by Ha Jin
Wang Yong assigned Dajian and me a job: to talk with the Indian soldiers as often as possible, gather information about the persuasion, and report it to him in the evenings. He issued each of us some extra cigarettes for the job. So every day I tried to approach the guards and chat with them. From them I began to get a better picture of our situation, about which, unfortunately, the more we learned, the more disheartened we became. Two Chinese divisions were less than three miles away in the north. If they attacked, the Imjin River would block our retreat. Furthermore, the Indians who ran the Demilitarized Zone seemed partial to the Communists and might connive with them to send us back to the mainland. We estimated that our chances of reaching Taiwan were at most fifty-fifty. One afternoon, while talking with an Indian officer, I heard something I had never thought of before. The square-chinned man told me that if you were reluctant to go to either mainland China or Taiwan, you could apply for a third country. “Where is that, Chuck?” I asked him, not knowing his last name. His men called him Officer D.
He fluttered his pomfret eyes and said in a nasal accent, “Like India, Brazil, or Argentina.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positively.” He stressed the third syllable of the word in a chipper voice. “There’s already a group of such POWs, you know.” He touched his green turban, his hand holding a cigarette I’d given him.
“How big is this group?”
“Seven or eight people.”
“What are they going to do in those countries?”
“I don’t know. There’ll be jobs for them for sure.”
“Like what?”
“That’ll depend on what skills they have.”
This information set my mind spinning for the rest of the day. For better or worse I must not go to Taiwan, because that would amount to declaring I was an enemy of the Communists, who would definitely punish my mother and my fiancée for that. On the other hand, unless I could free myself from the suspicion of treason, I shouldn’t return to the mainland either, where a person with my background and my association with the pro-Nationalists might be kept under surveillance all the time, if not reimprisoned. If I knew for sure that Pei Shan and Chang Ming were back in China, I might take the risk, because they might help clear me. But again, how could I be certain they’d be willing to save a man like me? They had already meant to sacrifice me once, hadn’t they? By comparison, a third country would be a better choice, though I had no idea what kind of life I’d lead there. And I wasn’t even sure if I could survive in a foreign land.
But wouldn’t the Communists hurt my mother and Julan if I went to another country? They might not, because I didn’t mean to be their enemy. Perhaps I was naive, but I was driven by the instinct for self-preservation and felt that a third country would be a better destination for a man like me, who had often been an outsider and couldn’t fit in any political group among my compatriots. Once I settled down in a foreign land, I would send for my mother and Julan. But would the Communists let them leave and join me? They might or might not. Still, a third country seemed to be the best choice, a risk I was willing to take.
The next question was where I should go. Brazil and Argentina would be difficult because I spoke neither Portuguese nor Spanish. Although English was used in India, it was a country with a large population and a high unemployment rate, where I had heard there was the caste system. If I went there, I would almost certainly live at the bottom of society. Was there another neutral English-speaking country where I might go? This would be the first question I would ask when I was summoned to listen to the persuasion. I would avoid talking with the persuaders from China and instead speak to the arbitrators directly in English. If there wasn’t another country, maybe I would go to Brazil, which was vast and might have more space and more opportunities to make a living. I wouldn’t mind subsisting as a drudge for some years; I was still young and should be able to restart my life. On the other hand, I would have to prepare to be a solitary man without a country, condemned to speak a language in which I could never feel at home.
Although I had now made up my mind, I grew more nervous, and a numbing feeling kept rising to my throat, which I had to tamp down continually. That evening I drank a cup of rice wine with the mess officer, trying to calm down before I went to the battalion headquarters to give the daily report. When I relayed to Wang Yong the information I had collected that day, I didn’t mention that some neutral countries would also accept POWs. I was afraid he might suspect me. I just informed him that the Communists’ persuasion was a total fiasco—as the Indian officer had told me, to date they had persuaded only about eighty men to go home.
The next evening two fellows from another compound who had just gone through the persuasion came to speak to us. We gathered in our largest tent, sitting in front of a table at which the two men were seated. The first speaker was quite handsome, with a thin nose and sparkling eyes. He was tall but slightly hunched. He started:
“Brothers, when my name is called, two Indian guards come up and take me to the fifteenth tent. Lots of people are in there, from different countries. At one glance I can tell who the Reds are. They stand up, smiling and bowing at me like Pekinese. One of them says, ‘Dear Comrade, we represent our motherland to welcome you back.’
“I spit on his face and say, ‘You can’t represent China, you work for Russia. Why should I listen to you?’
“They continue to smile at me after I sit down. Another of them says, ‘Comrade Wan Ping-han, your parents are waiting for you to come home. They’re heartbroken, crying day and night.’
“ ‘Screw your grandma!’ I yell. ‘You Commies beheaded my dad five years ago. My mom wept herself blind and died three months later. Now you have the gumption to tell me they’re still alive and miss me!’
“ ‘Think about this’—the man won’t give up—‘you’re a good son of China. When I mentioned your parents, I meant the millions of Chinese people of the older generation who expect you to come home.’
“That drives me mad. I jump up, fish some plaster powder out of my pocket and throw it on his face. While he’s screaming and rubbing his eyes, I grab the folding chair I was sitting on and hit him with all my might. Thwack, thwack, thwack—the Indian guards rush over and drag me away.”
Applause broke out. A man shouted, “Fight the Red bandits to death!” We all raised our fists and repeated the slogan.
He yelled again, “Long live Generalissimo Chiang!” We echoed him once more.
Then the other man began to speak. He had a carbuncular face, protruding teeth, a stout nose, and erect ears. He talked in a heavy Hunan accent that brought to mind Mao Zedong’s. He told us: “It’s a long wait at the rest area outside the tents. When I’m called, they lead me into a tent. The Commies look awful in the company of the men from the other countries. They’re like a pack of hungry wolves. Behind them I see through the window more than ten trucks planted with red flags. This sight scares me. Beyond the trucks stands a tall gate with the words Back Into the Arms of Our Motherland written on the arch. They have obviously planned to ship us back load after load. As I sit down, one of them puts his index finger on the table, leans forward, and says, ‘Comrade, you must’ve suffered a great deal in the enemy’s hands. We represent our motherland coming to rescue you. You’re a free man now. Please return to China with us.’
“The word ‘comrade’ sets my heart kicking and reminds me of so much hatred, but I get ahold of myself. ‘Actually I didn’t suffer that much in the prison camp,’ I tell him. ‘The Americans have given me food and clothes. It was in your Communist army that I tasted real bitterness. You always treated me like a beast of burden, like gun fodder, and you just used me.’
“ ‘Comrade, on my word of honor, you will be a free man, free to do anything in our country. You can continue to serve as an officer, or go home to take care of your parents, or live and work in a city. Comrade, think—’
“I lose my temper at last, knowing he’s a big liar. I shout,
‘I’m not a comrade of yours. Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. I know you all lie without batting an eye, you damned Russia lovers. I fuck your mothers and grandmothers!’ I turn to the Swiss arbitrator and declare in a shout, ‘I want to go to Free China.’
“The foreign man nods at me and then talks to the interpreter, who is an overseas Chinese, probably a college student. Then he tells me, ‘You can go now.’ Before I leave I kick the Commies’ table. The thing tips over and sends the paper and pens flying in every direction. I’m so angry I keep stomping the floor and almost go through the door to Red China by mistake. The interpreter catches up with me and says, ‘Hey, take the other door.’ That saves me from falling into the Commies’ snare again.”
A loud volley of laughter ensued. Wang Yong got to his feet and said to us, “Soon we’ll go to those tents to listen to their persuasion. Be careful and don’t let the Reds take you in. Also, remember that the brothers of your group will suffer if you defect. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” we shouted.
Bai Dajian raised his hand. Wang asked him, “You want to say something?”
“Yes.” Dajian stood up and spoke to the crowd. “According to the two brothers’ experiences, it seems that the more you listen to the Reds, the more aggressively they will try to get you. I suggest that we just spit on them, curse them openly, and express our will to go to Taiwan the moment we enter the tent. In other words, we shouldn’t give them any opportunity to mislead us.” He sat down and stared at me, his shaven skull revealing several bumps. My heart began galloping; I wondered if he had discerned my plan. I nerved myself for his fierce gaze, which at last turned away. I was amazed by his resolve to go to Taiwan. Did this mean he had decided to abandon his charming fiancée?
Wang Yong said to the audience, “That’s a good idea. Spit at them like Officer Bai said. Let’s get through this damn thing as quickly as we can.”
Now it was clear that I would have to face the persuaders before I had access to the arbitrators. This could be daunting, but I might be able to circumvent a part of the persuasion by speaking to the foreigners directly. As long as I was cautious and composed, I should be able to carry out my plan for going to a third country.
Before I went to bed that night, Wang Yong came into our shed and said to me, “Come along, will you?”
His summons unsettled me, but I followed him out. Together we made for the battalion headquarters. The night was chilly and crisp, and there was a touch of curry in the air from the kitchen of the Indian troops. Two flashlights were flickering beyond the entrance to our compound while the moon cast our shadows at a slant on the pale ground. The inside of the headquarters was well lit and quiet. Toward the center of the room stood a desk, on which sat two plates, one containing fried soybeans sprinkled with a bit of salt and the other, braised pork cubes. Beside the dishes were two mugs and a bottle of saki. At the sight of the food I relaxed some, realizing Wang Yong meant to have a drink with me, though I still had no inkling of his intention. He motioned for me to sit at the table. “I want to have a chat with you tonight, Feng Yan,” he said.
“Sure.” I didn’t know what else to say.
After pouring liquor into both mugs, he rested his elbow on the desk and said, “We’ve been together so long I feel I know you better now. I like you more than before, truth be told.”
“Thank you for all the help, chief.”
“Drop that title, will you? Just call me Yong or Brother Wang.”
“All right, I can do that when we’re alone.”
“What’s your plan after we get to Taiwan?”
“Frankly I have no plan. I hope they’ll let me remain in the army, though.”
“Of course they will. They’ll make the best use of a talent like you, but they’ll dump a man like me, illiterate and unskilled in anything.”
“Come on, we’re the same, we all served in the Red Army and we’re all POWs.”
“No, no, you’re a graduate from the Huangpu Military Academy. That makes you stand out.”
“There’re a good number of former cadets here. I’m just one of them.”
“No, you’re special.”
“Me? How?”
He swished the saki around in his mug and took a swallow. “You speak excellent English. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference just because I can’t read or write. I can see how beautifully you speak English. Many of the educated fellows here studied English for more than ten years, and still in front of the Americans all they can say is ‘hi’ or ‘thank you’ or ‘bye-bye.’ You’re different, you speak with confidence and ease. I can see that even the Americans respect you.”
“You think too highly of me. Like you, I’m a prisoner and will face a lot of difficulties in Taiwan.”
“Don’t lose heart, brother. I’m sure they’ll give you an important position. They have to get along with the Americans, don’t they? So a man of your caliber will be indispensable to them.”
“I hope so.”
“Have some more of this meat.”
“Sure.”
I picked up a chunk of streaky pork and chewed it with relish. Munching the soybeans noisily, he said, “Brother Feng, once you become a big officer, you won’t forget me, will you?”
“Of course not.” Tears welled up into my eyes. I lifted the mug and took a gulp of the liquor, then told him, “You’re a good, simple-hearted man, Brother Wang. I feel secure when I’m with you. I’ll remain your friend.”
“That means a lot to me.” He beamed and his heavy-lidded eyes almost disappeared.
As we were chatting on, he took a photograph out of his wallet and handed it to me. “What do you think of this girl?”
I looked at it and said, “She’s pretty.” Indeed, she seemed to be a typical Manchurian girl, about eighteen or nineteen, with a round face, round eyes, round cheeks, and round lips.
“You really think so?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to make friends with her?”
“I still have my fiancée on the mainland.”
“That’s why I only said make friends with her; I’m not suggesting you become engaged.”
I saw his intention and asked, “Who is she?”
“My niece in Taiwan. She’s a student in a business school and studies accounting. She knows how to manage money.”
“I can’t decide now, but can I keep her photo for a while?”
“Absolutely. Here, take it.” He was delighted. “Whenever you want to meet her, let me know. Her family in Taipei will be yours if you like her.”
I had no intention of befriending the girl, but I wanted to please her uncle. Despite having a soft spot for me, Wang Yong was a loose cannon, who, if vexed, wouldn’t think twice about hurting me. So I couldn’t afford to level with him.
The next morning while I was reading the Bible, the orderly burst in and told us to assemble in the yard. I knew the time was coming, so I stuffed the book into my jacket pocket and went out. Columns of people were already gathered there. Beyond them were parked eighteen trucks. The drivers were all Americans, which was an encouraging sign to the prisoners. In no time every two squads, about thirty men, lined up behind a vehicle and climbed into the back. When we had all gotten in, the trucks revved and began to wobble out of the muddy yard. Then they sped toward the U.N. quarters just a mile away within the Demilitarized Zone.
It was a fine morning, though the trees still wore a skin of frost. Viewed from a distance, their branches looked smoky. Along the roadside were scattered rotten straw sacks, some of which still contained sand. I didn’t expect the U.N. quarters to be so large. It consisted of over forty new tents, two-thirds of which were used for the persuasion. In the front yard were some large, empty, corral-like pens. The moment we jumped down from the trucks we were led into one of these holding pens, in which we formed lines for waiting in groups. Wang Yong put some officers at the front of the lines, so we could have a strong start. Also, the officers were
supposed to go first so that we could come back to instruct the others how to confront the Communist persuaders effectively. Wang put me at the head of the second line. This relieved me from having to wait in the nippy north wind for very long, and enabled me to concentrate on my plan.
At nine-thirty about a dozen Indian soldiers came to fetch the first batch of us, and sixty prisoners were marched out of the pen. I was among them. The unarmed guards escorted us toward one of the four rest halls outside the persuasion tents. Ahead of us, the flags of various nations were flapping in the wind, as if a colorful holiday celebration were in progress. I was reviewing my plan as I walked, trying hard to keep calm and focused. A few minutes after we reached the rest hall, more Indians turned up to take half of us to the tents. A tall guard checked my ID tag, then led me to Tent 7. At its entrance he searched me before letting me in.
It was quite warm inside the tent, cozy and bright. The base of the wall was built of plywood, about three feet high; atop the wood was a broad band of Plexiglas, through which sunlight flooded in and above which canvas stretched all the way up to the ceiling. In the middle of the tent sat a large potbellied stove; in it a fire was whirring; it burned oil instead of coal and was much larger than those in our quarters. Unlike the tents I had seen before, this one was really fancy, with even a hardwood floor. In a corner a few men were chatting, and one of them was holding a soda bottle, almost empty. A man who looked like a Pole came over and took a photo of me. This fazed me a little, because the Poles and the Czechs represented the Socialist alliance whereas the Swedes and the Swiss were here for the Free World. I was led to a large chair, facing a long table covered with green velveteen. Evidently the Indians had taken measures to prevent the prisoners from attacking the Chinese persuaders—the chair was screwed to the floor.
I sat down and raised my head. To my astonishment, I saw a pair of familiar eyes. Hao Chaolin! I almost cried out. He was sitting at the middle of the table, accompanied by two other Chinese officers. They all wore spruce woolen uniforms with a piece of red silk on their chests, which carried the golden words “Staff—Persuasion Work.” At one end of the table sat two North Korean officers. To my left were seated five arbitrators from neutral countries, who all had on civvies, while behind me, in a corner, sat three U.N. representatives, one of whom was a Chinese man who must have been an interpreter. I was so astounded to see Chaolin that a surge of vertigo seized me. I reached out for the Indian guard for support.