China Star

by Maurice Medland

  Elizabeth Grayson heard footsteps. Thudding, arrogant footsteps followed by short, shuffling ones. Four Finger Tang and his stooge, Big Ears Wu. She glanced around the cell. A dusky shaft of light from a slit in the concrete wall illuminated a straw mat in the center of the room. A bucket sat in the opposite corner. Crouching in the corner of her cell, she pulled herself into a protective ball. How many more of these sessions could she take before she broke and signed the damned confession they kept shoving under her nose? It was a miracle she’d held out for three months. She’d seen other prisoners break in as many hours.

  It wasn’t the questioning that would break her. The struggle sessions went on for hours, but she was still strong enough to handle their simple mind-games. It was the beatings that followed that were wearing her down. The beatings, and the twelve-hour days of stoop labor in the fields, and the miserable diet, and the sleep deprivation from being awakened every hour with someone screaming in her face, demanding that she confess. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out, but she knew she had to - once she signed the confession and read it into a tape recorder, she was as good as dead. She jammed the knuckle of her index finger into her mouth and bit down hard. Welcome to your ancestral homeland.

  The bolt of the cell door snapped open, causing a sharp pain in her abdomen. She was a scientist. An ordinary sound couldn’t cause physical pain. Yet this one always did. She uncoiled, pulled herself erect, and pushed the hair away from her face. She straightened her clothes, a wheat-colored two-piece uniform that hung on her slender body, and wiped her eyes. They would not see her looking defeated.

  The steel door swung inward. Elizabeth stood in the center of the cell, head held high. The two “wardens” stood in the darkened hall, shielded from the light coming through the slit high in the wall of her cell. All she could see were their feet, shod in traditional woven slippers, and the business end of the split bamboo rod she’d come to know so well. After standing there the requisite thirty seconds - it was their way of making an entrance - they ceremoniously stepped inside.

  At five-feet-nine, Elizabeth towered over Four Finger Tang, which she liked to imagine made him furious. Bowing was forbidden in Communist China, but prisoners soon learned a deferential dip of the head would help stave off beatings. Smiling, she nodded to the portly guard. There was a stump where his right thumb should have been, bitten off, so the rumor went, by a prisoner who had snapped after being tortured for four days. The severed thumb had earned the crazed prisoner what he wanted - a bullet in the back of the head - and the ample Tang a name he despised.

  “Good evening, you fat slob.” She nodded to Big Ears Wu. “Good evening, you little weasel.” She could call her guards anything, so long as she dipped her head and smiled. Neither spoke a word of English.

  They both grinned at her. Their grins weren’t comforting; they wore them any time they were in her presence, especially when they beat her.

  “The west-ocean mongrel looks good tonight, eh, Wu?” Four Finger Tang said in Cantonese.

  Big Ears Wu looked down. “Yes, she is pleasurable to look upon.”

  “She’s a banana, yellow on the outside and white on the inside.” He glanced at Wu. “I’ll bet you’d like to get those big ears of yours between those pale yellow thighs.” He howled with laughter.

  Wu colored and looked away.

  “As for me, I’d sooner fornicate with a goat,” Tang said.

  Elizabeth held her smile, stomach churning. Since being taken into custody, she’d been careful around her guards not to reveal that she was fluent in Cantonese. She’d learned a lot.

  Four Finger Tang pointed to her with the bamboo rod and motioned for her to come. She steeled herself, then walked between the two down the long narrow hall, knowing where she was being taken.

  They came to a stop just outside a pair of wooden doors. The Great Room of the People. Big Ears Wu opened both doors, and Four Finger Tang shoved her forward. Elizabeth adjusted her eyes to the dimly lit room and stood erect, determined not to show fear. Every prisoner not on duty was there, more than 200 emaciated Chinese prisoners seated on bleachers formed in a U around a wooden stool in the center of the room, illuminated by a single spotlight. She couldn’t count how many times she’d been knocked off that stool for “insolence.” The prisoners stared straight ahead, completely silent. Four Finger Tang shoved her toward the stool and motioned for her to be seated.

  Elizabeth climbed up on the stool, adjusted her eyes to the spotlight, and gazed at the audience, chin held high. The other prisoners stared back at her, eyes dead. After working in the fields for twelve hours, they showed no hint of compassion, even though most of them had been where she was sitting now and knew what was coming. She could feel their resentment. If the half-Chinese foreigner would just die, they could get some rest.

  A door opened behind her. She resisted the urge to turn around. The first time she’d done that, Four Finger Tang had charged like a water buffalo and knocked her off the stool. But after three months in prison, there was no need to look; her senses had become so acute she knew who it was.

  The mincing footsteps and whisper of expensive shoes came closer. Lee Hong stepped into Elizabeth’s field of vision and came to a stop a few feet in front of her. He stood smiling at her in his tailored sport coat, hands behind his back, cropped black hair set off by white sidewalls. After the camp administrator and his stooges had struck out, they’d brought in their big gun to interrogate her, a fellow scientist who’d known her in California.

  He looked different, and his behavior was very unlike the first time she’d met him at UC Berkeley. She’d been teaching an advanced course in laser technology. He’d been one of her students. She remembered him as being affable, eager to ingratiate himself with anyone who could teach him anything. He had a different name then, Henry Lee. She’d been mildly amused at his insistence that everyone call him Hank. Nothing about him amused her now.

  “Good evening, Ms. Grayson,” he said in English.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Mr. Lee.”

  “Please call me Hank.”

  “Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said. “Hank.”

  Lee sighed. “Look, we don’t want to have another unpleasant evening like the one we had last night, do we?”

  “Why don’t we go out for dinner instead, maybe take in a movie?”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way.” Lee pulled the same ragged piece of paper from his jacket pocket he’d been waving at her for a week. “All you have to do is sign your name, read this into a tape recorder, and you’re out of here.”

  “I’m not signing or reading anything. I’ve done nothing wrong, and you know it.”

  Lee smiled. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, then why are you here?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, then nodded toward the other prisoners. “The same reason everyone else is here, trumped-up charges and slave labor.”

  “You know better than that. There’s no slave labor in China. Under Communism, all workers are well paid, even prisoners.”

  Elizabeth looked around. Who was he playing to? “Sure. The equivalent of $6 U.S. per month, from which you deduct three for ‘food.’ The rest goes for ‘personal necessities,’ like that bucket in my cell.”

  “Well, of course. Do you think we should give away the people’s food and the people’s property? Do you think we Chinese are fools?”

  Don’t, Elizabeth told herself, but the words were out before she could stop them.

  “No, I don’t. I have the highest respect for the Chinese people. But there are fools in China, just as there are fools in any country. Fools like you, who’ve enslaved a great nation under the pretense of social equality.”

  Lee charged at her, fists clenched. His face was so close, she thought she’d fall backward off the stool.

  “You think because of your arrogant white blood, you’re superior to the Chinese people.”

  “A thought like that wouldn’t even occur to me.”

&nbs
p; Lee stepped back and said, “Because you look Chinese, you think you can come here and spy on us?”

  Elizabeth felt an uncontrollable urge to laugh. She couldn’t tell if it was hysteria or the absurdity of the assertion. She stared at him.

  “Is it possible to reason with you?” she said finally. “Would the daughter of an American senator be sent here as a spy? Would the niece of the top-ranking general in China be sent here as a spy? Would the cousin of the chairman and managing director of the largest tech company in China be sent here as a spy? Does that even make sense?”

  “It makes perfect sense. Who else would have greater access?” Lee took a deep breath. “I’ve told you before. No questions. You may only speak to answer my questions. Now, why were you sent here to spy on the peaceful Chinese people?”

  Peaceful. Elizabeth stared back without answering. It was pointless.

  Lee nodded, and Four Finger Tang stepped forward with his bamboo rod.

  Elizabeth sighed. Repeating her story would at least buy her some time before the torture began.

  “I came here at the invitation of my cousin to do medical research.”

  “And your cousin would be the honorable James Lao, esteemed head of China Aerospace and Technology?”

  Elizabeth didn’t think her cousin was so esteemed. Where the hell was he? Why hadn’t he gotten her out of here by now? She nodded.

  “What was the nature of that research?”

  “We were trying to determine the feasibility of using microlaser technology to kill cancer cells.”

  “And you abused your position of trust by stealing secrets from the Chinese people.”

  “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

  “What did you learn in your spying at the laboratory in Guangzhou?”

  She wanted to say, “What you madmen are doing,” but it would be her death sentence. She had a tendency to blurt things out when she was angry or frustrated, but she would choose her words carefully.

  “I’m a scientist, not a spy.”

  Lee nodded to Four Finger Tang. “Bind this stinking half-breed,” he said in Cantonese.

  Elizabeth held her breath. Please give me the strength to get through this.

  Four Finger Tang produced a length of rope from his little chamber of horrors and tossed it to Big Ears Wu, who tied her hands behind her back. She felt the blood stop flowing to her hands. He drew the rope around her shoulders, under her armpits, and around her neck, then connected it to her hands and pulled it up taut, so that any movement to ease the pressure caused intense pain. She pulled herself erect on the stool, the only way to avoid the pain, but knew from experience she’d only be able to hold that position for a few minutes.

  “Now, Ms. Grayson, let’s try this again. What secrets have you stolen from the Chinese people?”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, and you know it.” She tried to make her voice sound strong but heard it break.

  On a cue from Lee, Four Finger Tang began waving his arms at the other prisoners. They came to life, chanting slogans and shaking their fists. As Tang pointed to individuals, they sprang to their feet like puppets, pointing fingers at Elizabeth and screeching at her in Cantonese, denouncing her as an American spy and imploring her to confess.

  In the midst of the din, Lee advanced on Elizabeth and held his face inches away from hers. The smell of stale sweat and his darting eyes told her he was under intense pressure to extract a confession. She drew back, repulsed by the smell of him.

  “Sign the goddamn paper,” he said, waving the document in one hand and a small tape recorder in the other. “Then read it into this. That’s all you have to do.”

  Elizabeth tried to pull back from his face and grimaced at the pain that shot through her body. His face moved closer to hers. She felt herself on the verge of falling backward. She’d seen prisoners trussed up like her fall or be knocked off the stool and not get up. Her mouth was dry, but she did the only thing she could think of to get him away from her. She spit in his face.

  Lee jerked back. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and nodded to Four Finger Tang, but the portly guard was already charging like a Samurai with his bamboo rod in the air.

  Elizabeth tried to duck the blow but couldn’t move more than a few inches. She felt the solid part of the bamboo rod come down across her right shoulder and searing pain as the slivers of bamboo sliced into the side of her neck. She felt herself falling into darkness, away from the pain.

  The shock of cold water on her face revived her. She blinked her eyes open and squinted into the overhead spotlight, not sure where she was. She tried to move her hands and remembered. Head pounding, she rolled over on the concrete floor. How long had she been lying there? She saw the black glint of Lee’s shoes a few feet away. She must have been out for only a few seconds. Feeling hands under her armpits, she pulled herself into a sitting position. She opened her eyes and saw a camera mounted in the corner. So that was what Lee was playing to. It hadn’t been there the night before. During that session, she’d also been knocked to the floor and would have seen it. Who was watching her?

  Blood seeped into her mouth from somewhere. It tasted like a copper penny under her tongue. She must have bit something. A wave of desolation swept over her. She couldn’t last long at this pace, but there were no good choices. If she confessed, they’d use it to keep the Americans who were pressing for her release at bay; if she held out, there was a good chance they’d kill her. Her uncles and cousin must be powerless, or they would have gotten her out by now. She was stuck here unless the U.S. government sent troops to rescue her, and she knew enough about the realities of politics to know that would never happen.

  She could tell by Lee’s face that the struggle sessions would continue until she confessed or was dead. Some choice. Die quickly or die slowly with lots of pain. Easier to confess and get her death over with quickly, but as long as she stayed alive, there was a chance - however slim - that they could be stopped. To hell with it. The stakes were too high for one person’s pain to matter much. They’d just have to kill her slowly.

  Steeling herself against the pain, Elizabeth made her back erect. She felt hands beneath her, lifting her up on the stool, the ropes cutting into her throat. The worst was yet to come. She mustered all her courage and twisted the grimace on her face into a smile.

  “And you call all non-Chinese barbarians?”

  Lee took a step back and straightened his coat. He seemed to be trying to regain his composure to try another tack.

  “As I said before, it doesn’t have to be this way, Ms. Grayson. If you confess your crimes and apologize to the Chinese people, you’ll be sent home.”

  Home. God, how she wanted to go home. She felt tears well up behind her eyes and forced them back.

  Lee stepped forward, looking at her eyes.

  “You’ll be flown first-class by China Air to Cambridge, Massachusetts. You’ll be given medical attention and new clothing. You’ll be treated to gourmet food along the way, compliments of the generous Chinese people. Your mother and father will be there to greet you in a joyful reunion. All you have to do is sign this.” He waved the document under her nose. “Then read it into this tape recorder, and you’ll be on your way.”

  A stabbing pain shot through her spine. She twisted on the stool. She couldn’t bear the pain much longer without screaming. The only thing she could do to end the session was to provoke him into knocking her unconscious. This time she’d stay down. She pulled her face into a look of contempt.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Lee’s jaw dropped. He struck her across the face with a backhand.

  Elizabeth felt herself falling backward through space, then a great thud, then darkness.

  She blinked her eyes open. Assuming she was still lying on the floor of the Great Room of the People, she lay still, feigning unconsciousness, then realized it was dark. She raised her head slightly. A sliver of moonlight fell across her eyes. She looked up. The light was coming
through her cell window. She moved her left arm. The rope was gone. She rolled slowly over and gradually moved all her limbs. Nothing seemed to be broken. She pulled herself into a sitting position and felt her head. She winced when her hand grazed a bulge on the left side of her scalp. The wound was sticky with salve. She looked at her fingers, then felt the bulge again. Did she have a concussion?

  She crawled to the nearest corner of her cell and leaned into it, grateful to have some back support. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been unconscious, but it must have been several hours. She reached inside her bra - the only one they’d allowed her to keep - and retrieved her watch. She held the timepiece up to the sliver of moonlight. Ten after ten. June 10.

  Sitting in the dark, she ran her thumb around the diamond-cut, ribbed bezel of the watch, a stainless steel and gold Rolex, her only earthly possession. She didn’t care that much about material things, but the watch had been a gift from her parents when she’d graduated from MIT, and she was determined to keep it. She’d dropped it into her underpants just minutes before she was arrested by the PLA and had been able to keep it hidden from her captors for three months by moving it around. She normally carried the watch in her bra but moved it to a more private area when the situation called for it.

  She leaned her head back into the corner but willed herself not to sleep. With a concussion, she might not wake up. In spite of the pain, she drifted off into a thin sleep.

  In a distant corner of her mind, she heard footsteps. She heard the key turn in her cell door and jerked awake, praying that she wasn’t in for another struggle session.

  Four Finger Tang stepped into her cell, while Big Ears Wu stood grinning in the hall. The obese guard pointed his bamboo rod at the bucket in the corner. He motioned with his head for her to pick it up and follow him.

  Thank God. Elizabeth pulled herself erect. A dull ache permeated every bone of her body, but she didn’t mind. This was the good part. She picked up the galvanized pail and followed her guards out into the night air, down the path to the fields where human excrement was the chief source of fertilizer.