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

17. THE ABDUCTION OF GENERAL BELL

On the evening of May 7 Major Leach arrived in a jeep. He wanted two of our officers to go with him right away, to Compound 76, the one that held Korean prisoners.

"What for?" we asked.

He said General Bell was going to hold a meeting and had invited representatives from different compounds to attend. Chaolin gave me a meaningful grin that revealed his ulcerated gums. We guessed something unusual must be afoot. We hurried back to our headquarters and reported the new development to Commissar Pei. Pei sent Chaolin and me to go with Major Leach because we had met the Koreans and Bell before. We picked up our protest letter and memorandum on our captors' crimes, both written the previous night, and came out to join Leach. With Ming's permission, I brought along the English-Japanese dictionary as well. Before we set off, Commissar Pei 's orderly ran out, waving for us to stop. He rushed over and handed us each a service medal, which Chaolin and I put on as the jeep rolled away.

It was slightly windy, gray clouds chasing one another in the north as if following us. The dusk was smoky and flickered with puffs of midges, which brushed my face time and again. A flock of swifts twittered sharply and snapped at mosquitoes and gnats, soaring, diving, and spiraling like miniature aircraft in a dogfight. On the roadside rhododendrons and crimson azaleas bloomed in clusters, and rice paddies stretched in the fields studded with yellow forsythia, though half of the land was unused, overgrown with weeds. As soon as we passed a cattle pond, we saw large crowds of Korean prisoners gathering in various compounds. Most of them stood arm in arm swaying in rhythm and chanting battle songs. Seeing the jeep, a few men waved red flags, most of which were just pieces of shapeless cloth. They also shouted slogans. They seemed to know something extraordinary had just taken place.

Approaching Compound 76, the jeep slowed down a little. The road was lined with American tanks and half-tracks topped with machine guns. Military police and hundreds of marines stood around, all toting rifles. A radioman was shouting into a walkie-talkie that sat on the hood of a light truck, its antenna jittering. As we passed them, I felt almost as if we were their honored guests – all the prisoners and the Americans gazed at us intently. Near the gate to Compound 76 gathered more vehicles and marines, whose steel helmets were reflecting the shifting columns of searchlights beamed from the guard towers. Portable floodlights had been set along the barbed-wire fence, and somewhere a generator was whining. Beside the compound's gate hung a huge piece of white cloth – some sheets sewn together, six by thirty feet – which bore these English words: "WE CAPTURED BELL. AS LONG AS OUR DEMAND IS MET HIS SAFETY IS SECURED. IF THERE IS BRUTAL ACT SUCH AS SHOOTING AND BOMBING, HIS LIFE IS IN DANGER!" The exclamation mark was twice the size of a letter. I was impressed by the Koreans' thorough preparation; the sign must have taken a lot of work to make.

The jeep pulled up at the gate. Major Leach stayed behind while Chaolin and I walked into the compound. It was bright in there, lamps and torches everywhere. Over a hundred prisoners in their baggy uniforms stood in two lines to welcome us, clapping or waving a few tiny Chinese and Korean national flags made of paper. As we went farther in, people began shouting slogans in stiff Chinese: " Korea and China!" "Kim Il Sung and Mao Zedong!" "Welcome Chinese Comrades!"

We didn't know Korean, but we were so excited that we shouted: "Salute to our Korean comrades!" "Let us unite like brothers!" "Down with American imperialism!" From behind us came the swearing of the marines, reminding me of all the guns trained at us.

We were taken into a tent that had been prepared for the representatives from different compounds, among whom, to our surprise, were three young women. We shook hands with one another and even hugged some men as though we had known them for a long time. The tent was humming with chattering voices, Korean and Chinese. The noise made me slightly giddy; I was excited to be here, affected by the euphoric ambience. Everybody looked jubilant and friendly. For the next half hour Colonel Choi described to the representatives how they had caught General Bell.

By May 7 the men in Compound 76 had been demonstrating for two days, demanding a face-to-face dialogue with Bell. At 1:30 p.m. the general finally came, escorted by a platoon of GIs. Major Leach accompanied him. Together they went over to the front entrance to talk with the Koreans. As they came toward the gate, the GIs all followed them. The Koreans pointed at the troops and asked Bell, "What's this about? We don't understand why you, an American general, are afraid of us unarmed prisoners." Bell looked at his men for a moment, turned to glance at the inside of the compound, then motioned the GIs to move back and keep some distance from the gate. Only Leach stayed with him.

The Koreans enumerated the prison authorities' violations of the Geneva Convention and then demanded that Bell plead guilty. In the beginning the general was quite serious. He told his aide-decamp to read out some articles of the convention, and then he tried to refute the prisoners' accusations. But as the Koreans continued to rail at him, he grew impatient and tired, so he stood aside and let Major Leach answer questions for him. He lit a cigarette and smoked absently; every once in a while he shook his head in frustration. Gradually the GIs, fifty yards away from the officers, slackened their vigilance, whispering to one another and standing in disorder.

At that point a team of latrine cleaners appeared from within the compound and headed for the front entrance, each man carrying two large buckets of night soil with a shoulder pole. The gate was opened for them. The American officers stepped aside, hands over their noses.

When the last bucket of night soil had come out, suddenly these latrine men, all members of the compounds shock unit in disguise, dropped their loads, grabbed the general and Major Leach, and dragged them back into the prison. Leach shouted to the GIs for help, clutching a brace on the gate with both hands, so the Koreans let him go. But General Bell, not as quick as the younger officer, was pulled into the compound. The prisoners immediately bolted the front gate.

The whole thing had taken place so suddenly that the GIs were too dumbfounded to react. When the idea of a kidnapping had finally sunk in, they rushed to the gate, but it was too late. All they could see was four husky men hauling the general away toward a nearby tent. Bell turned his head and shouted at his troops, "Help me! Goddammit, help me!"

"Halt! Halt!" Major Leach cried at the prisoners. The guards raised their rifles.

Two Koreans ran over, displaying the white scroll with the English words on it. Then a battalion of POWs, over seven hundred strong, poured into the yard, holding self-made weapons and ready to confront the Americans. Major Leach ordered the GIs not to open fire, so all they could do was watch their commander disappear from view. At the entrance to the tent, still blustering and swearing, Bell refused to move, so the four men simply carried him, his legs kicking.

Sirens screamed, one after another. Within half an hour marines in tanks and personnel carriers surrounded the compound while a plane circled overhead, ordering the prisoners to release General Bell without delay. The enemy, too confused to deal with the situation, seemed unsure whether to contact the kidnappers or just stay put and wait.

About an hour later an inmate went to the gate and presented a sheet of paper signed by General Bell to one of the American officers. The letter had apparently been composed by the Koreans. It read:

I order you never shoot POWs, so we can prevent the expansion of this crisis and keep my safety. I agree to hold the conference that includes representatives of prisoners from other compounds. Also agree to discuss the possibilities and search for solutions of the problems. Let our troops leave Compound 76. Stay away, please!

General Matthew Bell

But all the vehicles and GIs remained where they were. Forty minutes later came another slip of paper, a genuine letter bearing Bell 's handwriting. He ordered them to have a phone line connected to the barracks of Compound 76 and to follow his instructions closely from now on. He gave a list of things to be delivered without delay. Among them were blankets, canned meat, rice, pencils, pens, writing pads, brand-name cigarettes, folding tables and chairs, and a few things he needed for his personal accommodations. The acting commanding officer, General Fulton, who had just rushed here to take Bell 's place temporarily, was Bell 's friend, both having graduated from the Virginia Military Institute, so Fulton granted whatever Bell requested. Several jeeps were dispatched to different compounds to fetch POW representatives. Then a truck arrived to deliver the personal items for General Bell – there were even some bottles of spring water and a toilet. Later in the evening a larger truck came, loaded with supplies for the conference.

Behind a row of barracks a special tent had been pitched for the general. In front stood eight self-made red flags rippling in the breeze, each carrying a red star in a white circle. Dozens of pickets were posted around the tent, toting clubs, sharpened bamboo poles, long picks, shovels. One man, obviously a team leader, wore a shiny sickle in his belt. Chaolin and I were allowed to go in and have a look inside. A guard opened the door flaps for us. My goodness! I was struck by the fancy interior, which was thoroughly furnished and partitioned into four or five separate spaces; the entire floor was covered with army blankets. Even the walls were lined with blankets too, since it could still get chilly at night. Toward the back of the tent, a white curtain shielded an area for the bathroom. In the center of the front section stood a glossy desk and four chairs; on the desktop was a beer bottle holding a bunch of wild lilies, white and saffron, so fresh that some of the blossoms were still closed. In a screened corner were a cot and a tiny cabinet, on which perched the general's reading glasses and his cap. The curtain was not drawn. We could see Bell lying on the bed with his eyes closed, his face longer and flabbier than before. He looked old. Chaolin and I didn't disturb him, though I was sure the general knew someone had come in.

In meeting and mixing with the Korean soldiers, I had noticed that they did things more elaborately than we did. For instance, the distinction of rank among their officers was immediately visible, marked by the bars and stars on the shoulder tabs. Even their enlisted men's ranks could be identified by the stripes on their sleeves. Their officers' uniforms were much more formal than ours – peaked caps with cockades, jackets with brass buttons and large epaulets, high patent-leather boots, and green or blue breeches whose legs had red stripes along the seams. They imitated the Russians as much as possible. In contrast, our officers didn't wear any insignia, and there was little sartorial distinction between them and their men. At most our colonels and generals donned woolen jackets and trousers and maybe leather shoes. As for the enlisted men and junior officers, our quilted uniforms, felt hats with tied-up flaps, and canvas-top shoes were so crude that the GIs on the front called us "laundrymen." At least many of us looked less skinny in our winter outfits.

General Bell was so impressed by his accommodations that the next morning he said to General Fulton on the phone, "I'm living like an emperor here." Indeed, the interior of the tent resembled that of a royal Mongolian yurt, perhaps even more luxurious. What's more, his cook was going to come three times a day to deliver his meals, and two American orderlies were allowed to do housekeeping for him here every morning. Bell looked as if he were on vacation, camping on a lakeside or a mountain, though his face was grim.

As Chaolin and I were wondering whether we should go forward or withdraw, General Bell opened his eyes. But he didn't get up and seemed lost in thought. He closed his eyes again and we stepped closer. His large body weighed down the cot noticeably. Two top buttons on his jacket were missing, and his right epaulet, with one star on it, was ripped, barely attached to his shoulder by a few stitches of thread. How different he looked from the spruce general who had spoken with us just a few days ago.

"We should talk with him," whispered Chaolin.

We stepped over, but the general still didn't stir. I tried to guess why he acted this way. Out of anger? Or out of arrogance or contempt? More probably out of uncertainty. Like his men outside the compound, he too must have been at a loss how to deal with his lad-napping. Chaolin and I looked at each other again. He smiled and stuck his tongue out, which was heavily furred. He tilted his head, meaning I should start. I bent down a little and said, "Hello, General Bell, we came to see you."

"Oh, thank you, thank you." He opened his eyes, whose whites were bloodshot. He sat up, combing his sparse hair with his fingers, and shifted his legs out of the bed so as to get to his feet.

"Please remain seated," I said. "We are the representatives of the Chinese prisoners. We met four days ago."

"Really? Oh yes, I promised you I'd solve some problems."

I was surprised that he hadn't recognized us. Chaolin said through my interpretation, "Now we want to see your deeds. We don't want the same result again – where the problems remain unsolved while your men pitch gas grenades into our barracks and even fire at us."

"That has never happened here." Bell wasn't wrong; that kind of violence had occurred in some camps on the Korean mainland, not on this island.

"But your men often beat the inmates," Chaolin pressed on.

"In that case, I should have kept better discipline among my troops."

"What do you think of the way we treat you here?"

The general looked puzzled, not having expected that the Korean prisoners represented us Chinese as well. I too was a little surprised by the collective pronoun "we." Then Bell realized the meaning of the question and muttered, "Yes, I can say the Communists have accommodated me well."

"We're glad you understand this. If only General Ridgway were here to take the same lesson."

"I can pass the message on to him and – " Catching himself, Bell looked abashed.

"We'll talk more about the treatment of the prisoners at the conference tomorrow. Meanwhile, take it easy and rest well."

"I will."

"Good-bye now."

"Bye." He stood up, and his hand moved but didn't stretch out.

The moment we came out of the tent, Chaolin burst into laughter, holding his sides with both hands. I joined him in laughing too. A Korean officer, who had been at the entrance to the tent during our meeting with Bell, remarked in English, "American general is just so-so, a paper tiger, like Stalin says."

I don't know where Stalin said that. Amused, I translated his words to Chaolin. That brought out more laughter. Without further delay the Korean officer led us to a tent at the back of the barracks, where we were to meet their top leader.

At the sight of us Mr. Park got up from a reed mat and came to hug us. He said in barely comprehensible Chinese, "Ah my friends, welcome!"

He gestured for us to sit down on the mat. I noticed that unlike the others, he sat on a sheepskin, its white fur mottled with black blotches. With ease we entered into conversation. The slim Colonel Lee sat beside the leader, serving as his interpreter, so I could relax now. Mr. Park showed deep concern about our living conditions and asked us how well we were organized in Compound 602. Chaolin reported to him briefly on the newly founded United Communist Association. Mr. Park was impressed by the intention to include as many people in the organization as possible while maintaining the Party's leadership and principles at the core. He said, "I always admire the Chinese Communist Party. You have more experience and more strategies. I'm sorry we haven't given enough support to your struggle."

Chaolin seemed touched and replied, "Under your leadership the Korean comrades captured General Bell. This is an extraordinary event in the history of warfare, and it dealt a crushing blow to our common enemy. It has also inspired us tremendously. We must learn from our Korean comrades' courage and bravery."

"Well, without your help we couldn't have done it at all," said Mr. Park, smiling. "So half of the victory belongs to you. The Chinese comrades showed us how to stage a hunger strike and how to lure Bell to our compound, otherwise we couldn't have brought him in. This victory is only a part of our two peoples' joint struggle."

He turned aside and whispered to an aide. Lee winked at us and said, "Mr. Park would like to invite you to dinner."

"Please don't treat us like guests," I said.

"You are our honored guests," replied Lee, smiling meaningfully. He got up and went out, apparently to make arrangements for the dinner.

I wondered what kind of food Mr. Park could offer us in such a place. Maybe a bowl of white rice and a bit of kimchee, at most accompanied by a few pieces of dried fish or some baked squid. My thoughts were interrupted by the hearty laughter from both Chaolin and our host. Mr. Park inquired after Commissar Pei and sent him his regards, which Chaolin promised to convey. I forced myself not to think of the promised dinner so as to remain in the conversation.

Then a young man stepped in, carrying a large cauldron lid filled with steaming dumplings made of wheat flour, quite thick. We were flabbergasted – this was the best Chinese food a host could offer! Where on earth could they get the stuff for such a meal?

Mr. Park smiled and opened his arms almost mischievously, saying, "Help yourselves, please."

"Let's eat together," said Chaolin, motioning for them to sit closer.

"No, we already ate."

"How can we thank you enough for this?"

"Stop talking and eat. You don't have to thank us. Everything came from the Americans. If they hadn't delivered the flour and the meat, we wouldn't have known what to come up with. So enjoy yourselves. Excuse me for a moment." Mr. Park stood up and went into a corner to discuss something with a group of officers.

We each picked up a wooden spoon and began eating. The fillings were made of corned beef mixed with young cabbage. There was so much meat in the dumplings that they dripped oil whenever we took a bite. I tried hard to eat slowly while Chaolin grinned at me and went on licking his lips. He said, "After we go back home, I'll tell my wife to make dumplings every weekend."

"This is the best meal I've had since we crossed the Yalu," I said with a catch in my throat.

"I know. Come on, don't be too emotional, Yuan. They're watching us."

I checked my tears. Despite enjoying the food, I wasn't happy exactly. My emotions were mixed, evoked by Chaolin's mention of his wife. I remembered the crabmeat wontons my mother and my fiancee had cooked for me the day before I left home. But I broke my reverie and forced myself to smile and not to think about my family in a situation like this. It was embarrassing to let your personal emotions interfere with your work. From now on I must build a closet in my heart, in which I would lock up my personal thoughts and feelings so that they couldn't crop up at the wrong time.

What happened after dinner was even more astonishing. We were led into a secret basement in the back of the tent. It was like being inside a bunker, but it was well lit, and on a small dais of earth covered with a piece of hardboard sat a radio – a glossy case made of grained oak, about two feet long and one foot high. Colonel Lee told me that they had exchanged canned food and blankets for this machine with a grocer and had it smuggled into the compound. As I was wondering if they had radio contact with the North, Mr. Park placed his hands on Chaolin's and my shoulders, saying, "My dear comrades, only because we seized General Bell could we invite you over. But we have nothing special to entertain you with, so I thought perhaps you might like to listen to the voice of Beijing."

Heavens, they could hear broadcasts from China! We hadn't heard a single sound from our homeland for more than a year. Hurriedly we bent over and turned on the radio. Through the rasping static came a female voice, crisp, clear, and warm. It announced:

More donations were received lately. To support our army on the Korean front, two and a half million people participated in the public assemblies held in the capital last week, condemning the American invasion of Korea and championing the anti-imperialist cause. The actress of Yu Opera, Chang Hsiang-yu, donated a large sum for a jet fighter. The painter Huang Ran offered five of his paintings. A party of famous writers sold their manuscripts. All the proceeds are going to our army in Korea…

The news seemed as distant as if it were coming from another planet. At the same time it was so close that it was tightening my scalp, contracting my chest, and shaking my heart. Tears were coursing down Chaolin's and my faces. The air was so charged that nobody made a sound for a long while. Noiselessly we let our tears drop on the damp, yellow, foreign earth. Colonel Lee wept too.

There was to be a preparatory meeting at the Koreans' headquarters attended only by the key leaders. Chaolin stayed on for the meeting, so for the rest of the night I was free. As I walked out of the tent, large emotions were still surging in my chest. The salty breeze stung my still-wet face, and my heart was filled with homesickness and love. If only we could be heading home tomorrow! If only the moon were a transmitter that could send a telegram to my mother and Julan! But I curbed my fantasies and walked on, taking care not to get near the barbed wire, beyond which a group of GIs stood. They were smoking and jabbering, their guns emitting flecks of bluish light, their shiny helmets dulled by the string nets over the steel.

Somehow in my mind echoed the words of the Russian revolutionary novelist Nikolai Ostrovsky: "The most valuable thing to man is his life. Life belongs to him only once and should be spent this way: when he recalls his past, he will not regret having wasted any time or feel ashamed of having accomplished nothing. Thus he can say on his deathbed: I have devoted my whole life and every bit of my energy to the most magnificent cause of humanity – the struggle for the liberation of mankind." Like many others, I had committed to memory this passage from How the Steel Was Tempered, but now it was resonating more in my mind. I felt for the first time that I was a useful man, and that my life had finally been shaped by a goal. How small an individual was. Only when you joined a cause greater than yourself could you expand your individual role by a "multiplier." For the time being, maybe the struggle against the American imperialists was the "multiplier" I had been seeking. Even though my role at this conference made me feel rather aggrandized, I was, after all, a mere translator and didn't even play second fiddle to Chaolin. I got so carried away that I even considered applying for membership in the United Communist Association again.

I found a place in the tent reserved for the representatives and went right to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and I'd better rest well for it.

For breakfast all the representatives had jook, a Korean dish, which was somewhat like porridge but with meat and diced turnip in the rice. The word jook, I thought, must be derived from the Chinese word zhou, which means porridge. Every one of us was served a full bowl of it, and a plate of kimchee sat in the center of each table for everybody to share. The Koreans couldn't live without kimchee, which was obviously a rarity here. We ate almost ceremoniously; everyone seemed to make an effort not to rush. Chaolin and I didn't care for kimchee; the chili was too hot for us. But I liked the smell of the cabbage and ate a few cloves of garlic pickled in the sauce. The jook, however, was tender and tasty; the meat was from canned beef stew. Again I was impressed by the Koreans' resources.

The conference started at 9:00 a.m. in a large tent. In the middle of the room stood eight long tables grouped together and covered with blankets; chairs were arranged around the tables. At the end near the entrance was the defendant's seat, and at the opposite end was a chair for the head of the conference. On the wall behind this seat spread a Chinese and a Korean national flag. The enlarged committee meeting of the previous night had elected Colonel Choi the chairman and Hao Chaolin and another man the vice chairmen. So Choi took his seat at the head of the table; on his left Chaolin and I sat together. The three Korean women were seated next to me. In all, there were forty-two representatives and witnesses from seventeen compounds.

After everybody sat down, we began to discuss the agenda of the conference, which was approved unanimously. Then we sent for General Bell.

Bell came in with a ponderous gait and sat down in the defendant's seat. Colonel Choi announced that the conference had begun, and that the first major item on the agenda was to allow Bell to listen to the representatives' accusations and condemnations. He told the general in English, "You can defend yourself, but you must respect facts."

Then the representatives began to speak by turns. The Koreans had prepared a good deal of evidence for the abuse and violence they had suffered, and even claimed that some of their comrades had been coerced into joining the South Korean army. They described how their men had been tortured and killed just because they wanted to return to the North. A number of them had vanished, nobody knowing their whereabouts; had they been shipped away by our captors to some remote place as guinea pigs for the experiments in biochemical weapons? General Bell sat vacantly, perhaps because he couldn't understand much of what they were saying despite the joint effort of two interpreters, who spoke English with abrupt inflections and misplaced accents like beginners.

A tall man stood up and spoke in a hoarse voice, tears streaming down his face. He pointed his forefinger at the defendant and kept shouting. The left side of his face was scarred, burned, he said, by hot irons when he had refused to betray his comrades. He pulled up his shirt to display some dark wounds on his chest, which he kept slapping. He said these scars had been inflicted on him by South Korean guards and GIs. There was also a healed knife gash on his stomach in the shape of a horseshoe, which looked at least ten years old. The Korean interpreter was rendering his accusations into broken English that was hard to follow, but the main drift was clear. He was saying how he had been refused medical treatment because he wouldn't speak into a tape recorder.

After him, a squat man spoke. He said an American officer had given him a steel bar and ordered him to murder Mr. Park. He wouldn't do that, so they hung him up on a beam in the torture chamber and thrashed him almost to death. A South Korean sergeant even threatened to cut his anus and feed it to a dog. After this a willowy boy, about eighteen years old, stood up and spoke in a thin voice. He claimed that a GI often groped him when searching him at the gate to his compound.

As the accusers continued speaking, many representatives became enraged and couldn't help but shout at General Bell, who avoided looking at their scowling faces. Every once in a while Bell seemed so absentminded that Colonel Choi would order him to "Pay attention!"

One of the three female representatives, Shunji by name, could speak English. She was a high-cheeked woman of about twenty-five and must have been stout once, but now she looked rawboned with a sunburned face. She stood up and began speaking with emotion. Her voice was clear, though her accent muffled her words somewhat. She said many of the women inmates had been abused by the prison guards, who would beat and curse them at will. Some South Korean men had even burned their faces and chests with cigarettes in the presence of American officers, who had always shut their eyes to all lands of physical abuse. Shunji lifted her foot, put it on the table, and pulled up the baggy leg of her pants all the way to her thigh, which was rather skinny compared with her large body. Indeed, about a dozen brownish burns dotted her leg, each the size of a kidney bean. She also said that a girl of eighteen in their compound had been raped by four American soldiers before she was delivered to the prison camp, and that later she had given birth to a fair-skinned boy with green eyes. The malnourished mother died of heart disease afterward; now the baby was still in their barracks, as the youngest prisoner.

While she was speaking, the small woman seated beside me started sobbing. Shunji pointed at her and said, "She's been paraded through the streets of Seoul for two days, together with more than thirty sisters. The American imperialists and their Korean running dogs ride in jeeps and on big horses, whip them, and order them to take off their clothes, so all people can see them naked. They call them whores and spit on them. Some throw stones at them and beat them with canes and sticks. One of the sisters is five months pregnant, but no matter how she begs them, they go on whacking her, force her to take off her pajamas and carry an A-frame on her back, so all the passersby can make fun of her. Here's my comrade, she's living evidence of your crimes. Look at her back!" She helped the small, moon-faced woman to her feet, made her turn around, and pulled up her shirt from behind. The woman's back was a mess, marked by scars and blood-encrusted welts.

"Look at her face," said Shunji, pointing to the other woman still in her seat. All eyes turned to that face, spotted with scabs. She was quite young, under twenty, with tender, healthy skin on her neck; her blemished face must have been quite pretty once. She got up too and began speaking through Shunji as her interpreter. She said she had been a guerrilla and had been caught by Americans, who then handed her over to the South Korean police along with twenty of her comrades. They beat her, beheaded several male guerrillas in front of a large crowd, and even forced her to hold her elder brother's decapitated head so that they could take a photo of her. To this day she still had nightmares and often screamed and writhed in bed at night, wrestling ghosts. Why did the police treat human beings worse than animals? Why did the Americans encourage and connive with them? Why did GIs cross the Pacific Ocean and come to this land to ruin their lives? Her voice was growing shriller and shriller as she continued. She was so choked with emotion that her words gradually became incoherent, hard for Shunji to interpret. Finally she stopped in midsentence, then the three women held one another and broke out wailing.

A man jumped up and rushed toward General Bell, his arms flailing wildly; he was yelling like crazy, but two representatives restrained him. He said he and his comrades had also been ordered by Americans to undress completely when they were captured. The GIs thrashed their buttocks with rifle butts and jabbed the muzzles of the guns in their crotches. As a result, one of the men still had blood in his semen to this day.

Like everybody else, I was angry too, as I remembered how some men had been tortured by the pro-Nationalists. Colonel Choi told us to remain coolheaded, reminding us that Bell was just an officer who had to obey orders given by the real criminals – the U.S. government and Wall Street.

I saw Bell 's large hands, hairy and veined, shaking a little. He held the edge of the table to stop them from trembling and fixed his eyes on the teacup in front of him. Now and then he bit his lower lip.

In the afternoon the accusations and condemnations resumed. A Korean officer, who had lost his left arm, accused the medical personnel under the defendants command of amputating his good hand. He rushed over to General Bell and shouted in English, "Drue or not?" His only fist punched the tabletop, but he didn't touch Bell as we had been ordered not to.

The general stood up and said, "I'm not sure. Some of the awful things you mentioned I know might have happened, but some I don't think are true. I shall look into them nonetheless."

He remained on his feet even after the Korean officer had returned to his own seat. Colonel Choi asked Bell to sit down, and said, "We're Communists and won't treat you the way your men treat us. We respect your human dignity and will not insult and abuse you. But as an American general, you must have the courage to face the facts."

Bell nodded, sweat beading on his domed forehead.

At the midafternoon recess Chaolin and I talked about our prepared speech scheduled for delivery the following day. We felt that although we had written it out, we should present more evidence. Also, it would be impossible for me to translate our lengthy accusation into English that very night by myself; I would need help. So Chaolin went to talk with Colonel Lee and returned to Compound 602 in a jeep after dinner under the pretext of fetching a witness. The truth was that he wanted to report to Commissar Pei on the current state of affairs. At the preliminary meeting the night before, there had been a heated argument over how to handle General Bell should the enemy resort to force to rescue him. Some Korean officers insisted that they fight back with all their might, and that if need be, they should execute Bell and blame his death on the Americans' indiscriminate gunfire. Some people disagreed, saying this suggestion bordered on adventurism. Chaolin argued that we should protect Bell at all events. If the enemy attacked us, we should smuggle Bell into another compound (the Koreans had some kind of underground connection facilitated by their agents among the guards). As long as Bell remained alive in our hands, we would have an edge on the enemy. Mr. Park praised Chaolin's idea, but they were still uncertain whether Bell would cooperate with us. What if he refused to sign any agreement? The answer to this question remained unclear. Chaolin was eager to go back and consult Commissar Pei, who was more experienced and could give us instructions.

An hour later Chaolin returned with Ming and another man, Wu Gaochen, who had witnessed the bloodshed in the Third Collection Center in Pusan during the "screening" a month ago. That night together Ming and I revised our speech for the following day; then we translated the whole thing and the gist of Wu's accusation into English.

While we two were working, I told him that we had eaten dumplings the night before. He slapped me on the shoulder and said, "Damn, I should've come with Chaolin first. You stole my luck."

"Maybe tomorrow they'll give us some goodies again," I said.

"Hope so." He turned away to check an English word in our dictionary. In fact, for the rest of the conference we ate the same food as the other prisoners.

The next morning the condemnations resumed. Our man Wu Gaochen stood up and spoke. We had given General Bell the English version of his accusation, so there was no need for me to translate Gaochen's words orally. Colonel Lee had our material in Chinese and interpreted it directly from the paper for his comrades while Gaochen was speaking. In a torn voice the accuser described the violent incident that had occurred in the Third Collection Center about a month before. He told this story, which he had rehearsed twice the previous night:

"On the evening of April fourteenth two battalions of GIs surrounded our compound. Together with them were six Sherman tanks. Through a loudspeaker they ordered us to come out of our tents within five minutes and to go through the screening, which was held just outside our compound. But five minutes passed, and nobody went out. The loudspeaker ordered us again and gave us another five minutes. When the time was up, still no one had come out. They repeated the orders several times. Then about an hour later they took action. Two tanks rolled into the compound, followed by a platoon of GIs. They came to move us by force, and we resisted them with whatever we could lay our hands on. In the scuffle we beat up some GIs and grabbed two rifles from them. Because there were more prisoners involved in the fight than they'd expected, the GIs were scared and withdrew from the compound. Even the tanks turned back. This enraged their commander, who ordered another attack twenty minutes later. They fired machine guns and threw grenades at us. Instantly, thirty-four comrades were killed and more than fifty wounded. Since it was impossible to resist them with bare hands, about two hundred of us agreed to submit to the screening. Also, many of us were ill and starved and couldn't fight back at all. Their gas bombs nauseated us and stung our eyes, and we couldn't breathe and vomited repeatedly. So the Americans rounded us up and took us to the screening area.

"Both my cousin and I were among the two hundred men. Before this massacre, we two had talked about what to do if we were forced to go through the screening, and we were both determined to return home at any cost. Now all the men lined up, but we were allowed to go up to the screening desk only one at a time. When my turn came, an American officer asked me, 'Do you want to go to Free China?' 'Where's that?' I said; I truly didn't know what country it was. ' Formosa,' the man said. 'No, I want to go back to mainland China,' I told him. He handed me a card. 'Go there and join those men,' he said and pointed at a door. That's how I avoided going to Taiwan. But afterward I searched through the crowd in the yard and couldn't find my cousin. Someone told me that he had betrayed our motherland. That was impossible! We had sworn to go home together. I was so worried I burst into tears. What happened was that he had mistaken Free China for mainland China, so he'd said yes to the question. As a matter of fact, another four men from our group had made the same mistake and all had landed in the enemy's hands.

"Now, General Bell, you tell me, why did your American army force us to go through the screening? And why did you purposely set the trap for us at the screening desk? Two of the four men were loyal

Communists and couldn't have been willing to join the Nationalist ranks at all, but they were tricked into the demons' den. Before I came to Korea, I had promised my uncle and aunt to take care of my younger cousin. Now he's gone, what can I say to his parents?" Gaochen broke into noisy sobs, which made his words unintelligible. A Korean man handed him a towel.

His accusation seemed to affect General Bell, who sighed, chin in palm, his elbow resting on the table. "There're lots of crimes in the war, but I can't be responsible for all of them," he said in a low voice.

In fact, Gaochen's story of the massacre wasn't the entire picture. He had left out the immediate cause of the incident: the Chinese prisoners had planned an uprising at night, to break prison, attack an American company nearby, seize some weapons, then flee to a mountain where they would carry on guerrilla warfare. But a traitor among them stole away to inform the guards. That was why such a large force came to subdue the prisoners. Of course, when preparing the accusation, we were told to expunge the cause of the incident. Neither General Bell nor the Koreans could know the whole story.

Now it was my turn. I spoke in English, describing the persecution in Compound 72 – how Liu Tai-an had disemboweled Lin Wushen and how my former schoolmate Yang Huan had been cudgeled and strangled to death. After giving an account of how the pro-Nationalist officers in that compound had cut some men to collect the tattoos they themselves had inflicted on them by force, I pulled up my shirt and displayed the words on my belly – FUCK COMMUNISM. To my surprise, General Bell chuckled. He immediately checked himself; yet his large nose still gave out a snuffling sound. I banged the table with my fist and shouted, "You think this is funny, huh? Damn you!"

"No, that's not what I think," he said. "I can't imagine they'd play such a prank."

"Prank?" I cried. "With these words on me, how can I live a normal life in my homeland?"

Red patches appeared on his face. "I hadn't thought of it in that light." He lowered his head and pressed his lips.

"This is a crime, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, of course."

"This took place in one of the compounds under your charge. Are you not responsible for it?"

"Maybe in part, I would say," he muttered.

"Those prison chiefs were trained in Japan and Taiwan, and then sent back by your government to help you run the camp. They murdered and beat us at will. Isn't the American government responsible for their crimes?"

"If what you say is true, our government didn't do a great job. To be frank, I have no idea who trained them."

His equivocal answer infuriated me. I lost self-control, shouting at him hysterically, "Stop dodging! You think you're clean? Let me tell you, you too are a criminal whose hands are stained with Chinese and Korean blood. You think you can pretend you don't know what crimes your men committed? You think you can bend our will and force us to betray our motherland? Do you know what the true Chinese spirit is? Let me tell you, if we're alive, we're Chinese men; if we're dead, we're Chinese ghosts. Those bastards under your protection can never change us by mutilating our bodies. Let me say this to you – "

Ming grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me out of the tent to cool me down. "Boy, I never thought you could be so emotional," he said. I too was surprised by my outburst, which began to embarrass me.

When we had returned to the tent after a smoke, Colonel Choi asked solemnly, "General Bell, are you responsible for the crimes committed by your men or not?"

"Maybe for some of them."

"Are you guilty or not?"

After a long pause, Bell answered, "Perhaps partially."

Chaolin stood up and spoke in a voice of some authority. By now I had calmed down, so I translated his words to the general.

Chaolin said, "We understand that as an officer, you have to obey your government's orders. Yet what you have done is to sow the seeds of hatred among peoples. We believe the American people love peace and hate war, just like us Chinese and Koreans. We hope you can do something to make amends."

Bell nodded and said, "Thank you for your wise words. Trust me, I won't forget this experience, or this lesson. I shall try my very best to correct our mistakes." There was a slight tremor in his voice.

In the afternoon we went about working on two documents. The first one was called "The Korean and Chinese POWs' Accusations," which listed the major crimes perpetrated by the prison guards and would be released to the world (General Bell's kidnapping had already drawn international attention and some reporters had arrived at Koje Island). The second one was entitled "The Promise Made by the American Prison Authorities" – it was meant to be signed by Bell, so that we could get decent treatment and have our living conditions improved.

After a brief meeting we unanimously agreed on the four prerequisites for Bell's release: first, the prison guards must stop using violence on the inmates; second, the prison authorities must abandon the policy of the so-called "Voluntary Repatriation of Prisoners"; third, they must call off the screening of the North Korean and the Chinese soldiers; fourth, they must recognize the union of the POWs as a legitimate association and cooperate with it.

Now everything would depend on whether General Bell would accept these preconditions. If he did, he'd be set free and the victory would be ours.

We wondered how the enemy would respond to our demands. Their new commandant, General Smart, who had arrived the previous night to replace Fulton and take full command of the camp, had already issued six ultimatums, ordering us to release Bell unconditionally, but we had ignored them all. As our discussion continued, the telephone rang. Colonel Lee picked up the handset and passed it to a Korean interpreter. I sat nearby and could hear the voice at the other end. The caller was General Fulton, who wanted to speak to Bell.

An orderly was sent for the general. Two minutes later Bell stepped in. Choi told him, pointing at the phone, " Fulton wants to speak to you."

"Hello, this is Matt," Bell said into the mouthpiece.

"How are you, Matt?" asked the other end. I craned my neck so that I could overhear the whole conversation.

"I'm okay, Charlie."

"Listen, Nancy has arrived from Tokyo. I went to see her just now. She was crying, this is hard for her. She's so emotional that I haven't told her yet that we have phone contact with you. But she may call you soon."

Bell furrowed his brow. "Please tell her I'm fine, no need to worry."

"Matt, tell me, have they insulted or tortured you? We're very concerned."

"Believe me, I'm okay." Bell glanced at Colonel Choi and went on, "In fact they've been respectful."

"Thank God! Do you know how long they'll keep you? Tell me what I can do to help."

"I've no idea, maybe when their conference is over. Don't press them. Just let them go on with their conference."

"All right, I'll stay around here. Call anytime you need me."

"Thank you, Charlie. This means a lot. Let's hope we'll meet soon."

"Yes, I'll keep my fingers crossed, Matt. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

I was amazed by the phone call, not having expected that the American generals would talk in a casual, personal manner in the midst of such a crisis. They had treated each other as friends, not as comrades who shared the same ideal and fought for the same cause. They hadn't mentioned any ideological stuff. What a contrast this was to Chinese officers, who, in a situation like this, would undoubtedly speak in the voice of revolutionaries, and one side would surely represent the Party.

After dinner Chaolin and I went to see General Bell. The previous evening Commissar Pei had instructed Chaolin to mediate between the Koreans and the Americans and make sure that Bell signed the agreement. The commissar also said that he would organize demonstrations in Compound 602 to support our struggle, and that we must remain composed and reasonable, because a victory could be earned only through careful planning and patient negotiation. Our Korean comrades tended to be too hot-blooded and would even refer to themselves as Great Stalin's soldiers who wouldn't share the same earth and sky with the American imperialists. Many of them lost their temper easily.

General Bell looked exhausted, but he seemed pleased to see us. After we sat down, Chaolin told him through my translation, "General, we do want you to return to your family safely. That's why we came to talk with you."

"Thank you. I appreciate your good intentions," Bell said.

"We understand that your wife is here, and your children must be worried about you too. So please sign the agreement tomorrow. If you don't, we're afraid our Korean comrades may lose their patience. To tell the truth, we've been trying to keep them from running berserk."

"Well, I'll have to see what's on that paper before I sign it."

"We understand that. If you can't accept some parts of the agreement, talk with them. Don't just turn it down categorically. I'll try to persuade them to revise it. In short, don't lose this opportunity for peace."

"I shall keep that in mind."

"Good. Have a restful night."

"The same to you."

We went out and felt relieved. It was overcast, and soundless lightning slashed the northern sky and silhouetted the ridges of the distant hills. We parted company because I had to join Ming in preparing the documents for the following day.

Early the next morning, a copy of our preconditions was delivered to General Smart. While waiting for his reply, we held the ceremony of signing the agreement. On the ground outside the tent sat over seven thousand men in neat lines, though some of them were carrying self-made weapons, whose wide variety precluded the uniformity of the formation. They were waiting to hear the final outcome of our three days' struggle. Meanwhile, inside the tent the atmosphere was solemn and tense. Colonel Choi announced that this was the last part of our conference and that now we were going to test the sincerity of General Bell's attitude toward his crimes. With a wave of his hand he summoned an interpreter to read this agreement to our captive:

I promise to immediately stop our barbarous behavior, our insult and torture of Korean and Chinese prisoners, such as forcing them to write reactionary letters in blood, threats of solitary confinement, mass murdering, rifle and machine-gun shooting, using poison gas, germ weapons, experiments with the prisoners for the A-bomb.

I also promise to observe the Geneva Convention, humanely treat my prisoners, the Brave Soldiers of Great Stalin, give good medical service, human food, new clothing, and stationery. I shall follow international law and let all POWs go back to their home country safely.

I also promise to stop "Voluntary Repatriation" and screening prisoners, and to punish my soldiers who beat and curse prisoners.

Brigadier General Matthew Bell

While listening I felt the hair on the nape of my neck bristle. My head was reeling. The previous afternoon we had discussed what this document should include, and nobody had mentioned stationery, new clothing, or the A-bomb. How could our Korean comrades have produced such a wild piece of writing?

The interpreter went up to Bell and with both hands presented the sheet of paper to him. Bell put on his reading glasses and looked through it. He said calmly, "There's no way I can sign this."

"Why?" asked Colonel Choi, whose small eyes turned triangular.

"The language is inappropriate, and I'm not authorized to respond to some of these demands."

Chaolin stepped in, "Do you wish to revise it?"

Bell thought for a moment, then shook his head. "This is impossible to revise. It has to be rewritten."

When the Korean interpreter had translated his words, all eyes glowered at the general. Bell flinched but added, "If I signed this, it would constitute treason. I'm an honorable man and won't commit such a crime against my country."

A Korean officer slapped the table and yelled at him. Shunji, the woman who knew English, interpreted his words to Bell: "No signature, no go back!"

Quick-witted, Chaolin said to the general, "How about this – you write something that covers the essence of our demands and is also acceptable to yourself?"

"Well…" Bell fingered his mustache and seemed reluctant. Then he said, "All right, let me try."

He picked up a ballpoint and wrote on a pad of yellow paper:

With regard to your demands, I admit that there were instances of abuse and bloodshed in the prison compounds on Koje Island, and that some POWs were killed by other inmates and injured by the U.N. guards. As the commanding officer I am partially responsible for the loss of lives. I can assure you that in the future the POWs here will receive humane treatment in accordance with international law. I will do everything in my capacity to prevent violence, bloodshed, and corporal punishment. If such incidents occur again, I should be called to account.

He looked through the statement carefully and stopped at a spot for a long time. He picked up the pen, then put it down. He handed the pad to us.

I roughly translated the contents to Chaolin. He lowered his head and mulled them over for a few seconds, then asked, "This is acceptable to us, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's pretty good," I said.

We passed the statement on to the Korean interpreter. He began translating it to their officers and representatives, some of whom got angry, shaking their heads and shouting. Chaolin went over to Choi and talked with him. He insisted that despite the absence of most of the details they had put in, the statement in principle conveyed the spirit of our original demands, especially where Bell mentioned he was partially responsible for the crimes. As for the issue of screening the prisoners, Bell indeed might not be in a position to respond to it. Both Choi and Lee nodded in agreement; probably they realized there was no other way to break this deadlock.

So we told Bell that we would go along with his version. He signed it willingly, then took off his glasses and rested his arm on the back of the chair, gazing at us almost emotionlessly. He closed his eyes, perspiration gathering on his forehead.

All the people in the tent stood up and applauded. Bell got to his feet, clapping lightly too. Chaolin and I went up to him. We shook hands with him for the first time. His grip was heavy and damp.

Then came a storm of hurrahs from outside. From Compound 76 the news of our victory spread through shouts to other compounds, which began celebrating it as well. Meanwhile, a group of prisoners painted two sentences, as though directly quoted from General Bell's promise, on white sheets and hung them on the front fence for the Americans to see: "WE WILL NOT KILL AGAIN!" and "WE WILL TREAT POWS HUMANELY!"

After lunch the new American commandant, General Smart, showed up at the front gate to receive Bell. He had been sent over to cope with the crisis, because the commander of U.N. forces, General Ridgway, was unhappy about the way General Fulton had handled this incident, especially about his allowing us to hold the conference. We took Bell to the gate and handed General Smart a receipt to sign. Smart was a stocky man with a firm paunch, a muscular face, and rheumy eyes. We could tell he loathed us and was disgusted with the piece of paper, which read:

Today I received an American brigadier general Matthew Bell from the fearless Korean soldiers in Prison Compound 76. After careful examination, Bell is good in every respect, no trace of insult and physical damage. I prove this statement!

The Highest American Commander on Koje Island

Signature____________________

May 11, 1952

With a grunt General Smart signed his name. Then we shook hands with Bell again. He got into a blue sedan, and many of us waved goodbye to him. In spite of General Smarts glum face, Bell doffed his cap a bit as the car drew away.

At 2:00 p.m. a celebration started in Compound 76. After Colonel Choi summarized this episode and its importance to the seven thousand men, Chaolin delivered a speech too. He thanked the Korean comrades-in-arms for this great victory and said we Chinese would learn from their heroic spirit and bravery. He concluded by declaring forcefully, "The Chinese people will remember this great historical deed forever!"

I was moved, intoxicated by the euphoria over the victory, to which I had also contributed my little share. In joining the great struggle, I felt as though my life had finally gained a purpose.

In the midst of loud applause, Ming went to the front and belted out "Song of the Guerrillas on Mount Halla " in Korean. He had just learned this song from one of the three women. He was such a splendid singer that the audience encored him, so he sang a snatch from the Chinese opera The White-Haired Girl. After that, the three women performed a short dance and then chanted "The Spring Song." And finally, a group of prisoners acted out a skit, "Capturing General Bell Alive."

Besides the men of Compound 76, the POWs in a nearby compound also watched the performances from across a narrow road. Altogether there were more than thirteen thousand spectators. Even the American military police and the South Korean guards couldn't help but keep their eyes in our direction.