War Trash (14 page)

Two days later, on the evening of March 26,1952, I was summoned to our company's office. When I stepped into the hut, I heard noises in the inner room, in which some people were gathered. They didn't raise their voices, but I could smell alcohol and hear the clink of tableware. Wang Yong, the company chief, sitting at his desk alone, beckoned me to sit down. In front of him stood a mug of steaming cocoa, whose rich scent aroused a pang in my stomach. With a smile on his lumpy face he said, "Brother Feng, we don't have a lot of time to play this game anymore. Tell me who you were."

"I was just a company secretary."

"Stop faking. We know you enrolled at the Huangpu Military Academy. Am I right? Ha-ha, got you." He tossed his head and chortled.

Flustered, I remained silent, wondering where he had obtained this information. Did Wanlin betray me too? Unlikely. I couldn't have been so important as to constitute a question for him in the interrogation. I scrambled to say, "How can you prove that? I never went to college."

"Then how come you know English?"

"I learned it from a missionary."

"Come on, stop pulling this old man's leg. I can tell you how I came to know your background. One of our cooks used to work in the kitchen at your academy. He recognized your face but didn't know your name. He was positive you studied at the Huangpu. See, I'm fair and square with you."

I didn't know what to say and kept my eyes fixed on the warped desktop.

He went on, "Brother Feng, I like you a lot. You're such an innocent, good-looking man that I bet you haven't slept with a woman yet. Why should you tie yourself to the Commies? Most of them may never make it back alive. It's not worth dying for them and being buried in this rotten appendix of northeast Asia."

That was the first time I had heard that expression used to describe Korea. Somewhat amused, I said honestly, "I'm not a Communist, Chief Wang, but I have to go home. I have a sick old mother and a fiancee on the mainland." I took the snapshot of Julan out of my pocket and showed it to him.

He glanced at it, apparently unimpressed, and said, "We all have parents and siblings in China, but a real man should set up his home where his heart is. As for your woman, what you said doesn't hold water."

"How come?"

"I served in the Communist army and know their rules. You're not allowed to live with your woman until you reach the rank of battalion commander. When will you ever be qualified for that? Can you stand that kind of separation from her? Remember when you were at the Huangpu Academy and could pick a girl anytime you liked? This is a big difference, isn't it?"

"My fiancee is a college student in Chengdu City where my division stayed, so we can live close to each other even if I'm not an officer."

"My, you're so naive and single-minded. Your division was already liquidated by the Americans. It doesn't exist anymore. How can you go back to Chengdu? And with whom?"

A sharp pang compressed my chest, but I managed to say, "I'm engaged and obligated to go home."

"Forget about that, brother. There're lots of pretty women in Taiwan. I promise you that once we get there, I'll take you to a pleasure house at my expense, and you'll be so happy that you'll forget where your home is." He paused as though having caught himself. "I'm sorry," he said. "You know I'm not a gentleman and can express myself only in a crude way. In fact, I never went to middle school and never read a book in my whole life. I shouldn't have used those coarse words just now, but I meant good."

"If this is why you had me here, I'm grateful, chief. Can I leave now?"

"Wait a second, we haven't gotten to the real business yet." He lurched up and came around the desk while saying, "I'd like to invite you to dinner this evening so we can chat a bit more."

Without waiting for my agreement, he clutched my elbow and took me into the inner room, where seven men were gathered, all apparently his underlings and buddies. The moment we stepped in, applause broke out. "Welcome, Officer Feng," one of them addressed me. Then the others greeted me respectfully too, as though I were their superior. Obviously they all knew I had been a cadet at the Huangpu Academy.

The air in here was acrid, gray with tobacco smoke. Five tall lamps stood on the dirt floor, the harsh light casting gigantic human shadows on the gray walls. Apparently they had arranged this dinner for me. The high-wattage lamps were intended to keep the room warm. On the round table in front of the men were four courses – a basin of fried squid, a pot of sautéed cabbage with dried clams, a mixing bowl of kimchee, and a roast pork shoulder, which must have weighed at least fifteen pounds, in a rectangular iron pan. Beside the dishes stood a jar of wheat liquor and two bottles of brandy; there was also an aluminum washbasin containing rice covered with a napless towel. The tableware was assorted: bowls and plates of different sizes and colors, army mugs, coffee cups, knives, forks, spoons, and chopsticks. I was somewhat overwhelmed by the sight of the copious dinner, from which I had to force my eyes away. This was the first abundant meal I had seen in a year. Where did they get so much good stuff? Small wonder many prisoners complained that their leaders engaged in graft.

Wang Yong announced: "Today we got together here for two purposes. Number one, to let our brothers get to know each other better. Number two, to celebrate the good news that we're going to depart for the Free World soon!"

They all applauded and I also clapped. Then they began talking about what Taiwan was like and how to restart their lives there. At this point most of them were just drinking, and nobody seemed eager to start eating, though I noticed some of them stealing glances at the pork shoulder. I sipped the brandy in a mug, wondering what I should do – stay or leave? I knew the risk of being here: if one of them took a photo of me at this table, I would be done for, because they could publicize it as evidence of my collaboration with them. Then the Communists would surely punish me. Then again, I doubted if they had a camera.

"Officer Feng," a man with a smooth oval face asked me, "are you going to Taiwan with us?"

"No," I said calmly as all eyes turned to me.

"Then to the U.S.A.?"

"That country doesn't take in Chinese prisoners like us, you know that."

"Where will you go then?"

"Back to the mainland."

"Why? I don't understand. Why are you so loyal to the Reds? What can you get from them?"

"Officer Feng," a freckled man put in, "don't miss the boat. If you don't go with us this time, you'll kick yourself for the rest of your life."

"Come on," chimed in another man, "think about it, Officer Feng. How many men graduated from the Huangpu Military Academy? And how many are still alive after all the battles with the Red Bandits? You'll be a treasure to the Nationalists once you reach Taiwan. Generalissimo Chiang always treats the graduates from the Huangpu like his own sons and grandsons. You'll have a great future if you follow us."

"You may be right," I said, "but I have an old mother at home. I can't abandon her."

Wang Yong said to them, "All right, we just drink and eat today, no more politics. Let's chat about friendship and something happy, no other irrelevant topics." He poured a cup of wheat liquor for me. "Brother Feng, I know you usually don't drink, but this may be our last gathering here. At the least you should take a drop to acknowledge our brotherhood."

He looked so sincere, even humble, that I lifted the cup and took a swallow.

"Drink up!" urged a voice.

"Glass dry!"

"Yes, down it like a man."

Some of them were draining their bowls and mugs while the others attacked the dishes. I stood up and said, "Please forgive me, I can't stay any longer."

"No, you haven't drunk from my bowl yet," said the oval-faced man, already tipsy.

"You can't go!" A beefy man jumped to his feet, grabbed the front of my jacket, and pulled a dagger out of his belt. He placed it at my throat. Then another man punched me in the face and I fell backward on the floor.

Wang Yong helped me up. He turned and slapped the beefy man, ordering, "Put that thing back, you brute. You're not drunk yet."

More incensed now, the man stamped his feet, brandishing the dagger. He yelled, "Feng Yan, you've never appreciated our elder brother's kindness! You look down on every one of us. Who are you anyway? You're just a fart bag from the Huangpu Academy. You've followed the Reds like a dog, and you're a traitor to our Nationalist cause. Think about this: we've never forced you to join any group, never tattooed you, we've given you all the privileges a POW can have – but you abused our kindness. You – you – I have to get a piece of your flesh today. I don't believe we can't teach you how to behave!" He plunged the dagger into the table, and with a thud it stood beside a bottle.

"Damn you, get out of here!" Wang Yong shouted at him. A few hands dragged the man into the office and put him on a cot in a corner.

Silence fell over the room while my heart galloped.

"Sit down, everybody," said Wang. He turned to me after we were seated again. "Truth be told," he went on, "brother, I really like you, like your ability and your looks. They alone promise a great career, a top-ranking officer. Also, because I can see that you're honest, I want to make friends with you. I'm a coarse man, no manners, only three years' schooling. By making friends with someone like you, I mean to get above myself. I might as well spill out everything here – we want to take you to Taiwan so that we can get help from you one of these days."

"From me?" I was amazed, wondering if he was drunk too.

"Yes, from you."

"How?"

"You graduated from the Huangpu, and beyond question Generalissimo Chiang will promote you to a high position soon after you get to Taiwan. But who are we? Just a bunch of peasants and clods. None of us even finished elementary school. On the mainland we were treated like garbage, and in Taiwan it'll be the same story all over again. You're different. So I always thought when you become a general, you might still remember a coarse man like me, who once treated you like a friend. Feng Yan, you're so young, but your heart is poisoned by the Commies. Why can't you go to Taiwan with us? Without an able man among us, no one here will get anywhere, and again we'll be dumped to the bottom of society." He covered his face with both hands, sobbing brokenheartedly. The other men tried to calm him down, but he cried harder, like a small boy. Obviously he had drunk too much.

Touched by his candor, I said, "Chief Wang, you shouldn't be so upset. As you always say to me, every man has his own choice. Believe me, I'm not a Commie. I want to go home only because I miss my mother and my fiancee. How could I enjoy life in another place if I abandoned them?" As I was speaking, tears streamed down my face too. I stood up and lifted the cup of liquor. "Chief Wang, I cherish your friendship and will never forget this night. Let's drink up."

They all got to their feet and downed the alcohol in their mugs, bowls, and cups. Then I said, "Forgive me, brothers, I have to go now." I turned around, went into the office, raised the canvas door curtain, and stepped into the cool night.

Stars were rubbing one another in the indigo sky while the moon resembled a face grinning and baring its teeth. A dog yapped in the distance, and a ship sounded its horn from the sea like a crazed bull. My head ached; my temples pounded. Never before had I drunk so much that I felt like vomiting. As I staggered around the corner of a large tent, a shadow leaped out. "Who is it?" I asked.

Then a heavy object hit the back of my head and I dropped to the ground.

When I woke up in our small tent, to my horror I saw two English words tattooed on my belly, right below my navel: FUCK COMMUNISM. Dajian and a few fellows sat near me, sighing and cursing the pro-Nationalists. A folded wet towel lay on my forehead, but I still felt woozy. The tattoo terrified me. With these words on me, how could I return to China? Tears gushed out of my eyes, though I squeezed my lids to force them back. As if stabbed in the heart, I blacked out again.

I don't know whether Wang Yong ordered them to have me tattooed. He might have or might not. I was too devastated to place the blame, frightened by the thought that I might never be able to erase the words from my skin.

Two days later Dajian was abducted by Wang Yong's men. They tied him to a chair in the company's office and tattooed these words on his right arm: FIGHT COMMUNISM OPPOSE RUSSIA. He was devastated too, weeping and saying he was done for. Yet to a degree, we were lucky – they hadn't marked on us a hog, an animal they used to identify a Communist. By contrast, on a pro-Nationalist they often tattooed a map of China below a slogan chosen by the man himself, the map including all of Mongolia and a part of Siberia. Neither Dajian nor I knew what to do about our tattoos. He relied on me for a solution. I told him not to lose heart and that there must be a way to exonerate ourselves, but in reality I too was at a loss.

9. BEFORE THE SCREENING

I showed my tattoo to Chang Ming across the barbed-wire fence. He didn't seem surprised, though he wondered why they had used English instead of Chinese. "Do you think I can have this removed eventually?" I asked him.

"A surgeon can get rid of it, I'm sure."

"What should I do now? With these words on me, how do I dare to return to the mainland?"

My last sentence seemed to startle him. He said gloomily, "We didn't anticipate that they'd tattoo our men."

"Can you ask Commissar Pei what I should do? Maybe he can give us instructions."

"We still haven't gotten in touch with him yet."

"How about contacting him through the Koreans? They must have a secret channel."

"We'll try."

"You do it soon, otherwise we'll be lost. We really don't know how to deal with this if the screening starts tomorrow."

I had Dajian on my mind too; that was why I ended up using the pronoun "we." Ming promised to let me know what to do in two days. He seemed underslept lately, his eyes dim and tired and his cheekbones more prominent, but he was quite optimistic and assured me that there must be a way to cope with this. He even joked that if he had been me he would have stuffed himself with the pork roast and fried squid before saying good-bye to Wang Yong. He said I should be more tactful, not just act like "a rigid intellectual."