Beijing Coma (88 page)

At the moment of death, my spirit will escape. But what will it look like and where will it go? Although I long to leave this decaying body of mine, I cannot imagine a life beyond it. Wen Niao seems to have invaded my mind, pushing thoughts of Tian Yi to the side. Perhaps emotional attachments are formed only to satisfy physical needs, and there is nothing particularly sacred about them.

The telephone rings again. My mother goes to pick it up, mumbling that the Spring Festival Televised Gala is about to start and she doesn’t want to miss it.

‘. . . Yes! I wish you good fortune and prosperity too! . . . Don’t worry. A friend brought me a box of food. I’ve got instant noodles, milk and American ginseng . . . Dai Ru’s not here, so I won’t bother making any dumplings. I’ll buy some frozen ones from the supermarket . . . Come and play Mahjong with you? No, no. Thank you for asking, but this is a time when people should be with their families. I wouldn’t want to intrude. Besides, I can’t leave Dai Wei on his own . . .’

She puts down the phone and sighs, ‘What’s there to celebrate? Life just gets worse and worse with every year that passes.’

As society changes, new words and terms keep popping up, such as: sauna, private car ownership, property developer, mortgage and personal instalment loan. Apparently, most businesses have computers now, and there’s an ‘Electronics Street’ in the university district lined with shops selling personal computers and software. No one talks about the Tiananmen protests any more, or about official corruption. The Chinese are very adept at ‘reducing big problems to small problems, then reducing small problems to nothing at all’, as the saying goes. It’s a survival skill they’ve developed over millennia.

There’s not much longer to wait now. My body will soon disintegrate, and then at last I will meet my soul . . .

‘An army tank has run over a citizen near the Military Museum,’ I announced on entering the broadcast tent. ‘The soldier driving it was dressed as a civilian.’ It was stiflingly hot inside.

Shao Jian was talking to Tian Yi. ‘When Wang Fei ordered everyone to gather round the Monument, a band of students arrived waving tent poles. They looked ready for battle.’ He picked up a newspaper to fan his bare chest then slammed it down on a mosquito.

‘Don’t tell anyone about the tank, Dai Wei,’ Tian Yi said, turning to me. ‘The students might panic.’

‘The Ministry of State Security has put Pu Wenhua up in a hotel room, and ordered him to sabotage our movement,’ I said.

‘Get Zhuzi to send reinforcements,’ Tian Yi said anxiously.

‘He’s been out with the student marshals supervising the blockades. He’s exhausted.’

Shao Jian was sitting on the camp bed, preparing a list of topics for the
Student Forum
debate he was about to chair.

‘Where did Nuwa put those instructions about how to defend ourselves against poison gas?’ asked Mimi.

A middle-aged man walked into the tent and asked quietly who was in charge. Despite the heat, he was wearing a thick black raincoat.

Tian Yi looked up from her desk and said, ‘Why, what do you want?’

‘I’m a delegate of the National People’s Congress. Some of my colleagues and I would like to have a meeting with you. There’s something we need to discuss.’

‘If you want to talk, you’ll have to go outside,’ I said. ‘This is the broadcast station.’ I suspected he was yet another plain-clothes policeman. But Tian Yi courteously took his business card, then said, ‘Mimi, come with me. We’ll talk to them outside.’

‘I’m no negotiator,’ Mimi said. ‘You go ahead without me.’ She didn’t like being bossed about by Tian Yi.

Tian Yi looked embarrassed, so I relented. ‘All right, then, you can talk in here, if you want. But make it quick.’

‘My colleagues aren’t here,’ the man said. ‘They’re waiting for us at a restaurant.’

‘I’ll go and meet them,’ Tian Yi said. ‘Shao Jian – don’t let your debate overrun.’

I felt obliged to accompany her. We followed the man in the black raincoat across the Square. It was nearing dusk. Groups of students in vests and shorts were playing cards under the street lamps. I whispered to Tian Yi that we shouldn’t follow him into any dark, empty lanes.

But it wasn’t a kidnap. Before long, he brought us to a restaurant on Changan Avenue.

‘We’d like you to have a meal with us,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’ There were two middle-aged men waiting at the table.

‘There’s not much point in talking to me,’ Tian Yi said. ‘Although I’m in charge of the broadcast station, all the important decisions in the Square are made by Bai Ling.’

It was a nice restaurant, with clean white walls, white tablecloths and a delicious aroma of braised beef. Behind our table stood a metre-high cooling fan.

‘We have a proposal,’ said the man sitting opposite us. He had dyed hair and a southern accent. ‘If the students announce that they will withdraw from the Square tomorrow, we will convene an emergency session of the National People’s Congress tonight and get the Party leaders’ assurance that they will not persecute you after you return to the campuses. We hope very much that you allow us to broadcast this proposal to the Square.’

‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible,’ Tian Yi said, her gaze shifting to the dish of stir-fried pork and green peppers the waitress had just brought to the table. ‘The broadcast station is controlled by the Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters. We can only take orders from them.’

‘We’ve spoken to them, but they refused to help,’ said the third man, who was wearing a checked shirt. He served us some of the pork. ‘Eat up, eat up! It can’t have been easy for you, camping in the Square for so long.’

‘What positions do you hold, exactly?’ I asked, picking up my chopsticks. These three middle-aged men didn’t look like secret agents, but they didn’t look like government leaders, either.

‘We’re not able to disclose that information,’ said the man with dyed hair. ‘But we assure you, we are influential members of the Party’s reformist camp, and have access to information at the highest level. You have only twelve hours left. Maximum. If you don’t withdraw from the Square before the deadline, it will be a disaster, not only for you, but for your supporters in the intellectual and political elite.’

‘Bai Ling, Wang Fei and Lin Lu are too radical,’ said the man who’d brought us to the restaurant. ‘We’ve tried to speak to them, but they wouldn’t listen. Han Dan and Ke Xi are well-known among the students, but have little power. The Square is in turmoil. Only the broadcast station can influence events.’ Tian Yi had shown me our host’s business card. He was not only a National People’s Congress delegate, but a consultant to a state-owned investment company with a branch in Hong Kong.

‘Your decision to stay in the Square until 26 June is absurd,’ said the man with dyed hair. ‘The government will have crushed you long before that. Remember, you only have until tomorrow morning, at the latest.’

‘This is the twelfth day of martial law,’ said the man in the checked shirt. ‘I understand your fervour and determination. But you must step back and look at the broader picture and also think of your personal safety.’

‘I give you my word of honour that we will make sure you won’t be persecuted after you withdraw.’ Now that he’d removed his raincoat, our host looked more like a cadre.

Tian Yi took a small mouthful of food, then said, ‘Personally, I would favour a withdrawal, but I doubt whether any of our leaders could persuade the students to leave.’

‘Which is why the broadcast station is so important. If you broadcast our proposal, it could have a huge impact.’

‘I’m afraid you three gentlemen are out of touch with the mood in the Square,’ I said. ‘The students wouldn’t want to listen to your proposal. You’re Party members, after all. We hold meetings every day to debate whether to stay or withdraw. Nothing you could say would change their minds.’

‘Our proposal will benefit both the government and the students. They’re bound to support it.’ The man’s dyed hair was stirred by the air from the fan.

‘If you’re as persuasive as you claim, why don’t you get the government to make some concessions?’ Tian Yi said, her gaze shifting to the window. She was probably thinking of the work waiting for her back at the broadcast station.

‘We can’t negotiate with them until you leave the Square,’ said the man in the checked shirt. ‘If you don’t withdraw, we reformers will very soon be thrown into jail. Millions of officials who’ve expressed support for you will be purged from the government.’

‘The troops that were pushed back by the citizens have been recalled and replaced by more ruthless regiments. They’re going through their drills now on the city outskirts. They’re armed with live ammunition. The order they will receive will be very simple: crush the rebellion and protect the motherland.’ I could see from his expression that he was telling the truth, but I didn’t want to face up to it.

Tian Yi put down her chopsticks and got up from the table. ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. I must go now. Four prominent intellectuals will shortly arrive in the Square to start a hunger strike.’

I got up too, but before leaving, I turned to the three men and said, ‘If you were really on our side, you would have insisted that your chairman, Wan Li, be allowed to return to Beijing. Without him here, you won’t be able to convene any emergency meeting.’

We walked out. The air was hot and muggy. I told Tian Yi I was still hungry, but she pretended not to hear.

‘I wonder how we’ll get anyone excited about the opening ceremony of the Democracy University,’ I said. ‘Mou Sen and Nuwa’s wedding has stolen the thunder.’

She gazed at the Square looking sad and worried. ‘I wish I understood politics better,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong any more.’

‘Liu Gang, Han Dan and Shu Tong understood politics, but they never managed to take control. The running of the Square has been monopolised by angry radicals like Ke Xi.’

‘How did we get into this mess? We’re like a flock of wild geese with no leader to guide us.’

‘Everything went wrong when the hunger strike began. That’s when the divisions deepened.’

‘Did you get those films developed for me?’ she said abruptly. She never liked me criticising the hunger strike.

‘The prints won’t be ready until 4 June.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing how the photos of the Forbidden City turn out. Are Mabel and Kenneth in Shanghai now?’

‘Yes, they’re going to Yunnan tomorrow, and will be back in Beijing on the 10th. You must make sure you have all your documents ready by the time they return. Kenneth will help you choose a university. Once you receive a letter of acceptance, you’ll be able to get a passport very quickly.’

‘What about this new regulation that insists students must work for two years before applying for a passport?’ Over the weeks, Tian Yi’s skin had turned dark brown. I’d been going out with her for nine months, but suddenly she looked like a stranger.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You can pay someone to forge an employment certificate. That’s what I did.’

‘This city makes me claustrophobic. I want to fly away.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said, trying to share her mood. ‘I feel like doing something reckless, like setting fire to those boxes over there.’

‘Mabel said that when people march through the streets in America, no one bothers to stop and look. Perhaps living in a country like that would be even worse.’ Then she looked at me and said, ‘My stomach always clenches when I hear the words “military crackdown”. I don’t want to die . . .’

A large Yellow River truck trundled past us. Hundreds of factory workers were standing on its open back. A few were sitting on top of the driver’s compartment waving red flags. It headed slowly towards the Square. The large paper banners stuck to its side had been shredded by the wind.

The wooden wardrobe begins to creak and moan, just like it did this time last June, as the horizontal strip of wood inside expands in the hot, humid air. I nailed that loose strip back myself. When autumn comes, cool breezes will expel the moisture from the wood, and the strip will contract again. The locust tree outside the window has grown even taller. Its shadow shifts slowly across my face, allowing me to sense I’m still alive.

Every year, at around the time of Tian Yi’s birthday, the police turn up and drag us out of Beijing for a few days. Last year, we went to a guest house in Miyun County. The air was fresh and cool. My mother insisted on going for a walk. She put me on a wheeled stretcher and pushed me around the Miyun reservoir, with the two plain-clothes policemen tagging along behind. Everyone we passed assumed we were a family on an afternoon stroll, and that I was a sick relative receiving care at a nearby rest home. This year, my mother demanded to be taken to an area of natural beauty. So the public security bureau allocated us a police car that drove us all the way to Mount Wutai, which my mother had always dreamed of visiting. For a week, she was able to worship in the ancient Buddhist temples and practise Falun Gong in the clean mountain air. She slept soundly at night, and by the end of our stay managed to feel a Falun wheel spinning inside her abdomen. Having not heard from us, Master Yao was sick with worry. My mother phoned him as soon as we got back this morning, and he has rushed over to see us.

‘. . . As soon as I stepped inside the Grand Hall of Xiantong monastery, I felt the Falun wheel turning just behind my navel,’ my mother tells him. ‘I wonder if Master Li Honzhi placed it inside me.’

‘Of course he did. It was he who led you to the temple and dispelled the karma from your body. All those who oppose Falun Gong will be destroyed in the end.’ Master Yao sits down on the sofa. I catch the smell of his scalp as he removes his hat.