Back in our tent, we couldn't stop cursing Liu Tai-an. One said that the Communists should have finished him off, referring to an incident one night the previous winter when a group of Communists had beaten him to his knees and made him beg for mercy. Some regretted they hadn't formed their own armed force. Now without access to weapons they had become meat for the pro-Nationalists to hack at will. Some said that once they returned to China, they would get hold of Liu Tai-an's and his lackeys' families and relatives and wipe them out. Dajian told them that Mei Lufu's younger sister lived in Tianjin City and worked at a newspaper, and one man declared he would settle accounts with her one of these days. As we were talking, both Liu Tai-an and Wang Yong arrived with the police force. They ordered us to get out of the tent immediately.
When we had lined up and stood at attention, Liu Tai-an said, "Those of you who have a tattoo on you step out."
About thirty men moved forward, and Dajian and I followed them, Liu began to speak to us. "Don't think I'm forgetful. I came to collect the tattoos like I told you. If you ate the U.N.'s food, you ought to leave a bit of your flesh in the U.N.'s camp. Whoever wants to return to the mainland, let me know now, and we'll get the tattoo off of you. Now, lie down."
The thirty of us dropped to the ground, face down and with both hands stretched out. Liu shouted, "Those of you who want to go to Taiwan raise your right leg."
Hesitating for a few seconds, I raised my leg. Following me, Dajian did the same. But about half of the men didn't do this. Liu Tai-an pointed at the first of them in the line and ordered his bodyguards, "Pull that bastard up!"
The moment they got the man on his feet, Liu Tai-an asked him, "Mainland or Taiwan?" He flashed at his face a specially made knife – a toothbrush with a razor blade affixed to the end of the bone handle.
"Mainland," muttered the fellow. Two men were holding his arms from behind.
"Say it again."
"Mainland."
"All right, let me take this off."
"Ow!"
Liu began cutting the tattooed words off his chest. The man started groaning, but still speaking clearly. "Yes, get rid of these damned words for your grandpa."
In the corner of my eye I saw a "policeman" holding a short piece of iron wire that had impaled on it about a dozen pieces of bloody skin, each almost half an inch thick. Obviously they had just finished collecting tattoos at another tent. Beside Liu Tai-an stood a boyish man holding a white enamel pail, which contained several pieces of flesh stained with ink. Now I realized that all the prisoners tattooed by force had been the pro-Nationalists' targets. They had marked two kinds of people among us, those who would be valuable to them and those who were their deadly enemies.
Liu Tai-an waved the piece of flesh he had just cut off from the man, and his other hand flipped open the glass case of a kerosene lantern held by one of his bodyguards. He burned the flesh over the flame, and it sizzled for a few seconds, scorched yellow. Then he put it into his mouth, munching it ferociously. I was so flabbergasted that my stomach started churning. He said through his teeth, "Even if I kill all of you Reds and eat your hearts and livers, my hatred won't come down."
A heavy hush fell over us, and Dajian began sobbing. As they went on collecting the tattoos, pulling those unyielding men to their feet one by one and forcing them to answer the question, more cries and moans rose from the line. Several men who hadn't raised their legs originally now changed their minds and said they would sign up for Taiwan. Having held up my leg, I didn't expect they would pull me up too. I was trembling and could hardly speak. A pimply-faced man put a bloody knife against my belly and said, "Now, my scholar, tell me where you'd like to go."
"I'll follow you," I mouthed.
"Say it out loud," Wang Yong broke in.
"Okay, I'll go to Taiwan."
Dajian was picked up from the ground too, and he followed my example. The minute they were done with us, Wang Yong had the new "converts" moved to a large tent that was roomy and clean inside. Yet I couldn't go to sleep until the wee hours, listening to those men in the small tents groaning and cursing incessantly. I felt ashamed and reluctant to talk with Dajian, who tossed from side to side too. By following me, he made me bear the guilty conscience alone. Deep down, I wished I could have been as brave as a genuine Communist, who, crazed and fanatic, viewed death without flinching.
10. THE SCREENING
We ate breakfast at six the next morning, then packed all our belongings onto our backs and waited outside Liberty Hall. I had only a satchel and a blanket roll; some men had nothing but the ragged clothes on them, having gambled away everything else. The screening started at 8:00 a.m. Group by group we were led into the hall, where we waited to be called individually to meet the arbiters. We were to walk through a side door and into one of the three white tents, pitched specially for the screening, in which we would be asked whether we wanted to repatriate. After that, we would be sent to join either those going to Taiwan or those returning to the mainland. When our group had entered the hall, I couldn't stop fidgeting, unsure where I was going to wind up. In a corner of the room the bodies of the two men killed the night before were still lying under rice straw. The iron bars hidden in the sleeves of the Chinese "policemen" scared me, and from outside a voice rang out, "Catch him! Smash his skull!" I closed my eyes and tried not to think.
A U.N. official came in to check our ID tags against his record and made us sign our names on a ruled manila envelope. About a dozen U.N. guards, all empty-handed, showed up too, so the hall quieted down some.
Meanwhile Dajian, standing behind me with several men between us in the line, kept looking at me and asked with his sluggish eyes what we should do. I turned my head away, not wanting to face him because I had no idea either. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him shaking his chin at me a few times, but I didn't respond. Besides, our battalion's police didn't allow anyone to talk, so I couldn't go up to him and say that all we could do was act as the circumstances required.
A pebble hit my back, signaling it was my turn. With shaky steps I moved to the side door. I walked slowly so as to see what it was like outside and to assess the situation. Some GIs stood at the entrances to the white tents, all having MP painted on their helmets and on their dark blue brassards. An idea finally came to mind: if the arbiters forced me to go to Taiwan I would rush out of the tent and beg the GIs to send me to the group heading for the mainland. If I spoke to them in English, they might help me, I guessed.
After entering a tent, I was ordered to sit down in front of two American officers, with a folding table between us. One of them was a Caucasian, tall with a long face and in a pea-green shirt; the other was a stocky Chinese. The white man, a captain, began speaking to me about the Geneva Convention and the consequences of my decision. I was amazed that he could speak Mandarin, while the other officer, who was a lieutenant, kept smiling knowingly. Once in a while the Chinese man put in a few words in Cantonese, which I couldn't understand.
I must have looked absentminded, for the white officer grew impatient and said to me, "All right, tell me now, do you want to go to Taiwan or mainland China?"
"To the mainland," I replied firmly.
He looked me in the face for a moment, as though in disbelief. Then he handed me a card, saying, "Go straight to the front gate and give this card to the guards."
With tears on my face I bowed to both of them and said, "Thank you," then hurried out toward the gate. The card in my hand was five by three inches, bearing these words: "The People's Republic of China."