Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

‘We’re not able to disclose that information,’ said the man with dyed hair. ‘But we assure you, we are influential members of the Party’s reformist camp, and have access to information at the highest level. You have only twelve hours left. Maximum. If you don’t withdraw from the Square before the deadline, it will be a disaster, not only for you, but for your supporters in the intellectual and political elite.’

‘Bai Ling, Wang Fei and Lin Lu are too radical,’ said the man who’d brought us to the restaurant. ‘We’ve tried to speak to them, but they wouldn’t listen. Han Dan and Ke Xi are well-known among the students, but have little power. The Square is in turmoil. Only the broadcast station can influence events.’ Tian Yi had shown me our host’s business card. He was not only a National People’s Congress delegate, but a consultant to a state-owned investment company with a branch in Hong Kong.

‘Your decision to stay in the Square until 26 June is absurd,’ said the man with dyed hair. ‘The government will have crushed you long before that. Remember, you only have until tomorrow morning, at the latest.’

‘This is the twelfth day of martial law,’ said the man in the checked shirt. ‘I understand your fervour and determination. But you must step back and look at the broader picture and also think of your personal safety.’

‘I give you my word of honour that we will make sure you won’t be persecuted after you withdraw.’ Now that he’d removed his raincoat, our host looked more like a cadre.

Tian Yi took a small mouthful of food, then said, ‘Personally, I would favour a withdrawal, but I doubt whether any of our leaders could persuade the students to leave.’

‘Which is why the broadcast station is so important. If you broadcast our proposal, it could have a huge impact.’

‘I’m afraid you three gentlemen are out of touch with the mood in the Square,’ I said. ‘The students wouldn’t want to listen to your proposal. You’re Party members, after all. We hold meetings every day to debate whether to stay or withdraw. Nothing you could say would change their minds.’

‘Our proposal will benefit both the government and the students. They’re bound to support it.’ The man’s dyed hair was stirred by the air from the fan.

‘If you’re as persuasive as you claim, why don’t you get the government to make some concessions?’ Tian Yi said, her gaze shifting to the window. She was probably thinking of the work waiting for her back at the broadcast station.

‘We can’t negotiate with them until you leave the Square,’ said the man in the checked shirt. ‘If you don’t withdraw, we reformers will very soon be thrown into jail. Millions of officials who’ve expressed support for you will be purged from the government.’

‘The troops that were pushed back by the citizens have been recalled and replaced by more ruthless regiments. They’re going through their drills now on the city outskirts. They’re armed with live ammunition. The order they will receive will be very simple: crush the rebellion and protect the motherland.’ I could see from his expression that he was telling the truth, but I didn’t want to face up to it.

Tian Yi put down her chopsticks and got up from the table. ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. I must go now. Four prominent intellectuals will shortly arrive in the Square to start a hunger strike.’

I got up too, but before leaving, I turned to the three men and said, ‘If you were really on our side, you would have insisted that your chairman, Wan Li, be allowed to return to Beijing. Without him here, you won’t be able to convene any emergency meeting.’

We walked out. The air was hot and muggy. I told Tian Yi I was still hungry, but she pretended not to hear.

‘I wonder how we’ll get anyone excited about the opening ceremony of the Democracy University,’ I said. ‘Mou Sen and Nuwa’s wedding has stolen the thunder.’

She gazed at the Square looking sad and worried. ‘I wish I understood politics better,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong any more.’

‘Liu Gang, Han Dan and Shu Tong understood politics, but they never managed to take control. The running of the Square has been monopolised by angry radicals like Ke Xi.’

‘How did we get into this mess? We’re like a flock of wild geese with no leader to guide us.’

‘Everything went wrong when the hunger strike began. That’s when the divisions deepened.’

‘Did you get those films developed for me?’ she said abruptly. She never liked me criticising the hunger strike.

‘The prints won’t be ready until 4 June.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing how the photos of the Forbidden City turn out. Are Mabel and Kenneth in Shanghai now?’

‘Yes, they’re going to Yunnan tomorrow, and will be back in Beijing on the 10th. You must make sure you have all your documents ready by the time they return. Kenneth will help you choose a university. Once you receive a letter of acceptance, you’ll be able to get a passport very quickly.’

‘What about this new regulation that insists students must work for two years before applying for a passport?’ Over the weeks, Tian Yi’s skin had turned dark brown. I’d been going out with her for nine months, but suddenly she looked like a stranger.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You can pay someone to forge an employment certificate. That’s what I did.’

‘This city makes me claustrophobic. I want to fly away.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said, trying to share her mood. ‘I feel like doing something reckless, like setting fire to those boxes over there.’

‘Mabel said that when people march through the streets in America, no one bothers to stop and look. Perhaps living in a country like that would be even worse.’ Then she looked at me and said, ‘My stomach always clenches when I hear the words “military crackdown”. I don’t want to die…’

A large Yellow River truck trundled past us. Hundreds of factory workers were standing on its open back. A few were sitting on top of the driver’s compartment waving red flags. It headed slowly towards the Square. The large paper banners stuck to its side had been shredded by the wind.

You swelter in a bamboo steamer, death crackling through your body like electricity.

The wooden wardrobe begins to creak and moan, just like it did this time last June, as the horizontal strip of wood inside expands in the hot, humid air. I nailed that loose strip back myself. When autumn comes, cool breezes will expel the moisture from the wood, and the strip will contract again. The locust tree outside the window has grown even taller. Its shadow shifts slowly across my face, allowing me to sense I’m still alive.

Every year, at around the time of Tian Yi’s birthday, the police turn up and drag us out of Beijing for a few days. Last year, we went to a guest house in Miyun County. The air was fresh and cool. My mother insisted on going for a walk. She put me on a wheeled stretcher and pushed me around the Miyun reservoir, with the two plain-clothes policemen tagging along behind. Everyone we passed assumed we were a family on an afternoon stroll, and that I was a sick relative receiving care at a nearby rest home. This year, my mother demanded to be taken to an area of natural beauty. So the public security bureau allocated us a police car that drove us all the way to Mount Wutai, which my mother had always dreamed of visiting. For a week, she was able to worship in the ancient Buddhist temples and practise Falun Gong in the clean mountain air. She slept soundly at night, and by the end of our stay managed to feel a Falun wheel spinning inside her abdomen. Having not heard from us, Master Yao was sick with worry. My mother phoned him as soon as we got back this morning, and he has rushed over to see us.