Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

When I reached the Triangle, I saw Bai Ling and Tian Yi signing up to join the hunger strike.

I wasn’t happy about this. Pointing to the front page of the News Herald , I said, ‘Look, this article says that the 27 April march was a victory for the students, but warns that if we take things any further, China will revert to the chaos of the Cultural Revolution. It’s written by a professor in the Politics Department.’

‘I wrote that article, you fool!’ Tian Yi said.

‘Just because you haven’t the courage to sign up, there’s no need to sneer at us,’ Bai Ling said.

‘He’s so stiff these days.’ Tian Yi gripped Bai Ling’s hand.

‘Have you gone out of your minds?’ I said.

‘We’re psychology students, so watch what you say,’ Bai Ling smirked. ‘You’re afraid to join the strike because it will make you conspicuous.’

‘So Mimi’s signed up too,’ I said, spotting her signature. ‘People will accuse her of doing it to lose weight.’

‘Why are you so scathing? No one’s forcing you to join the strike, so keep your mouth shut.’ Tian Yi was angry.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘If you go on a hunger strike, I’ll give up meat.’ Tian Yi glanced derisively at me then marched off to Shu Tong’s dorm. Bai Ling and I followed behind her.

Bai Ling and Tian Yi began drafting a hunger strike declaration. I sat beside them smoking cigarettes. A few hours later, Mou Sen wandered in to have a look at the draft, and said, ‘That won’t do. It’s got no style. I’ll have to rewrite it.’

Mou Sen had had a change of heart. A few minutes before, he’d announced that he’d resigned from the Beijing Students’ Federation in order to join the Beijing Normal’s hunger strike team.

In the eastern region of the Great Wastes there is a corpse with shoulder-length hair. This is God Jubi. He looks like a man, but his neck is broken and he only has one hand.

‘We entreat all honourable citizens of China — every worker, peasant, soldier, urban resident, intellectual, celebrity, government official, police officer, and all those who have branded us criminals — to put your hands on your hearts and examine your consciences. What crime have we committed? Have we created turmoil? Why are we holding class boycotts, marches, hunger strikes? For what cause are we sacrificing ourselves?…’

At eight the next morning, Bai Ling was broadcasting the hunger strike declaration that Mou Sen had rewritten. ‘We endured cold and hunger in pursuit of the truth,’ she continued, ‘but the armed police beat us back. On bended knees we begged for democracy, but the government ignored us. As our student leaders press for a dialogue, they find their lives are now in danger… We don’t want to die. We want to live. We’re young, and we want to enjoy our youth and study hard. There is still much poverty in China, and we want to work hard to eradicate it. We don’t seek death. But if one person’s death can allow many people to live better lives, then…’ By the time she reached the end of the speech, she was sobbing out the words.

I looked out of the window and saw a large crowd of students standing in the rain. They’d come out of the canteen to listen to the broadcast. Many of the girls were crying. After the speech, they drifted over to the noticeboard in the Triangle where the students were signing up to join the hunger strike.

I too had been moved by Mou Sen’s words. I went to a street stall outside the campus and bought three bowls of wonton soup which I emptied into an enamel washbasin and carried back to Tian Yi’s dorm. By the time I returned, Tian Yi was already awake.

‘What time did you go to sleep last night?’ I asked her. I felt guilty that I hadn’t stayed up with her. She was still copying out Mou Sen’s draft when I left. ‘I’ve decided I’ll go on the hunger strike with you,’ I said, sitting on a stool beside her.

The girls in the top bunks climbed down and went to wash their faces. Other girls were already looking into the mirror, pencilling in their eyebrows.

‘You keep changing your mind. How can I trust you? There are more than 10,000 students in Beijing University, but only fifty have signed up for the hunger strike so far. It’s pathetic.’ She took the bowl of soup that I ladled out for her and pushed her quilt back against the wall. I noticed the cracks in the dry skin of her heels.

‘A crowd of people have gone to sign up. They’ve just broadcast the hunger strike declaration you worked on last night. It was very moving.’ I went to sit by her feet. ‘Wang Fei wants to join the hunger strike as well, but is reluctant to align himself with Han Dan, so he’s in a quandary.’

‘They broadcast it? That’s great! Mmm, this soup is delicious. Lots of coriander.’ She crossed her legs and blew the steam away from the soup, then cried out, ‘Mimi, wake up! There’s some wonton soup for you.’ She looked up at her and laughed, ‘It’s the last breakfast we’ll be having for some time!’

‘Yes, you’d better fill up before you go to the Square,’ I said. ‘You won’t be getting any food this evening.’

Tian Yi slurped the soup from her spoon, then smacked her lips and said, ‘You should stick to sorting out logistics. Don’t join the hunger strike.’

‘The Organising Committee held a meeting just now to discuss how we’re going to help you. I’ll ask my student marshals to escort you all to the Square. The strikers will need a lot of backup support. Old Fu’s gone to the university’s clinic to ask for first-aid supplies.’

Tian Yi put down her spoon and picked up a small black flag on which she’d written the words HUNGER STRIKE. For a moment her eyes looked grey and lifeless. The night before, I’d begged her not to join the strike, but she accused me of being a coward. I wanted her to continue working for the News Herald . She was interested in literature and current affairs, and I thought that after she graduated she could go into journalism. The previous day’s edition of the News Herald included some editorials she’d selected from the Anti-Rightist Campaign which shared the same dictatorial tone as the 26 April editorial. She’d spent two days in the library searching them out. Everyone congratulated her on the job she’d done.

‘You’ve got a weak stomach,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid you might collapse after a couple of days without food.’ I poured the remaining soup into a bowl and handed it to Mimi, saying, ‘Careful, it’s hot.’ Mimi thanked me and produced a jar of fermented tofu. When she unscrewed the lid a pungent stench filled the room.

‘Give me some,’ Tian Yi said. The pitch of her voice always rose when she spoke to girls. ‘You might be afraid, Dai Wei, but I’m not.’

‘We’ll surround you with a cordon of student marshals to prevent you getting crushed if the police attack.’ I watched them pick up small cubes of the pink fermented tofu with their chopsticks.

Mimi left the room, sipping from her bowl of soup as she went and using her foot to close the door behind her.

‘Do you promise you’ll look after me?’ Tian Yi said.

‘I’ll sit down next to you. If you collapse you can fall on my lap.’ I gripped her shoulders and breathed the smell of her hair and the fresh coriander she’d eaten. She pushed me away and stared blankly at the remaining soup in her bowl. Her nose was pinker and shinier than the rest of her face.

It was still raining outside. The dorm blocks looked like rows of featureless wooden boxes.

She sat on the edge of her bunk. Her right hand was resting on a table, almost touching a pile of books. She rubbed a coriander leaf between the ink-stained fingers of her left hand.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You can give up the hunger strike if it gets too much. It’s only for show, after all.’