Beijing Coma (64 page)

I hate my mother reading my journal, especially the passages about A-Mei and Tian Yi. There are lots of references to sex, but fortunately she can’t understand most of them. When she came across the line: ‘I want to die inside your beautiful, fleshy tomb,’ she said angrily, ‘Look at this! When you talk to a girl about love, all you’re thinking about is death.’

‘. . . Tell American journalists what happened to Dai Wei?’ my mother continues. ‘Imagine what trouble I’d get into! Well, I’ll discuss it with the relatives of other victims and see what they think . . . Was her son killed too? What’s her name? Fan Jing? Yes, I know her. She put her cat in the front basket of her bicycle and rode around the Square for hours searching for her son’s body. She never found it. The cat was heartbroken. It refused to eat and ended up dying of starvation . . . Can you hear me? I’m sorry, I’ll turn it down. I always keep the radio on for him . . .’

The telephone is in the sitting room. I can hear the murmur of Tian Yi’s voice, but can’t make out what she’s saying.

My mother finally ends the conversation then slams the receiver noisily back into its cradle. ‘Your girlfriend’s doing very well for herself in America,’ she mutters. ‘She’s passed her driving test, and has seen all the sights of New York. She’s even gone up into the head of the Statue of Liberty. She said it’s higher than Tiananmen Gate. See what a wonderful life she’s having now! If only you had come home with me that day like I begged you to, you wouldn’t have ended up with a bullet in your head. You’d be out there in New York with Tian Yi, studying at an American university. Why is it that all the bad things happen to me? Is anything ever going to change?’

I want to tell my mother that my heart has become numb since Tian Yi left, and that all that remains of me now is a pile of skin and bone waiting to crumble into dust.

When the telephone line was installed two weeks ago, my mother was so excited she spent all day on the phone. When she couldn’t think of any more friends to call, she rang all the local shops, then leafed through the telephone directory and dialled numbers at random. But since a friend told her that each call costs a minimum of two jiao, she’s hardly used it at all.

All memories are reconstructions. When my mother reads out the pages of my journal, memories that have crumbled into ruin are rebuilt in a different form. When she reads out my description of climbing the mountain in Yunnan, I see myself walking up with Tian Yi hand in hand, but from a vantage point that is above and behind. Although we did climb this mountain together, the scene I picture is a fabrication. How could I have seen myself from behind? And besides, the rainforest we were walking through was so dense, it would have been impossible to see us through the leaves. Who is that person who was looking down at me? Does a part of us leave our bodies and keep watch over our lives, transmitting images back to our brains like a satellite?

I picture a crowd, and search for my face. I’m probably wearing a white shirt, with a white vest underneath, and a grey jacket on top. Tian Yi was right. When I stand in a crowd of students, there’s nothing particular about me that marks me out, apart from my height. My face has no expression, no superfluous fat. It’s a face you could see a hundred times without it sticking in your mind. The only remarkable feature on it is the pair of sunglasses that Tian Yi gave me. They’re black, and a little too large, but at least they add some character to my face. I knew she liked them, so I wore them all the time in the Square. I can also see myself from behind, placing my hand on her shoulder and saying, ‘It’s your birthday on the 28th. Why don’t we pack a copy of
The Book of Mountains and Seas
, and go and climb Mount Tai?’

‘Don’t look so pleased with yourself,’ she said, frowning. Bai Ling had just called off the hunger strike.

‘Well, I did tell you the strike wouldn’t achieve anything. And I was right. We’re stuck in limbo now.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ I could smell that she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet.

If the waters of life were to run through my dry channels once more, would she creep out from the silt and drag me back to our old life? Oh, never mind. Perhaps I’m better off lying here with my memories. Time has lost all meaning for me. Even if I did regain my lost memories and wake up from this coma, the only real change would be that my horizontal body would become vertical again.

It was almost dusk. Old Fu suddenly appeared from nowhere and shouted to Mou Sen, who’d returned to the Square a few hours before, ‘What are these foreigners doing here? They can’t attend the meeting. The government will accuse us of “colluding with overseas reactionary organisations”!’

‘They’re not journalists. They’re members of the Hong Kong Student Association and the American Overseas Chinese Student Solidarity Group.’

Mou Sen, as the Beijing Students’ Federation’s general secretary, had convened a meeting of one hundred university representatives to discuss whether we should leave the Square. He’d gone back to the campus and had some sleep, and was now full of energy.

‘I don’t care,’ said Old Fu. ‘They can’t stay.’

‘Where did you go off to, Old Fu?’ I whispered.

‘I went to a friend’s house and crashed out on his sofa.’ He didn’t ask where I went. He could probably tell I hadn’t left the Square.

Mou Sen’s girlfriend Yanyan was setting up the tape recorder. I’d bumped into her several times over the past couple of days. She’d become much more involved in the movement since the end of the hunger strike.

‘It’s too much, Old Fu,’ said Mou Sen. ‘I organised this meeting. The Hunger Strike Headquarters has disbanded now, so you have no right to tell me what to do.’ Old Fu fell silent and skulked off.

I spotted Nuwa running up from the Monument’s lower terrace. ‘Has Wang Fei run away?’ she asked angrily. She was standing on the stone steps now. When she looked up at me, her forehead became lined with wrinkles.

‘I’m not allowed to disclose that information to you,’ I said.

She turned to Mou Sen. ‘I heard you all had a secret meeting in the minibus and decided to run away.’

Mou Sen had run away, but had phoned me in the late morning to ask how things were. I told him that everything was fine, and that the army never came in the end.

He didn’t dare lie to Nuwa, because Yanyan, who was standing next to him, knew the truth, so he just mumbled, ‘It was never my intention to run away.’

‘So even Bai Ling absconded, did she?’ Nuwa said, her nose turning red with fury.

‘Mou Sen wasn’t at the meeting in the minibus this morning,’ I lied, trying to help him out. ‘He drank a bit too much last night and had a hangover. The Hunger Strike Headquarters decided they should disband now that the hunger strike is over, so everyone went off to do their own thing. Wang Fei probably went to the campus to get some sleep. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’

Nuwa stepped onto the terrace and turned her anger on me. ‘Don’t try to hoodwink me with your sneaky little lies!’ she shouted. ‘The broadcast station has received reports about what went on. Look, I have one right here. It says that at three o’clock this morning, you had a secret meeting in the minibus and split all the donation money between you.’ She glared at Mou Sen, swirled round then left.

‘Well done!’ Yanyan said angrily in her southern accent. ‘You lot have really brought shame upon the movement!’ I’d never seen her lose her temper before.

I knew that if the rest of the students in the Square found out about the secret meeting, we’d all be finished. Splitting the donations between us then going on the run – no one would forgive us. I imagined that what angered Nuwa most was that Wang Fei had run away without telling her. She was supposed to be his girlfriend, after all.

‘They’re taking this very badly,’ I muttered to Old Fu. ‘If you do decide to run away, I doubt you’ll be allowed back.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Old Fu said, glancing about anxiously. ‘We don’t want anyone to hear us. All I can say is that the situation looked very different to us earlier this morning.’

‘I want to give my escape grant back to you,’ I whispered.

‘You should all be ashamed of how you behaved,’ said Yanyan. She looked very downcast. I didn’t know how much she’d seen of Mou Sen recently, but during the hunger strike, she’d visited him several times, bringing him books and antiseptic wipes.

To my surprise, Mou Sen suddenly lashed out at her. ‘What gives you the right to stick your nose into our affairs?’ he shouted, flinging his cigarette stub onto the floor. ‘It’s too much!’

Although Yanyan had worked as a journalist in Beijing for two years, emotionally she was still quite immature. After Mou Sen’s outburst, she held her breath for a moment with tears welling in her eyes, then grabbed her backpack and left, sending the lighter, cigarettes and bag of leaflets Mou Sen had placed on top of it flying into the air. This argument took place under the full gaze of the students and academics who were waiting for the meeting to start.

Mou Sen snatched the bottle of mineral water I was holding and took a swig. I tapped his shoulder and said, ‘You shouldn’t have been so fierce with her. What she said was right.’

‘We’ve had lots of rows like this before. She keeps telling me to step back from the movement and think about my future. But if I did that, I wouldn’t achieve anything.’

‘Stepping back isn’t necessarily a sign of defeat. You’re a chess player. You should know that.’

‘But since we entered the Square, it’s been impossible to step back. There are no escape routes. We’re trapped here, in the spotlight. We have no choice but to stay and fight.’

The upper terrace was packed. The army’s non-appearance had left us confused, and no one knew what to do.

Chen Di stepped onto a chair and shouted, ‘Our latest slogan is: “Li Peng is a corrupt, incompetent ass. It won’t be long before he gets the axe!”’ The crowd roared with approval then chanted in unison, ‘Arrest Li Peng first, then Deng Xiaoping. Once those two guys are gone, the world will be at peace . . .’

‘Tell Chen Di to shut up!’ Liu Gang hissed.

‘Those slogans are far too militant,’ Han Dan said. ‘We’re not here to overthrow the government . . .’

Lin Lu climbed onto a stepladder which a French cameraman had vacated, and launched into a speech.

The meeting went on for many hours. Late in the evening, Bai Ling and Wang Fei turned up looking bedraggled and sheepish. No one asked them where they’d been. Bai Ling gave a short speech then went to the broadcast minibus with Tian Yi and Mimi to have a rest.

Almost all the leaders who’d absconded at dawn had returned to the Square by now. Everyone tacitly assumed that the government had decided against launching a crackdown.

Zhuzi had brought a hundred new volunteers to join the student marshal team. I sent ten of them to guard the finance office, and positioned the others around the perimeter of the Monument’s upper terrace, then I too sat down for a rest.

Zhuzi lit two cigarettes and passed one to me. Almost simultaneously we said, ‘Fuck, I could do with a beer now!’

‘We still haven’t got enough marshals here,’ I said, my back dripping with sweat. While I’d been showing the new marshals where to stand, a group of what I suspected were government agents dragged me down to the base of the Monument. One of them tried to punch me as I pushed him away. ‘The Monument to the People’s Heroes belongs to the people of China,’ he yelled. ‘What gives you the right to occupy it?’ I was taken aback by the question, and couldn’t think of an answer.

‘How are things back at the campuses?’ I asked Zhuzi.

‘I’ve been building up a city-wide security network. Each university has its own security division. All the major roads in Beijing are now guarded by our marshals. Shu Tong has moved the
News Herald
’s editorial office to Block 31. Students have been printing pamphlets attacking the martial law order, and have been handing them out at the train station and airport so they’ll get distributed around the country.’

‘This Square is a madhouse,’ I said. ‘If Tian Yi hadn’t been so determined to stay, I would have left days ago.’ I’d taken Tian Yi home to rest for a while, but after a brief nap, she’d insisted on returning to the Square, and I’d felt it was my duty to stay with her.

‘You’re afraid she’ll run off with another guy!’ scoffed Zhuzi. After each drag of his cigarette, he’d lift his chin and exhale a large puff of smoke.

‘Fuck off!’ I muttered. Through the ribbons of cigarette smoke, the crowd looked like a sea of foaming blood.

‘All the students have been sleeping around. There’s a lot of shagging going on in those tents at night . . .’

It occurred to me that Tian Yi and I hadn’t made love for weeks.

‘You should come and take control of the Square’s security, Zhuzi. The Hong Kong Student Association are going to send us some walkie-talkies soon. We’ll be like real policemen.’

‘That’ll be great. Once we’ve got a proper communication system set up, we’ll be able to control the whole of Beijing.’

‘I think I’ll lie down now and try to get some sleep.’ I always found it easy to talk to Zhuzi, perhaps because he was a similar height to me.

Just as I was closing my eyes, Shu Tong walked over and handed me a telegram from my brother.

I sat up again and read it out loud. ‘“. . . Students from fifteen Chengdu universities marched through the rain today, protesting against the military crackdown in Beijing. We carried eleven coffins on our shoulders to commemorate the eleven students who set fire to themselves in Tiananmen Square . . .” Who told them there was a military crackdown?’ I skimmed through the rest of the text and laughed. ‘Ha! They even think that Han Dan was killed!’

Shu Tong didn’t smile, though. ‘We were the chess players at the beginning, but now we’re pawns, and we’ve no idea who’s going to take us in the next move.’ He perched wearily on a large battered samovar. He was usually asleep by this time.