Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

The window is open. The cold breeze that drifts in is tinged with the smell of stale gunpowder from the firecrackers that were let off last night.

‘… So do you think they’ll get nicked?’

‘Depends what kind of backdoor connections they’ve got. That guy Zhang has a cellphone, so he can’t be short of cash, but he still got flung in jail.’

‘Wang’s got two bank accounts. I’m sure he’ll let us hide our cash in one of them…’

The sky outside the window is probably pale grey. The light beyond my eyelids was mauve this morning, but it’s white now, and the room feels less oppressive.

The paint dripping from the ceiling has seeped through the sheets of newspaper the decorators have spread over me, and has soaked into the quilt underneath as well.

‘So is this guy dead or not?’

‘Look at this hand! It’s just skin and bone. Those veins look like worms.’

‘A vegetable — that’s what they call people like this. His brain stopped working years ago. He just lies here like a plank of wood, with his eyes closed. He’s still breathing, though.’

‘I came up here once when I was a kid and asked if he’d let his brother play football with me, but he wouldn’t. He sent him off to the market instead to queue up for winter cabbages.’

I realise who this guy is now. He’s the grandson of Granny Li, the old woman I had to watch being scalded to death by the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. He was in the same class as my brother.

‘He was quite a cool kid, though. He got arrested by the police when he was fifteen. He had a fling with that girl Lulu who runs that chain of bookshops.’

‘You mean the girl who was sent to the re-education-through-labour camp for having an affair with a foreigner?’

‘Yeah. She knows a top official in a publishing house and has managed to wangle a printing licence from him. She’ll make a fortune from that. She’s married to a Hong Kong property developer. They’ve got a villa in Shenzhen. I bet they’re millionaires!’

‘He smells disgusting. Let’s put this blanket over him. Once we’ve finished touching up that bit behind the wardrobe we can get out of here.’

So Lulu is now the wife of a Hong Kong property developer. I didn’t know she was sent for re-education through labour. It must have been when I was at Southern University. Her name card is probably still in my wallet. After I met her in the Square, I called her up and arranged to have a meal with her at her restaurant, but a power struggle broke out in the broadcast station that night, and I was unable to go.

Only in the second of silence before death will you be able to circumvent the bullet wound in your head.

I opened my eyes and stared into the empty night sky. I’d asked permission to go back to the campus for a rest, but when the time had come for me to leave I’d been too tired to move, so I’d lain down on the ground and fallen asleep. It was probably the announcement that woke me up. A voice blared through the loudspeaker: ‘At noon on 20 May, the workers of Beijing will launch a twenty-four-hour, city-wide strike…’

Nuwa had left the Square for a few hours, and a student from the Broadcasting Institute was filling in for her. She was sitting on the brown rug in the corner of the tent. Her skirt was quite short. She kept pulling its hem, trying to cover as much of her bare thighs as she could. After every couple of sentences she’d pause to wipe the sweat from her nose. Mr Zhao, the Central Television newsreader, had turned up to help out as well.

Han Dan’s voice suddenly came over the Voice of the Student Movement’s loudspeakers. ‘This is Han Dan speaking. Please can the Beijing University students stop broadcasting, otherwise…’

‘What?’ Old Fu said, jumping to his feet. ‘Whose side is he on now?’

‘Go and talk to him,’ Bai Ling said. ‘We can’t allow the Square to have two separate power centres.’ She was sitting in the other corner of the tent with a drip attached to her arm.

‘If they can broadcast then so can we,’ I said, trying to force myself awake.

‘Make an announcement telling our Organising Committee, the Hunger Strike Headquarters and the Beijing Students’ Federation to come to our broadcast station immediately,’ Old Fu said.

‘Dai Wei, your mother’s here!’ Wang Fei shouted, walking in.

‘What new organisation are you setting up now, Wang Fei?’ Old Fu asked angrily.

‘No, no, it’s Ke Xi who’s setting up all the secret groups,’ Wang Fei lied. ‘I’m just going around telling people about the camp meeting tomorrow morning.’

‘Still arguing at this time of night!’ Bai Ling grumbled.

‘Where’s Nuwa?’ Wang Fei asked, having noticed the girl behind the microphone.

‘She’s gone back to the campus to get some sleep,’ Chen Di said. He was writing numbers on the baseball caps we’d bought for our student marshal team.

I stepped outside and spotted my mother’s permed hair. She looked very staid and conventional standing in the crowd of skinny young students. She was the first parent to dare venture over to the broadcast station.

‘What are you doing here?’ I said curtly.

‘Do you realise what crime you’re committing?’ she said. ‘You’re attacking the Party and the socialist system.’

‘Who told you that? Even Premier Li Peng himself said that we’re not creating turmoil.’

‘A handful of people are stirring up unrest in order to overthrow the government,’ she said, glancing from left to right. ‘You’re being manipulated by a small band of evil conspirators!’

‘There are no evil conspirators here. The government’s spreading false rumours. Please go home.’

‘Listen, I’ve come here to tell you something. Our opera company was sent a transcript of a government leader’s speech. They’re going to impose martial law in the next couple of days. You must come home with me. I’ve been punished once already for being the relative of a counter-revolutionary. I can’t go through that hell again.’

‘Look around you, Mum. It’s not just me here. The whole of China has risen up. The law can’t punish a crowd.’

‘Your father used to say exactly the same thing. Why are you so like him?’ My mother’s eyes were red. I could tell that she hadn’t been sleeping well.

Wang Fei and Old Fu peeped out of the tent to see what was going on. I felt embarrassed.

‘Dai Wei, is Bai Ling here?’ Shao Jian said, walking up.

‘She’s inside the tent.’

‘Can you call your marshals over? We’re going to have a meeting.’

Then Zhuzi came out and said, ‘If you want to express your views, Auntie, go and speak to the students at the reception desk. We need to prepare for our meeting now.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ my mother shouted. ‘This is my son!’ Her face looked as worn as an old grey flannel.

‘I can’t go home with you, Mum. Tian Yi has been on hunger strike…’

‘What?’

‘Don’t worry, she’s stopped now. But she’s still very weak. If she feels better tomorrow, I promise we’ll come and visit you.’ I knew that if I told her Tian Yi was still fasting, she’d insist on seeing her.

‘Do you know how much damage a hunger strike can do to the body? She probably won’t be able to have children after this.’

The remark sent a wave of panic through me. ‘I know, I know, I keep meaning to send Dai Ru a telegram telling him to stop…’ I mumbled, and immediately regretted it.

‘What? He’s joined the hunger strike too? My God! Why didn’t you tell me? What kind of brother are you? How could you let him do that? Do you want to see him die?’ She grabbed my arm. ‘You’re coming home with me now. It’s not enough for you to bring shame on this country, after all the Party has done for you. You want to drive your mother to an early grave as well!’