War Trash (17 page)

A U.N. official came in to check our ID tags against his record and made us sign our names on a ruled manila envelope. About a dozen U.N. guards, all empty-handed, showed up too, so the hall quieted down some.

Meanwhile Dajian, standing behind me with several men between us in the line, kept looking at me and asked with his sluggish eyes what we should do. I turned my head away, not wanting to face him because I had no idea either. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him shaking his chin at me a few times, but I didn't respond. Besides, our battalion's police didn't allow anyone to talk, so I couldn't go up to him and say that all we could do was act as the circumstances required.

A pebble hit my back, signaling it was my turn. With shaky steps I moved to the side door. I walked slowly so as to see what it was like outside and to assess the situation. Some GIs stood at the entrances to the white tents, all having MP painted on their helmets and on their dark blue brassards. An idea finally came to mind: if the arbiters forced me to go to Taiwan I would rush out of the tent and beg the GIs to send me to the group heading for the mainland. If I spoke to them in English, they might help me, I guessed.

After entering a tent, I was ordered to sit down in front of two American officers, with a folding table between us. One of them was a Caucasian, tall with a long face and in a pea-green shirt; the other was a stocky Chinese. The white man, a captain, began speaking to me about the Geneva Convention and the consequences of my decision. I was amazed that he could speak Mandarin, while the other officer, who was a lieutenant, kept smiling knowingly. Once in a while the Chinese man put in a few words in Cantonese, which I couldn't understand.

I must have looked absentminded, for the white officer grew impatient and said to me, "All right, tell me now, do you want to go to Taiwan or mainland China?"

"To the mainland," I replied firmly.

He looked me in the face for a moment, as though in disbelief. Then he handed me a card, saying, "Go straight to the front gate and give this card to the guards."

With tears on my face I bowed to both of them and said, "Thank you," then hurried out toward the gate. The card in my hand was five by three inches, bearing these words: "The People's Republic of China."

I handed it to the GI standing at the middle of the gate with a rifle hung across his chest. He glanced at the card, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved me out of the compound. Near the sentry post was parked a truck whose back was under canvas. A GI beckoned me to get onto the vehicle by the ladder at its rear. Climbing up, I turned around to look at the white tents in hopes that Dajian would be following me.

"Don't look around, you motherfucker!" another GI yelled and pushed me into the back of the truck. There were only about a dozen men in it, most of whom looked unfamiliar to me. I grew more anxious. If only I had given Dajian an eye signal just now! I felt awful for having left him in the lurch.

About ten minutes later the truck rolled away toward a new compound, number 602, where all the would-be repatriates were assembled. Later I heard from a fellow who had joined us in the afternoon that after Dajian returned to my former company, he kept asking others, "Where's Feng Yan? Did you see him?" They all shook their heads. For hours he wept quietly alone. What had happened that morning was that before entering a screening tent, he was sandwiched between two pro-Nationalists, who told him I had just made "the wise choice." So Dajian declared to the arbiters that he would go to Taiwan too.

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.