Beijing Coma (44 page)

‘Ke Xi,’ said Sister Gao. ‘He walked into the conference room holding the long banner that says, “I’m hungry, Mum, but I can’t eat.”’

‘Sister Gao, you’re the general secretary of the Beijing Students’ Federation, and you’re opposed to the hunger strike, so it’s probably best if you stay out of this,’ said Bai Ling, crossly waving her limp hands.

‘I
was
against the hunger strike, but it’s started now, so there’s no point opposing it. Last night, the Federation declared its support. I’ve come here to help you, not to control or criticise you. As it happens, many of the Federation’s members have joined the strike too, so it’s my duty to be here.’

Bai Ling was defiant. ‘The Federation’s role is to liaise between the Beijing universities, so you should return to the campus and get on with your job,’ she said, no longer prepared to be bossed about by her older dorm mate. ‘The hunger strikers are in charge of the Square now. We don’t want to be dictated to by the Federation.’

‘You and Han Dan haven’t eaten for twenty-four hours, Bai Ling,’ Old Fu said. ‘You’re not strong enough to look after the running of the Square. Why not let our Organising Committee or the Federation take over some of the administration?’

‘We don’t need their help,’ Bai Ling said stubbornly. ‘We can run things ourselves perfectly well.’ When she’d arrived in the Square the day before, she’d founded the Hunger Strike Group and appointed herself leader.

Under the bright overhead sun, the hundreds of hunger strikers lying curled up on the Square looked like shrimps laid out to dry. The student marshals stood in cordons around them, keeping curious onlookers away. A hunger striker held up a will he’d written on a sheet of brown paper, and a crowd quickly gathered round to photograph him.

Yu Jin was wearing a checked shirt, with the sleeves rolled up as usual. He hadn’t joined the strike, but had written the words
FIGHTING FOR THE PEOPLE
! on his baseball cap. I’d appointed him vice head of Beijing University’s student marshal team. He enjoyed running about and making himself useful. A new batch of volunteer student marshals, sent from our campus by Shu Tong, had arrived in the Square, allowing my team a chance to snatch some rest. Even Big Chan, Little Chan and Zhang Jie had turned up to help collect donations.

‘We’ll only leave the Square if the government broadcasts the dialogue to us live, as they promised,’ shouted a student from Nanjing called Lin Lu. He’d arrived in Beijing a few days before. Bai Ling had been impressed by speeches he’d made in the Triangle, and had asked him to help oversee the strike. He’d managed to persuade many students from the provinces to sign up. He seemed very competent.

‘I’ll go back to the United Front Department and check how the dialogue is progressing,’ said Sister Gao. ‘If the officials don’t agree to start the live broadcast immediately, I’ll tell the students to leave the meeting.’

‘I don’t trust you,’ Bai Ling said. ‘Whose side are you really on?’

‘I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m only trying to help. I came here to find out what you want, so that I can pass it on to the Dialogue Delegation.’

‘We’ll get some members of the Hunger Strike Group to accompany you,’ Old Fu said. ‘I’ll set up a public address system. Dai Wei, go and find some hunger strikers to accompany Sister Gao.’

‘We really must sort out the water problem,’ I said. ‘The authorities have cut off our supply. I’ve sent some marshals to buy more bottles of mineral water. But we can’t stay in the Square much longer, Old Fu.’ I was feeling fed up, but I didn’t want Tian Yi to accuse me of not doing my job properly.

‘The Square has divided into little kingdoms, each with its own student marshal team, each claiming to be the true representatives of the students,’ Cao Ming said. ‘The government won’t need to break us up, because we’re doing the job for them.’

I went to give Tian Yi her coat. I was worried about her. Even when she was eating properly, she suffered from hypoglycaemia and would often break out in cold sweats.

Tian Yi and Mimi were leaning against one another. Mimi was fiddling with a strand of Tian Yi’s hair. Her red-checked skirt cast a rosy light into the air around her.

I asked Tian Yi how she was feeling. She said her head was spinning, and she felt she was losing control.

‘You might start hallucinating soon,’ I said. ‘The nurses told me that you shouldn’t be lying so close to each other. If one of you gets an infection, everyone will come down with it.’

‘We’ll be fine. So many local residents have come to the Square to cheer us on. It’s worth going hungry for a few days just to see all this support.’

‘Keep drinking lots of water. If you’re not careful your kidneys could pack up because of your low blood sugar.’ Although it was a swelteringly hot day, her hands were icy.

‘Stop trying to frighten her into giving up,’ Mimi said, wrinkling her brow. ‘We’re prepared to shed blood and sweat for this cause. With so much pressure from the public, the government will be forced to agree to our demands.’

‘
Red dirt smeared across his yellow face, white fear in his black eyes. The west wind blows into the east, singing its sad refrain . . .
’ A Taiwanese pop song droned from a cassette player. The batteries were running flat.

A hunger striker nearby suddenly passed out. Four marshals ran over, grabbed her arms and pulled her through the crowd. Voices shouted: ‘Get out of their way! Let them through! Don’t drag her like that. Lift her legs up!’

‘Will someone hold the Psychology Department flag up for me?’ Mimi asked. ‘I want to take a nap.’ She appeared to be wearing lipstick.

I took the flag from her and propped it up between two bags, but it wouldn’t stay upright. Cao Ming shouted out, telling me to find Zhang Jie and ask him to accompany Sister Gao to the United Front Department.

After queuing for two hours at the post office, I sent a telegram to my brother telling him not to come to Beijing or join the hunger strike. Then I went back to the Square.

During my absence, the dialogue with the government had collapsed. Mou Sen had been at the meeting and told me that Sister Gao had stormed in and shouted, ‘Start the live broadcast right now, or stop the dialogue!’ just as the Hunger Strike Group had asked. The meeting broke up at once. The Dialogue Delegation was furious and said that history would not forgive her. Hoping to regain their trust, she collected a dozen middle-aged intellectuals and brought them back to the Square with the aim of persuading the students to withdraw. By the time Mou Sen reached the Square, the intellectuals had been driven away by the enraged hunger strikers.

It was almost midnight. In the distance, I could hear Wang Fei shouting through his megaphone: ‘We’ve reached a crucial stage. Do we go forward now, or do we retreat? . . . Citizens of Beijing, please stay in the Square with us and continue to give us your support! . . . The twelve intellectuals who spoke to us just now recommended that we agree to leave the Square on two conditions. We’re grateful for their advice, but it’s no use to us. According to them, our first condition should be that their “Urgent Appeal” is published by
Guangming Daily
. I’ve read that appeal. It’s about freedom of the press, which might be their priority, but it’s not ours! Their second condition was that Premier Li Peng and General Secretary Zhao Ziyang should visit the Square. Well, of course we’d welcome that. But we won’t insist on it. We’ve seen enough of those two guys on our television screens!’

The crowd cheered and yelled, ‘Yes! We will stay here until we get what we want!’

‘We will not be moved!’ Wang Fei shouted, and the crowd shouted out after him: ‘We will not be moved! We will not be moved!’

Mou Sen disappeared into the throng. I tried to push my way over to the Beijing University camp, but couldn’t find a path, so I headed towards the Monument. I wanted to tell Wang Fei that the hunger strikers needed to sleep, and that he should stop making such a racket.

‘The government has asked us to vacate the Square in time for tomorrow’s grand welcoming ceremony for Gorbachev,’ Wang Fei continued. ‘Well, we’re not moving. They can hold the ceremony somewhere else, if they want to . . . We will use the power of the people to teach a lesson to the autocratic clique that’s ruling our nation. We don’t want to shed our blood, but if we do, we’ll be able to write with it the most important page in China’s history!’ The crowd roared in support.

At last, I managed to make my way to Wang Fei’s side. He was flanked by Chen Di and Xiao Li, who were both wearing hunger strike bandannas. Nuwa was sitting nearby, her black hair gleaming in the darkness. When I saw her there, I suddenly didn’t feel like telling Wang Fei to shut up.

Chen Di offered me a cigarette. I took it, reminding him not to smoke while he was on hunger strike, then went back to look for Tian Yi.

Exhausted by hunger, she was fast asleep on the ground with a quilt draped over her. I touched her forehead, and was relieved to find she hadn’t yet broken into a cold sweat.

Mimi was gazing blankly into the sky. The other hunger strikers were asleep. Not wanting to disturb them, I crept away quietly and returned to the Monument.

I found Mou Sen there. He was sitting with Sister Gao and Fan Yuan, a student from the Politics and Law University. Though not especially capable, Fan Yuan was very keen and had managed to insinuate himself into several powerful positions. He’d been chairman of the Beijing Students’ Federation for a few days and was also a member of the Dialogue Delegation.

‘Can’t you go and tell Wang Fei to shut up, Dai Wei?’ Sister Gao said to me. ‘You’re his friend, and the head of the student marshal team. It’s the middle of the night. Everyone wants to get some sleep.’

‘Nuwa’s with him. I don’t want to butt in.’

Mao Da came over to talk to Mou Sen. ‘It’s a pity you weren’t here when the twelve intellectuals came. The reporter Dai Jing said that if we hadn’t occupied the Square, the journalists would never have dared ask for freedom of the press, but then a second later, she begged us to withdraw. Old Fu was worried her speech might harm student morale, so he quickly played Bai Ling’s hunger strike declaration over the PA, the one that brings tears to everyone’s eyes. When the twelve intellectuals heard it, they knew they had no chance of persuading us to leave.’

Mao Da had arrived in the Square in the afternoon after Liu Gang had asked him to help with the security work.

‘That was very unwise of Old Fu,’ Mou Sen said. He, like me, was sorry to have missed the intellectuals’ visit. Those writers and scholars were his heroes.

‘You Beijing University students are in a mess,’ Fan Yuan said. ‘Bai Ling stopped the Dialogue Delegation from talking to the government, Old Fu stopped the intellectuals from talking to the students, and you, Sister Gao, keep confusing everything by jumping from one camp to another. How will this movement ever get anywhere?’

‘I keep running back and forth, trying to help resolve conflicts, but all I get is abuse,’ Sister Gao moaned. ‘Now that it’s clear the government aren’t going to launch a crackdown, everyone’s scrambling for power. It really is a case of “leaders emerging in times of chaos”.’

Knowing that there was nothing more for me to do, I picked up a quilt, crossed Changan Avenue, and crept up onto one of the viewing stands flanking Tiananmen Gate. It was where state dignitaries sat to watch parades. Most students wouldn’t have dreamed of going there. But I knew it would be quiet, and I’d be the first to know of police movements during the night, as the police station was in the courtyard behind.

I woke up on the viewing stand with the sun streaming down on my face, and quickly climbed down to the Square. Gorbachev was due to arrive in Beijing in two hours.

‘Did you see Yanyan last night?’ Mou Sen asked me, then took a deep drag from his cigarette.

‘No. Why? Have you had another row?’ He’d mentioned they’d been going through a bad patch recently.

‘No, no.’

There was a sudden burst of applause. I heard Pu Wenhua, the boy from the Agricultural College, shouting to the crowds, ‘Let’s show them! We’ll stay here until the bitter end, until victory is ours!’ Over by the hunger strike camps, I saw Beijing residents put on white bandannas and wave red banners as they posed for souvenir photographs in front of the fasting students.

‘You shouldn’t smoke when you’re on hunger strike,’ I told Mou Sen. ‘The sugar and oxygen levels in your brain will be dangerously low now.’

‘Look, Bai Ling’s set up a Tiananmen Square Hunger Strike Headquarters on the lower terrace,’ he said, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

‘When did she do that?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t there when I went to sleep three hours ago.’

‘At five this morning. After a quick talk with that Nanjing student Lin Lu, she went to the PA system Old Fu set up and announced that the Hunger Strike Group is now the Hunger Strike Headquarters, and that she is commander-in-chief, with Lin Lu as vice commander.’

‘What about Han Dan and Ke Xi?’

‘She said that every member of the Headquarters must pledge to set fire to themselves if the army comes to clear the Square,’ Mou Sen said, ignoring my question. ‘It’s too much!’

‘That’s barbaric!’ I said. ‘Everyone’s coming up with more and more radical strategies in an effort to win the leadership of the Square. Who thought of the self-immolation idea? It couldn’t have been Bai Ling.’

‘It was Lin Lu’s idea. He asked me to head their propaganda office. He knows I’m going out with a journalist, so he thought I could use her media contacts.’

‘Does anyone know much about this Lin Lu guy?’ I said, staring at the beams of morning light. Crowds of supporters were continuing to flood into the Square.