Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

‘Most of the students who dared write posters are children of former rightists,’ my brother said. ‘Some of my classmates threw sheets of white paper from their windows as a sign of mourning, but they didn’t have the guts to write anything on them.’

‘The police won’t arrest you for writing eulogies,’ I told him. ‘Just don’t join any unofficial organisations.’

Through the open door of the dorm behind me, I could hear the voice of a rock singer growling from a cassette player: ‘ The world is a rubbish dump. We are rats that pilfer and steal. We gobble up all that’s good then spew out shit ideas… ’ The thudding noise irritated me. I quickly finished the conversation and put down the phone.

Wang Fei wasn’t around, so Old Fu and I went to the girls’ block to see if he was in Sister Gao’s dorm. Sure enough, there he was. He’d calmed down a little and was drinking and smoking with Chen Di. Bai Ling and Mimi were also there, preparing some snacks.

Sister Gao was the eldest woman in the girls’ dorm block and, just like Old Fu in our block, played the role of wise elder. She’d gone out to a street stall and bought a pig’s ear for Wang Fei to have with his beer. As we walked in, Mimi was slicing it up and dousing it with sesame oil and vinegar.

Although it was spring, the students in the dorm were still wearing jumpers and down jackets. I kept my jacket on but removed my gloves.

‘Have you heard about the eulogies going up in the Triangle, Sister Gao?’ Old Fu asked. ‘Some students in the Creative Writing Programme have even composed a memorial couplet.’ Then he turned to Shu Tong and said, ‘What does the Pantheon Society plan to do? Didn’t you say that 1989 would be a good time to launch another protest movement, it being the two hundredth anniversary of the French Revolution, and the seventieth of China’s May Fourth Movement? Last month Han Dan’s Democracy Salon put up some posters calling for the legalisation of independent student organisations. It looks like they have an action plan.’

‘My parents were denounced during the Anti-Rightist movement,’ said Sister Gao, ‘and I was branded the daughter of capitalist dogs. When Hu Yaobang rehabilitated millions of rightists ten years ago, we saw him as our saviour. So I’m not against mourning his death, far from it. But you shouldn’t use his death as an excuse to launch a new protest movement. You’d be falling into the government’s trap. The university authorities have been told to remain on guard.’

‘The memorial couplet was put up by the law students,’ Shu Tong said, waving someone’s tobacco smoke from his eyes. ‘It seems that Haizi’s suicide has stirred them into action.’ Haizi was a poet who’d studied law at Beijing University. Despairing of China’s future, he’d made his way to the railway line near the end of the Great Wall the previous month, and thrown himself in front of a train. ‘We’ll get some engineering students to take a memorial wreath for Hu Yaobang to Tiananmen Square tomorrow. We’ll keep it simple.’

‘Let’s turn our minds to happier things,’ Sister Gao said. ‘It’s Bai Ling’s birthday today. I’m going to boil up some birthday noodles for her. So no more talk about suicides and memorials, all right? Dai Wei, don’t think you can just turn up here and cadge a free meal from us. Go and get some beer from the corner shop, and some candles too while you’re about it.’

‘Yes, I’m very squeamish about death and blood,’ Bai Ling said quietly. ‘So please change the subject.’

‘How thoughtless of Hu Yaobang to choose to die on your birthday, of all days!’ Chen Di smiled.

‘In 1986, a Beijing University philosophy student called Zhang Xiaohui was arrested for writing A Marxist Manifesto for the Youth of China ,’ Sister Gao said. ‘He was accused of spreading counterrevolutionary propaganda and sentenced to three years in prison. If you have any sense you’ll stop all this nonsense and concentrate on your studies.’

‘Is it true that Han Dan’s taking break-dancing lessons now? I thought he was supposed to be a serious intellectual. What a joke!’ Wang Fei narrowed his bloodshot eyes. I could tell he’d got through at least three bottles of beer already.

‘Was Hu Yaobang the President of China, or General Secretary of the Communist Party?’ asked Bai Ling. ‘I can never remember!’ Bai Ling was tiny but well proportioned. She had large eyes, high cheekbones, and a defiant, stubborn air.

‘General Secretary of course. Zhao Ziyang’s taken over his post now. He’s a reformer. He helped set up the special economic zones, and wants to make the Party more open and democratic. If you carry on with these protests, he’ll be forced to step down too.’ Mimi spoke in a measured tone. She was a Chinese literature student. She was even shorter than Bai Ling, and had to look up at people when she spoke. So often had her lower lip been pulled down by her neck muscles that her mouth was almost always half open. Her husky, masculine voice was very distinctive.

‘Didn’t you lot say that you wanted to establish a new government and ask Hu Yaobang to be the leader?’ Bai Ling said, turning to Shu Tong. ‘Well, it’s too late for that now.’

‘Your generation is supposed to be the great hope of our nation, and you don’t even know who the General Secretary is!’ Old Fu said, smiling at Bai Ling.

‘Hu Yaobang was a distinguished reformer,’ Shu Tong intoned, sticking his chin up. ‘The hardliners drove him to his grave. We’re to blame for his death as well. If we hadn’t demonstrated two years ago, he’d still be in his post now.’

‘If we want to mourn his death properly, we should lay memorial wreaths in Tiananmen Square tonight,’ Wang Fei said, waking up a little.

‘Where did that sudden burst of enthusiasm come from, Wang Fei?’ Chen Di chuckled.

‘Don’t put your lives at risk,’ Bai Ling said. ‘You think that if you get killed by the police, you’ll become glorious martyrs. But your deaths wouldn’t change anything. The government would still be in control.’

‘Other students went to the Square this afternoon to lay wreaths and recite eulogies.’ Shu Tong had become much more optimistic recently. He and Liu Gang had made up, and had even made a trip together to the Politics and Law University to plan the next stage of the student protests.

‘Let’s go to the Square then! Right now!’ Wang Fei said, gobbling another slice of pig’s ear. ‘We can march all the way there. I’ve got the banners ready.’

‘Calm down, Wang Fei,’ Sister Gao said, dropping the noodles into a pot of boiling water. ‘You received a disciplinary warning after the ’87 protests. Do you really want to go through that again?’

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘The rest of us might have got off without a warning, but our names were blacklisted, so there’s no chance of our getting jobs in Beijing after we graduate.’

‘I hear that you’ve been sent an enrolment letter by the American university you wrote to,’ Bai Ling said to me. Tian Yi must have told her.

‘No, I sent off ten applications, but I haven’t had any answers yet.’

‘This country will grind to a halt soon,’ Mimi said, fixing her cold gaze on me. ‘Everyone’s making plans to go abroad.’

‘This time we must organise a massive demonstration!’ Wang Fei seemed to have got over the distress of being dumped by the pathologist.

I didn’t want to stay for the noodles, so when no one was looking, I slipped out and went to Tian Yi’s dorm.

The light in the cold corridor was flickering, as it always did when someone was secretly using an electric hob.

Tian Yi opened her bed curtain. All the other curtains in the dorm were drawn. I couldn’t tell if there was anyone behind them. I hadn’t taken Tian Yi back to our flat since Chinese New Year. My mother asked me why. I gave her an evasive answer. I hoped that, with time, Tian Yi would forget what happened in the woods and we could return to how we were before.