War Trash (15 page)

The truth was that Ming couldn't walk in my shoes. Though he was a college graduate too, unlike me he had never been involved with the Nationalists. To the Communists he was a clean man, whereas I carried the heavy baggage of my past. If I had dined with Wang Yong's men, the whole company would have known of it. Then, facing the Communists' accusatory fingers, how could I have absolved myself? Wouldn't they punish me as a traitor too? Fortunately I hadn't touched the dinner, or else, compounded by the horrible words on my belly, I would have become too entangled with the pro-Nationalists to clear myself.

Like me, Dajian had been in low spirits ever since he was tattooed. He broke into wretched sobs from time to time. Once he even asked me whether we should sign up for Taiwan. I told him not to think this way and that we mustn't give up hope so easily.

Two days later, Ming and I met again at the northwestern end of the barbed-wire fence. He said we shouldn't worry too much about the tattoos and must adamantly insist on repatriation at the screening. I asked him, "Did you get this order from Commissar Pei?"

"No, we still haven't gotten in touch with him yet."

It was Hao Chaolin, the former artillery director of our division, who had given the instructions and who seemed to lead the Communist force now. Through Ming, Chaolin assured us that the tattoos could be removed. He provided convincing evidence as well: a few years ago, Warlord Yan in northwestern China had gotten a whole division of his troops tattooed with reactionary slogans on their chests; later many of these men had surrendered to the Communist army, whose surgeons effaced the words for them. This information comforted me some and bolstered my resolve to repatriate. With excitement I told Dajian the story, but it didn't cheer him up. He just said he'd follow me wherever I went. He was suffering from dysentery these days, passing blood and mucus, but he wouldn't stay at the hospital, afraid he might die there alone. I made him drink a lot of boiled water to prevent dehydration, and he took some medicine prescribed by a Korean doctor. The pills helped him and reduced his trips to the latrine, though his recovery was slow.

Spring in Korea was longer than in inland China, or to be more accurate, it was more distinct as a season. Indigo swallows and petrels appeared in the sky. The wind changed too, mostly coming from the Pacific, warm in the daytime but nippy at night. There were more fishing boats on the sea now, bobbing between the clouds and the water like large birds. Sometimes I watched them for hours on end, as though I knew some people on them. I even imagined myself making a living as a fisherman on the ocean – yes, I would love to do that. I was still young and could start my life afresh. I would prefer any land of life to this confinement, my heart full of longing for an untrammeled life.

On the morning of April 8 an American sound truck came to the gate of our compound and began broadcasting the policy for the screening, first in Korean, next in Chinese, then in English. The statement, repeated many times, moved and disturbed a lot of inmates. The Chinese part sounded smooth, firm, and clear. An amiable male voice announced:

… According to international law, both sides should return captured personnel as soon as possible. Repatriation will not be denied because some prisoners were forced to write their confessions, to have words or signs tattooed on them, or to have done what they would not do under normal circumstances. We understand that they were made to do things against their will. Therefore, we promise we will not hold them responsible. We wholeheartedly welcome every one of you back into the arms of our motherland. Brothers and comrades, your parents and families are expecting you. Please come home and rejoin them to live in peace and to participate in the construction of our great country…

After that statement, another man declared in stiff Chinese the United Nations' position on the screening. This voice represented the prison authorities and also urged us to repatriate. It declared:

The U.N. Command can offer no guarantee whatsoever on the ultimate fate of those of you who refuse to return to your own people. Therefore, before any of you decide irrevocably to resist repatriation, you must consider the consequences of your decision for your family. If you fail to go back, your government may hold your family accountable. On top of that, you may never see them again…

Hearing those words, many POWs became tearful. Some men drifted back into their tents and buried their heads in blankets, weeping. Wang Yong flew into a fury. "Fuck the Americans!" he cursed. "If I had a grenade I'd blow up that sound truck."

But the loudspeaker kept on: "Please also consider this possibility: if you refuse to go home, you will be held in custody here for at least several months longer. The United Nations cannot feed you forever, will make no promise about your future, and will not guarantee to send you to any safe place…"

Indeed, the broadcast was undermining the work the pro-Nationalists had painstakingly accomplished, and it made some prisoners more homesick. Worried about their future, some wanted to change their minds about going to Taiwan. The English part of the announcement also encouraged the captives to return home. It emphasized that the United Nations would keep only those who "forcibly resist repatriation." It sounded like the Americans were not interested in detaining POWs at all. Perhaps they didn't want to embarrass China and North Korea with a huge number of nonrepatriates, which would complicate a POW exchange and getting their own men back. Besides, it must have been an enormous burden to have tens of thousands of prisoners on their hands.

As soon as the sound truck pulled away to blare at a neighboring compound, our battalion was assembled in Liberty Hall. Han Shu, the chief of our regiment, came to speak to us. He was a slim, soft-spoken man, who in every way looked more like an official than an officer. Without Liu Tai-an's help, Han Shu could not have ruled the compound. But somehow the Americans liked him and had put him in the top position. Pacing the platform back and forth with his hands clasped behind him, Han Shu seemed lost in thought. We watched him silently. Then he lifted his intelligent face and said to us, "I have had a question on my mind for a long time." He pointed at Dajian standing in the front row. "Now, brother, I need you to help me figure out an answer. Yes, you. Come up here. Don't be nervous."

Dajian shuffled onto the platform. Han Shu continued, "Actually, my question isn't that hard to understand. We were all in the Red Army once and know the answer in our hearts. Now, my friend, what's your name?"

"Bai Dajian."

"Tell me, Brother Bai, what is the Seventh Article of the Conduct Code of the Communist army?"

Dajian wheezed out, "Never surrender. Never let yourself be taken prisoner even at the cost of your life."

"Correct. Please say it loudly so that everybody can hear you."

Dajian repeated it to the audience.

"Good, you can go back now." Han Shu turned to us. "This is what I want to talk about today. You all know the Communists' discipline and understand what will happen to you as a returned POW. If you still mean to repatriate, you must prepare to go through denunciations, corporal punishment, prison terms, and executions once you're back in our homeland. Even if the Communists let you remain alive, I can assure you that you will be the dregs of their society for the rest of your lives. Brothers, you all know I'm speaking the truth, which some of you are too afraid to face. So I have to bring it up now. History has shown that the Communists always treat their enemies more leniently than their own people. Only by becoming their significant enemies can you survive decently. I'm your chief here and ought to be concerned about your safety. Once you have set foot in this camp, you'll never be able to exonerate yourselves from the blame the Communists will pin on you, because they believe you have brought shame on China. They'll punish you ruthlessly in order to maintain discipline within their ranks. You may protest and say to them, 'But I've always been loyal to our country!' They'll counter, 'Then why didn't you kill yourself to keep our honor intact?' What can you say? Admit you're a coward? You may have to do that. If you're really a brave man, you can take your life now, right here in front of us. Then they'll be informed of your heroic deed and will publicize your story, name you a Revolutionary Martyr, and turn you into a big hero to inspire others.

"Brothers, we're all human beings, made of the same flesh and blood, so we dread pain, hunger, and death. We're often driven by the instinct for self-preservation. Like every one of you, I miss home a lot and often dream of my parents and siblings, soaking my pillow with tears at night. But I don't want to be tortured and butchered like a worthless animal, so I've decided to leave for the Free World, to wander as a homeless man for the rest of my life. Our tragedy is that our homeland is no longer a place where we can live decently like human beings. Then why should we return? The truth is even if you're a Communist and act as one here, your former comrades back home no longer count you as a Communist. To them, you're all cowards and goners and shouldn't exist anymore. So bear in mind that your decisions tomorrow will be a matter of life or death to yourselves. Now, you're dismissed."

The audience remained motionless, transfixed by the bold speech, which no one had expected the reticent Han Shu to be capable of delivering. Liu Tai-an wielded his club and shouted at us, "Return to your tents now."

On our way back, both Dajian and I walked unsteadily, dazed by the brevity of the meeting and by Han Shu's words, which were like awls jabbing at our insides. Many men in our platoon turned downcast, knowing there was a good deal of truth in Chief Han's speech. Dajian and I felt at a loss how to wriggle out of the pro-Nationalists' clutches, and at the same time we dreaded the punishment that might lie in store for us on the mainland. As for the Communists in our platoon, they'd also been shaken by Han Shu's remarks, and some of them remained taciturn.

That afternoon, about five hundred of us would-be repatriates were gathered in the front yard. Around us stood over two hundred "policemen," each toting a club as thick as a baton, but twice as long. Liu Tai-an said to us, "Brothers, the ships sent by Generalissimo Chiang have arrived at the port to take us to Taiwan, where you will live a free and happy life. Tomorrow every one of you will have to decide where to go. I urge you to pick the right way and cut your ties to the Commies once and for all." Liu was a squarish man with a large gold incisor. When he spoke, he kept his left hand inserted in his belt while his right hand held a club.

Suddenly a voice boomed among us, "We want to go back to China. Taiwan is not our homeland."

"Who said that? Step out!" ordered the battalion chief. Seeing that nobody stirred, he added, "If you were fathered by a man, you ought to have the guts to meet me face to face."

To our astonishment, a bulky man, whose head was shaved bald, went to the front and admitted calmly, "I said that, and it's the truth."

"Lin Wushen, I fuck your ancestors! You say that again." Liu Tai-an was so furious that his square face darkened to the color of an eggplant. He seemed to have known the man long before. He thrust his fingers at Lin Wushen's face as though intending to poke out his eyes.

The large man, not intimidated, said, "My home is on the mainland. Why should I go to Taiwan? According to the Geneva Convention, every prisoner has his right to choose where to go. What's wrong about expressing my true intention? We're all prisoners and shouldn't interfere with each other's decisions."

Liu Tai-an lifted the front of his new jacket to show that this wasn't a piece of prison issue with P and W on its patch pockets or sleeves. He said, "I'm not war trash like you. I'm a free man, an officer appointed to command this battalion."

"Sure, after kissing some American ass," said Lin Wushen. A few men snickered.

Enraged, Liu Tai-an went up to him and ripped the left sleeve off Wushen's jacket, exposing his upper arm. On it was a tattoo, a drawing of the sun shedding a circle of rays – the Nationalist emblem. The chief said, "You've already expressed your anti-Communist attitude in this sign; why did you change your mind?"

"You had it needled on me. It doesn't show my true feelings. I want to go home."

"Damn you, if you really want to return to the mainland, you must leave this tattoo here."

"All right, I have no use for it anyhow."

To our surprise, Liu Tai-an seized Wushen's arm and raised the jade-handled dagger, saying, "For the last time, tell me where you want to go."

"To the mainland."

With two strokes Liu slashed off the flesh occupied by the black tattoo. "Ouch!" Wushen covered the cut with his hand and was biting his lips to choke his voice, his eyes aglow like tinder as tears gushed out. Blood dripped on the leg of his pants and on the sandy ground.

People gasped as a few guards went over, grabbed Wushens arms, and pulled him away.

"Take him to the classroom," ordered Liu Tai-an. "I'm not done with him yet."

At the education center they had already locked up more than twenty men, who were regarded as die-hard Commies who might undermine the screening and even instigate a riot. In fact, some of these men were not Communists; they were only determined to go home at any cost.

A commotion was going on at the front of the crowd. Having seen Wushen's blood, men began voicing their resentment. Emboldened by collective anger, some were spoiling for a fight. Liu Tai-an looked alarmed, but regained his composure and said to us, "Lin Wushen is a good example for you. If any of you want to go back to the mainland, then leave with us the patch of your skin bearing our words and our drawing. This is fair, isn't it?"

Both Dajian and I stood in the front row of the crowd. He was trembling and squeezed his eyes tight; tears trickled down his colorless cheek. I was petrified too and for a moment lost my speech. All I could do was tug his sleeve to remind him that he mustn't draw attention to himself. Looking sidelong at him, I saw a fat louse in his hair.