‘Oh, I’ve read about them in the papers. They’re called Big Brothers. Apparently all the rich entrepreneurs have them now. When they go out for a meal, they only have to plonk their phones on the table and immediately the restaurant managers grovel at their feet.’
‘Pagers are old hat now. That’s the way things go. Information is a commodity. If you don’t have one of these, no one will respect you.’
‘How much do they cost?’
‘More than 10,000 yuan,’ Yu Jin says breezily.
‘I don’t believe it! That’s more than three times what it costs to get a landline connected. You’ve done really well for yourself. You’re the first person I’ve met who owns a Big Brother.’
‘It’s no big deal. Lots of people in Shenzhen and Shanghai are using them now. Tell me, how is Dai Wei’s treatment going?’
‘Sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea. Here, you can sit on this chair.’
As I listen to my mother remove the bottles of pills from the chair and place them on top of the sideboard, I try to guess what the young financier Yu Jin looks like. I imagine him in a suit and tie, with clean socks and shiny leather shoes. His hair is short, or balding, perhaps. In the morning, he struts confidently into his office and nods a greeting to his colleagues, or shakes them firmly by the hand.
While my mother goes to pour the tea, I feel his eyes fix on me. After a while he says, ‘Dai Wei, they may have split us up, but we must struggle on. When they arrested me, I refused to plead guilty. I just told them what happened. I said that you were the ringleader, of course. I knew you were in a coma by then, so you wouldn’t get into trouble. Everyone with foreign connections has gone abroad. Those who’ve stayed have given up academia and gone into commerce. If you want to live your life with a bit of dignity these days you need to make money. Beijing University has lost its spirit. No one wants to study there any more. The students are forced to do a year’s military training before they start their courses now, so it takes four or five years to graduate.’
What was wrong with our generation? When the guns were pointing at our heads, we were still wasting time squabbling among ourselves. We were courageous but inexperienced, and had little understanding of Chinese history.
You remember standing in the centre of the Square, the hot wind blowing across your face. The Square was like the room you are lying in now: a warm space with a beating heart trapped in the middle of a cold city.
Shortly before dusk, an announcement came over some new loudspeakers that had just been attached to the other side of the Monument. Yu Jin ran off to see what was going on, and returned a few minutes later saying, ‘The Beijing Students’ Federation and the Qinghua University students have set up their own broadcast station at the south-east corner of the Monument. They’re calling it “Voice of Qinghua”.’
Old Fu was talking to Mou Sen about establishing a new editorial system. They’d both been appointed vice commanders of the Hunger Strike Headquarters by Bai Ling. When Old Fu heard the news, he got up and said, ‘Come on, let’s go round and take a look.’
‘Sounds like their equipment is at least three times stronger than ours,’ Little Chan said. ‘And they’ve got many more loudspeakers as well. Look, they’re all stacked up there on the lower terrace.’
‘It will be chaotic if we’re both broadcasting at the same time,’ Big Chan said, catching up with us. Since Big Chan and Little Chan had joined my student marshal team three days before, they hadn’t left the Square. They took their jobs very seriously, and were now responsible for overseeing the security of the Monument area.
‘I’m sure we can reach some kind of understanding,’ Old Fu said calmly.
The Qinghua camp on the other side looked much better organised than ours. They’d erected a large white tent to shield their hunger strikers from the heat, and had cooled the stone ground in front of it with water and big blocks of ice.
Their broadcast station was a square lean-to shelter erected against the base of the Monument, just like ours. The door faced south. There were so many student marshals protecting it, I couldn’t see inside. We tried to enter, but they blocked our way. Old Fu said, ‘Please ask the station chief to come out. We’ve brought a tape for him to broadcast.’
Zhou Suo stepped out of the tent. He was the chairman of Qinghua University’s Organising Committee. From his dark, weathered skin and rugged features, you could tell he’d grown up in the windy wastes of Shanxi Province’s Yellow Plateau.
Yu Jin walked up to him. ‘We’re from the Beijing University broadcast station. I think we’ve met.’
‘We’ve brought a tape for you,’ Old Fu said, in a friendly but slightly condescending tone. ‘It’s very moving. You can use it if you like. We only broadcast to the Beijing University students. The people on this side can’t hear us.’
‘The Beijing Students’ Federation decides what we broadcast, and you’re not the chairman of it any more, Old Fu,’ Zhou Suo said frostily.
A trace of embarrassment passed over Old Fu’s face as he realised he’d lost his authority. ‘Well, I’m still a member of its leadership committee,’ he protested. ‘Who else from the Beijing Students’ Federation is here?’
‘Fan Yuan and Sister Gao. You can ask them if they want to play the tape, if you like.’ Zhou Suo clearly didn’t want to have to take responsibility for anything.
We walked into their tent. It was very dark inside. I took off my sunglasses.
Old Fu spotted Sister Gao. ‘You borrowed money off us,’ he said, walking up to her. ‘I didn’t realise it was to set up a rival broadcast station!’
‘The money I borrowed was to buy chocolate and biscuits for the hunger strikers who were taken to hospital. Cao Ming came with me when I handed the food out. If you don’t believe me, ask him.’ Sister Gao was kneeling on the ground, sorting through a pile of scripts.
‘You only broadcast to the Beijing University students,’ Fan Yuan said coolly. ‘But the Federation has a duty to disseminate information to the broad mass of students and civilians in the Square. We didn’t spend any of your money on this equipment. That generator was donated to us by the workers of Beijing.’
‘We don’t need the Federation in the Square,’ Old Fu said, his expression hardening. ‘You should go back to the campuses.’
‘You’re not chairman or commander-in-chief any longer,’ Sister Gao said. ‘You can’t tell us what to do. The majority of the universities’ organising committees supported this plan. They all supported us.’ She often repeated herself when she was angry.
‘If you carry on like this, no one will be able to hear our broadcasts back there,’ I chipped in, seeing that Old Fu was now speechless with rage.
‘Well, stop broadcasting then!’ Fan Yuan said. ‘All you do is get famous intellectuals to repeat that this is the gravest moment in our nation’s history and it’s our duty to take a stand. You’re more of a celebrity show than a students’ broadcast station.’ Fan Yuan was wearing metal-rimmed glasses. From the side, he looked as thin as a plank of wood.
‘We were here first,’ Big Chan said. ‘You’re destroying student solidarity by setting up this rival operation.’
Their pretty announcer came over and said, ‘Everyone’s sick of your broadcasts. In the morning, they’re sombre and depressing, but when the supporters turn up in the afternoon, they become light-hearted and optimistic. All those ups and downs are driving us mad.’ She smiled as she spoke. The sound of her clear voice was as refreshing as eating an ice cream on a hot day. But she wasn’t as beautiful as Nuwa.
‘That broadcast you made just now wasn’t very impressive,’ Little Chan said. ‘You were just reading out telegrams and petitions. Couldn’t you come up with any better ideas?’