Xu Lei - Search for the Buried Bomber

I told the deputy squad leader and Ma Zaihai my idea. Ma Zaihai shook his head at once. Impossible, he said. If a thing as large as the iron chamber really did descend, the people within it would have to notice. And how had Yuan Xile managed to find the door with such precision in the dark? And what about the sound of the door opening—why hadn’t we heard it? The deputy squad leader was silent, his head down, but based on his expression it was evident he agreed with Ma Zaihai.

He had a point. How had Yuan Xile known so clearly where the door was located? And how had she managed to avoid the chaos of everyone’s arms and legs within the darkness, passing right beside us without making a sound? She wasn’t a cat. I sat perplexed, staring at the layout of the iron chamber. There, in the center of the room, was the long iron table. It was covered in the papers we’d thrown about as well as fragments of something unidentifiable. The table stretched a long way, from the corner Yuan Xile had curled up in to right in front of the door. None of us had gone so far as to climb on top of the table during the earlier chaos. As long as Yuan Xile had crawled along the table, she would have been able to make it to the airtight door with great speed and ease. And when Chen Luohu vanished, all of our attention had been focused on the ventilation shaft.

Ma Zaihai went over to look at the table. It was a wreck. Of course, no trace of such an exit could be seen. In other words, there was nothing whatsoever to support my idea.

The three of us stared blankly. I had become rather uncertain how to proceed. My hypothesis did nothing to mitigate the anxiety we all felt. Rather, it added a number of new reasons for agitation. We began to waver and our distress became like a web we had woven around ourselves, the circumstances behind the black iron door like some constant nightmare, ceaselessly pressing down on us. If it really was as I said and no toxic gas remained, then we should open the door without hesitation and figure out where exactly Yuan Xile and Chen Luohu had run off to. But if I was wrong, then opening the door would be suicide. We passed this time in spiritual torment. The development that made us feel most helpless was that there were no developments at all. In the chamber, time passed bit by bit, our hunger growing increasingly intense. Having no other choice, we were eventually forced to make one of the corners a makeshift bathroom. It soon stunk to high heaven. It felt as if time had stopped moving, every minute seeming to last for an eternity. No one brought up what we were supposed to do next. We were all watching the door, each of us knowing that, once it was opened, all our questions would immediately be answered.

As a matter of fact, we were caught in a kind of battle between materialism and superstition, as if the purpose of all this was to see which side we would choose. Could we rationally go through the possible choices, or, overwhelmed by fear, would we resort to belief in ghosts and the supernatural? As a devout Communist Party member and officer in the PLA, the choice should have been obvious for me. In reality, though, I was just as afraid as any ordinary person would have been. All manner of complex emotions swirled within me.

From a certain perspective, given that three of us were men—especially men born into destitute peasant-class families—to stay in a sealed room stinking of piss and shit for a couple of hours, with hungry stomachs to boot, wasn’t actually that terrible. If our plight had had a definite endpoint—one day, for example, or one week—it absolutely would have been bearable, especially if it were an integral part of some official assignment. Compared to getting dragged off to India to go war, this was considerably more leisurely. What was unbearable was that our predicament had no defined limit. So long as no one opened that door, this would all continue until we died. As I thought about it, the pores all across my body seemed to burst open.

At first we talked it over, then we became fidgety, felt a burst of calm, then another rush of agitation. Ma Zaihai and I took turns looking out through the aperture, feeling around the iron walls, and doing a great deal of things that were utterly pointless. The deputy squad leader continued to sit in the same place, his eyes closed, pondering who knows what. We waited for approximately seven hours, suffocating under our agitation and the choice we faced. At last it was the deputy squad leader who suddenly stood up, walked over to the airtight door, and grabbed hold of the wheel lock. Slowly, he began to turn it.

I remember the deputy squad leader’s expression with total clarity. I wish I could describe it as filled with that calm, composed, and fearless sort of revolutionary spirit, but in reality, he was no different from us—his mind was barely able to bear what he was doing. It’s just that those who’ve served on the battlefield become accustomed to life and death hanging in the balance. It becomes easier for such people to take the pivotal step. Only after he’d rotated the wheel halfway did we really understand that he meant to open the door. It was then that I did something pretty worthless: I actually made to rush over, grab hold of him, and prevent him from going any further, but before I moved, the deputy squad leader stopped on his own. His expression was very calm as he turned and waved over at us, saying we’d better get against the interior wall. If something was wrong, he could still quickly shut the door and we would be saved. Ma Zaihai insisted they open it together, but the deputy squad leader refused. That’s the difference between those who’ve served on the battlefield and those who haven’t, he said. Those who’ve served would never just give away their lives for nothing. They know as long as they remain alive they might still be of some use to their country. Ma Zaihai didn’t listen, so I grabbed him tightly and dragged him back. The deputy squad leader became annoyed and yelled at us to shut up. Only then did Ma Zaihai calm down.

He and I retreated to the back wall, our eyes on the deputy squad leader. We watched him take a deep breath and then, with almost no hesitation, spin the wheel one full turn. From within the door came a faint cr eak and a sort of sucking noise as the air lock broke. It quietly opened a crack. I hadn’t fully readied myself. I began to shake all over. The three of us went stock-still. Time seemed to stop and my mind went blank.

Nothing happened. Everything was just as it had been before. I held my breath for a long time before discovering that, in fact, we were OK. I was right after all. I relaxed and, from his place in the doorway, the deputy squad leader let out a deep breath. Ma Zaihai did, too. I was about to say thank goodness, when the deputy squad leader’s entire body suddenly slackened and he crumpled softly to the floor, his hand pulling the door halfway open. I watched as, in an instant, a roiling cloud of mist poured through the doorway and into the iron chamber.

This is it, I thought to myself. In a moment, the dense, heavy mist had filled the room, rising and spreading as if it were some enormous soft-bodied organism taking over the iron chamber. My nerves were stretched to their limit, a single thought playing in my head: Fucked. The wall at my back was ice-cold. I could retreat no farther.

Perhaps, if given a bit more time, I would have felt both furious and regretful. Because of my baseless inferences, my comrades in arms and I were going to die. Those minutes of remorse would have been far worse than any pain that dying could bring. I probably would have slapped myself viciously and torn off my own scalp. There was no such time. Within ten seconds of my having realized that, in fact, things were no longer looking so bright, the surging mist had already closed in on me. Ma Zaihai rushed into the dense mist to help the deputy squad leader, but I knew it was futile. As the mist blew in against my face, I instinctively held my breath and turned my head away, wanting to stay alive if for only a second longer. What was the use? I smelled some ice-cold scent and the mist wrapped itself around me.