Barbara Taylor Bradford - Remember

Yoyo and Mai were standing nearby talking with a small group of students, and Nicky headed over to them, drew them away from their friends.

‘There’s so much bloodshed out there, I don’t know how to describe it to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter,’ Nicky said tersely. Fishing around in her bag, she found the envelope of money and pressed it into Yoyo’s hands. ‘You must take this. Please.’

Yoyo stared at her. ‘But Clee say he buy tickets -’

‘Don’t argue, Yoyo, take it,’ Nicky responded sharply. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be worse than tonight, and I’ll feel better, knowing you have the money on you. If anything happens and we get separated, or if we leave Beijing without you, just get yourselves to Hong Kong. We’ll be at the Mandarin Hotel. You’ll find us there.’

Realizing there was nothing else to do but take the money, Yoyo nodded, putting the envelope in his trouser pocket. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I understand. I have passport. Mai have passport. Everything be okay, Nicky.’

‘I hope so.’ Nicky swung her head, glanced around, then brought her gaze back to Yoyo. ‘What’s been happening in the square?’

‘Not much. Very quiet. Wuer Kaixi speak. Say this government oppose the people. Say Chinese must sacrifice themselves. For beautiful tomorrow.’

Nicky expelled a deep breath, shook her head. ‘It’s going to be bad, Yoyo, especially if the students show resistance to the soldiers. If you stay, you must be peaceful. That’s imperative.’

He nodded. ‘I understand. Chai Ling say this.’

‘Did she speak also?’

‘Yes. She say this peaceful sit-in. Tell students stay seated. No resist army.’

Nicky stared hard at Yoyo. ‘Listen to me, these troops are not wet behind the ears like the others were yesterday. They are hardened veterans. And dangerous.’

‘Maybe 27th Army. They tough. Bad. We be okay, Nicky. Don’t worry.’

But I do worry, she said under her breath.

‘People from Workers’ Federation here. They come protect students,’ Yoyo explained.

‘I can’t help wishing you’d protect yourselves by leaving,’ Nicky murmured for the umpteenth time, but she knew she was wasting her breath. Yoyo and Mai would stay until the end, even though he fully understood they were in peril, if Mai didn’t. She hoped they would be safe, prayed they would be. They were so sweet and innocent, but naive in many ways. Most of the kids in the square were exactly the same.

Not long after this conversation Clee came hurrying up to them looking dishevelled but unhurt. ‘Pretty rough back there, Nick. The worst bloodletting I’ve witnessed in years.’

‘It’s horrendous … there are no words really …’ She touched the camera hanging round his neck. ‘Still undamaged, I see.’

‘They’re too damned busy shooting unarmed people to be bothered with me and my camera!’

Arch walked over, accompanied by Jimmy and Luke. All three of them looked as miserable and concerned as she felt.

Putting his arm around Nicky’s shoulders, Arch said, ‘Jimmy and Luke are going back to the hotel for a while. Why don’t you go with them? You’ve been out here for hours. It’ll give you a chance to freshen up, rest for a while.’

‘I think I will,’ she answered. ‘I want to make some notes for my broadcast anyway, and prepare my opening. I’ll be back in an hour or so.’

‘Take your time,’ Arch replied. ‘I can guarantee you this little shindig is going to last all night.’

Nicky was in and out of Tiananmen for the next few hours, as were most of the foreign press corps.

The areas surrounding the square were a mess. Soldiers were everywhere and the crowds had not diminished. In fact, it seemed to Nicky that they had increased. Overturned vehicles and abandoned bicycles littered Changan Avenue, and an even bigger number of fires were flaring as residents continued to torch tanks and armoured personnel carriers, their grief and anger unassuaged.

In the immediate vicinity of the Beijing Hotel the scenes were chaotic. The wounded, the dying, and the dead were piling up, and distraught and weeping Beijingers, many of them covered in blood, were desperately trying to move the victims. Their aim was to get them to the hospitals and morgues as quickly as possible, and they were valiant in their efforts. They were using all kinds of makeshift stretchers; Nicky even saw one made out of a door ripped from a telephone booth and tied to two long pieces of iron pipe. Several Number 38 buses had been pressed into service as ambulances, and so had pedicabs and carts. Most of the injured were being taken to Xiehe Hospital. It was fairly close to Changan, since it was located in one of the streets immediately behind the Beijing Hotel.

Conversely, the square appeared to be peaceful enough when Nicky went back there for the fourth time, at three forty-five on the morning of 4 June. Yet after only a few minutes in the square she felt the tension in the air. It was a most palpable thing, and underlying the tension was the smell of fear.

The troops had moved in, were positioned at the far end.

Near the Goddess of Democracy she saw lines of soldiers drawn up. They stood staring at the square, their faces cold, cruel, brutal, rifles in their hands, ready to charge on their own people when the order was given.

As soon as she reached Clee, hovering near the monument, he told her there were machine guns positioned on the roof of the Museum of Chinese History on the eastern side of the square.

‘They’re well prepared, aren’t they?’ she said, her tone sarcastic. Contempt settled on her face. And then she noticed that some of the students on the monument were busy writing, and she tugged Clee’s sleeve. ‘What are they doing?’ she asked, puzzled.

Clee sighed, shook his head. ‘Yoyo told me they’re writing their wills.’

‘Oh God.’ Nicky turned away, swallowing, and unexpectedly she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. Immediately, she took control of herself. The more emotional the situation and the story, the cooler she must be.

Try though she had to conceal her feelings, Clee had noticed her reaction, and he put an arm around her. ‘It’s a lousy world we live in, Nick, and you know that better than anybody.’

‘I do. Still, some things are really hard to take.’

‘I should say.’

She gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘You mentioned Yoyo. Where is he?’

‘Somewhere around. I gave him hell a short while ago, told him to split. Then I saw him talking to Arch.’

‘Where’s Arch?’

‘He went back to the hotel. To call New York, and have a pow-wow with Jimmy about your film segment.’

‘We must have missed each other on Changan. It’s a foul mess out there.’ Again she glanced at the students on the monument. They must know how dangerous it is now.’

‘That singer, Hou Dejian, and a couple of other leaders have been on the loudspeakers, asking the kids to leave in an orderly fashion, and -’ Clee stopped short as every light in Tiananmen went out.

‘I wonder what this means?’ Nicky peered at him in the gloom.

‘The worst, I suspect,’ he answered grimly. ‘The lights didn’t fail, they were turned off by the authorities.’

‘Bastards,’ Nicky muttered.

Within the space of only a few minutes the loudspeakers on the monument began to crackle. A disembodied voice said half a dozen words, and then the volume increased and music began to play.

‘It’s the “Internationale”!’ Clee exclaimed. ‘Christ, I wonder what the kids will do now?’

‘Leave. Hopefully,’ Nicky replied.

But as the words of the famous song rang out across the square, Nicky knew they would not do so. She could see, even in the dim light, that the students simply sat there listening to the record, motionless, unshakeable, proud in their resoluteness. The minute the record ended it was played again, and repeated several more times during the course of the next twenty minutes.