War Trash (18 page)

4. DISCIPLINE

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

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

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

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

"Why?" I asked.

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

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

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

"When?"

"Eight o'clock in his tent."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My belly?"

"Yes, the tattoo, I mean."

"What should I do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Leave it as it is?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know," I said.

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

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

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

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

"Yes, say it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I helped Woodworth?"

"That's a part of it."

"You know I'm not religious."

"But you often read the Bible."

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

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

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

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

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

"Well said. I like your candor."

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

"I have found it," he said firmly.

"Really?"

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

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

"Right."

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

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

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

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

"I'll remember that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, she is."

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

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