The Corpse Walker: Real Life Stories: China From the Bottom Up (30 page)

Then, he continued to lecture me: Those officials out there are all liars. Under normal circumstances, they trick you into confessing, promising you the reward of a reduced sentence. Once you tell everything, they never keep their promise. You probably end up with a bullet in the head. However, this campaign is different. The media has written about it. If those officials renege on their promises, they will lose face and credibility. After hearing his lecture, I told him the same thing: I don't really have anything to confess. The big boss finally lost patience with me. He tossed me a pen and a notepad, and said: Don't try to fool me. You'd better tell everything to the authorities. Just blame everything on your accomplices who are on the lam. Your confession will benefit me. I can take credit for extracting the truth out of you. If I'm lucky, I can get my sentence reduced.

I was left with no choice. I took the pen and began to agonize over my confession. The cell was like a classroom and every “student” was asked to write a paper. The big boss walked around the room, making sure that every inmate was following instructions. I wrote in detail about what I had already told the police. After a whole day of nonstop writing and rewriting, we finally turned in our “papers.” The next morning, we were told that half of the inmates had failed to produce any new stuff. The big boss became mad, really mad. He told his lackeys to slap and kick us. Then he ordered us to kneel down, put our notepads on the floor, and then bend over to revise our confessions. It was very painful to kneel and bend like that for hours. Two older inmates couldn't take it after ten or fifteen minutes. They began to moan with pain. The big boss dragged the two guys to the chamber pot and dipped their heads in urine. He then forced them to resume. Every now and then, he would yell at us: Your confession needs to be sensational. Don't try to simplify and whitewash. The more serious your crimes are, the better it makes me look.

Under the intense pressure, my fellow inmates began to fabricate stories of rape. Having grown up in the countryside, I was an honest bumpkin. I wasn't good at making up stories. I kept writing the same thing. The big boss became really irritated. He lit up a cigarette and poked the burning end of the cigarette at my eyelids. I began to scream. He ordered another inmate to seal my mouth with Scotch tape. He then grabbed my hair and said: Are you fucking with me? I have the backing of the prison authority, do you know that? He threw me onto the floor and asked other inmates to kick me. After about ten minutes, he told them to stop and unsealed my mouth. He asked again: Are you going to do it or not? I got up, knelt in front of him, and said: Sir, I don't really have anything to write.

Again, he grabbed my hair, and asked one inmate to pry my mouth open: You have a very stubborn tongue. He stuffed four or five burning cigarette butts right into my mouth. They hurt but I couldn't spit them out because two guys were holding my head and chin. I coughed violently and tears ran down my face. The big boss asked again: Are you ready to confess or not? If you don't, I'm going to light up this whole packet of cigarettes and stuff them down your throat.

I caved in and became creative. I admitted that I had robbed graves before. He asked: How many times? I raised both hands and showed him eight of my fingers. He smiled: Very good!

Believe it or not, my imagination began to run wild. Even though there were many grammatical errors in my report, I did it very vividly. I said that I started robbing graves at the age of fifteen and had been in the business for nine years. I used chisels, hammers, and flashlights as tools. Each time I robbed a grave, I would hide the excavated treasures, such as gold, jewelry, and other valuables, under some shrubs. I would then dig them out five or six months later, after the coast was clear.

I also said that I used a special compass to locate tombs. The compass helped me to detect how much treasure was buried inside.

Before dinnertime, I showed my newly fabricated confession to the big boss. He was very satisfied with the information. He then handed them over to the guard on duty. As a reward, I was given a bowl of spicy pork. I was so hungry and wanted to swallow it all. But my mouth and my tongue still hurt from the cigarette burns. Every bite brought excruciating pain. It took me two hours to finish that meal.

The next day, one guard put the handcuffs on me and shoved me into a police car. I was supposed to take four police detectives to my hometown and uncover those hidden treasures. The car jolted along the bumpy road for about four or five hours. We passed Xijia Mountain and then came to a crossroad. The police asked me which way to go. I pointed randomly to a small side road. The police car drove right on. Then the car came to a sudden stop. I realized that we had come to a dead end, in front of a run-down farmhouse.

The police became impatient. They waved their guns at me: Where the hell is it? I stammered: It—it's somewhere around here. They kicked me out of the car. I had no idea where we were. I simply pointed in the direction of a hill nearby. The police parked their car on the side of the road and all four of them followed me. My mind was running blank. All I did was to amble forward into the bushes, jump over small streams, and climb steep slopes. About twenty minutes later, we saw over ten tombs scattered around a cleared area. I sat down, exhausted. I pointed at the tombs and said, There they are. The policemen were panting, gasping for air. They asked me: Which one? I simply drew a circle on the ground, and said: From here to there. One guy took out a small military shovel from his backpack, and a piece of elaborate-looking equipment. Seeing that the police took my words really seriously, I began to tremble with fear. I walked around those tombs, pretending I was trying to remember where I had buried my treasures. The guy with the detecting equipment followed me. Others were digging frantically. An hour later, nothing had turned up. As darkness fell, the head of the group lost his patience. He seized the collar of my shirt and yelled: Where in the hell did you bury your treasures? I put both of my hands up: Sir, I really don't know . . . Before I even finished my sentence, he punched me in the face. I fell into the bushes. I struggled to get up, and knelt in front of him: Sir, please forgive me. I lied and I deserve to die. One guy tried to hit me with his shovel, but was stopped by the group leader.

By the time we walked back to the parked car, it was already after midnight. On our way back, I told them about the tortures I had gone through and explained to them why I had to lie. Nobody listened to my story. One guy even pointed his gun at my face and said: If you don't shut up, I'm going to blow your head off.

LIAO:
You certainly played a big practical joke on the police.

TIAN:
I had no choice. Otherwise I would have to swallow a whole pack of burning cigarettes. My body could have been turned into a furnace.

LIAO:
What happened later on?

TIAN:
The big boss in my cell blamed me for trashing his opportunity of getting a reward. He and other inmates stripped me naked and ordered me to stand by the chamber pot for twenty-four hours. Each time I tried to doze off, they would use cigarette butts to burn the hair under my armpit, on my legs, and around my genitals. It was so painful but I didn't dare to make a noise for fear that the guards would hear it. If they had, it could have gotten me into more trouble with the big boss. I passed out a couple of times from the pain, but the big boss wouldn't give up. He ordered one inmate to inject some peppery water up into my ass. I begged him: Please have mercy. I promise I will confess this time. Nobody believed me. I said: No. I swear to Chairman Mao that what I'm saying is true. If I lie, my mother will turn into a whore for the Americans. My desperate begging made everyone laugh. He softened his tone by saying: If I can't get you to confess, the guards will give me a hard time. I'm glad you understand.

I then fabricated more stories in my second round of confession. Before I gave it to the guard, the big boss reviewed it and forced me to put a statement at the end of my confession. It read: If I tell lies this time, I'm willing to subject myself to any type of punishment from the people's government, including the death penalty.

LIAO:
You were really bold.

TIAN:
What would you expect me to do? I knew very well that the authorities would take a couple of days or so to read my confession. Then it would take another day before they decided to drive me out to find the hidden treasures. That would buy me several days of peace. I could also get some food. As for what consequences those lies would bring me, I didn't even care to think. After two days of peace and quiet, I was on the road again, in a police car. Once again, we ended up with nothing. The police kicked me and slapped me and tied both of my hands tightly behind my back. I was locked up in solitary confinement for several days. When I was back in my cell, the big boss ordered more beatings. I passed out many times. Each time after I regained consciousness, I would beg and scream: I'm going to tell the truth this time, I swear to Chairman Mao. They never trusted me again. Several times, when I saw the guards passing by in the hallway, I would reach my hands out through the iron bars, trying to get their help. They simply ignored my plea.

But one day, things suddenly began to change. Two guards came and took the big boss away. At the end of the day, he came back, subdued and silent. When the other inmates saw that, they all got scared and sat around him quietly. I picked my usual spot by the chamber pot, anticipating another round of beatings. But nothing happened. At bedtime, several of his lackeys tried to massage his back and made his bed for him, but he simply pushed them away.

LIAO:
Could it be that some high-level officials were coming in for an inspection?

TIAN:
Not exactly. The next day, all inmates were called to the courtyard for a meeting, just like the one we had had before. After the meeting started, five inmates were paraded onto the podium. Two guards pushed them down onto the ground, with their faces down and their hands tied behind their backs. It turned out that during the “Confession Leads to Leniency” campaign, a guy in Cell Six had died from severe beatings from his fellow detainees. He was a midlevel executive at a state-run enterprise, and was a chief suspect in an embezzling case. Police interrogated him for a week, but he wouldn't admit any guilt. The guards secretly asked inmates to roughen him up a bit. That poor guy wasn't up to it. After getting hit and kicked on the chest by a couple of bullies, his face turned blue. But those guys still wouldn't stop. One tall guy grabbed the former executive by the feet and held him upside down while another one punched him in the stomach. Soon, his body became limp and he began to spit blood. By the time the guards found out, the executive had already died. His death leaked out to the media. To prevent future embarrassment, the local government ordered prison authorities to crack down on big bullies inside the detention center. But who were the real murderers? Not those bullies. They were coerced by the guards, none of whom was taking responsibility.

LIAO:
This practice of ordering prisoners to extract confessions from fellow inmates has been around for a long time, from the Qing dynasty to the present.

TIAN:
Yeah, that's what everyone says. But that doesn't mean it's legal. After the meeting, the big boss in my cell was scared shitless. He knelt down, kowtowed to a little portrait of the Buddha that had been smuggled in by an inmate: He then told his lackeys to be careful during future tortures: We should focus on those areas where we can cause pain and discomfort without killing the person. He then patted me on my shoulder: Thank God you didn't die in my hands.

The next day, right after breakfast, the loudspeaker inside each cell was suddenly turned on—we were told that the bullies were going to be paraded around inside the detention center. We all gathered around the iron bars and looked toward the hallway. Soon, the bullies in Cell Six came, and stopped right in front of us. They recited a couple of lines, like robots: My name is so and so and I'm a bully. I illegally tortured my fellow detainees. I deserve severe punishment. Please do not follow my example. After that, they were dragged away to another cell. It was quite a festive occasion. Several guys in my cell started to applaud. The big boss gave them a nasty look, and they immediately stopped.

The campaign worked in my favor. During the next week, it was very peaceful and the big boss was nice.

Before I even had the chance to witness the execution of those bullies, my brother and I were released. My poor brother was locked up in a separate cell and suffered internal injuries from the bullies. When we got home, we found out that our mother had gone insane. She would sit by the door all day, without moving. She peed and shat in her pants. My dad moved in with my elder sister's family. He would come in to cook for my mother every couple of days and clean. My brother and I used to be very energetic. But after we got out of jail, our health got really bad. We looked like ghosts and didn't have the strength to do any physical labor. On top of that, we were shunned by everyone in the village because people thought we were thieves. My brother had blood in his stool for a long time, but he doesn't have money to see a doctor. I've been having bladder problems for nine years and I'm impotent. I think about women all the time, but just can't get it up. I don't think I'm capable of having kids to carry on the family name. Someone needs to pay for our sufferings.

LIAO:
How?

TIAN:
I became a beggar and wandered in the county for quite a while. One day, I overheard someone talking about a newspaper report that said that a peasant had won a lawsuit against the local Public Security Bureau. I was inspired by the story. I changed into some clean clothes, and went to seek advice at a law office. I told the lawyer in tears about my detention and the tragic impact on my family.