Ha Jin - War Trash

"You really think so?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want to make friends with her?"

"I still have my fiancee on the mainland."

"That's why I only said make friends with her; I'm not suggesting you become engaged."

I saw his intention and asked, "Who is she?"

"My niece in Taiwan. She's a student in a business school and studies accounting. She knows how to manage money."

"I can't decide now, but can I keep her photo for a while?"

"Absolutely. Here, take it." He was delighted. "Whenever you want to meet her, let me know. Her family in Taipei will be yours if you like her."

I had no intention of befriending the girl, but I wanted to please her uncle. Despite having a soft spot for me, Wang Yong was a loose cannon, who, if vexed, wouldn't think twice about hurting me. So I couldn't afford to level with him.

The next morning while I was reading the Bible, the orderly burst in and told us to assemble in the yard. I knew the time was coming, so I stuffed the book into my jacket pocket and went out. Columns of people were already gathered there. Beyond them were parked eighteen trucks. The drivers were all Americans, which was an encouraging sign to the prisoners. In no time every two squads, about thirty men, lined up behind a vehicle and climbed into the back. When we had all gotten in, the trucks revved and began to wobble out of the muddy yard. Then they sped toward the U.N. quarters just a mile away within the Demilitarized Zone.

It was a fine morning, though the trees still wore a skin of frost. Viewed from a distance, their branches looked smoky. Along the roadside were scattered rotten straw sacks, some of which still contained sand. I didn't expect the U.N. quarters to be so large. It consisted of over forty new tents, two-thirds of which were used for the persuasion. In the front yard were some large, empty, corral-like pens. The moment we jumped down from the trucks we were led into one of these holding pens, in which we formed lines for waiting in groups. Wang Yong put some officers at the front of the lines, so we could have a strong start. Also, the officers were supposed to go first so that we could come back to instruct the others how to confront the Communist persuaders effectively. Wang put me at the head of the second line. This relieved me from having to wait in the nippy north wind for very long, and enabled me to concentrate on my plan.

At nine-thirty about a dozen Indian soldiers came to fetch the first batch of us, and sixty prisoners were marched out of the pen. I was among them. The unarmed guards escorted us toward one of the four rest halls outside the persuasion tents. Ahead of us, the flags of various nations were flapping in the wind, as if a colorful holiday celebration were in progress. I was reviewing my plan as I walked, trying hard to keep calm and focused. A few minutes after we reached the rest hall, more Indians turned up to take half of us to the tents. A tall guard checked my ID tag, then led me to Tent 7. At its entrance he searched me before letting me in.

It was quite warm inside the tent, cozy and bright. The base of the wall was built of plywood, about three feet high; atop the wood was a broad band of Plexiglas, through which sunlight flooded in and above which canvas stretched all the way up to the ceiling. In the middle of the tent sat a large potbellied stove; in it a fire was whirring; it burned oil instead of coal and was much larger than those in our quarters. Unlike the tents I had seen before, this one was really fancy, with even a hardwood floor. In a corner a few men were chatting, and one of them was holding a soda bottle, almost empty. A man who looked like a Pole came over and took a photo of me. This fazed me a little, because the Poles and the Czechs represented the Socialist alliance whereas the Swedes and the Swiss were here for the Free World. I was led to a large chair, facing a long table covered with green velveteen. Evidently the Indians had taken measures to prevent the prisoners from attacking the Chinese persuaders – the chair was screwed to the floor.

I sat down and raised my head. To my astonishment, I saw a pair of familiar eyes. Hao Chaolin! I almost cried out. He was sitting at the middle of the table, accompanied by two other Chinese officers. They all wore spruce woolen uniforms with a piece of red silk on their chests, which carried the golden words "Staff – Persuasion Work." At one end of the table sat two North Korean officers. To my left were seated five arbitrators from neutral countries, who all had on civvies, while behind me, in a corner, sat three U.N. representatives, one of whom was a Chinese man who must have been an interpreter. I was so astounded to see Chaolin that a surge of vertigo seized me. I reached out for the Indian guard for support.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Sorry, I'm dizzy." I regained my composure and gingerly lifted my eyes to meet Chaolin's.

He stood up, mouth ajar, about to run around the table and rush toward me, then he seemed to change his mind and held out his hand instead. We shook hands while he smiled awkwardly, as if he had a sensitive molar. A fresh dark bruise was on his cheek – probably inflicted by an anti-Communist prisoner. We stared at each other without a word. Then another persuader asked me my name, and by force of habit I told him my alias. He said, "Welcome, Comrade Feng Yan." I could tell Chaolin was unsure whether I was their enemy or friend now. It flashed through my mind that since he had seen me, he would definitely report me to his superiors if I refused to return to the mainland. This meant my mother and Julan would suffer on my account, and ours would become a counterrevolutionary family. What should I do? I felt nauseated, short of breath.

"Comrade Yu Yuan," Hao Chaolin said solemnly, intending to remind me of my true identity, his penetrating eyes riveted on my face, "you should come home, where the Party and the people are waiting for you. I'm glad we finally met at – "

"When did I say I wouldn't go back?" I interrupted him. "You know how I got trapped in the camp controlled by the pro-Nationalists, don't you?"

He looked startled; so did the other two persuaders. A slim red-haired man, who must have been a Swiss, looked at me curiously, then at Chaolin. Chaolin realized the meaning of my question and replied, "I understand you were discovered when they checked your fingerprints."

I remained wordless, surprised he knew what had happened. I felt like crying but restrained myself.

He went on, "We won't mistreat a good comrade like you again, I promise. In fact, Commissar Pei is waiting to see you in Kaesong."

"You mean he was released?"

"Yes, yesterday."

"How about Chang Ming?"

"He's there too. They went back as the last batch of 'war criminals.'"

I gazed at him steadily. His eyes convinced me that he was telling the truth. I said, "To be honest, I've never planned to go to Taiwan, but I'm afraid that even my comrades won't forgive me now. I'm completely trapped between the two sides." As I spoke, it grew clear to me that there was no way I could go elsewhere without implicating my mother and my fiancee.

"Yuan, I shall always stand by you. It was the Party that sent you to Pusan, and you won't be blamed for the consequences." He looked tearful, apparently moved by the memory of our prison life.

I was touched too. I said, "Will you testify that it was only under duress that I stayed with the pro-Nationalists?"

"I shall do that, of course."

"No, I mean I landed among them because I was used to take Chang Ming's place."

He lowered his eyes, then lifted them to face me. "You made a great sacrifice, Yuan. Nobody will blame you."

"In that case, I will come home."

I turned to the arbitrator sitting at the end of the table and said in English, "I want to be repatriated."