Ha Jin: The Crazed

Mantao wasn’t back yet, and I worried. Toward evening I went out to mail a letter to my family, telling them what I had seen in Beijing. On my way back I ran into an undergraduate who had been in Mantao’s group and had returned that morning. He said they hadn’t reached Tiananmen Square either. I asked him where Mantao was.

“You don’t know?” His dreamy eyes gleamed.

“Know what?”

“He was shot in the face when he pitched a Molotov cocktail at a personnel carrier.”

“Where is he now?”

“I’ve no idea. I heard he died on the way to the hospital.”

My chest and throat contracted with pain, but I managed to ask, “How about the others in your group?”

“They’re all right, I guess. Some of them haven’t returned yet. Those who’re back can’t stop crying and cursing in the dorms. Old Ghost has a sprained arm.”

Old Ghost was a skeletal fellow, an economics major. I walked away. Tears were flowing down my face. I wished I were an army commander, though I knew that even if I were, I couldn’t have done a thing to avenge the dead, because it was the Party that controlled the army. In the indigo sky a skein of geese appeared, veering north while squawking gutturally. The sight of the birds reminded me of a squadron of superbombers. “Avenge me. . Kill them all!” Mr. Yang’s last words suddenly reverberated in my mind. I shook my head forcefully to get rid of the haunting sounds.

Back in the dormitory, I dozed away in bed again. Whenever awake, I would listen to my shortwave radio, and tears welled up in my eyes from time to time. On the BBC a reporter said plaintively that an estimated five thousand people had been killed, that many students were crushed by the tanks and armored personnel carriers, that a civil war might break out anytime since more field armies were heading for Beijing, that forty million dollars had just been transferred to a Swiss bank by someone connected with the top national leaders, and that an airliner was reserved for them in case they needed to flee China. However, another reporter, a woman from Hong Kong, told a different story. She said composedly that at most about a thousand civilians had been killed, that the government was in firm control of the situation, that the police were rounding up the student leaders, and that dozens of intellectuals had been detained. The foreign reporters on the radio tended to contradict one another, whereas no mainland Chinese, except for the government’s spokesman, Mu Yuan, and a lieutenant colonel in charge of clearing Tiananmen Square, dared to comment on the event. The officer repeatedly stressed that the People’s Liberation Army had successfully quelled the counterrevolutionary uprising without killing a single civilian. I listened and dozed off by turns. The dormitory was noisy, and numerous radio sets were clamoring.

Ever since I boarded the train back, a terrible vision had tormented me. I saw China in the form of an old hag so decrepit and brainsick that she would devour her children to sustain herself. Insatiable, she had eaten many tender lives before, was gobbling new flesh and blood now, and would surely swallow more. Unable to suppress the horrible vision, all day I said to myself, “China is an old bitch that eats her own puppies!” How my head throbbed, and how my heart writhed and shuddered! With the commotion of two nights ago still in my ears, I feared I was going to lose my mind.

The next morning I didn’t go out either. Toward noon, when I was lying on my bed and listening to the radio, somebody knocked on the door. I raised myself on one elbow and called, “Come in.”

It was Yuman Tan. He wore a yellow V-necked sweater, which made him look like a different man, rather spirited. Seeing his bright-colored outfit, I almost flared up. He seemed anxious, and his eyes were scanning the closed mosquito nets over the other two beds, as if to make sure there wasn’t another person in the room. I sat up and glared at him, believing he must be on an official errand. I grunted, “I’m alone here. What’s up?”

He grinned and said, “Jian, I came to tell you that the city police are coming to arrest you this afternoon. You must go.”

I was transfixed, then began to defend myself as if he were a police officer. I said almost in a cry, “I went to the capital only for personal reasons. Believe me, I was mad at Meimei and wanted to show her that I wasn’t a coward and dared to go to Beijing whenever I liked. Honestly, I didn’t mean to demand democracy and freedom and didn’t even get to Tiananmen Square. You know I’ve never been politically active.”

His face didn’t change. “This makes no difference, Jian. They’ve already decided you’re a counterrevolutionary.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. Yesterday afternoon Ying Peng assigned me to prepare all the material about you. I overheard her telling the police on the phone this morning that if you hadn’t lost your mind, you must be a counterrevolutionary. It’s a hopeless case. She’s made up her mind to send you either to prison or to a mental hospital. The police are coming for you early this afternoon. You’d better go now.”

“I didn’t do anything. Why should I run away?”

“Don’t be stupid. This is no time to argue. They took Kailing Wang away yesterday. You must leave now, or at least hide somewhere for a few days.”

“They arrested her? For what?”

“I’ve heard that she gave money to the students, or they couldn’t have gone to Beijing.”

At last his words sank in. I got up and began gathering things I’d take with me. He said anxiously, “I must be going. Don’t let anyone know I told you this.”

“All right, I won’t.”

Before he could head away, I said, “Wait a minute. Why did you run the risk of helping me?” I knew he disliked me as much as I despised him.

He blushed a little. “I told Weiya about your case at lunch. She wanted me to inform you immediately because she doesn’t feel well and can’t come herself.”

“What happened to her?”

“She has taken to her bed since she heard that the army started attacking the students.”

“But why do you look so happy? Because some of them are dead?” I couldn’t help my derision.

“Come on, don’t think I’m heartless. I cried together with Weiya when we heard the news, and I too have soaked my pillow with tears at night, but I have to put on a cheerful face in public. If I look happy, it’s out of habit. A mask is necessary for survival.”

Still I couldn’t curb my anger. He had gained so much from Mr. Yang’s death. Now he was officially the editor in chief of the journal, had Weiya in his palm, and surely would be promoted to professor soon. No wonder he was in high spirits. I said to him, “Listen, Weiya and I were Mr. Yang’s students. To me she’s more than a fellow grad, she’s a friend. If you don’t treat her well, I’ll get even with you one of these days.”

He was taken aback. His face fell as his eyes kept flickering. Yet he said rather solemnly, “Why are you so petulant, so hostile to me? What makes you believe I’m such a lucky man? Weiya and I have just been dating. You think we’re going to get married tomorrow? I wish I were that lucky.”

For a moment I was speechless, just gazing at him. He went on, “Weiya is a such a good girl that, to be honest, I feel I’ve just begun to learn how to love a woman.” Seeing that I was still at a loss, he reminded me, “You must go now, Jian.”

I forced myself to say, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He nodded, his eyes brightened.

After he left, I washed my face with cold water to refresh my mind a little. I had to act coolheadedly from now on.

Outside, in the scorching sun, Little Owl shouted with both fists thrust upward into the air, “Good news! Great news! The People’s Liberation Army is executing counterrevolutionaries in Beijing. Bang-bang-bang-bang! All tanks are shelling those little bastards!” He was running on his bandy legs from one dormitory to another to spread the victorious news. Then came his wild bawling; somebody must be hitting him.