by Ha Jin
At eight the next morning, six truckloads of GIs arrived at our compound. Their officer, a craggy-faced man, ordered us to come out with our blanket rolls and line up on the front yard, but none of us moved. The GIs were waiting. A hush enveloped the compound, as if all the men were sleeping. The officer shouted his orders again. Still nobody stirred. The barracks were so quiet that you could hear bursts of static coming from the megaphone and a flocK of orioles chirping in the crown of a crooked elm.
The GIs waited about half an hour. Then the gate was opened and they came in, advancing while pitching tear-gas canisters at our tents. In no time the compound turned cloudy and people began coughing.
“Get your damn asses out!” shouted the officer.
Now balls of dark smoke started rising from two tents at the west side. Surely it was our men who had set fire to their quarters, to make it look like the GIs’ doing. A few minutes later we filed out of our tents, each carrying his blanket roll, and many men covered their noses with wet towels. We formed up in the yard while a company of GIs surrounded us. The officer ordered some three hundred prisoners to go fight the fire. He kept hollering, “Damn it, I’m gonna try you all for arson!”
Two fire engines arrived, and without difficulty they extinguished the fire.
Then a squad of GIs led us out of the compound, with more guards escorting us on both sides. As we were leaving, about a hundred pro-Nationalist prisoners appeared outside the gate. They rattled sticks and threw pebbles at us, calling us all kinds of names. Some of them even shouted: “Feed them to sharks!” “Work them to skeletons in the coal mines!” “Dump them into the ocean!” “Commies, your final hour is coming!”
I had never met any of these men before and wondered which compound they came from. Suddenly one of them, a young boy, sprang out of their ranks and sprinted toward us, yelling, “I want to go home. Let me go with them!” Surprised, we stopped to watch. The boy looked fourteen or fifteen. I thought it bizarre that he believed we were headed for China. A beefy man was chasing him, brandishing a self-made machete and barking, “Little rabbit, I’m going to chop you to pieces.” Still the boy was dashing toward us for all he was worth.
Richard, the corporal who had been sympathetic to me, stood close by but watched amusedly while the other GIs were whooping and whistling. I cried, “Richard, help him please!”
He strode over and thrust his rifle at the chaser. “Halt!” he ordered.
The man stopped short, then protested in Chinese, “That little bastard is a Commie. I must let him have it.” He slashed the air with his machete and stamped the ground.
Ignoring his explanation, Richard pointed his rifle at the man’s chest and said, “You go back now.” He jutted out his chin in the direction of the other harassers.
Deflated, the man returned to his party near the fence while the boy, having joined us, was still sobbing, his face crumpled. With his index and middle fingers held together, Richard saluted me, and I returned him one.
Our long procession continued toward the shore. Some crippled men couldn’t go fast and were supported by their comrades. I walked beside Commissar Pei, who looked wearied, his thick lips cracked. He said he hadn’t slept well the night before and had gotten a migraine. The steady breeze from the sea, fishy and warm, wafted over the smell of burned firewood from a village. The yellowish ocean came into view, on which some gray sails were bobbing. The willow bushes and cypresses on the hills looked tired of growing, as if stunted by the salty wind. To our left the rocky bluff, brightened by the rising sun, was still wet, while dewdrops on the overhanging shrubs glistened, sending out tiny flashes. On the roadside, puffs of cobwebs were scattered here and there on the grass like miniature jellyfish. I could sense the agitation in the procession. It was rumored that some POWs had been shipped to Canada as guinea pigs for chemical-weapon experiments and that hundreds of prisoners had been forced to labor in a gold mine on an island near Japan. Once we got on the ships, God knew where the enemy would take us. They might have lied to us about Cheju Island all along.
At the fringe of a sloping pine grove, a knot of small boys, barefoot and in baggy shorts, were flourishing slingshots and hunting tits, sparrows, wrens. One of them carried about a dozen dead birds strung together on a wicker twig pushed through their mouths. Still there were a lot of birds warbling in the woods. Another boy, the smallest of them, waved a whittled branch, to the tip of which was affixed a ring of iron wire covered with many layers of spiderweb; he used this tool to catch dragonflies, which would be fed to chickens and ducks. I kept watching the boys until they faded into the forest.
Once we were clear of the hill slope, the muddy beach appeared, spreading like a long strip of unplanted paddy fields. At its northern end, at the beginning of the wharf, were anchored two large black ships, the sides of their prows painted with white Korean words that none of us could understand. They were cargo ships, whose tonnage must have been over three thousand, and each had a pair of tall funnels puffing out dark smoke. On the beach hundreds of armed GIs had already assembled; General Smart, in a helmet, was also there waiting for us. Together with him were a group of junior officers and about twenty Chinese men in the uniforms marked with PW.
We were made to form up into eighteen lines on the beach. Each of the junior officers took one of the Chinese helpers to the head of a line and began checking us one by one. “Turncoat!” somebody cursed one of the collaborators. Obviously they were searching for Pei, who was standing next to me. These Chinese helpers had all served in our division and had met Pei before; perhaps they could recognize their commissar, whose face might be memorable to them for his bright eyes, stout nose, and fat ears. I wondered what we should do if they identified him.
The two men in charge of our line were moving closer. I stared at them and forced myself not to show any fear. The second they passed me, the mousy Chinese man lifted his hand to point at Pei. The American officer turned and yelled, “We got him!”
Dozens of GIs rushed over. The commissar stepped out of the line, turned around to wave at us, then walked away with them without a word. I was amazed by such a peaceful apprehension. Had this happened to Mr. Park, the Koreans would definitely have gone berserk and broken ranks to fight with the GIs.
“Well, Mr. Pei, we finally meet,” General Smart sneered, his arched upper lip curled.
The commissar didn’t respond and stood sideways to us as though to keep his face partly out of our view. Somebody poked my back and I turned around. It was Zhao Teng. He whispered to me, “Go to the front and tell them we won’t board the ships unless Commissar Pei comes with us.”
I hesitated, unsure whether the GIs would allow me to get there. Zhao Teng pushed me. “Go now!”
I stepped out of the line and walked toward Pei. “Turn back!” a sergeant shouted at me.
“I have an urgent message for General Smart.” I raised both hands above my head. He came over, put his big hands on my stomach, and searched me; then he stepped aside and let me pass.
I went up to the heavyset general and said, “I was sent over to inform you that none of these men will board the ships without Mr. Pei coming along with us.”
He turned to look at the swarm of dusty, emaciated faces. I too gazed at my comrades. I could feel their fear and anger. They were tense, their eyes all fastened on us. I repeated, “General Smart, they won’t get on the ships if you take Mr. Pei away.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m just a regular serviceman who happens to know English. Just a messenger.”
“Tell them, Don’t bluff me!”
Suddenly a voice boomed in Chinese, “We won’t board the ships!” That was Zhao Teng.
Most of the six thousand men followed him to shout in unison. The GIs were stunned by the sheer volume of the voices; so was I. I realized that my comrades were frightened and desperately needed Commissar Pei as their protector. To their minds, he was the only man capable of leading and organizing them, and without him they�
��d be lost. He embodied the Party to them.
“Return Commissar Pei to us!” a voice shouted. Again they roared together.
General Smart smirked, but he too realized the seriousness of the demand. Although unarmed, we outnumbered the GIs by fifteen to one. If a fight broke out, for sure there would be a disaster for both sides. Smart summoned a photographer over to take a picture of Pei. He then turned to talk with an officer who seemed to be his aide-decamp. Meanwhile, the prisoners went on shouting our demand.
When the photographer arrived, Pei motioned for me to come over. He wanted to take the photo with me. General Smart frowned, but didn’t interfere. So I went up to Pei and stood beside him for the picture.
That done, Smart straightened up and said to Pei, “All right, we never meant to harm you, and you can go to Cheju with them. But we’ll keep you separate from the crowd from now on.”
I translated his words to the commissar, who nodded, apparently pleased.
So he was taken away to the second ship, and I rejoined the crowd. We all saw him go down into a cabin near the stern ramp. To us this was a victory, though I doubted if the Americans had ever intended to keep Pei on Koje Island. Zhao Teng patted my shoulder and said, “Great job, Yuan!”
Then we began boarding the ships.
20. ARRIVAL AT CHEJU ISLAND
Although we had been shut into the cabins, the ships didn’t weigh anchor until two hours later. The cabin I was in was swarming with about five hundred men, some sitting and some standing. Every bit of space in here was taken; it was impossible for anyone to lie down. A line of lamps behind glazed glass affixed along the walls shed dim light on the prisoners’ faces and rendered them more sallow. Fortunately I was pushed against a wall, so I managed to settle down in a corner. The dust on the floor was at least half an inch thick. In the air there was a strong odor of dung—the ship must formerly have carried fertilizer or guano. Ten yards away from me, a man with a trampled leg was whimpering. There was no medic among us, so nobody could help him. Two men, exhausted from standing, even sat on the injured fellow’s good leg, but they got up after others objected. I was angry at the way the Americans were transporting us. Why couldn’t they use more ships or move us batch by batch?
Gradually the cabin began to stink with human stench. Curses went up here and there, even louder than the roaring of the engine. Those men who had to stand on their feet tired out, and grew clamorous and aggressive, jabbing their elbows at one another. Against the aft wall of the cabin stood a line of oil drums, all sawed in half, which we called “honey buckets” because they served as night pails in the camp. At the beginning of the trip some men vomited into them, but soon some began to use them to relieve themselves. Whenever the ship rocked, the half dozen oil drums would shift and even careen. Eventually two of them tipped over, the liquid stuff spilling on the floor; yet people had no choice but to remain where they were, some of their blanket rolls soaked with urine. Unless you were unable to hold it any longer, you wouldn’t fight your way to reach one of those buckets to relieve yourself, not because of the shame of urinating or doing a BM in front of so many eyes but because you couldn’t possibly regain your spot once you had left and would have to stand all the way afterward.
I rooted in my corner and closed my eyes to shut out this hellish sight. In a dazed state of mind I drifted off to sleep from time to time. I don’t know how long I had been asleep before a metallic thud from above woke me up. The hatch on the deck was opened and a gust of air rushed in. Ah, fresh air! I inhaled it ravenously. Then an iron bucket tied to a hemp rope came down, overflowing with cold rice. All at once people near the opening began scrambling toward the food, and abuse was tossed out in all directions. As they were shoving and tussling, another few buckets of rice were lowered down, but it was impossible for most men to reach the food; as a result, only about a third of the prisoners actually had a bite. I was too far away from the rice buckets, so I gave up trying.
Following the food came five buckets of water, most of which spilled over the men below the opening. The rice and the water were our dinner. In fact, even if I could have reached a bucket I would have had second thoughts about taking in anything, for fear of having to relieve myself afterward.
I tried to block out the horrible scene by mulling over what had happened on the beach that day. Before we boarded the ships, two leaders, Zhao Teng and Zhang Wanren, had sidled up to me when the GIs had turned their eyes to a fight between two prisoners, staged to divert their attention. Both of them congratulated me on my “negotiation with Smart,” calling it a great victory. Wary of the term they used, I told them what the general had said to Commissar Pei, “You can go to Cheju with them. But we’ll keep you separate from the crowd from now on.” They were both nonplussed. And for a good while we racked our brains to fathom the implications of Smart’s words. He had seemed to say that Pei and we were all going to stay on Cheju. This was good news in a way, because it implied there might indeed be a prison camp on the island. General Smart’s words might also suggest that the Americans were not going to finish us off somewhere in the middle of the ocean. So we felt somewhat relieved.
The ship lurched and a man nearby retched. I closed my eyes and let my mind continue to roam. I wondered why Pei had grabbed me to be photographed with him on the beach. I was sure he hadn’t done that out of kindness or appreciation of my service, but I couldn’t figure out his motive. Probably he had done it from habit, following his instinct for acting in such a situation. Then it dawned on me that my presence in the picture could at least provide a date and context for it, so that the enemy couldn’t easily distort it for propaganda and thus Pei’s superiors could not suspect him of cooperating with the enemy. In other words, he had used me as a potential witness to his innocence. What a smart man. I was impressed, though I felt uneasy about being used like that.
Tired of thinking, I tried to doze away. Now and then misgivings would rise in my mind about where we were headed. People around me talked about whether the Americans would make us work like coolies or send us to a battlefield, so I couldn’t help but think about all the possibilities too. Luckier than many of the men who had to fight to keep their spots, I was safe in my corner niche and managed to sleep several hours before the engine finally stopped grinding.
Toward daybreak we dropped anchor at a wharf on the northern side of Cheju Island. We were let out of the cabins and then disembarked. Four men, seriously trampled, were left on our ship, accompanied only by an orderly. For the moment few of us gave a thought to them, because everyone was desperate to breathe fresh air and stretch his limbs. After we stayed long enough on the shore, some men were sent back to carry the injured off the ship. The beach here was sandy and the sea was much less yellow, almost aquamarine. One by one they laid the injured men on the sand. “Water, who has water?” a man shouted through his hands cupped around his mouth. Soon a half-filled canteen was passed on to the spot where the four fellows were lying and groaning.
About half an hour later an ambulance came to carry them to the hospital. The shore was still wrapped in fog. A macadam road stretched along the whitish beach and faded into the milky clouds. Through the haze we could see a few bulldozers parked at a construction site nearby, motionless and dark like miniature reefs. By now Commissar Pei had gotten off the other ship too, but two GIs were guarding him. After we all assembled on the beach, the sun finally came out, dissipating the fog in the southeast, where a few miles away rose some rugged hills. In front of us the contour of the prison, Camp 8, was growing clear on a gentle incline. It was an immense enclosure, encircled by three rows of barbed wire. We were told that this place had been specially built for us, the would-be repatriates. Within the camp numerous barbed-wire fences surrounded clusters of sheds that were the barracks for the prisoners. Along the exterior fence of the camp stood some guard towers on wooden pillars braced by slanting battens as thick as beams, a pair of searchlights mounted on the handrails of each tower. At the middle of
the other end of the camp, near the main entrance, sat a brick house, which was the guards’ office. Unlike on Koje Island, here such a house was within the enclosure. The Americans seemed to have a different way of running this place.
The frail boy Richard had saved hadn’t stayed in the same cabin with me, but he caught sight of me on the beach. Wordlessly he came over as if to claim a special relationship. His long-lashed eyes were still intense, fastened on me. I patted his shoulder and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Shanmin,” came his clear voice.
“Have they put you into a squad yet?”
He shook his head. I said, “Then stay with me.”
He nodded eagerly.
Our procession walked a long distance around the fence to reach the front gate. When we had entered the camp, I saw why there were so many barbed-wire fences in here. Within the enclosure were ten compounds, each containing about ten sheds and surrounded by barbed wire almost fifteen feet high. These compounds, arranged in two unequal rows and guarded individually by GIs at the gates, were divided by a large open field, to the west of which were four compounds, about one hundred yards apart from one another, and to the east of which lay six compounds, a shorter distance separating them, about eighty yards. This layout made it impossible for any barracks to have direct contact with its neighbors. In addition, there was a small prison, a stone house at the edge of the sea, over a thousand feet from the northern fence of the camp. The enemy seemed to have learned from the abduction of General Bell the importance of dispersing the POW leaders, so they meant to keep us in smaller groups from now on.