Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square (34 page)

Holding hands, they joined the crowd on Changan Avenue. Ten of thousands of bicyclers filled the six traffic lanes. Random shouts of “Down with Li Peng!” and “Long Live the people!” mingled with the continuing ringing of bicycle bells. The further they went, the more roadblocks they encountered. The barricades were heavy concrete bars, steel guardrails and garbage cans. Many bicyclers had to lift their bicycles up to pass the barricades. Hurdling over the barricades, Baiyun and Dagong looked at each other and smiled.

“Mother used to be a hurdler in college,” said Baiyun.

“Yes, she told me about it before. I guess you must be very good at it too.”

“Good at what?” Baiyun challenged.

“Good at everything.” Dagong surrendered.

“Do you mean better?” Baiyun marched further.

“Um…yes. Look,” Dagong held her shoulder, “what happened between your mother and me is over. It was a short relationship more than twenty years ago. That’s the past. Don’t burden yourself with it anymore.”

“Ok, what else should I worry about then?”

Dagong frowned. Obviously, Baiyun meant his wife Zhang Ping. “We can talk about it later. Let’s survive this first.”

“Let’s survive this first!” Baiyun reciprocated.

They ran ferociously pass the slow moving crowd. As they approached Xidan, people stood by the side of the road and stopped moving completely.

“Stop, Baiyun. Be careful!” Dagong pulled Baiyun to a side street where People pushed each other as though they tried to hide behind each other. Baiyun could feel a sense of panic floating in the air. It was getting dark and people were unusually quiet.

“Look, there are tanks.” The bright headlights of the army carriers were blinding. Tanks ran over or broke through the barricades and were approaching slowly. People began throwing stones, bricks and broken pieces of steel railing at the tanks. Obviously it didn’t stop the tanks. But people were not deterred. They threw more things at the tanks including burning torches that set some of the tanks on fire.

“Hooray!” Excited people cheered.

“What are they throwing at the tanks?” Baiyun was just as happy as everyone else but she was puzzled.

“Molotov cocktail.” A tall slender young man with long hair showed Baiyun a brown tall bottle. “We just fill these beer bottles with gasoline and kerosene, and light them. We made them in our factory.” He smiled proudly and leaped forward. “Get out, butcher.” He shouted toward a stopped blazing tank. The fire mixed with the smoke shoot toward the sky, which made the Square like a battleground or a New Year’s Eve party with too much firework. As soon as the driver got out of the tank, his clothes were immediately on fire. He jumped to the ground and rolled. People ran toward him and screamed as though they were going to eat him alive.

“He is dead. He is dead three times over,” said an old man next to Baiyun.

Then more people ran toward a tank that was trapped by a concrete barricade. The tank lurched back and forth, and stopped. The grounding of the tank’s treads against concrete generated a shower of sparks like welding. A young man in shorts and a tank top jumped onto the top of the tank, hammering the tank with a steel bar, and others followed. They first used the Molotov cocktail and set the tank on fire. The young man in shorts laid a blanket soaked with gasoline on top of the tank. The crowd was pounding the tank to force the driver to get out.

Looking at Baiyun’s radiant face near the blazing fire, Dagong asked, “Are you afraid?”

“No. It’s exciting!” Baiyun jumped against Dagong and hugged him.

“Let’s join them,” said Dagong. Just when they were about to dive into the crowd, beams of light leaped through the sky, followed by several whistling sounds.

“They’ve started shooting.” Dagong jumped on top of Baiyun and pushed her down.

“What….?” Baiyun was bending down and lying against the wall of a building along the street. She was shivering violently. It was the first time in her life she ever heard real bullets flying in the sky.

People swarmed back to the side streets. Their yelling and screaming mixed with the sound of bullets. Some struggled in the crowd to find their loved ones; some tried to get out and help save others.

“It’s real bullets. They were shooting people. I saw a boy shoot in the head and die,” said an old woman, tears smeared her face.

“Baiyun, are you Ok?” Dagong tried to get her up.

She buried her head into Dagong’s chest, crying. “It’s terrible. It’s terrible.”

“Ok, Ok. It looks like they haven’t shot people on the sidewalks yet.” Dagong patted Baiyun. “I think we should run back to the square to tell them what is going on. Are you ready? We have to run fast.”

Baiyun nodded. They began running hand in hand down the side streets.

It was a moonless night. The square was dark and frightening. Fire from the burning vehicles and buses flickered in the distance. The smoke in the sky had further decreased the visibility. Bullets whistled through the sky intermittently. Tanks stopped people. People ran back and forth around the center of the Tiananmen Square, shouting and cheering each time a tank caught fire.

Baiyun and Dagong ran along the trees on the sidewalk. Some trees were burning while the speculators occupied some others. Frightened people escaped from the streets, trying to find a hiding place. But most of the larger buildings along the streets were closed. They held onto each other tightly.

“Ah, my shoes, Dagong,” yelled Baiyun as her shoes were kicked away by the crowd and she was left with her bare feet.

“What has happened?” They stopped and soon were being pushed off of the sidewalk by the crowd. “Put on mine,” said Dagong.

“No, they are too big. Let’s just take a break.” They sat under a tree, watching people cheering, clanking metal pots and pans. Tanks barely could inch forward.

Baiyun was so tired that she instantly fell on Dagong’s lap. Dagong started kissing her hair, and then her ears. Baiyun turned her head around so his lips could reach hers. He unbuttoned her floral cotton shirt and touched her braless chest. Baiyun felt her body melting under Dagong’s embrace. She wished so much that this moment would last a little longer. But Dagong soon stopped.

“Maybe we should go and see whether we could help with something,” said Dagong.

“It seems that they are holding up the tanks.” Still breathing heavily with the excitement, Baiyun said.

“But the tanks are not backing off. I don’t know how long they can be held off. Let’s go. At least we should be with our fellow students and I would like to offer my apartment as a hiding place if we decide to withdraw.”

“Could I come to your apartment?” asked Baiyun uncertainly.

“Of course. Come on, we are almost there.”

When they were across the intersection to the square, the gunfire suddenly became more intense and continuous. Tanks seemed to be coming from all directions. People were running wild like animals being chased by hunters.

The square was half-empty. Besides some makeshift tents scattered around and garbage, very few people were left. Dagong ran into a tent and pushed the person inside who seemed to be sleeping.

“Where is everyone?” asked Dagong.

The student rubbed his eyes as though he was awakening from a dream. He pointed his finger to the monument, “They are over there.”

As they approached the monument, it was very quiet. Hundreds of people surrounded the monument, lowering their heads. They were mourning someone. They were so quiet that even the gradually approaching gunshots did not disturb them. Then Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ filled the air. The crowd started humming along.

“Who are you mourning?” asked Baiyun of a young man next to her.

“Oh, you don’t know them. They are ‘Flying-Tiger-Brigade’.” He stretched his arms and held his hands down with two fists. “They rode motorcycles. You know that woman who is fifty years old, although she looks like forty.”

“Oh, what happened to her?” Baiyun’s eyes widened.

“She got shot on her way here from Mushidi.” The student sighed.

“Mother!” Baiyun screamed and pushed people away violently.

“Baiyun, Baiyun.” Dagong followed. As shocked as she was, he did not know what to say.

They finally reached the front of the crowd. Meiling’s body lay on the top of the steps. Lao Zheng sat next to her, holding her head and crying. Still in her leather jacket that was now ragged and stained, Meiling looked peaceful. Her eyes were closed, her swarthy cheeks sunk down, her head-f of thick black hair still gleaming, even her thick energetic eyebrows curled down as though she was having a nice dream. Baiyun rushed over and threw herself onto Meiling’s body, wailing. She held Meiling’s neck, which was wrapped with bloody bandages, and said “Mother, why did you leave me so soon? I have a lot to tell you.”

The crowd was suddenly quiet again. A student leader came in front of the microphone.

“As we are mourning the dead, we should ask ourselves what we should do to continue the work she had not accomplished. Now I would like to share a story with everyone.”

“There are a group of ants, 1.1 billion of them. One day there was a huge fire at the foot of their anthill. The ants knew that their family could only be saved if they went down the hill, so they held on to each other and rolled down the hill together. Some of ants were killed but many more were saved. So the committee has decided that we all will walk out of here together. Soldiers may fire at us; tanks may roll over us. But as long as we are together, we are strong.”

The light suddenly went off and the students formed a line marching the square in the dark with their arms locked. They are singing the ‘International’. Lao Zheng carried Meiling’s body on his back, leading the march.

Dagong and Baiyun locked their arms marching along. Baiyun was no longer afraid because dying with so many students and friends would be heroic or even exciting.

The sky turned light as they walked toward the east, through the passageway the army had opened up for them. The east side of sky was red, not just around the edge; but the whole eastern sky was red. It was like the whole place was soaked in blood.

Epilogue

It is an unusually gloomy day in late June. Dagong and Baiyun strolled together in Tiananmen Square. They have left their bicycles in Xidan Market, about half a mile away. With her hands in the pockets of her red windbreaker, Baiyun walks one kilometer behind Dagong. Her long straight black hair gleams under the dim sunlight. Her face is solemn, yet her occasional sighs show she is holding back her emotions.

The Square is still heavily guarded, especially near the Forbidden City. Armed soldiers wearing green uniforms stand in front of the maroon walls of the Forbidden City as though they were rows of evergreen trees. Since tourists are few, the square is still scrubbed clean. Burned buses and shattered military vehicles were towed away soon after the Massacre. The flags along the reviewing balcony of the Forbidden City are flapping in the wind, generating hollow, alien sounds like hundreds of suffering souls murmuring in the distance.

Baiyun follows Dagong. She is not a traditional Chinese whose women walk several steps behind the men. It is Martial Law that prevents them from strolling shoulder to shoulder. Dagong complains for the third time:

“I have to turn my head around every five seconds, literally every five seconds to see if you are all right. Just in case you might be kidnapped or seduced by one of those good looking soldiers!” But soon he resumes his pace and does not stop, as that could be taken as evidence of assembly.

“Soldiers, air-headed scare-crows. Who needs them?” Baiyun snaps back. Then she looks toward the Forbidden City and the Golden Water Bridge in front of Chairman Mao’s portrait. Her steps are getting shorter. She stops and stares at the bridge. It is the first time she has returned to the square since the morning of June 4, 1989.

“Who knows? You always go for the handsome ones.” Expecting a playful blow to his back from Baiyun, Dagong walks faster. But he is wrong. Baiyun does not react at all.

She stares at the Forbidden City and the Golden Water Bridge and her mind is full of images. Oh, where was that head? During the night or the morning of the Massacre, she saw a smashed head on top of the middle pillar of the bridge’s right railing. Poor head, many bullets had pierced it. It sat on the top of the pillar as though it wanted to proclaim its dignity. There was nothing left in the skull; it was just a black hole. She imagines hundreds of skulls approaching from the far side of the arched bridge. They are crying. Tears pour out of their eye sockets. Blood sweeps them forward.

She squeezes her eyes shut and turns around, then stares back at the immense empty square. That was where her mother’s body lay fallen. The thought makes her recoil. During the night of the Massacre, with the square full of people, they all locked arms to form a human barricade. They thought they could deflect the bullets and stop the tanks. Then came the bullets and tanks and the blood and skulls. They had to retreat and narrowly escaped the final ‘Death Ring’ inside which hundreds even thousands people had lost their lives. As Baiyun ran away from Tiananmen Square, from the place she had made home in the last month, she felt a sense of loss. It was not just the loss of her mother, the failure of the movement. It was just a loss of focus, a loss of a sense of purpose in life. After this, where would her life begin?