War Trash

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."

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.

"Brothers and friends," Liu Tai-an said loudly, "now it's time for you to make up your minds. There'll be an additional study session this evening in the auditorium, at seven o'clock. You're all required to attend it so that you'll be clear about which course to choose at the screening tomorrow. Now you're free to go."

Before dinner Dajian and I talked about what to do, knowing Liu Tai-an would kill you without blinking an eye if you decided against his will. I was still determined to go back to China, and Dajian said he would follow me. Yet both of us were shaken and wanted to avoid showing our intention overtly as long as we could. In my heart of hearts I was uncertain whether I could endure physical torture, as some Communists would do, without changing my mind. Dinner was good that evening, stewed pigs' intestines mixed with spinach and cellophane noodles; and for the first time we could have a full bowl of rice and a large ladle of the dish besides. Some of those who meant to go to Taiwan even drank saki, which they had come by probably through exchanging their blankets and boots with South Korean guards. Some men opened their only tin of Spam, saved for a special occasion. They seemed to be celebrating this day as the eve of a new life. By contrast, those of us who wanted to repatriate were gloomy and quiet.

After dinner, when the twilight turned smoky and festive with many knots of men chattering and with a bamboo flute trilling from one of the large tents, we set out for our compounds Civil Information and Education Center, which consisted of two spacious classrooms and the auditorium. In front of that place flew the U.S. and the Nationalist flags. At its entrance knelt concrete statues of Stalin and Mao Zedong, both with hunched shoulders and bowed heads like a pair of criminals. Their faces and heads were glazed with patches of dried phlegm and snot. When we arrived the study session had already started. The guards at the door, who were Wang Yong's men, let us in without cursing us for being late. I could feel the intensity of the atmosphere in the auditorium, where people, all sitting on the dirt floor, were so attentive that nobody took note of our arrival. The men confined in the classroom in the afternoon had been hauled onto the low stage in the front. Liu Tai-an looked more resolute than three hours ago and spoke like a real commanding officer.

"To put it in a nutshell," he said, "those who follow the Communists will come to a bad end, because we won't let them get away unscathed." He then turned to Lin Wushen, whose hands were tied from behind. "We begin with you. Now, Lin Wushen, tell me, for the last time, where will you go?"

Without looking at him, the large man turned to us and cried, "I was born in China. Where else should I go!"

Silence ensued, the air as if frozen.

Liu Tai-an barked, "All right, you want to go to the mainland, I'm sending you there now." Grabbing Lin Wushen's neck with one hand and waving the dagger in his other hand, he hissed, "Let me ask you one more time, where will you go?"

Lin Wushen glared at him silently, then looked at us. Suddenly he shouted at the top of his voice, "Long live the Communist Party! Long live our motherland!"

Liu Tai-an stabbed him in the chest and twisted the dagger. Without another word Lin Wushen dropped on the floor. Immediately Liu bent down and cut his stomach open while the dying man's feet were still kicking. His blood and intestines spilled out, and a few men at the front began retching. With a sidewise slash, Liu slit his chest, then pulled out his lungs and heart, all the organs quivering with steam. He cut out the heart and skewered it with the dagger. Raising the heart, he brandished his bloody free hand at us and said, "Look, this is what I meant when I said we wouldn't let you leave unscathed. If anyone else wants to go back to the mainland, I'll have to see the true color of his heart first." He turned to give the corpse a kick.

For about a minute there was no sound in the auditorium. The air seemed thickened with the smell of the blood. I was stunned not only by the ferocity of Liu's act but also by his skill in disemboweling the man, as though butchering human beings had been his everyday business.

"Let's continue. Next," Liu Tai-an ordered, still holding the heart on the tip of his knife.

The man they dealt with next was an acquaintance of mine. He was Yang Huan, a scrawny fellow with large, intense eyes and a massive scar on his cheek, who was also a graduate of the Huangpu Military Academy. But he had matriculated a year before me and was kept in another company here, so we hadn't had a chance to talk at length when we ran into each other. I vaguely remembered that he had been very active in leading the revolt against the Nationalists in our alma mater. Probably he was a Communist.

They dragged Yang Huan to the center of the stage. Then a lanky man walked up to him and asked, "Brother Yang, do you still know me?"

"Mei Lufu, why are you here?" Yang Huan looked baffled.

"My friend, I came to help you. We lived in the same dorm at the Huangpu for three years, and I can't forget how kindly you helped me, so now it's my turn to pull you out of the Commies' trap."

"I don't need your help."

"You and I are both graduates from the Huangpu, and we're students of Generalissimo Chiang, who treated us like a father. But I can't comprehend why you want to return to the mainland. What made you so loyal to the Reds?"

I was bewildered. Although Mei Lufu said he was our schoolmate too, I couldn't remember him. Yet without question the two men had once been roommates and buddies. Yang Huan answered, " China is where my home is, why can't I go back?"

"Give him one on the mouth!" ordered Liu Tai-an.

Dutifully Mei Lufu slapped his former friend.

"Turncoat!" Yang Huan cursed loudly. "Scum of China, we'll get even with you sooner or later."

"Goddammit, you're a traitor! You betrayed Generalissimo Chiang's love and expectations." Mei Lufu began punching him. "Take this. How dare you call me a turncoat?"

Then a bunch of guards fell on Yang Huan, who kept yelling, "Long live the revolution! Long live Communism!"

Clubs and iron bars landed on him while he was still mumbling, "Long live… long live…"

Within a minute they beat him to the brink of death. A heavyset man pressed the heel of his boot on Yang Huan's throat and stamped down forcefully. Yang Huan twisted a little, then stopped moving. I was shuddering all over, never having thought that an educated man like Mei Lufu could be as vicious as Liu Tai-an. At the same time I was amazed that the two Communists they had just butchered had seemed entirely unafraid of death. Like me, Dajian was utterly terrified; he placed his hand on my shoulder to steady himself.

Liu Tai-an said to the twenty men on the stage, waving the bloody heart, "You're lucky today. I spare you for now to see how you'll behave tomorrow." Then he turned to us. "Let's end here for today, although I still mean to collect the tattoos from some of you. Brothers, please don't follow the bad examples of Lin Wushen and Yang Huan. You're free to go now."

Both Dajian and I were alarmed, having realized that as graduates of the Huangpu Military Academy, we also must have been targets of the pro-Nationalists. They would use every means to coerce us. Unlike the Communist Party members, we didn't feel we should sacrifice our lives for repatriation. We talked briefly on our way back and agreed we should act according to circumstances and shouldn't openly refuse to go to Taiwan. Above all we had to survive. As long as we were alive, there would be an opportunity to get back to China.

Though many prisoners hated Liu Tai-an, some pro-Nationalists loved and revered him, and some even regarded him as a hero. At the sight of him, even some staunch Communists couldn't refrain from quaking, let alone regular inmates like Dajian and me. It was this small muscular man who had started the slogan "We must go to Taiwan!" It was this savage man who had poured a large bowl of saki, bitten his middle finger to drip his blood into it, and thus inspired some POWs to follow suit: they mixed their blood in the liquor and drank it together to forge the bond of brotherhood. To be fair, Liu Tai-an was generous to pro-Nationalist inmates. As the vice chief of the regiment and the leader of our battalion, he was entitled to eat special meals like Han Shu, but he wouldn't use this privilege and always ate the same food as the other prisoners. One day the kitchen couldn't serve the midday meal on time because it had to cook for the officers first. Liu Tai-an went in and knocked over the cauldron of boiling millet and the pot containing stewed clams and potatoes. After that, even those officers who enjoyed special mess would avoid him during mealtimes. Another day, an illiterate prisoner played truant after signing up for a literacy class. Liu Tai-an knelt down and begged him to treasure this opportunity to learn how to read and write. For Liu, good and evil were as clear-cut as black and white – his mind wouldn't tolerate any ambiguity. It seemed to me that although he had only an elementary education, he must have been a sick man whose mind was warped by the image of the macho hero in classical Chinese novels, embodied by wild figures like Zhang Fei and Li Kui, who wouldn't hesitate to kill an evil man, eat his flesh, and guzzle his blood. In fact, many pro-Nationalists did compare Liu Tai-an to those fictional heroes, and he was proud of the analogy and relished his ability to inspire terror.

Back in our tent, we couldn't stop cursing Liu Tai-an. One said that the Communists should have finished him off, referring to an incident one night the previous winter when a group of Communists had beaten him to his knees and made him beg for mercy. Some regretted they hadn't formed their own armed force. Now without access to weapons they had become meat for the pro-Nationalists to hack at will. Some said that once they returned to China, they would get hold of Liu Tai-an's and his lackeys' families and relatives and wipe them out. Dajian told them that Mei Lufu's younger sister lived in Tianjin City and worked at a newspaper, and one man declared he would settle accounts with her one of these days. As we were talking, both Liu Tai-an and Wang Yong arrived with the police force. They ordered us to get out of the tent immediately.

When we had lined up and stood at attention, Liu Tai-an said, "Those of you who have a tattoo on you step out."

About thirty men moved forward, and Dajian and I followed them, Liu began to speak to us. "Don't think I'm forgetful. I came to collect the tattoos like I told you. If you ate the U.N.'s food, you ought to leave a bit of your flesh in the U.N.'s camp. Whoever wants to return to the mainland, let me know now, and we'll get the tattoo off of you. Now, lie down."

The thirty of us dropped to the ground, face down and with both hands stretched out. Liu shouted, "Those of you who want to go to Taiwan raise your right leg."

Hesitating for a few seconds, I raised my leg. Following me, Dajian did the same. But about half of the men didn't do this. Liu Tai-an pointed at the first of them in the line and ordered his bodyguards, "Pull that bastard up!"

The moment they got the man on his feet, Liu Tai-an asked him, "Mainland or Taiwan?" He flashed at his face a specially made knife – a toothbrush with a razor blade affixed to the end of the bone handle.

"Mainland," muttered the fellow. Two men were holding his arms from behind.

"Say it again."

"Mainland."

"All right, let me take this off."

"Ow!"

Liu began cutting the tattooed words off his chest. The man started groaning, but still speaking clearly. "Yes, get rid of these damned words for your grandpa."

In the corner of my eye I saw a "policeman" holding a short piece of iron wire that had impaled on it about a dozen pieces of bloody skin, each almost half an inch thick. Obviously they had just finished collecting tattoos at another tent. Beside Liu Tai-an stood a boyish man holding a white enamel pail, which contained several pieces of flesh stained with ink. Now I realized that all the prisoners tattooed by force had been the pro-Nationalists' targets. They had marked two kinds of people among us, those who would be valuable to them and those who were their deadly enemies.

Liu Tai-an waved the piece of flesh he had just cut off from the man, and his other hand flipped open the glass case of a kerosene lantern held by one of his bodyguards. He burned the flesh over the flame, and it sizzled for a few seconds, scorched yellow. Then he put it into his mouth, munching it ferociously. I was so flabbergasted that my stomach started churning. He said through his teeth, "Even if I kill all of you Reds and eat your hearts and livers, my hatred won't come down."

A heavy hush fell over us, and Dajian began sobbing. As they went on collecting the tattoos, pulling those unyielding men to their feet one by one and forcing them to answer the question, more cries and moans rose from the line. Several men who hadn't raised their legs originally now changed their minds and said they would sign up for Taiwan. Having held up my leg, I didn't expect they would pull me up too. I was trembling and could hardly speak. A pimply-faced man put a bloody knife against my belly and said, "Now, my scholar, tell me where you'd like to go."

"I'll follow you," I mouthed.

"Say it out loud," Wang Yong broke in.

"Okay, I'll go to Taiwan."

Dajian was picked up from the ground too, and he followed my example. The minute they were done with us, Wang Yong had the new "converts" moved to a large tent that was roomy and clean inside. Yet I couldn't go to sleep until the wee hours, listening to those men in the small tents groaning and cursing incessantly. I felt ashamed and reluctant to talk with Dajian, who tossed from side to side too. By following me, he made me bear the guilty conscience alone. Deep down, I wished I could have been as brave as a genuine Communist, who, crazed and fanatic, viewed death without flinching.