Beijing Coma (68 page)

It’s the rainy season, and I can hear the swollen wood of my mother’s wardrobe crack in the humid air. It makes me think of when my father used to take off his shirt and go into the yard to saw up planks of wood. All the neighbours would wander out to see what he was up to. He’d set up a long workbench under the locust tree. No, it wasn’t here that he did the carpentry – it was outside the dormitory block we used to live in. But there was a locust tree there too, I think. The local Dongfeng Watch Factory would put out their rubbish on Saturday mornings, and if you went there early enough, you could pick up metal coils and scraps of copper, but my brother and I always chose to stay with our father instead. When he shouted ‘Tea!’ I’d run up to our room and brew him a cup, while my brother swept up the wood shavings and handed them out to the other kids in the yard. In just three days my father was able to construct a wardrobe that was taller than him.

Although my father was a violinist, I never saw him perform in public. I prefer to remember him as a carpenter rather than a musician, and recall his strong, chapped hands sliding a wood plane across a plank, creating beautiful mounds of curled shavings . . .

‘You have no right to barge in here!’ a skinny Qinghua student called Zhang Rui cried as we stormed into the Voice of the Student Movement broadcast station.

There were only about twenty marshals manning the security cordon outside the tent, whereas there were more than fifty of us, so we were able to push our way through quite easily.

When Wang Fei announced that the Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters was going to take over the station, the Qinghua students inside the tent became incensed.

Mou Sen tried to reason with them. ‘The Beijing Students’ Federation, which you and your leader Zhou Suo belong to, has merged with the Headquarters,’ he said. ‘So it’s only natural we should take control of your station.’

‘People come here every day trying to take us over,’ Zhang Rui said. ‘How can we be sure you’ve been given authority to do this?’ The two girls in the tent continued to read through their documents, and didn’t bother to look up.

‘This is a note from Sister Gao,’ Wang Fei said. ‘And here’s a list of instructions from Bai Ling, our commander-in-chief. We’ve come here to carry out the transfer of power. From now on, everything in the Square must be managed in a planned and regularised manner.’ His jacket was draped over his shoulders. He looked like the leader of a rough street gang.

‘Will I be able to stay here and carry on with my job?’ one of the girls asked, looking up at last.

‘There’s no need,’ Wang Fei said. ‘We have enough staff of our own.’

‘We only take orders from the Beijing Students’ Federation,’ the other girl said stubbornly.

‘I’d better write an announcement informing the students of the takeover,’ Zhang Rui said, realising that his situation was hopeless.

‘Wait a minute,’ Wang Fei interjected. ‘I’d like to go through this equipment with you. We’ll give you a receipt for everything.’

‘I must write the announcement first. Surely you’ll let me do that?’

‘Let him write it,’ Mou Sen said, stamping out a cigarette butt he’d tossed on the ground.

Zhang Rui dashed off a statement in English, and said, ‘Here, check it, if you want.’ Wang Fei’s English was poor. He took the sheet of paper and pretended to read it, then pointed to a word and said, ‘What’s that word mean, Dai Wei? Can you translate it for me?’

I took the statement and began to translate it for him. ‘The student organisations in the Square have splintered into conflicting groups. We have been forced to . . .’

‘There’s no way we’ll let you broadcast that,’ Wang Fei interrupted.

Zhang Rui grabbed a megaphone and began shouting the statement to the students outside. Wang Fei pounced on him and tried to snatch the megaphone from him, but the rest of us swiftly pulled them apart.

‘Quickly! Drag him out of the tent!’ Wang Fei cried, panting for breath.

Fuming with rage, but knowing that his situation was hopeless, Zhang Rui broke free and maliciously pulled all the plugs out of the sockets. The two female announcers were alarmed and scurried out of the tent hand in hand.

‘We know about electronics, so there’s no point trying to break anything,’ I said, grabbing hold of another student who was sneakily pulling out another lead.

Once we’d taken control, I sent half of my squad back up to the Monument’s lower terrace, and kept the other half with me, in case the Qinghua student marshals attempted to storm in again. Then I asked someone to fetch Bai Ling so that she could assume command.

Two hours later, Zhang Rui and the others returned to collect their clothes and documents, then Mou Sen and his propaganda team moved in with backpacks and cardboard boxes.

‘Look, there’s a telephone!’ Nuwa said. She picked up the receiver to check the line was working. ‘We can make calls with it, but we won’t be able to receive any, because we don’t know the number.’ Everyone was buoyed up by the excitement of moving into a new place.

But before we had time to unpack, a large mob of Beijing residents rushed over and surrounded the tent. A few of them marched in and announced they were taking over the station. They said we must be feeling very tired by now, and that perhaps it was time we returned to our campuses.

I said that if we handed over control to them, there were tens of thousands of students in the Square who would be ready to take it back again.

‘Who do you represent?’ Wang Fei shouted as one of the guys tried to push him onto the camp bed. ‘Who’s your leader? Tell him to come forward and speak to us!’

Mou Sen said the broadcast station represented every student organisation in the Square, and announced that its name was going to be changed from the Voice of the Student Movement to the Voice of Democracy.

The residents pushed Nuwa and Mao Da out of the tent. Outside, Xiao Li and Chen Di were speaking to the mob through megaphones, urging them to leave. I broke out in an anxious sweat. I wished I hadn’t sent half my team back up to the lower terrace.

We continued to argue, each side refusing to budge. As two young men twisted my arm back and were about to fling me outside, Nuwa returned to the tent with three foreign journalists. The journalists took out their tape recorders and pointed them at the guys who were arguing with Mou Sen. ‘Take their pictures!’ Wang Fei shouted. ‘Photograph them, so that the whole world will see their faces!’

The residents stepped back in fright. Tang Guoxian then turned up with a group of marshals who, when combined with the thirty guards I’d kept with me, allowed us to gain the upper hand. Wang Fei and I spoke through our megaphones, encouraging our side to remain firm. Realising they were outnumbered, the residents gave up their fight and shuffled out of the tent.

‘This is ridiculous!’ said Mou Sen. ‘Who’s going to try to seize power next? Hurry up and call Bai Ling over. We’ll ask her to tell everyone to calm down. All she has to do is say, “Hello, this is Bai Ling speaking” and everyone in the Square will fall silent.’ Mou Sen’s sweat-drenched fringe clung to his forehead.

‘We need more marshals around this tent,’ I said. ‘But where are we going to get them from?’ I didn’t recognise any of the marshals who were standing outside, apart from a small group of Beijing University chemistry students from Block 48.

‘Yes, we’ll need at least a hundred marshals guarding this station from now on,’ Wang Fei said.

‘Thanks for helping us out, Tang Guoxian,’ I said.

‘Well don’t expect me to rescue you next time,’ he muttered as he walked away, rubbing his sore fist.

‘I told the foreign journalists we only needed them to help us defend the station,’ Nuwa explained to Mou Sen. ‘They won’t mention the incident in their reports.’ Then she turned to me and laughed, ‘You didn’t do a very good job of defending our station, Mr Head of Security!’

‘The Zhongnanhai compound isn’t guarded by a hundred soldiers, and it’s the home of the government leaders!’ I said. Wang Fei and I then stepped out and saw that the Beijing residents were now sitting in orderly rows. There were hundreds of them, all of them young men.

‘Fuck! It’s an army of secret police!’ I spluttered. ‘They’ll probably wait here until it gets dark, then attack us again when there are fewer people around.’

‘Call Zhuzi over and see what he thinks,’ Wang Fei said, holding the frames of his glasses as he looked up.

‘There must be a reason they didn’t try to arrest us just now,’ I said, as we hurried back into the tent.

‘If they take control of the station, it will be easier for them to clear the Square,’ Mou Sen said nervously.

‘God, it stinks in here!’ Mimi cried as she walked inside with Tian Yi. She’d become much more vocal over the past few days.

‘Yes, it smells of urine,’ Tian Yi said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Who would have guessed that there was such an evil-smelling little den as this hidden in the Square?’ Mimi laughed.

‘Still, we can’t let this place slip into enemy hands,’ Wang Fei said. ‘Dai Wei, make sure the marshals are standing firm.’ He then went to speak to Bai Ling and Lin Lu who’d just walked in. There were so many people inside the tent now, I could hardly move.

‘It’s too noisy in here!’ Nuwa shouted. She was speaking to someone in English on the telephone. ‘This is an important call. Can you all step outside for a while?’

‘Stop arguing, you two!’ Bai Ling said, glaring at Wang Fei and Lin Lu. ‘The Defend Tiananmen Square Headquarters has only been up and running for a day, and you’re already quarrelling. If you carry on like this, I’ll sack you both.’ Then she pulled Wang Fei and me aside and whispered, ‘I heard a rumour that the Provincial Students’ Federation was planning to kidnap me. You Southern University graduates are a bunch of bandits!’ Her forehead was covered in red mosquito bites. The insect bites on her neck looked like love bites.

‘That can’t be true,’ I said, searching for a large piece of paper on which to write a
VOICE OF DEMOCRACY STATION
sign. ‘Tang Guoxian and Wu Bin wouldn’t have the guts to plan something like that.’

Everyone shuffled outside to let Nuwa continue her conversation in peace. The air was less suffocating than it had been in the tent. I felt too tense to sit down, so instead I walked around the security cordon, reminding the marshals that they had to ask my permission before they went off to the toilets.

As dusk began to fall, the army of secret police stood up and filed out of the Square. The red paper sign I’d attached to the tent flapped in the cool wind. The crowd in the Square was as noisy and bustling as those that gather outside temples during Spring Festival. As I gazed across it, I was startled to catch sight of Lulu. She was with a group of girls, listening to a Beijing resident’s speech. I pushed my way through the crowd and shouted out to her. She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

‘I wondered whether I might see you here!’ I said, moving closer to her.

‘Well, here I am!’ Her newly cut hair blew softly in the breeze.

‘You handed me a bottle of Coke during a march a few weeks ago. I didn’t know whether you recognised me or not. Why didn’t you say anything to me?’

‘There were too many people about.’

‘I heard you’ve opened a restaurant.’ I felt as though I was looking into my past. Her face was a slightly enlarged version of the one she’d had at fifteen.

‘I’m not as clever as you. I wouldn’t have got into university.’ She was wearing a purple dress and a gold necklace.

‘Don’t be so curt. It’s not every day you meet up with an old school friend. And we weren’t just school friends . . .’ I was suddenly back in the present again. The awkwardness I’d always felt in her presence seemed to have vanished.

‘I suppose you’re right.’ She raised her eyebrows again. Because I was so much taller than her, she was speaking to my university badge instead of my face.

‘Do you still hate me?’ I asked calmly.

‘I never hated you. I just didn’t like the way you let me take the punishment for something you did.’ The corner of her mouth twitched for a second. It reminded me of how nervous she’d get when we used to sneak off alone together.

‘It’s a good thing we’ve joined this movement,’ I said. ‘These protests will help us get rid of all our pent-up anger.’

‘This movement belongs to the people! You shouldn’t be using it for your own selfish purposes. We’re here to fight corruption, not to take revenge on people who’ve hurt us in the past.’ She laughed, clearly pleased with herself.

I’d lost interest in the conversation and didn’t know what to say next. I felt as confused as someone who enters a noodle restaurant full of excitement only to be told that there are no more noodles left. Fortunately, she quickly filled the silence. ‘I’d better be off now, comrade student,’ she said. ‘We can have a proper talk next time. I come to the Square every day now to hand out steamed buns. I really hope you students succeed in changing this country. We’re sick of the government bullying us all the time.’ When she lifted her hand to flick back her fringe, I glimpsed the black hairs under her arm – those fine strands of my past.

‘Where’s your restaurant?’ I asked. ‘I might pop in for a meal one day.’

‘Yes, do! I’ll give you a 20 per cent discount. It’s right opposite Fuxing Hospital. It’s called Lulu’s Café.’ Then she waved goodbye and walked back to her friends.

I watched her legs and black leather court shoes disappear into the crowd, and breathed a sigh of relief. I remembered the first time she was allowed to buy herself an ice lolly. When the ice-cream seller lifted the quilt he’d draped over the ice box, pulled out the frost-covered lolly and handed it to her, her face glowed with pride. As she stood in the sunlight, waiting to put the lolly into her mouth, she looked like an angel. I was standing beside her, sweaty and sunburnt, poking my stick into the hot road then smearing the lumps of molten asphalt onto the trunk of the locust tree.