Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

I finally tracked down some students from my brother’s university. They’d got out of their bus and were preparing to climb up onto the roof. They hadn’t been able to open their windows, and the stench inside had become unbearable. One of the guys knew my brother. He told me that Dai Ru had opposed the movement at the beginning, and hadn’t even gone on the 4 May march. But since joining the hunger strike, he’d become one of their university’s leading activists.

‘I told Dai Ru not to join the movement,’ I said. ‘My mother only has two sons. If we both end up getting killed, there will be no one to look after her.’

‘Your brother is a great orator,’ the guy said. ‘I heard his hunger strike speech.’ He was wearing a white bandanna. The thick metal frames of his glasses flashed in the sunlight. The student standing next to him climbed into a cardboard box on which he’d written UNLOCK THE CHAINS OF TYRANNY. He stuck his head and arms out through holes he’d made on the top and sides then asked his friends to give him a leg-up onto the roof of the bus.

‘That’s hard to believe,’ I said. ‘He was always afraid of public speaking. By the way, the Provincial Students’ Federation is going to be launched this afternoon. Make sure you send a representative.’

‘That’s good news. Students from the provinces have a hard time here. We keep having to beg the Beijing students for handouts. It’s about time we set up our own organisation.’

‘What do you think about this hunger strike?’ I asked. ‘Are you nervous it might provoke the government into using violence?’

The boy offered me a cigarette, took a puff of his own and said, ‘The government won’t dare use force. We’ve got the whole country behind us. Everyone wants democracy.’

‘It’s precisely because everyone wants democracy that the government will crack down on us,’ I said. I walked away then glanced back at him and said, ‘You shouldn’t smoke when you’re on hunger strike.’

After a long search, I eventually found Tian Yi. She was lying asleep on the floor of a bus next to Mimi, a folded quilt propping up her head and a drip attached to her arm. She looked contented. Not wanting to disturb her, I tiptoed away and returned to the Monument.

The cells of the pituitary gland at the base of your brain look like human bones scattered across a field.

After the downpour, the air smelt rancid. I was relieved that Tian Yi was safely hidden away in one of the buses.

In the distance, I spotted three girls from Hong Kong walking into the hunger strike camp with big red banners. Their hair was immaculately brushed, just as A-Mei’s used to be. A pack of journalists waded through the puddles and photographed them as they passed.

I climbed to the upper terrace of the Monument. It was spotless. I assumed the rain had washed everything away. Then Shu Tong appeared and told me he’d got his student marshals to clean it up. He’d come to the Square to set up the Organising Committee’s Tiananmen office.

Up until now, the Monument had been the territory of the Beijing Students’ Federation and the Hunger Strike Headquarters. You needed a pass to get through the ring of student marshals guarding the base, another document to enter the lower terrace, and to gain access to the upper terrace, you had to have a special pass personally signed by Bai Ling, Lin Lu, Ke Xi or Han Dan. Despite this tight control, the terraces were usually filled with people.

But they were empty now, and there wasn’t a speck of rubbish on the ground. Shu Tong ordered his student marshals to stand round the perimeter and link arms.

‘It all looks so well organised now,’ I said.

‘You should have got this place cleaned up ages ago,’ Shu Tong grumbled.

‘I can only give orders to Beijing University students,’ I said. ‘No one else will listen to me. Students have flooded here from all over the country. It’s a national gathering of vagrants!’ I saw a banner in the distance that said GOD HAS DECREED THAT LI PENG SHOULD DIE! ‘Look at that,’ I said, pointing at it. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme? We’re pushing ourselves into a corner.’

‘I thought you were one of the radicals, Dai Wei,’ Shu Tong said. ‘Why have you become so cautious? The hunger strikers have put their lives on the line. It’s only natural that they should want to raise the stakes.’

‘I thought you opposed the strike,’ I said, feeling that it was he who had changed, not me.

‘One must learn to adapt to evolving circumstances,’ he said as we walked down to the lower terrace. ‘The Square has become a battle zone. If Beijing University’s Organising Committee doesn’t get involved in the management, it will become marginalised from the movement.’

‘How come you weren’t at today’s televised meeting with Li Peng?’

Before he had a chance to reply, Nuwa’s distinctive alto voice poured through the loudspeakers: ‘Everyone’s shoes are drenched. If someone could get a batch of dry shoes and bring them to the broadcast station, we’d be very grateful…’

‘Are you thinking of going back to the campus, then?’ Shu Tong asked.

‘I can’t, not as long as Tian Yi is still here.’ We walked down the second flight of steps and pushed our way through the security cordon at the base of the Monument.

‘Beijing University students mustn’t relinquish control of the Square,’ said Shu Tong. ‘Zhuzi has formed a secret action group with second and third echelon commanders who can take over from us in the event of our arrest.’

‘Did you know that Wang Fei has set up a Provincial Students’ Federation? He’s already taken a group of his members to the Zhongnanhai government compound. He says the compound’s a paper tiger, and that they should be able to storm inside quite easily.’ I felt it was my duty to inform Shu Tong about these developments.

‘Provincial students can’t start trying to take control like that. Tell Wang Fei to stop all these dramatics and do something useful for once.’ Then he patted me on the shoulder and walked off.

It was getting dark. I noticed that all the students entering the Voice of the Student Movement tent were wearing white T-shirts with the words BROADCAST STATION written in black pen. The sign hanging outside their entrance looked more professional than ours.

One of the three Hong Kong girls was inside the tent delivering a speech in Cantonese. ‘The Hong Kong Student Association sent us here to convey our territory’s support for your movement. We’ve been collecting donations from all over Hong Kong, and we’ve brought this money with us today, hoping that it will assist you. Tonight, as a show of solidarity, the three of us will join your hunger strike!’

The students outside who understood Cantonese shouted their appreciation. The girls’ sharp intonations reminded me of when A-Mei would suddenly break into Cantonese when she was annoyed or excited, knowing I wouldn’t understand much of what she said.

‘Dai Wei, Chen Di needs you to connect the wires in the broadcast minibus,’ said Lin Lu, walking up with a large group of students.

‘Shu Tong’s cleaned up the Monument,’ I said. ‘He wants to set up an office there.’

‘I know, we moved out as soon as he arrived. We don’t want to have to share that place with him.’

‘You sort out the minibus — I’m not up to the job,’ I said, then walked away sullenly. We were in danger of being arrested at any moment, but the student leaders were still caught up in petty, territorial fights.

A nuclear membrane caves in. The tubules lining the inner surface squirm like roundworms.

My room stinks of emulsion paint. Two workmen are sitting on the end of my bed having a fag. They’re smoking the foreign ‘555’ brand of cigarettes. My mother is having the flat redecorated so that it will look at its best for Spring Festival.