Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

You travel through the gall bladder and enter the hepatic artery. Drifting upstream, you catch sight of the heart, suspended in the darkness like a distant planet.

After queuing for two hours at the post office, I sent a telegram to my brother telling him not to come to Beijing or join the hunger strike. Then I went back to the Square.

During my absence, the dialogue with the government had collapsed. Mou Sen had been at the meeting and told me that Sister Gao had stormed in and shouted, ‘Start the live broadcast right now, or stop the dialogue!’ just as the Hunger Strike Group had asked. The meeting broke up at once. The Dialogue Delegation was furious and said that history would not forgive her. Hoping to regain their trust, she collected a dozen middle-aged intellectuals and brought them back to the Square with the aim of persuading the students to withdraw. By the time Mou Sen reached the Square, the intellectuals had been driven away by the enraged hunger strikers.

It was almost midnight. In the distance, I could hear Wang Fei shouting through his megaphone: ‘We’ve reached a crucial stage. Do we go forward now, or do we retreat?… Citizens of Beijing, please stay in the Square with us and continue to give us your support!… The twelve intellectuals who spoke to us just now recommended that we agree to leave the Square on two conditions. We’re grateful for their advice, but it’s no use to us. According to them, our first condition should be that their “Urgent Appeal” is published by Guangming Daily . I’ve read that appeal. It’s about freedom of the press, which might be their priority, but it’s not ours! Their second condition was that Premier Li Peng and General Secretary Zhao Ziyang should visit the Square. Well, of course we’d welcome that. But we won’t insist on it. We’ve seen enough of those two guys on our television screens!’

The crowd cheered and yelled, ‘Yes! We will stay here until we get what we want!’

‘We will not be moved!’ Wang Fei shouted, and the crowd shouted out after him: ‘We will not be moved! We will not be moved!’

Mou Sen disappeared into the throng. I tried to push my way over to the Beijing University camp, but couldn’t find a path, so I headed towards the Monument. I wanted to tell Wang Fei that the hunger strikers needed to sleep, and that he should stop making such a racket.

‘The government has asked us to vacate the Square in time for tomorrow’s grand welcoming ceremony for Gorbachev,’ Wang Fei continued. ‘Well, we’re not moving. They can hold the ceremony somewhere else, if they want to… We will use the power of the people to teach a lesson to the autocratic clique that’s ruling our nation. We don’t want to shed our blood, but if we do, we’ll be able to write with it the most important page in China’s history!’ The crowd roared in support.

At last, I managed to make my way to Wang Fei’s side. He was flanked by Chen Di and Xiao Li, who were both wearing hunger strike bandannas. Nuwa was sitting nearby, her black hair gleaming in the darkness. When I saw her there, I suddenly didn’t feel like telling Wang Fei to shut up.

Chen Di offered me a cigarette. I took it, reminding him not to smoke while he was on hunger strike, then went back to look for Tian Yi.

Exhausted by hunger, she was fast asleep on the ground with a quilt draped over her. I touched her forehead, and was relieved to find she hadn’t yet broken into a cold sweat.

Mimi was gazing blankly into the sky. The other hunger strikers were asleep. Not wanting to disturb them, I crept away quietly and returned to the Monument.

I found Mou Sen there. He was sitting with Sister Gao and Fan Yuan, a student from the Politics and Law University. Though not especially capable, Fan Yuan was very keen and had managed to insinuate himself into several powerful positions. He’d been chairman of the Beijing Students’ Federation for a few days and was also a member of the Dialogue Delegation.

‘Can’t you go and tell Wang Fei to shut up, Dai Wei?’ Sister Gao said to me. ‘You’re his friend, and the head of the student marshal team. It’s the middle of the night. Everyone wants to get some sleep.’

‘Nuwa’s with him. I don’t want to butt in.’

Mao Da came over to talk to Mou Sen. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t here when the twelve intellectuals came. The reporter Dai Jing said that if we hadn’t occupied the Square, the journalists would never have dared ask for freedom of the press, but then a second later, she begged us to withdraw. Old Fu was worried her speech might harm student morale, so he quickly played Bai Ling’s hunger strike declaration over the PA, the one that brings tears to everyone’s eyes. When the twelve intellectuals heard it, they knew they had no chance of persuading us to leave.’

Mao Da had arrived in the Square in the afternoon after Liu Gang had asked him to help with the security work.

‘That was very unwise of Old Fu,’ Mou Sen said. He, like me, was sorry to have missed the intellectuals’ visit. Those writers and scholars were his heroes.

‘You Beijing University students are in a mess,’ Fan Yuan said. ‘Bai Ling stopped the Dialogue Delegation from talking to the government, Old Fu stopped the intellectuals from talking to the students, and you, Sister Gao, keep confusing everything by jumping from one camp to another. How will this movement ever get anywhere?’

‘I keep running back and forth, trying to help resolve conflicts, but all I get is abuse,’ Sister Gao moaned. ‘Now that it’s clear the government aren’t going to launch a crackdown, everyone’s scrambling for power. It really is a case of “leaders emerging in times of chaos”.’

Knowing that there was nothing more for me to do, I picked up a quilt, crossed Changan Avenue, and crept up onto one of the viewing stands flanking Tiananmen Gate. It was where state dignitaries sat to watch parades. Most students wouldn’t have dreamed of going there. But I knew it would be quiet, and I’d be the first to know of police movements during the night, as the police station was in the courtyard behind.

You listen to the voices floating around you, as enviously as a tree trunk staring at falling leaves.

I woke up on the viewing stand with the sun streaming down on my face, and quickly climbed down to the Square. Gorbachev was due to arrive in Beijing in two hours.

‘Did you see Yanyan last night?’ Mou Sen asked me, then took a deep drag from his cigarette.

‘No. Why? Have you had another row?’ He’d mentioned they’d been going through a bad patch recently.

‘No, no.’

There was a sudden burst of applause. I heard Pu Wenhua, the boy from the Agricultural College, shouting to the crowds, ‘Let’s show them! We’ll stay here until the bitter end, until victory is ours!’ Over by the hunger strike camps, I saw Beijing residents put on white bandannas and wave red banners as they posed for souvenir photographs in front of the fasting students.

‘You shouldn’t smoke when you’re on hunger strike,’ I told Mou Sen. ‘The sugar and oxygen levels in your brain will be dangerously low now.’

‘Look, Bai Ling’s set up a Tiananmen Square Hunger Strike Headquarters on the lower terrace,’ he said, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

‘When did she do that?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t there when I went to sleep three hours ago.’

‘At five this morning. After a quick talk with that Nanjing student Lin Lu, she went to the PA system Old Fu set up and announced that the Hunger Strike Group is now the Hunger Strike Headquarters, and that she is commander-in-chief, with Lin Lu as vice commander.’

‘What about Han Dan and Ke Xi?’

‘She said that every member of the Headquarters must pledge to set fire to themselves if the army comes to clear the Square,’ Mou Sen said, ignoring my question. ‘It’s too much!’