Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

I’d also put some of my books and clothes in the bag. I’d decided to move them out of my dorm in case I got arrested.

‘Yes — these are the notebooks,’ Tian Yi said. ‘How sweet of him — he brought back my mirror and tapes as well. This illustrated edition of The Book of Mountains and Seas is his favourite book. If you have time, you should read him some passages from it. He loves hearing about all those strange and fabulous creatures…’

‘Oh, here’s the journal my husband left for him. I’ve been looking for it for years…’

Then Tian Yi left. Ever since she disappeared from my life, I’ve thought of her as a clay figurine that keeps watch over me and that will accompany me to my grave.

There are no maps to help you find a path of escape. The road you’re following leads only to the garden beyond the void.

At noon, we gathered outside the broadcast station, still shaken by General Secretary Zhao Ziyang’s visit the night before. The Square was as squalid and messy as a football stadium after a big match.

‘Let’s replace the hunger strike with a sit-in,’ Yang Tao suggested, squatting down and wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘If the government uses the strategy of “catching the thief by blocking the escape routes”, we’ll simply counteract with the empty-fort strategy.’

‘The lifeline has broken down again, Old Fu,’ said Xiao Li, walking up. ‘The ambulances can’t get to the hunger strike camps.’ He helped himself to some strawberries a resident had just given us. I was glad to see he’d stopped his hunger strike. I put some strawberries into my lunch box to give to Tian Yi later, in the hope that I could tempt her to eat again.

‘If the hunger strikers refuse to give up their fast, we should move them over to the Monument and get the other students to form a protective ring around them,’ Yang Tao said. ‘That way, if the government sends the army in, we’ll have time to carry them out of the Square.’

‘Hurry up and make a decision.’ I was growing faint from the heat.

‘Who’s supposed to decide?’ Old Fu said, exasperated. ‘The Hunger Strike Headquarters, the Beijing Students’ Federation, or the Provincial Students’ Federation?’

‘We’re all in this together,’ Yang Tao said, with an impatient flick of his hand. ‘We must unite and reach a common agreement.’

‘When will the meeting start?’ Pu Wenhua asked. Although no longer a member of the Headquarters’ standing committee, he still attended their meetings as a non-voting delegate of the Agricultural College.

‘As soon as everyone turns up,’ said Old Fu. ‘It will be held in the public bus Lin Lu has transformed into a mobile command centre. You should get some marshals to place a cordon around it, Dai Wei.’

‘The meeting must be held in secret,’ said Yang Tao. ‘If the hunger strikers find out we’re considering ending the fast, they might attack us. They won’t want to see their efforts end in failure.’ With his constant strategising, Yang Tao was living up to his reputation as a modern-day General Zhu Geliang.

‘I doubt many representatives will turn up,’ said Zhuzi. ‘Everyone’s so dispirited.’

A procession of Beijing citizens in sky-blue shirts marched into the Square, beating drums. The men at the front were chanting, ‘If the officials won’t listen to the people, they should resign from their jobs and sell sweet potatoes!’ Another procession passed them shouting, ‘We can live without food, but we can’t live without freedom!’ The crowds in the Square surged back and forth. The light flashing from people’s spectacles and plastic sun visors, or from the metallic paint of their bicycles, shuddered in the air. The ground beneath my feet was shaking too.

While you lie inside your silent dreams, your memories press into your flesh like iron nails.

Over seventy university representatives turned up to the meeting. We checked their identity cards and let them into the command bus. Once Fan Yuan and Han Dan had squeezed in, there wasn’t room for anyone else so I shut the door.

It was five in the afternoon already. We’d covered the windows of the bus with newspaper so that no one could see inside. A few latecomers banged on the door, but Mao Da told me not to open it.

Bai Ling, as commander-in-chief, briefed everyone on the current situation, but was almost immediately interrupted by Hai Feng, who shouted out to both carriages of the articulated bus, ‘I’ve just come back from the United Front Department, and have some very reliable inside information: General Secretary Zhao Ziyang has resigned from his post, and the hardliners have resolved to launch a crackdown. I propose we end the hunger strike. It will wrong-foot the government, and make any imposition of martial law look unnecessary and unjust.’

‘Please stick to the proper procedures,’ Lin Lu said loudly. ‘Bai Ling hasn’t finished her speech.’

Chen Di whispered to me, ‘Lin Lu is so stiff and po-faced. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a government agent.’

Strong sunlight poured through the sheets of newspaper stuck to the windows, making the dark corners of the bus look even darker.

‘I must remind everyone that this discussion is top secret,’ Old Fu interrupted. ‘If the students out there knew what we’re planning, mayhem would break out and people would lose their lives.’

Liu Gang chipped in, determined to have his say. Over the previous couple of weeks, he’d been pushed to the sidelines of the movement he’d helped instigate. ‘In 1976, Beijing citizens came to the Square to mourn the death of Premier Zhou Enlai,’ he said, ‘but we’ve dared come here to call for freedom and democracy. We’ve raised the nation’s consciousness, which is what we set out to do, so we can now return to our campuses in triumph.’

‘We’ve managed to get the people on our side,’ Tang Guoxian said loudly. ‘If we stop the hunger strike now, that support will crumble.’ Since he’d set up the Provincial Students’ Federation with Wang Fei and Yang Tao he’d assumed a new air of authority.

‘If anyone dies, history will not forgive us,’ Bai Ling said softly. ‘We must ensure no one comes to harm.’ Her voice was so quiet that most people couldn’t hear what she was saying.

‘You launched this hunger strike, Bai Ling, and now you want to end it,’ Wang Fei said, tapping his megaphone. ‘Is this all just a game to you?’

‘The hunger strike will not end until every last hunger striker has passed out,’ Mou Sen declared, staring at the dark end of the carriage.

‘Or we could end it on Day Ten,’ Shao Jian said, not wanting to concede defeat either. ‘If we stop it now, the hunger strikers will feel betrayed.’

‘Are you going to prolong the strike until every reformer in the government has been sacked?’ said Sister Gao. ‘We must end the hunger strike immediately and replace it with a sit-in. There will be 200,000 PLA soldiers turning up here soon, and we’ll need to defend ourselves.’ She lifted her arm to her face and coughed into her sleeve.

‘As it happens, Han Dan, Ke Xi and I have ended our fast,’ Cheng Bing confessed. ‘We had some noodles in the canteen of the United Front Department a couple of hours ago.’

Everyone fell silent. The bus reeked of sweat and antiseptic. Occasionally, a beam of light shone through a gap between the sheets of newspaper and fell onto a NO SMOKING sign, a square of the yellow-painted interior walls of the carriage or a patch of someone’s brown skin.

‘You dared stop your hunger strike before the government has agreed to our demands?’ Pu Wenhua said petulantly. ‘How could you, after everything we’ve been through?’