We also sing many other songs. We’re Genghis Khan’s offspring. We do all the things that he enjoyed.”
“Do you go to worship Genghis Khan?” asked Liya.
“We worship him every day. But my family sometimes brings our homemade kumis to visit his tomb. We pray for blessings, just like the people from the Wang clan. They come here to pray at the Tomb of Zhaojun.”
“Your family name isn’t Khan, is it?” asked Liya.
“No, but we Mongols are all from the same family. Genghis Khan is our oldest ancestor. He’s our God.” The lad stood up, and pulled his whip out from his waistband. His whip swirling in the air, he waded through the grass over to his waiting sheep. “Ooh!” he yelled, turning to smile at them. Then the shepherd and his sheep gradually disappeared amidst the long grasses.
“Let’s go to Dalai,” said Nina. Liya stood up and looked in the direction the boy had taken. “His voice was amazing and his songs moved me.”
“I too was moved. Ah, I forgot to ask him about which direction to go in,” said Nina.
“Don’t worry. Let’s go back to the path. I’m sure we’ll find our way.”
At the roadside, Nina and Liya found a sign for the village of Wulanbatu. They knew that the village of Dalai was in the same direction. They had been told that they would find the Peach Blossom Camp near Dalai.
The sun was high in the sky and warmed their backs as they trekked south. Liya interpreted the long and short verses by famous poets in Chinese history, such as Du Fu, Bai Juyi, and Su Shi. “Laments of Zhaojun,” which she had learned from a course on the Chinese Ancient Classics, was one of her favourites. Zhaojun had had to adjust to the totally different language and culture of the Huns. The sense of isolation and homesickness in Zhaojun’s words from centuries earlier seemed to intensify the heat of the day. Gazing at the endless grassland and edgeless sky, Nina seemed to feel what Zhaojun had experienced thousands of years before. Admiration arose in her heart.
They trudged along for about an hour and finally spotted a sign for Wulanbatu. Following Weimin’s map, they turned west and continued walking. They reached an area of large fields, some of which were filled by corn stalks, while other fields had heaps of wheat stalks. They did not spot any yurts, so they wandered around. When they noticed a few poles with barbed wire along a path, they knew they were in the right spot. Nina took several photographs of the poles as they reminded her of her former military farm. She knew these camps were far worse than the military farm where she had lived and worked. The workers in these camps were constantly watched by armed guards. They had no freedom.
The path ended abruptly at the edge of an open grassy field that accommodated a large herd of sheep. They could see two people slouched against a tree. “Hiyo!” a young voice rose from under the tree. “Did you people follow me?”
Nina recognized the boy they had met earlier. “We’re just looking around.” She and Liya strode through the grass over to them.
“You must know a shortcut,” said Liya.
“I know everything here. My cousin does too,” the lad said, and patted the other herder’s arm. “Look. That’s a ‘ghost gate’, a place where many have suffered and died.” He pointed at a wall made of mud beyond a large grove of shrubbery and trees.
Nina noticed the barbed wire on top of the wall and some wild jujube trees by a small gate. “Is that Peach Blossom Camp?”
“Yes. How do you know its name? Some people have been in there for ages. They’re my grandpa’s age. Our old people tell us that these inmates opposed the Emperor.”
Nina understood the boy. She knew that in the Mongols’ minds, Mao was the Emperor.
“Do you mean Chairman Mao?” Liya asked with surprise.
“What’s the difference? We don’t like any emperor. We have our Genghis Khan. Don’t you agree, my cousin?” the boy asked. He pulled the arm of his cousin who seemed to be in his early twenties, and completely disinterested in the conversation.
His cousin answered, “You’re absolutely right, but we don’t want to talk about the Emperor. We don’t need any trouble. Gada Meilin upset the emperor fifty years ago and was killed for it.”
The cousin nodded curtly to the boy. “Let’s enjoy our break.” We still have a long way to go.”
Nina and Liya waded through the tall grass that led to the wall until they could see the gate clearly. Nina then took aim with her camera and took some photographs of the gate as she tried to imagine what it looked like behind the walls.
Just as she placed her camera back in its case, a shout broke out. “Freeze!” A large man carrying a rifle scuttled over to them.
Nina froze. Liya gripped Nina’s arm and hissed, “What should we do?”
“Don’t move,” Nina whispered, inhaling her fear. “Let’s just wait.” What is he going to do? Arrest us?
As the armed young guard approached them, he shouted again. “Give me your camera!” He then thrust his hand in Nina’s bag and grabbed it. Opening the camera, he pulled the film out and then handed the camera back to Nina. “Taking photos is forbidden.” He looked over at the two shepherds under the tree, cupped his hands around his mouth, and raised his voice, “What are you two doing there?”
“We-are-herding-our-sheep,” two voices answered in a long, drawn-out tone.
“Don’t loiter here! Get lost!” the armed man hollered.
“Okay,” the young voices drifted away to the melody of “Genghis Khan’s Two Horses.”
“Show me your I.D.,” the guard ordered Nina and Liya.
Liya glanced at Nina and took out a letter-sized page, which stated who she was. The guard hung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder in order to hold the paper flat in the wind with his two hands. He looked at it. The stamp was of Pearl River University. “The letter says you’re travelling to view our motherland’s mountains and rivers,” the man said, his finger passing over the sentences. “But this place is not open for visiting.” After he returned the letter to Liya, he stretched his hand out to Nina. “Yours?”
Nina fished into her satchel but pulled out nothing. “Sorry, I can’t find mine.” S
he was grateful that she had thought to leave her American passport behind. It would have only caused more suspicion.
“What’s in your bag? Let’s take a look,” the guard said. He pulled Nina’s bag open and rummaged inside.
“Inside there are only some provisions for our trip,” Nina said meekly.
“Follow me through the gate to meet the warden.” The guard returned Nina’s bag and patted his rifle.
Liya hooked her arm into Nina’s. “I’ll go too.”
“You don’t have to,” the guard said.
“We go together,” Nina added firmly.
“That’s right,” Liya said immediately afterward. Their arms linked, they walked through the gate, the guard with the rifle right behind them.
The melody of “Genghis Khan’s Two Horses” vanished, but the lyrics still resounded in Nina’s head. His two horses cross the hillside/ Their manes flow high/ No matter come rain or shine/ Genghis Khan’s horses never die. The lines calmed her heart. She thought she was ready for whatever might happen.
As they passed through the gate, the guard moved a few steps ahead of them and then stopped. “Wait here,” he said, then disappeared through a door on the far right side of the building.
A few minutes later, the door opened. The guard came out and strode to his post at the gate. A middle-aged woman appeared and her eyes quickly sized up Liya and then Nina. “Come inside. I’m in charge here. Tell me what you are doing here.”
Nina had thought about an explanation for her missing I.D. on the way to the gate. She stepped directly in front of Liya, and then clasping her hands behind her, Nina wiggled her fingers slightly at Liya, who understood the hand signal and kept silent.
“I’m from Guangzhouo,” Nina said. “So is my friend. When we met in Beijing, we decided to come here to do some sightseeing.” Nina made her story simple and clear. She lifted her satchel. “I can’t find the letter from my work unit. I think I lost it when I bought buns in a food store.”
“A good excuse.” Nodding, the warden asked, “Why were you taking photos of this place?”
“I like everything I see here. It’s different from my southern province. I just wanted to have some keepsakes from this trip.”
“Can you prove it?” asked the warden.
“About taking photos?” Nina was confused.
“No. I mean about who you are.” Then, she asked, “Do you know the phone number of your workplace? Come on in here.” She led the way to a large desk by a window covered with heaps of newspapers. An aroma of milky tea floated in the room, which made Nina and Liya feel hungry.
“You wait here. Something has to be done,” said the warden, looking at Liya. “Can I take a look at your I.D.?” She took the letter from Liya and read it. Then she stared at the glasses on Liya’s face, nodding. “You are a university student of the Chinese Department. You must be a specialist of Chinese?”
“I’m studying the language and literature. I’m not a specialist yet,” answered Liya.
“Are you close friends?” asked the woman. “You want to wait for her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Liya said. “How long do we have to wait?”
“We’ll talk about it later. You can eat your food if you have some with you.” The woman pulled a door on her right open. She entered it, and then closed the door firmly behind her.
Opening her satchel, Nina took out some buns stuffed with lamb. “Let’s have our lunch,” she said.
“Right. I’m starving.” Liya took out some Chinese pancakes from her handbag. “I hope they’ll let us go soon.”
“I wish, but I don’t think so,” replied Nina, suddenly worried about whether she would be able to catch her plane in four days. When she thought about Roger’s shocked face when she did not show up at the airport, her heart grew heavy, but she could not say anything because she did not want the warden in the adjacent room to hear her.
They ate and drank, and then they sat back on the bench. What will the warden do to us? Nina asked herself.
24.
PHONE CALLS FROM THE GULAG
THE INSIDE DOOR suddenly opened. The warden came out of the adjacent room, yawning and stretching her arms. “Time to work,” she announced as she walked over to her desk and sat down.
Nina glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read two p.m. She had forgotten the routine and daily schedules of the two-hour lunch break in China.
The warden asked for Nina’s name and workplace and jotted all the information down in a notebook. “Your work unit should send us a referral letter to prove you are whom you say you are.”
“But, we have to return to Hohhot this afternoon,” Liya said with panic. “We’re supposed to catch tomorrow morning’s train from there.”
The woman looked at her. “Well, you are free to go. But this is your friend. We don’t mind if you wish to stay with her.” She turned to face Nina. “Now, tell me why you came here. Your plan was to sightsee, yes? So, you should have had no trouble locating the Tomb of Zhaojun.
“After seeing the tomb, we were on our way to Wulanbatu to visit a herdsman there. We took a wrong turn and ended up here instead.” Nina pulled a packet and a slip of paper out of her satchel. “Look at the name on this letter: Temur. A friend of mine asked me to bring this packet with medicine to Temur who has arthritis.”
The woman stretched out her hand and grabbed the package, turned it around to scrutinize the instructions on how to use the rheumatism plaster. “Okay. We’ll find out about Temur later. First, write down the phone number of your workplace here.” She tapped the notebook on the table with her finger. Without hesitation, Nina picked up the pen and wrote down the phone number of Ahua’s workshop.
After dialling the operator, the warden asked for a connection to Guangdong Province. About ten minutes later, she got through and handed the phone receiver to Nina. “Direct them to send us a letter,” she said.
Taking a deep breath, Nina said into the phone, “May I talk to Forewoman Ahua Tang?”
“Speaking.”
It was Ahua’s voice. Nina drew in a breath. “It’s Nina calling. I lost my referral letter. Can you please write one to prove I work in your workshop? Please send it to me as soon as possible.”
In a confused voice, Ahua asked, “What letter? Where are you now?”
“I need a referral letter with the stamp of our Red Star Plastic Factory. I’m being kept in a camp. I’ll try to be back at work before Monday. Please help me. I need this letter right away.”
Then Nina asked for the address of the gulag from the warden and repeated it to Ahua.
After talking to Ahua, Nina felt some relief; she expected Ahua to immediately tell Rei. Rei would then contact her mother. If she was unable to get back on time, her mother would cancel her plane ticket. If everything went well, a stamped letter would reach here in a few days. Imagining different scenarios, she tried her luck. “Can we leave now, Warden?” She turned to the warden. “You know what I have told you is true,” she added politely.
“I don’t doubt it. However, according to our policy, you can’t leave until we receive the letter from your forewoman.”
“That’ll take a couple of days.” Liya interrupted her. “In that case, can I make a call to a friend?”
“Whom do you intend to call?” asked the warden. Sitting back in her chair, she adjusted herself into a more comfortable position, crossing one of her legs over the other.
“A friend in Hohhot. May I?”
“If I let you make a call, can you do me a favour in return?”
“What kind of favour?”
“Can you help me with some textbooks? We’ll pay for your food during your stay here.”
“Does the policy allow that?” asked Liya.
“As an acting warden, I know how to implement policy.” Her voice was firm. “What’s the phon
e number of your friend?”
“She doesn’t have a phone, but I will be able to pass a message to her,” Liya answered and opened her notepad. She found the emergency number Jing had given her, which was the switchboard of Inner Mongolia Daily, and read it out loud to the warden.
After the phone was connected, Liya asked the operator to pass the message to Editor Li that his daughter’s friends could not return to Hohhot that day because they had encountered a small problem. Nina thought Liya’s message would not cause any trouble for Jing’s father, but at least Jing would glean that they were in trouble because she knew when Nina intended flight back to Canada was scheduled to leave from Guangzhou.
The warden pulled her desk drawer open and retrieved two books. “Here they are.” She laid them on the desk and looked at Liya. “I am certain this will be a piece of cake for you,” she said.
Liya took a look at the titles. One was The Modern Chinese Language, and the other, The History of the Chinese Communist Party. She wondered why the warden aspired to study these books, but she did not ask.
“If you like, you can help me, too,” said the warden, fixing her gaze on Nina’s upturned face. “It’s simple. Copy documents for me.”
“Why not? I used to copy documents in my factory,” answered Nina. Curiosity arose in her: What documents? It might be something confidential. Maybe inside information! Her worry about missing the flight lessened as the hope of discovering something useful for her book flickered inside her.
The warden opened a filing cabinet, she took out a thick book and a stack of lined paper. “Here you go.” She turned to the page with a bookmark. “I’ve done some already. You can continue from this page. First, find out who arrived here at the gulag between the years 1957 and 1960. Then copy their basic information onto this sheet.” She pointed to a pad of lined paper. “Fill in the blank under each column here: name, date of birth, birthplace, and so on. Understood?”
“Yes, of course,” answered Nina, who caught her breath, trying not to reveal her excitement. Liya had mentioned that Hu Yaobang, head of the Central Organization Department of the Communist Party of China, was working on cases of wrongful convictions of rightists during the Anti-Rightist Campaign. Might this be a sign of the start of reparations, she wondered.