Behind a row of barracks a special tent had been pitched for the general. In front stood eight self-made red flags rippling in the breeze, each carrying a red star in a white circle. Dozens of pickets were posted around the tent, toting clubs, sharpened bamboo poles, long picks, shovels. One man, obviously a team leader, wore a shiny sickle in his belt. Chaolin and I were allowed to go in and have a look inside. A guard opened the door flaps for us. My goodness! I was struck by the fancy interior, which was thoroughly furnished and partitioned into four or five separate spaces; the entire floor was covered with army blankets. Even the walls were lined with blankets too, since it could still get chilly at night. Toward the back of the tent, a white curtain shielded an area for the bathroom. In the center of the front section stood a glossy desk and four chairs; on the desktop was a beer bottle holding a bunch of wild lilies, white and saffron, so fresh that some of the blossoms were still closed. In a screened corner were a cot and a tiny cabinet, on which perched the general's reading glasses and his cap. The curtain was not drawn. We could see Bell lying on the bed with his eyes closed, his face longer and flabbier than before. He looked old. Chaolin and I didn't disturb him, though I was sure the general knew someone had come in.
In meeting and mixing with the Korean soldiers, I had noticed that they did things more elaborately than we did. For instance, the distinction of rank among their officers was immediately visible, marked by the bars and stars on the shoulder tabs. Even their enlisted men's ranks could be identified by the stripes on their sleeves. Their officers' uniforms were much more formal than ours – peaked caps with cockades, jackets with brass buttons and large epaulets, high patent-leather boots, and green or blue breeches whose legs had red stripes along the seams. They imitated the Russians as much as possible. In contrast, our officers didn't wear any insignia, and there was little sartorial distinction between them and their men. At most our colonels and generals donned woolen jackets and trousers and maybe leather shoes. As for the enlisted men and junior officers, our quilted uniforms, felt hats with tied-up flaps, and canvas-top shoes were so crude that the GIs on the front called us "laundrymen." At least many of us looked less skinny in our winter outfits.
General Bell was so impressed by his accommodations that the next morning he said to General Fulton on the phone, "I'm living like an emperor here." Indeed, the interior of the tent resembled that of a royal Mongolian yurt, perhaps even more luxurious. What's more, his cook was going to come three times a day to deliver his meals, and two American orderlies were allowed to do housekeeping for him here every morning. Bell looked as if he were on vacation, camping on a lakeside or a mountain, though his face was grim.
As Chaolin and I were wondering whether we should go forward or withdraw, General Bell opened his eyes. But he didn't get up and seemed lost in thought. He closed his eyes again and we stepped closer. His large body weighed down the cot noticeably. Two top buttons on his jacket were missing, and his right epaulet, with one star on it, was ripped, barely attached to his shoulder by a few stitches of thread. How different he looked from the spruce general who had spoken with us just a few days ago.
"We should talk with him," whispered Chaolin.
We stepped over, but the general still didn't stir. I tried to guess why he acted this way. Out of anger? Or out of arrogance or contempt? More probably out of uncertainty. Like his men outside the compound, he too must have been at a loss how to deal with his lad-napping. Chaolin and I looked at each other again. He smiled and stuck his tongue out, which was heavily furred. He tilted his head, meaning I should start. I bent down a little and said, "Hello, General Bell, we came to see you."
"Oh, thank you, thank you." He opened his eyes, whose whites were bloodshot. He sat up, combing his sparse hair with his fingers, and shifted his legs out of the bed so as to get to his feet.
"Please remain seated," I said. "We are the representatives of the Chinese prisoners. We met four days ago."
"Really? Oh yes, I promised you I'd solve some problems."
I was surprised that he hadn't recognized us. Chaolin said through my interpretation, "Now we want to see your deeds. We don't want the same result again – where the problems remain unsolved while your men pitch gas grenades into our barracks and even fire at us."
"That has never happened here." Bell wasn't wrong; that kind of violence had occurred in some camps on the Korean mainland, not on this island.
"But your men often beat the inmates," Chaolin pressed on.
"In that case, I should have kept better discipline among my troops."
"What do you think of the way we treat you here?"
The general looked puzzled, not having expected that the Korean prisoners represented us Chinese as well. I too was a little surprised by the collective pronoun "we." Then Bell realized the meaning of the question and muttered, "Yes, I can say the Communists have accommodated me well."
"We're glad you understand this. If only General Ridgway were here to take the same lesson."
"I can pass the message on to him and – " Catching himself, Bell looked abashed.
"We'll talk more about the treatment of the prisoners at the conference tomorrow. Meanwhile, take it easy and rest well."
"I will."
"Good-bye now."
"Bye." He stood up, and his hand moved but didn't stretch out.
The moment we came out of the tent, Chaolin burst into laughter, holding his sides with both hands. I joined him in laughing too. A Korean officer, who had been at the entrance to the tent during our meeting with Bell, remarked in English, "American general is just so-so, a paper tiger, like Stalin says."
I don't know where Stalin said that. Amused, I translated his words to Chaolin. That brought out more laughter. Without further delay the Korean officer led us to a tent at the back of the barracks, where we were to meet their top leader.
At the sight of us Mr. Park got up from a reed mat and came to hug us. He said in barely comprehensible Chinese, "Ah my friends, welcome!"
He gestured for us to sit down on the mat. I noticed that unlike the others, he sat on a sheepskin, its white fur mottled with black blotches. With ease we entered into conversation. The slim Colonel Lee sat beside the leader, serving as his interpreter, so I could relax now. Mr. Park showed deep concern about our living conditions and asked us how well we were organized in Compound 602. Chaolin reported to him briefly on the newly founded United Communist Association. Mr. Park was impressed by the intention to include as many people in the organization as possible while maintaining the Party's leadership and principles at the core. He said, "I always admire the Chinese Communist Party. You have more experience and more strategies. I'm sorry we haven't given enough support to your struggle."
Chaolin seemed touched and replied, "Under your leadership the Korean comrades captured General Bell. This is an extraordinary event in the history of warfare, and it dealt a crushing blow to our common enemy. It has also inspired us tremendously. We must learn from our Korean comrades' courage and bravery."
"Well, without your help we couldn't have done it at all," said Mr. Park, smiling. "So half of the victory belongs to you. The Chinese comrades showed us how to stage a hunger strike and how to lure Bell to our compound, otherwise we couldn't have brought him in. This victory is only a part of our two peoples' joint struggle."
He turned aside and whispered to an aide. Lee winked at us and said, "Mr. Park would like to invite you to dinner."
"Please don't treat us like guests," I said.
"You are our honored guests," replied Lee, smiling meaningfully. He got up and went out, apparently to make arrangements for the dinner.