The Last Manchu

by Henry Pu Yi

  “I only have hatred for the Japanese; I have no feeling or sentiment for them. I am different from you.”

  This provoked a storm of reaction. “Why aren’t you more humble? Do you still think you are above us? What sort of feelings for them do you have now? Don’t tell me you have made more progress than the rest of us.”

  I replied that in the past the Japanese and I had sought to utilize one another, but I had no feeling or sentiments for them. I did not look down on my fellow detainees. I was really telling the truth. But despite my explanations, no one chose to believe me and later, I was asked:

  “When Manchukuo collapsed, the Japanese were going to send you to Tokyo and they gave you three hundred million yen for your expenses. Didn’t that make you grateful to Japanese imperialism?”

  “Three hundred million yen?” I was astounded. “I don’t know anything about three hundred million yen!”

  Actually, this was not a great mystery. When the Kwantung Army took the last gold reserves from the Manchukuo treasury, it was announced to the outside world that it was being transported to Japan for the Emperor of Manchukuo. But I had never seen a cent of this money, and everyone knew this. Had I thought back calmly I would have been able to remember the entire incident; but instead, I asserted with confidence that I knew nothing whatever about it.

  “You don’t know about it?” many of those who did know shouted. “This affair was handled by Chang Ching-hui and Rokuzo Takebe. Are you trying to deny it because Chang Ching-hui died recently? Didn’t you write about it in your confession?” When I said I had not they were even more incredulous. “But everyone knows about it. This isn’t a matter of three hundred, or three thousand, but of three hundred million.”

  That evening I cast my mind back and suddenly recalled that when I had been in Talitzukou someone had told me that the Kwantung Army had taken all the gold from the Bank of Manchukuo and said that it was to be used to support me in Japan. This must have been the 300 million they were talking about. But at that time I was too worried about my own safety to pay any attention to the matter. The following day I explained this to my study group.

  “Why did you try to hide this?” several asked in a chorus.

  “Who was hiding it? I absolutely forgot about it.”

  “Do you insist that you have forgotten it now?”

  “Now, I recall it.”

  “Why didn’t you recall it before?”

  “What is forgotten is forgotten. It’s only natural to forget sometimes, isn’t it?”

  The more I tried to argue the less they believed me. I became worried. Obviously they thought I was lying. If this was reported to the Center authorities, would they believe in me? As these thoughts rushed through my mind it was as if I were possessed by devils. I recalled incidents in the remote historic past of China when others had overwhelmed a person who had told the truth by their refusal to believe, and at the thought that my word was not likely to be taken against all the others, my courage melted away and I fell back into my old ways. I was prepared to forget my principles so long as I could weather this storm. I would be able to see my way through this crisis if I made a false confession. So I said that I had not dared to mention it before, since I was frightened that the government would punish me, but now they had all persuaded me to overcome my fears.

  In the fall of that year, the former Center Director came to the prison and sent for me. When I opened the door of his office I saw the familiar gray-haired figure behind his desk reading a pile of papers. He asked me to sit down, and, after a while, put aside his papers and raised his head to talk to me.

  “I’ve just finished reading the record of your group. How are you doing? Do you have any problems regarding ideology?”

  At this moment I became hesitant. I looked at the pile of records of our cell and recalled the unanimous accusations against me and couldn’t help wondering whether there was any point in telling the real truth about the 300 million yen incident, as it would be my word against all the others. Should I continue with the deception?

  “Tell me what the meetings of your group are like,” the Chief asked.

  “Very good. You must have a systematic synthesis of our thoughts, and the conclusions are all accurate.”

  “Hm?” The Center Director raised his eyebrows. “Can you give me a more detailed description?” he asked.

  It seemed to me that even my breathing had become unnatural. “What I said was true,” I replied. “The report that I was too worried to mention certain things is quite true. But there were one or two items . . .”

  “Continue. You know that I wish to understand better your ideology and thinking.”

  I felt that I could not hold back anymore and that I had to speak out. So I poured out the events of the last study meeting while my heart pounded like mad. The Chief listened to me very attentively and after I had finished speaking he said, “Why was it so difficult for you to say this? What were you thinking about?”

  “I was afraid because they were all unanimous in believing that I was not telling the truth. . . .”

  “So long as you tell the truth what are you frightened of?” The Chief spoke sternly and with dignity. “Do you think that the government cannot investigate the matter itself and reach its own verdict? You never seem to understand that you need courage to speak the truth.”

  33

  A Special Pardon

  ON SEPTEMBER 14, 1959, CHAIRMAN MAO TSE-TUNG, ON the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic, forwarded a proposal to the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress providing for a special pardon for a number of war criminals, counterrevolutionaries and common criminals “who have really been reformed.” According to Chairman Mao the majority of the prisoners under detention had been remolded and their pardon would help “change negative factors into positive ones” and enable the prisoners to realize that “under socialism their future lies in reform.”

  This proposal was passed by the Standing Committee on September 17 and the special pardon was proclaimed that same day. The scene created at the Reform Center by this proclamation was unforgettable. When the announcer had finished his last sentence there was a moment of silence followed by an explosion of cheers, slogans and applause. It was as if 10,000 strings of firecrackers had been ignited at one time, and the noise went on for a long time.

  All sorts of views were expressed. Some felt the Party and Government were always true to their word and we now had a future and a place to go and it would not be long before we were out. Others said we would be pardoned in groups; some would go out first, others later. Some debated as to who would be included in the first group. Many came to understand that our pardon would depend on our reformation and remolding and thus some regretted their tendency to be slack with their studies. Meanwhile some who tried to be humble and modest about the degree of their reformation and the probability of their early release, nevertheless discreetly tidied up their things, destroyed their discarded notebooks and threw away their worn-out socks.

  The courtyard was a babel of voices during the rest period. I heard Old Yuan ask Old Hsien, “Who will be in the first group?”

  “Those who have received awards during the review of their study records probably won’t have any problem. Possibly you will be one.”

  “No, I’m not good enough, but I’m sure you are.”

  “Me? If I should go out first I’ll certainly send you some Peking delicacies. I really long to eat some Peking dates.”

  From another side of the courtyard, I heard another’s voice: “If they want to release us they should release all at once, or not let anyone out.”

  “Don’t you have any confidence in yourself?” someone answered him. “Are you afraid that you might be left behind?”

  “Left behind? Unless they keep Pu Yi here they won’t keep me.”

  What he said was really true. Even I felt he was right. On the following day the Deputy Chief asked me what I
thought of the special pardon.

  “I think that I am bound to be the very last one—that is, if I can ever remold myself. All the same, I shall try my best.”

  For most of the prisoners the special pardon and release meant reunion with their families, but this did not apply to me. My mother had died long ago, my father had died in 1951 and my last wife had divorced me in 1956.

  We became more enthusiastic in our studies and work, and many of us waited impatiently for the next assessment of our progress. The food-processing team now made bean curd that was both soft and white, the stock-breeding team fattened up their pigs so that they were finer than ever, and my own medical team stopped making mistakes.

  More than a month passed. One evening the Deputy Chief asked me to come and see him to discuss the special pardon. “What have you been thinking during the past two months?” he asked me.

  I told him that some of us seemed to have been remolded very well. I mentioned several who had received special commendations and also the food-processing and pig-breeding teams.

  “It is much easier now for you to think of other people’s good points, isn’t it?” the Deputy Chief asked with a smile. “If the special pardon should include you, what would you think?”

  “But this is impossible,” I replied.

  Impossible! That was the thought I carried back with me to my cell. But if . . . if? Once this phrase came to my mind I suddenly became very tense. My hopes became greater and I couldn’t help but entertain some dreams. I imagined myself, Old Wan, Little Jui and others taking our place among real people and doing the same things that real people did. Perhaps I might be given a job as a medical assistant in a hospital by the Labor Department, just as had happened to others who had been remolded. But this would require a long period of time. At the thought of the happiness that might be in store for me I was almost unable to sleep.

  On the following day, we were told to assemble. As we walked into the great hall I saw hanging across the stage a broad crimson cloth that took my breath away. On it was written: Special Pardon Meeting for the Fushun War Criminal Control Center.

  A representative of the Supreme People’s Court, the two Center directors and others were sitting on the stage. Below, everyone was so quiet that I seemed to be able to hear my own heart beat.

  After a few introductory words from the Center Chief, the representative of the Supreme People’s Court went to the center of the stage, took out a piece of paper and read, “Aisin-Gioro Pu Yi.”

  My heart leapt. I walked toward the front of the stage and heard him read as follows:

  Notice of a Special Pardon from the People’s Court of the People’s Republic of China

  In accordance with the Special Pardon Order issued by the Chairman of the People’s Republic of China on September 17, 1959, this Court has investigated the case of the “Manchukuo war criminal” Aisin-Gioro Pu Yi.

  The war criminal Aisin-Gioro Pu Yi, male, 54 years old, of the Manchu nationality, and from Peking, has now served ten years’ detention. As a result of remolding through labor and ideological education during his captivity he has shown that he has genuinely reformed. In accordance with the stipulations of Clause I of the Special Pardon Order he is therefore to be released.

  SUPREME PEOPLE’S COURT OF THE

  PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

  December 4, 1959

  Before hearing the end of the pronouncement, I had already burst into tears.

  VI

  MY NEW LIFE

  34

  The Forbidden City—Revisited

  ON DECEMBER 9, 1959, I ARRIVED AT PEKING, MY HOME town from which I had been absent for thirty-five years. On the station platform, I saw a younger sister whom I had not seen for more than ten years and a younger brother whom I had not seen for more than twenty years. I shook their hands very warmly and heard them call me “Elder Brother,” a term they had never before used in addressing me. They thus made me feel that I had commenced a new type of life among my family members. I then bade good-bye to Li and Meng, both of whom had accompanied me all the way from Fushun. Li had been the cadre member in charge of our study section who had sought to quiet everyone after the dispute arose over my inadequacy at pasting labels on pencil boxes, and Meng had been one of the eight inmates from Chiang Kai-shek’s organization who had received a special pardon at the same time I did.

  As Meng left the platform with his wife, who had come to welcome him, my younger brother picked up my black leather suitcase and, with my sister, we walked out of the station together.

  Once outside, I glanced at the station clock and took out my pocket watch to set it. When I had left Fushun the Center Director had taken this watch from among the things I had contributed to the Government and asked me to accept it. It was the same French gold pocket watch that I had bought at Wu Li Wen Company in 1924 on the day I had fled from my father’s mansion to the Japanese Legation. Now I was using it to set the time for starting a new life.

  My family were very amiable and kind to me and, early in the morning of the following day, I wanted to think of something I could do to help them. When I noticed that neighbors were using a broom to sweep the alley outside the house I joined them and swept all the way to the end. Unfortunately, when I finished I found that I could no longer locate the house where I was staying and, by mistake, walked into the home of total strangers.

  These people were very considerate and kind about leading me to the correct house and said I did not need to thank them. “We are neighbors; but even if we were not,” they explained, “you would not need to thank us for doing so little. It doesn’t matter at all.”

  Later that day I saw my uncle Tsai Tao and his wife as well as some cousins and another sister and her husband. My uncle told me what had happened to the various members of my family clan. We also listened together to Pu Chin who played some music on the Chinese lute, and he showed me some of his calligraphy which was really so good that it had reached a new high standard. Later I saw some paintings of flowers and birds that another cousin had painted, and, after that, I went to call on a sister but found that she had already left for the street nursery where she worked. According to her husband who was an engineer for the Postal and Cable Department, she was now so busy that she no longer had time for the migraine headaches from which she used to suffer. I also saw an unmarried sister and three other married sisters and their husbands. One was active in political association study work, another was working on the archives of the Forbidden City and another, with her husband, were painters.

  In this period of again getting to know my family, I was especially touched by all their children, and was taught, through their eyes, what the second generation regarded as honorable titles. For these growing youth in their ruby neckties, their idols were the champion Peking girl’s motorcycle racer and a mountain-climbing chief. And the younger ones, still in middle school, were learning all kinds of specialized occupations. All, without exception, were proud to earn honorable titles.

  During my first few days in Peking I also met many old friends including some who had once been eunuchs in the Forbidden City, and I learned of the present situation of many of them. They were spending a peaceful old age at a Center for the Aged that had been especially established by the Peking Civilian Administration Bureau.

  Almost all the people I met said to me: “Now you have returned, you must go about the city and take a look and see the changes and improvements.” And so I went for a walk with a younger sister and another young relative. In the square in front of the Gate of Heavenly Peace as we were walking slowly westward toward the Cultural Palace of Nationalities my sister said to me: “My brother, aren’t you tired? Isn’t this the first time you have walked so long?”

  “I’m not tired,” I answered. “It is because it is the first time, that I’m not tired!”

  These words, “the first time,” had become very much a part of the life I had just commenced. There had been two other “first times” tha
t very morning; and in each case I had not felt uncomfortable, because it was the “first time”; only excited. That morning I had gone to a barbershop.

  As soon as I sat on the barber chair, I heard a hair drier being used on the man next to me and did not know what it was or what to call it. I asked the barber what he called the device which made such a “woo . . . wooo . . . woo” sound.

  “That’s not a device,” he replied joking, “that’s the wind blowing.”

  “In that case,” I said to him in all sincerity, “what do you do first; blow the wind or cut the hair?”

  He looked stunned at this remark and for a moment obviously thought I was some odd creature from another world. “Have you never had a haircut before?” he asked, finally.

  When I explained to him who I was and that it was indeed my first visit to a modern barbership we couldn’t help laughing. Thus by the time I heard the woo . . . wooo . . . woo sound over my own head the novelty of it made me feel quite happy.

  I had a similar experience the first time I rode on a public bus. I noticed that those waiting in line to board it let the older people and children go first and so I let a lady behind me go on ahead and didn’t realize that she was the conductress who expected me to be quick about climbing aboard after her. Then, when she saw me standing motionless she shut the door and the bus left without me. One of my cousins who had seen what happened came back from the next bus stop up the street. We began to laugh when we saw one another and I said to him, “No need to worry. Nothing will happen to me.”

  The Civilian Administration Bureau of Peking, in order to help us become reoriented and to acquaint ourselves with life in the outside world, had organized all of us who had been pardoned and were residing in Peking into a special sight-seeing group. We were taken on guided tours of newly constructed factories, expanded public works enterprises, the Municipal People’s Commune and other buildings. We spent about two months at this and, toward the end of the course, at the request of one of my companions, we took a tour of the Forbidden City. I was assigned as a special temporary guide for the group.