"War Trash" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jin Ha)

11. COMPOUND 602

As we were approaching Compound 602, which was just a few minutes' drive from Compound 72, I saw a piece of reddish cloth dangling atop a bamboo pole. Coming closer, I recognized it as our national flag, self-made and with five golden stars on it. The sight of the flag excited us, and we realized this place must be controlled by the Communists.

More than four thousand men had already been here for days, all determined to return to our homeland. This meant we had come back to the ranks of our comrades. Indeed, this place differed greatly from Compound 72. All the tents were the same size and we shared the same mess. Most men looked cheerful and congenial, ready to help others. Later I heard that this place was nicknamed the Mainland Compound and that such an establishment had been achieved only through an arduous struggle. Many of these men had demonstrated and written letters, demanding that they be separated from the non-repatriates. They sent delegates to negotiate with the prison authorities and the pro-Nationalist representatives for three days to little avail. Finally two Swiss from the Red Cross stepped in and mediated a settlement, and thus the Chinese POWs were separated according to our different destinations.

Out of the eight thousand men in Compound 72, only about seven hundred made it here. The rest of them all remained in the old barracks, eagerly waiting to board the ships sent over by Taiwan, as they had been told. But that was a lie or an illusion. No ship whatsoever had come to fetch them.

On the day of my arrival at Compound 602, I was delighted to run into Chang Ming, the editor of our former division's bulletin who had met me regularly across the barbed wire. He and I hugged and broke into tears. He gave me a pack of Korean cigarettes, whose brand I couldn't make out but there were two dolphins printed below some red words. He said we might not be here for long; the Americans hadn't even bothered to organize us into units and everything had been left in our own hands. This state of affairs indicated that the compound must be temporary.

"Where did you hear this?" I asked him, taking a short drag on my cigarette.

"It's just my observation."

"Boy, you're sharp."

He seemed much more experienced and hardened than before, yet his thick lips and broad eyes still betrayed a lot of innocence and good nature. Like an editor, he carried a stout fountain pen in his breast pocket. I asked him how he had managed to keep that. He grinned, and said actually he could not use it for lack of ink. He invited me to join him in his tent, saying that before all the men were put into different units, we had better stay together. I was happy to do that. We two walked to the third tent in the first row of the barracks, in which I was given a mat spread below an opening that served as a window. The air in there smelled grassy – the tent must have been pitched recently. I put down my blanket roll, pleased with the daylight I could use when staying indoors. Ming left for a meeting as soon as I settled down. He must have assumed some kind of leadership in this compound.

That same afternoon I bumped into Hao Chaolin, who didn't greet me enthusiastically. He told me that he had been busy helping Commissar Pei organize the comrades here. Perhaps because he had held a much higher rank than mine in our former division, he was reluctant to be too convivial with me. In any case, I was glad to hear that Commissar Pei was also here and had taken the leadership. I wondered why the Americans had let him join us. This was like releasing a dragon into its native water. What a blunder.

On the other hand, I was saddened to see that there were many more wounded men in the new compound than in the other ones, men missing an arm, men wearing eyeshades to cover their empty eye sockets, men who had lost their hair, ears, and noses to napalm, men who had gone deaf and had to communicate by signs, and men without legs who moved around with the help of crutches and with thick wooden sticks affixed to their stumps. The thought came to me that no country would want these men, who were mere war trash and had no choice but to go back to China, where they still had their families. They had to follow the Communists home.

Dinner was the same stuff, boiled barley and soy sauce soup, but people were equal here and even friendly. There was no fighting over food, and officers didn't get special meals. That evening I went to see Commissar Pei in the tent that served as the headquarters of the compound. Many people lounged on the grass outside that tent, smoking and chatting. They looked relaxed and hopeful, as if we were to depart for home within a few days. This was another reason I wanted to see the commissar, to find out when we could head home. Inside the tent a meeting was in full swing, so a guard stopped me at the entrance, but he announced me without delay.

A minute later Pei came out with measured steps. "Aha, Yu Yuan, we meet again," he said, stretching out his hand, which I held with both of mine. His palm was still smooth and soft as in the old days.

"When can we go home, Commissar Pei?" I asked.

"Can't wait anymore?" A smiling twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"Honestly, no. If only we could flyback!"

"We may have to remain in prison for a while. But don't worry. Here we're among our comrades, and you won't suffer again like in Compound 72."

I pulled up the front of my shirt and showed him the tattoo. " Commissar Pei, do you think I can get rid of this?"

Observing the words, he said, "I heard you were tattooed, but I didn't know it was in English. I know what 'Communism' means, but what's the meaning of the other word?"

"Screw."

He tipped his head back and laughed. "Don't worry. Perhaps you shouldn't have it removed now. Let me think about this, all right?"

"Sure. It really bothers me."

"I understand. But it won't do you any harm for the time being."

He couldn't stay with me for long because of the meeting, so I took my leave and promised to come to see him again. Before I turned back, I glimpsed the scene inside the tent through the flaps spread by his hands. Most of the faces in there looked familiar; they must have been some of the Communists who had served in our former division. Obviously Pei was in firm control here. Officially he held no position whatsoever in this compound, whose chief was Zhao Teng, a rugged, popular man, who had once been a company commander in the 540th Regiment; but it was clear to most that Zhao was just a front man for Commissar Pei. Hao Chaolin was the vice chief of the compound and actually had more say in most matters than Zhao Teng. Probably due to the temporary nature of this compound, the Americans had just appointed the few top leaders and let them organize the prisoners here. Our captors seemed too understaffed to worry about this sort of thing.

Within two days, a repatriation regiment was formed, into which every man here was included. Pei was elected its head, and Chaolin became the chief of the First Battalion, while the other two battalions were also led by officers from our 180th Division, one by Zhao Teng. In addition to the army units, they also set up an office called the Secretariat, which was in charge of confidential work (codes and documents), communications, diplomacy (including translation and interpretation), propaganda, education, and entertainment. Both Ming and I were put into this office, where our colleagues were all educated men, more than a third of them college graduates. Without much difficulty the leadership at all levels was established and began to function. Now I realized this was another reason for our men to demand that we be separated from the pro-Nationalists: to create a new space in which the Communists could restore their control system, especially at the levels of platoons and squads. Once the leadership was in place, we could again function like an efficient unit. Obviously our captors hadn't discerned this hidden motive.

Following the military organization, a political union was also formed, which was called the United Communist Association. There were not many Party members among us and the Communists needed to attract as many people as they could, so the association was designed to draw many prisoners into it. Working in the Secretariat, I read its constitution, which was as follows:

1. PRINCIPLES

The United Communist Association is an underground organization composed of the Chinese Communist Party members and revolutionary soldiers among the POWs in the U.N. prison camp. In the light of our unique circumstances, our association holds the following principles:

We believe in Communism.

We shall organize and lead the prisoners in protecting the honor of the Communist Party and our motherland. We shall coordinate our actions with our country's military struggle and the Panmunjom negotiations. We shall expose the enemy's conspiracy to retain prisoners. We insist upon returning to China.

If the Panmunjom talks fall through, we shall try to break prison and liberate ourselves.

2. ORGANIZATION

We follow the regulations stipulated in the Constitution of the Chinese Communist Party. Every level of our association must maintain revolutionary integrity and struggle bravely but in an underground way. We must conceal our organizational structure, keep our leaders in a low profile, and make our members communicate with the association through the one-and-only-one line. The cells within the association must not contact each other, and we will not hold any conference for all members. The leaders at every level should follow the principle of democratic centralism, but owing to our special situation, all the leaders will be selected by their superiors except the chairman of the association, who must be elected by the directors of the branches. In principle, new members must be inducted individually, not in groups.

3. MEMBERS

The members of the association are the backbone of our struggle against our enemy. Anyone who acknowledges the Constitution of the Chinese Communist Party, has a clean history in the prison camp, and is willing to fight for the principles of our association, regardless of whether he is a Communist Party member or not, can be a candidate for our association. His induction should be recommended by at least one member and approved by the subcommittee. If the case is complicated, it should be approved by the general committee. Every member is obligated to participate in the associations regular activities, has the right to criticize and expose his leaders' misdeeds, must put the interests of the revolution before his own, must guard secrets, and must not be afraid of confinement, torture, or death.

4. DISCIPLINE

Our disciplinary actions consist of four kinds: advice, warning, dismissal from leadership, and revocation of membership. If a member has lost his revolutionary will and won't change after repeated warnings, the case should be reported to the higher level for his expulsion from the association. But to avoid unexpected occurrences, a member will be assigned to keep in touch with him. Our association does not set up an office for implementing disciplinary actions, which are left in the hands of the security officers at all levels.

As soon as the association was established, it put forward three tasks for all the prisoners: unite closely, struggle against our enemy, and study hard. More than half of the men here were illiterate, and nobody would question the meanings of these tasks. Most of them began to buckle down to the three tasks, which had suddenly become the purpose of their lives. At bottom, they must have been afraid of the absence of strong leadership, without which they might again suffer as they had in the compounds ruled by the pro-Nationalists. Besides, though the Panmunjom negotiations were in progress, we were uncertain whether they would succeed. We believed that if they fell through, the Americans might begin killing us or shipping us to the copper and coal mines in Alaska, so our only way out was to break jail. According to our intelligence, Marshal Kim Il Sung had issued secret orders that the Korean POWs must find ways to liberate themselves. We might have to do likewise. Such an undertaking would be impossible without powerful leadership and unified effort. That was a major reason why many men were willing to join the United Communist Association.

Like them, I also applied for membership. I wanted to abide by its principles, because I believed in socialism, which I felt was the only way to save China. I had seen how my country had been ruined by the Nationalists. Inflation, corruption, crime, poverty, all the evil forces had run amok in the old China. I remembered that a distant uncle of mine had once ridden a bicycle loaded with two sackfuls of cash to a grocery store and spent it all, but returned with only forty pounds of sweet potatoes. How could common people have continued to live under that regime? By contrast, shortly after the Communists came to power, people in dire poverty were relieved, usury and market cornering were banned, and criminal gangs disappeared. For better or worse the Communists had brought order and hope to the land.

To my surprise, one afternoon Ming said to me about my application for membership in the United Communist Association, "They may not let you in." This implied that they had been instructed to turn me down.

"Why?" I asked.

"Probably because you translated hymns for Father Woodworth. Also, some people said you often read the Bible alone."

"For goodness' sake, you know I just meant to improve my English. I stopped having anything to do with Woodworth the moment I found out his true colors."

"Relax. I told them the same thing. Don't worry too much. Just explain everything clearly when they ask you. I'm sure they'll reconsider your application. By the way, I almost forgot, Commissar Pei wants to talk to you this evening."

"When?"

"Eight o'clock in his tent."

In the evening, after the front gate had been locked, I walked along the barbed-wire fence alone. The ground felt doughy, scattered with patches of new grass. For half a year I had never been so free, yet a heavy feeling sank into my heart. I was tormented by the thought that I was an outsider among my comrades. In the distance a trail wound up a hillock, below which a hamlet was still inhabited by some fishing families. Cooking smoke went up from straw roofs that resembled a clump of huge mushrooms. Life seemed tranquil in that village; every once in a while, a donkey brayed. Beyond those houses spread a bluish bay, only a part of which was visible, its water motionless as if frozen. Somewhere a bird tooted rapidly like an alarm. From time to time the cool sea breeze wafted in, bringing a light puff of fishy smell.

I had placed my fate with the Communists, but would they ever trust me? To them I had always been a marked man with a problematic past. But didn't my deeds on the battlefield and in the wilderness prove that I was trustworthy and loyal to our motherland? Unlike most of the graduates from the Huangpu Military Academy, I was one of the dozen former cadets who had followed the Communists to this compound. What else did they need to verify that I was as reliable as the other prisoners? True enough, I had helped Father Woodworth translate the hymns, but I had quit in time, no harm done. Some men here had continued going to the Sunday sermons after I stopped. Why were they not singled out?

Then it dawned on me that to the Communists, my association with Father Woodworth must have amounted to a moral relapse, which revealed my "petty bourgeois outlook," a phrase they often used to criticize an educated individual like me. However, I wasn't applying for Communist Party membership but only for that of a mass association. There was no reason for them to reject me. On second thought, I wondered why I was so eager to seek their approval. Why worry so much about joining that organization? Perhaps I dreaded isolation and had to depend on a group to feel secure. Why couldn't I remain alone without following anyone else? One should rely on nobody but oneself. If Dajian hadn't followed me, he wouldn't have gone astray and remained in Wang Yong's grip. I'd better stay away from the herd.

No. If I mean to return to China, I have to take part in the pro-Communist activities; otherwise I'll cause more trouble for myself. Whether I join them or not, they'll never leave me alone, so I mustn't stand aloof. Either you become their friend or their enemy. The Communists don't believe anyone can remain neutral…

"You may leave now," Commissar Pei said to his orderly at the sight of me. Then, smiling, he gestured for me to come over and sit near him.

"I've thought about your belly, Yuan," he told me the moment I sat down.

"My belly?"

"Yes, the tattoo, I mean."

"What should I do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Leave it as it is?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

"There's no doctor here who can take it off for you."

"But some comrades had their tattoos reshaped into different words or into something like a flower."

"I'm aware of that, but you're a special case."

"How come?" I was slightly upset by his remark. Why did they always treat me differently?

He said with a mysterious look on his face, "You're not an ordinary prisoner. We may need you to deal with the Americans, and a tattoo like yours can help you, don't you think?" As he grinned an elongated dimple formed on his left cheek, though his face was emaciated.

"I don't know," I said.

"Trust me, there's no hurry to have your tattoo removed."

"What if I get punished for it after we go back to China?"

"I'll explain to the Party, I promise. This is necessary for our struggle."

"In that case I'll continue to wear this damn thing. But I have a question for you, Commissar Pei."

"Yes, say it."

"According to you, I'm needed by the Party, but why was my application for the United Communist Association turned down as though I were a reactionary? It's just a progressive mass organization."

"I know that. Some comrades still have reservations about you, to tell the truth. In fact, this is another matter I want to talk about. There'll be a study session, at which you may be asked to do self-examination."

My head expanded with a swoon, because this meant they would denounce me. I managed to ask, "What did I do to deserve such treatment?"

"Don't be so quick-tempered. All the other comrades will do self-examination as well."

"But I'm a special case, right?"

"Yes, you may have more to say than others."

"Because I helped Woodworth?"

"That's a part of it."

"You know I'm not religious."

"But you often read the Bible."

"That's only because I have nothing else to read. Believe me, if I had a copy of Das Kapital, I'd study it every day. Most men in Compound 72 gambled all the time. Do you think that was better than reading the Bible? At least I tried to improve my English and make myself more useful."

"I believe there's more to it than learning English. You must feel lonely, so you want to seek refuge in the Christian God's world."

His acumen stunned me, and I realized I must indeed have some religious longing in me, which must have been awakened by my contact with Woodworth. After a moment's silence, I admitted, "Sometimes I feel better when I read the Bible. I don't know why. It makes me feel less helpless."

"Genuine help comes from your comrades and the Party, not from God. No God can save us. See, you think differently from others. That makes you special."

"I've never claimed I'm a Communist, much less that I think like one. But I believe that only socialism can save China, and I'm willing to follow the Communists. That's why I'm here."

"Well said. I like your candor."

Encouraged by his words, I let my tongue go looser. "I admire the Communists' enthusiasm, dedication, and discipline, but I can't completely accept the logic of your working method."

"What do you mean?"

"The Communists treat every person just as a number. One plus one equals two. One hundred people have united, then you get the power of one hundred men, as though humans are horses. For me, this is too simple. I believe there must be a power much larger than an individual, like a multiplier. If you tap that power, you can multiply yourself. You can become one hundred or one thousand, depending on what the multiplier is."

"You're quite thoughtful, Yuan. So you've found God is that power?"

"No, not yet, but there must be such a multiplier available for human beings."

"I have found it," he said firmly.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's Marxism," he replied in wholehearted sincerity.

For a few seconds I didn't know what to say, then I mumbled, "That's why you can act with so much certainty."

"Right."

"That can help you overcome a lot of difficulties, too."

"Yes, it's the Communist ideal that multiplies our strength and courage."

I said with full respect, "I wish I were like you."

"You should try to be. Tomorrow when your comrades criticize you, try to remain calm and patient. They only mean to help you, no hard feelings."

"I'll remember that."

Lying on my mat that night, I went over my conversation with Pei. What amazed me was that he thought of Marxism not as a sociological theory but as a kind of religion. This religious feeling might explain why so many Communists, some of them uneducated and unable to grasp Marxism at all, were so fanatic and so dedicated to their cause. To some degree I was pleased with my talk with the commissar, who seemed to understand me.

Since the Secretariat had a staff of only twelve, we were assigned to study with the kitchen squad that cooked for the regimental headquarters. In the afternoon twenty-five of us sat on the dirt floor of the cooks' tent and began our self-examination. Six or seven men by turns talked about their experiences in different compounds, all saying they wished there had been more of the Party's leadership in those places so that they could have fought the reactionary forces more actively and with a clear objective. When my turn came, I admitted my mistake in translating the hymns and my negligence that contributed to Bai Dajian's remaining with the pro-Nationalists. I had thought my admissions might preempt some criticism, but they wouldn't let me pass so easily. Questions were shot at me one after another. How had I acquired the Bible? Why did I read it every day? What made Father

Woodworth pick me to translate the songs? What else did I do for him? Their voices grew so stern that I began losing my patience, telling them bluntly that I had read the Bible because I wouldn't fritter away my time by gambling like some of them.

"But why do you still read it now?" asked one of them.

I wanted to retort, I like to; but I remained speechless, unable to think of a suitable answer.

They made me feel like a traitor under interrogation. This was ridiculous, and I couldn't help but wonder why we were doing the self-examination. If only our captors had put us all to hard labor so that we wouldn't have had so much energy for these meaningless study sessions. My patience snapped and I said, "Look, I'm your comrade, though I'm not a Party member. I suffered no less than any of you and I have never betrayed our country." I lowered my head so that they could see the dark spot on my scalp inflicted by one of Wang Yong's men.

Then a staff member, Li Manyin, raised his hand and was allowed to speak. With his round eyes riveted on me, he asked almost jokingly, "I heard that you were quite thick with an American woman in Pusan. Can you tell us about this special relationship?"

A few men snickered. I got angry and said, "That was a doctor who saved my leg."

Another man put in, "Didn't you hold her hand teaching her how to write Chinese?"

Astounded, I didn't answer, wondering how they had come to know so much. Did my friend Ding Wanlin betray me? That was possible. No, there was nothing worth reporting about my relationship with Dr. Greene. Then where did they get the information?

"Comrade Yu Yuan, please answer the question," said Hao Chaolin. He was presiding over the meeting, though he didn't say much. He must have made sure beforehand that these questions would be brought up.

"She was a doctor in charge of my case," I said. "She had grown up in China, so she treated us well. In fact she was very kind to every patient there."

"But she's an American, isn't she?" the kitchen squad leader asked.

"Yes, she is."

"Didn't you teach her how to write an ancient poem?" another cook said.

"My goodness, this is like a cross-examination! Do you think we were lovers? Ludicrous, I don't even know her first name. I taught her how to write the characters, all right. There was no secret about it. I used the poem as a sample. Commissar Pei told me to remain close to her so that I could get information from her."

"How close?" another man asked.

"Yes, what did she give you?" chipped in a third voice.

"Chocolate bars?"

"Condensed milk?"

"Cereals?"

Some of them chuckled. Chang Ming stepped in, saying with a solemn face, "We shouldn't spend too much time on this. Commissar Pei did want him to keep a friendly relationship with that woman. Comrade Yu Yuan also got some good paper from her for Commissar Pei."

A few cooks hee-hawed. But Ming's words saved my neck, and I couldn't help looking at him gratefully. Though a college graduate, he knew how to deal with these men, who liked and respected him. So his words quieted them down. I noticed a dark shadow cross Chaolin's scabbed face, but he let them move on to the next man.

We had to wrap up the meeting earlier than the other groups because the cooks started working at 3:30 p.m. Before we ended the session, Chaolin proposed a motion – I should turn in my Bible to the higher-ups – which was voted for overwhelmingly. I was the only one who didn't raise his hand, and I couldn't disobey. So my Bible became the source of writing paper at the headquarters.

I was angry at heart. The Communists were good only at maltreating their own people and people close to them. Some of their men had just been murdered in other compounds, but nobody here had bothered to examine the Communists' negligence in organizing opposition to the screening. Instead, they'd begun to discipline their own ranks. In my mind echoed the words of Han Shu, the chief of Compound 72: "History has shown that the Communists always treat their enemies more leniently than their own people. Only by becoming their significant enemies can you survive decently."