Ha Jin - Ocean of Words

“ ‘You know that filthy-mouthed officer? This is his heart and liver, fried,’ Wan told me, and picked up a chunk of the meat and put it in his mouth. He was chewing. I began to tremble and wanted to escape. But Wan handed me his chopsticks and ordered, ‘Little Liu, try a piece. See if it tastes like mutton. You must learn to eat our enemy!’

“They all shouted to egg me on. I dropped the chopsticks and rushed out. I ran along the hilly road till the kitchen’s candlelight disappeared behind me. The night was wet and cold. I sat in a millet field and dared not return before they went to bed. I wasn’t sure if I should report them to the higher-ups. Who knew what was really going on? Perhaps the other leaders and medical officers had all accepted it as a custom to eat the enemies. Perhaps they had also shared the same sort of human dishes.

“The next morning, Wan and Feng grabbed me in our bedroom and said I mustn’t be softhearted. Feng Shun said, ‘If you feel pity for that mangy dog, you’ve confused an enemy with a friend. The love for our friends must be expressed in the hatred for our enemies. You mustn’t take an enemy as a man!’ I didn’t understand what he meant exactly. I was scared, and my heart was shaking. What would happen if they took me as their enemy someday? Wouldn’t they gobble down my insides too? So I made off again.”

The room was so quiet that only Old Liu’s breathing could be heard. Si Ma stood up and walked to Liu.

“I was not a deserter!” the old man yelled, pounding the desk with his small fists. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I hate Chiang Kai-shek and all the reactionaries, but I dare not eat them! All right, I can kill them, but I can’t eat their flesh. It’s true I don’t have the guts, but I’m not a deserter!”

“Calm down, please,” Si Ma said and patted Liu’s shoulder. He gestured for help. Three men in the front jumped up and went over. “Old leader, you’re too tired,” the secretary murmured. “You need a rest.”

Two men helped Old Liu to his feet and supported him out of the room.

“Comrades,” Si Ma addressed his men, “if you have taken some notes, you must tear the pages out and turn them in. Put them here.” He brought his hand down on the desk. “Whether Old Liu’s words are true or not is not our business to judge. What I want you to do is keep your mouths shut about this lecture. Liu is a Red Army man; something he says may not hurt him, but if you blab it out, you will be turned into a Current Counterrevolutionary. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” they said in unison.

The room was at once filled with the noise of moving chairs. The soldiers were going to the front and placing their notes on the desk.

Commander Pei didn’t move; he just sat there smoking a cigarette. His eyes were narrowed to short curves, squinting at the secretary time and again.

Si Ma was wondering why Pei wouldn’t turn in his notes. Then it came to him that Pei had something against him now. He would have to write a report to the Divisional Political Department without delay, in case Pei informed the superiors of this lecture before he did.

Squad Leader Shi Hsiang returned from the Company Headquarters with eleven pistols and told us to pack up. Only summer clothes were needed, and everybody had to take his mosquito net. “This time we got an easy job,” he assured us. Because we had the pistols, we left our rifles and submachine guns at our billet.

Twenty minutes later, we stood at attention facing Company Commander Yan Li in the middle of the drill ground. He called, “At ease!” and then described the “easy job.” A fly landed on my cheek, crawling zigzag down to my chin. I dared not shake it off. Some piglets suddenly started screaming from the pigpens about fifty meters behind us. Squad Leader Shi told Wang Min to go tell Swineherd Liu to stop catching and gelding those piglets for a short while.

“This time,” Commander Yan continued, “you Ninth Squad represent our company, undertaking the important task, directly under the command of Chief of Staff Shun. The Party and the people trust you. I hope everybody keeps in mind that anything you do will bear on the honor of our Guards Company. To guard the Russian prisoner is both a military task and a political task. You must not forget that to the Russian you stand for China and the Chinese Army. You must show him our true revolutionary spirit. As I said just now, in appearance you should be polite to the Russian Big Nose and not give him the impression that he is a prisoner, because at this moment we don’t know who he really is. But never forget it’s our duty to keep him always under watch, day and night. Comrades, is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” we shouted in one voice, clapping our heels together.

A new Liberation truck arrived. We climbed into it and sat down on our blanket rolls against the panels. As we were pulling out, the piglets began to squeal again. Off along a sandy road, the truck sped to the eastern outskirts of Longmen City. The scorching sun made us feel sleepy as we were tossed about in the truck.

Having left behind a long dragon of dust, we arrived at the Eastern Airport, a deserted military base built by the Japanese during the Second World War. Three young officers were already there waiting for us. Two of them wore cameras around their necks, and the other held a morocco briefcase. Everything had been arranged: Our room was upstairs in the small black-brick building, which was the only building at the airport; our dining room was on the first floor; the Russian captive and his Chinese interpreter would live in the two small rooms adjoining our large room, so that they had to cross ours to get out. There was also a recreation room on the first floor, and the Ping-Pong table looked brand-new.

“For the time being, treat him as a kind of guest. I mean in appearance,” a tall officer with a gleaming gold tooth told our squad leader, while the rest of us were busy adjusting straw mattresses on the plank bed that stretched for fifteen meters across the large room. He was a staff officer from the Office of Tactics in the Divisional Staff, famous for his graceful handwriting. People called him Scholar Wang.

We all felt we could have a good time here. Everything seemed neat. At least we could avoid the summer drill.

Around three o’clock in the afternoon two Beijing jeeps pulled up in the center of the basketball court in front of the building. Divisional Chief of Staff Shun Hsin, his bodyguard, four officers, and the Russian captive got out of the jeeps. The Russian looked rather boyish and must have been under twenty-five. To our surprise, he was not as tall and big as we had expected, but just about as tall as most of the Chinese walking beside him, even shorter than Scholar Wang by half a head. He wore the Russian uniform; unlike ours, his cap had a big, broad peak. We watched attentively from upstairs, keeping our faces away from the windowpanes so that those outside would not notice us.

“He looks smart in that uniform,” Wang Min said. “It must be made of wool.”

“Gunnysack rags,” Squad Leader Shi said. “It looks good only when it’s new. You’ll see how soon it will fall apart.”

“His nose is not big at all,” Ma Lin said.

“Why is his face so white?” Meng Dong asked.

“He must have drunk too much milk,” Wang Min answered. “You see how large his round eyes are. That means he stuffs himself every day.” Wang always liked to tease.

“Who’s that old fellow with a gray goatee?” Vice Squad Leader Hsu Jiasu asked, referring to the officer who was walking between the Russian and the chief of staff, speaking to one and then the other.

“That must be Interpreter Zhang. He speaks Russian best in the province. Haven’t you heard of Big-Beard Zhang?” the squad leader asked.