Beijing Coma (58 page)

After I’d put him down on a quilt and given him some bread and peanuts, I went outside to organise the student marshal team. Rumours that the hunger strike had been called off had spread through the Square, and a large mob had gathered round the station, demanding to broadcast their views. Most of them were furious about the decision. The student marshals in yellow caps were struggling to hold them back.

‘Look at this leaflet,’ a sweaty man in his forties said, pulling me over. He looked like a government cadre. ‘It says that officials in ten government organisations have decided to join the fast. It would be madness to end your hunger strike now! Let me through so I can broadcast this news to the Square.’

‘Why not make copies of the leaflet and distribute them to the students,’ I said. ‘The broadcast station is packed at the moment.’

A woman with hair permed like my mother’s walked up to me and said, ‘If you end the hunger strike now, the government will assume you’ve surrendered and will crush you like flies once you return to your campuses.’

‘This is the seventh day of our hunger strike and the government still hasn’t responded to our demands,’ I said, as she was joined by a young woman on a bike. ‘In fact, we’ve heard rumours that they’re about to impose martial law. A hunger strike won’t be able to force any concessions from a government like this.’

‘We’re ending the hunger strike, but our protests will continue,’ Chen Di explained to a middle-aged man in front of me. ‘We’re now going to hold a sit-in instead.’

Exhausted from the constant jostling and shoving, I stepped aside for a moment and asked Mao Da and Zhang Jie to tell the provincial marshals to collect their take-away suppers. Students from the Beijing campuses had been bringing meals to their classmates in the Square, which had created a lot of bad feeling among the provincial students, so Old Fu had given Big Chan and Little Chan 10,000 yuan to buy boxed meals for them.

Although the end of the hunger strike had still not been officially announced, many of the hunger strikers were starting to leave the buses. Some sat on the ground and stuffed biscuits into their mouths, others hobbled off to the emergency tent, propped up by medics in white coats. The ones who were too weak to move lay flat on the ground while doctors attached drips to their arms.

A man in a black shirt pulled me aside. ‘You’re the security chief, so that makes you one of the leaders, I suppose. In mid-June, there will be a meeting of the National People’s Congress,’ he said, pointing a big, grimy finger at the Great Hall of the People. ‘If you’re still in the Square when the meeting takes place, the government will never again be able to claim they represent the will of the people.’

‘Yes, that’s a good point,’ I said. My red armband had the words
SECURITY CHIEF
written on it. I’d discovered the only way I could disengage myself from these irritating people was to agree with whatever they said.

A man nearby handed me a cigarette then walked away mumbling, ‘The Chinese nation has reached the most dangerous juncture in its history, my friend!’

I continued to talk to the crowd, repeating that although the hunger strike was ending, our occupation of the Square would continue. My team of twenty marshals was struggling to keep the angry mob back. When the strain became too much, I sneaked back into the tent, sat down and fanned my face with my cap. My mouth was filled with ulcers, and it was painful for me to speak. I suspected that Tian Yi wouldn’t be too upset about the decision to end the strike, but many other hunger strikers had taken the news badly and had had to be rushed to hospital.

Ke Xi walked in. I presumed he’d had another good meal, because he was standing straight as a rod now, and although he still had his two bodyguards with him, the nurses and doctor had gone. ‘I’ve come to tell you that I’ve set up an Interim Command Centre,’ he announced.

‘That’s a good idea,’ I said. ‘The Hunger Strike Headquarters should disband now.’

‘And what’s your Interim Command Centre going to do?’ Mou Sen asked, gobbling a biscuit Nuwa had given him. The biscuits were a Hong Kong brand. The message
MAY EVERYTHING GO AS YOU WISH
! was printed along the side of the tin.

‘It will take control!’ When Ke Xi glared at you with his eyes wide open, he looked as if he suffered from a hyperactive thyroid.

‘What will be your relationship with the other student organisations?’ I asked.

‘I will be commander-in-chief,’ he said, ignoring the question.

‘Will you be calling for the students to leave the Square or to continue the occupation?’ Mou Sen asked.

‘I will be commander-in-chief,’ he repeated in a daze.

Mou Sen shook his head and sighed.

‘You’ve lost your mind, Ke Xi,’ I said, pushing him out of the tent. ‘Go onto the Monument if you want to give a speech. We’re in the middle of a broadcast here.’ I watched him stagger away, then I sat down in the tent’s doorway to stop anyone else coming in. I knew the broadcast station would become the focus of any new power struggle in the Square.

Ke Xi climbed onto the Monument’s lower terrace and shouted through his megaphone. A large crowd of supporters gathered round him and cheered his every word. When he finished speaking, he passed his megaphone to one of his bodyguards and stepped down to shake hands with Beijing residents and sign the notebooks they thrust into his hands.

Mou Sen waved the Hunger Strike Termination Statement he’d been rewriting and said, ‘That’s it. I’m not making any more changes. Bai Ling can read it out at the press conference once she’s announced the end of the hunger strike to the students.’

‘They’re only taking orders from Sister Gao now,’ I said.

‘Well forge her signature here and tell them she’s approved it,’ he said pointing to the corner of the page.

‘Ask someone else to take it to them. I’m looking after this place.’ I didn’t want Nuwa to think I could be ordered around by Mou Sen.

It was nearly nine o’clock. Some of the hunger strikers had hobbled over to our broadcast station by themselves, others had been carried over on stretchers. But most of them were now gathered around the tent, listening to the tape of the Internationale and waiting for Bai Ling to make her announcement.

The hunger strikers didn’t know about the threat of martial law that was hanging over us, so when Bai Ling announced that the hunger strike had been called off, many of them felt betrayed. Someone shouted, ‘You’ve deceived us, you criminals!’

The crowd started pushing. If I hadn’t brought another fifty marshals over to strengthen the cordon, the tent would have got knocked to the ground.

‘Listen to the outcry!’ Old Fu cried from inside the tent. ‘We can’t end the hunger strike. There’ll be a riot.’

Lin Lu snatched the megaphone from Bai Ling’s hand and yelled, ‘Calm down, everyone! We need to change tactics. The army is preparing to enter the city. If we don’t stop the hunger strike, we won’t have the strength to defend ourselves.’

I stood up and surveyed the scene. Hunger strikers began drifting off to Qianmen market or going into quiet corners to have something to eat. Two ambulances became blocked by the moving crowds. Suddenly the feeling of common purpose in the Square seemed to dissolve.

Nuwa’s jaw dropped. ‘I’ve just realised there are three thousand hunger strikers who will want to eat now, but we haven’t got any food to give them! What are we going to do?’

‘Switch off the microphone and play some music,’ I said. Nuwa knew how to operate the equipment herself now.

‘This is too much!’ Mou Sen said. ‘Phone up the canteens of every Beijing university and ask them to bring us vats of dumplings and wonton soup.’

Old Fu looked outside and cried, ‘You’ve betrayed the hunger strikers! Look at the crowd. Everyone’s weeping.’

‘Last week you opposed the hunger strike, but now you don’t want us to end it,’ Mou Sen said angrily. ‘It’s too much!’

‘Listen to me, fellow students!’ Old Fu shouted, grabbing the microphone. ‘Ignore the announcement that Bai Ling just made. I now propose that we relaunch the hunger strike immediately.’

‘Don’t act like a despot, Old Fu!’ Bai Ling wheezed. Since she’d read out the announcement, she’d been lying down inside the tent, gasping for breath. She still hadn’t eaten anything. Old Fu’s intervention angered her so much, she burst into tears. Her small breasts trembled like tofu. The nervous doctor at her side urged her to stay calm.

‘You’ve destroyed this movement, Bai Ling!’ Old Fu spluttered.

Pu Wenhua and a couple of other hunger strikers from the Agricultural College staggered into the tent and shouted, ‘Now you’ve called off the hunger strike I suppose you’ll be resigning from your post, Bai Ling.’

The doctor stood in Pu Wenhua’s way and said, ‘She’s still on hunger strike. Don’t upset her.’ Pu Wenhua brushed him aside and lurched towards us. Lin Lu pounced on him while I wrestled with the other two.

‘I’ve got some inside information!’ Wang Fei said, rushing over. ‘It’s from Cao Ming’s military contacts. Apparently, if we continue the hunger strike for just one more day, the hardliners’ resolve might crack, and Zhao Ziyang could regain his authority. The reformist wing is in a precarious situation. Wan Li, the liberal chairman of the National People’s Congress, has been detained in Shanghai, and won’t be allowed to return to Beijing unless he supports the government’s hardline approach.’

‘We reached our decision through a democratic vote,’ Mou Sen said to Old Fu. ‘The minority should bow to the majority.’ Apart from Bai Ling, everyone was standing up now.

‘Why do you never broadcast any of the Agricultural College’s statements?’ Pu Wenhua said, pointing at Mou Sen.

‘I make the editorial decisions here,’ Mou Sen said sternly. ‘I don’t allow extremist statements to be broadcast.’

‘Well, we’ll have to take that power away from you, then!’ Pu Wenhua told his classmates to grab Lin Lu’s megaphone. Mou Sen and Old Fu tried to snatch it too, but Lin Lu swerved round and passed it to Bai Ling. Clutching it feebly to her chest, she went over to the camp bed and croaked, ‘As long as I’m still here, I will remain in charge of this broadcast station!’

‘We all know you’re a government agent, Lin Lu,’ Wang Fei said, pushing him back.

Pu Wenhua stumbled towards Bai Ling and tried to yank the megaphone from her. Too weak to fight back, Bai Ling sunk her teeth into his hand. Pu Wenhua was very frail too, so when Mou Sen gave him a light push, he fell flat on the ground. Mou Sen then slipped and tumbled on top of him, then Old Fu pounced on top of them both, and the three of them wrestled on the ground in a tangled heap.

I rushed over to the broadcasting area and switched off the microphone.

A large pack of foreign journalists waiting to interview Bai Ling were sitting outside among the baying crowds of students and residents. The doctors placed Bai Ling on a stretcher and carried her out of the tent.

‘Get out, Wang Fei!’ Nuwa spat, pushing him towards the door. ‘Just go away!’ Her face was red with fury.

‘You think you’re the stars of this movement,’ Pu Wenhua screeched as I dragged him out of the tent. ‘But just wait and see. Very soon I’ll be more famous than any of you!’

‘You haven’t eaten for seven days,’ the nurse shouted to Pu Wenhua. ‘Your heart’s very weak. If you don’t calm down, you’ll collapse and die.’ She followed him out and urged him to drink a bottle of royal jelly, but he pushed her away. She fell down and burst into tears. I’d heard that her son was on hunger strike too. He was an undergraduate at the Beijing Institute of Science and Technology.

‘It’s too much, Old Fu!’ Mou Sen said. ‘The majority voted to end the strike. You have no right to overturn that decision.’

Having heard the commotion, Han Dan and Cheng Bing rushed inside to see what was going on.

Lin Lu pulled his shirt straight and said, ‘Although I’m against ending the strike, the decision was reached through a democratic vote. What you’re attempting now is completely unconstitutional, Old Fu!’

‘We mustn’t lose sight of the big picture,’ Han Dan said calmly. ‘We’ve got to stop squabbling and put this movement back on track.’

‘Don’t you feel guilty about letting down the thousands of hunger strikers out there?’ Old Fu asked, still boiling with rage.

The doctors who were attempting to carry Bai Ling over to where she was planning to give her press conference were unable to squeeze through the crowd, so they brought her back into the tent to wait for things to calm down. I was glad to see that Bai Ling had a biscuit in her hand.

‘Everyone’s here now,’ Mou Sen said loudly. ‘We should start the press conference.’

Lin Lu and Han Dan agreed. Old Fu stormed out of the tent shouting, ‘There’s no need for you to sack me. I resign!’

‘Old Fu’s gone crazy!’ I said. ‘We must protect this broadcast station. If we lose this place, the Square will fall into chaos.’ I pushed the large colour television some Beijing residents had given us over to the door of the tent to stop anyone else coming in.

Nuwa had brushed her hair and was preparing an English translation of the Hunger Strike Termination Statement.

‘Apparently, a hunger striker who was taken to hospital had a stroke,’ Mou Sen said. ‘She’s a vegetable now.’ He took a handful of peanuts from his pocket and stuffed them ravenously into his mouth. I told him not to eat so fast. ‘There’s no more time to waste,’ he continued. ‘Ask the hunger strikers to sit down quietly, Lin Lu. And Nuwa, make an announcement telling the students that the doctors advise us to have wet towels and face masks at the ready in case the army use tear gas against us.’

‘Can the Voice of the Student Movement tell everyone to come to the Monument, Han Dan?’ Lin Lu asked. ‘Your loudspeakers are stronger than ours. Once the government declares martial law, we must all stay by the Monument.’ Lin Lu had already draped a wet flannel around his neck to protect him in the event of a tear-gas attack.