“Stop bluffing us,” the donkey-faced man broke in. “We have seen a lot of your kind. We can easily prove you are guilty. Here are some of the statements given by eyewitnesses.” He pushed a few sheets of paper toward Mr. Chiu.
Mr. Chiu was dazed to see the different handwritings, which all stated that he had shouted in the square to attract attention and refused to obey the police. One of the witnesses had identified herself as a purchasing agent from a shipyard in Shanghai. Something stirred in Mr. Chiu’s stomach, a pain rising to his rib. He gave out a faint moan.
“Now you have to admit you are guilty,” the chief said. “Although it’s a serious crime, we won’t punish you severely, provided you write out a self-criticism and promise that you won’t disrupt the public order again. In other words, your release will depend on your attitude toward this crime.”
“You’re daydreaming,” Mr. Chiu cried. “I won’t write a word, because I’m innocent. I demand that you provide me with a letter of apology so I can explain to my university why I’m late.”
Both the interrogators smiled contemptuously. “Well, we’ve never done that,” said the chief, taking a puff at his cigarette.
“Then make this a precedent.”
“That’s unnecessary. We are pretty certain that you will comply with our wishes.” The chief blew a column of smoke toward Mr. Chiu’s face.
At the tilt of the chief’s head, two guards stepped forward and grabbed the criminal by the arms. Mr. Chiu meanwhile went on saying, “I shall report you to the Provincial Administration. You’ll have to pay for this! You are worse than the Japanese military police.”
They dragged him out of the room.
After dinner, which consisted of a bowl of millet porridge, a corn bun, and a piece of pickled turnip, Mr. Chiu began to have a fever, shaking with a chill and sweating profusely. He knew that the fire of anger had gotten into his liver and that he was probably having a relapse. No medicine was available, because his briefcase had been left with his bride. At home it would have been time for him to sit in front of their color TV, drinking jasmine tea and watching the evening news. It was so lonesome in here. The orange bulb above the single bed was the only source of light, which enabled the guards to keep him under surveillance at night. A moment ago he had asked them for a newspaper or a magazine to read, but they turned him down.
Through the small opening on the door noises came in. It seemed that the police on duty were playing cards or chess in a nearby office; shouts and laughter could be heard now and then. Meanwhile, an accordion kept coughing from a remote corner in the building. Looking at the ballpoint and the letter paper left for him by the guards when they took him back from the Interrogation Bureau, Mr. Chiu remembered the old saying, “When a scholar runs into soldiers, the more he argues, the muddier his point becomes.” How ridiculous this whole thing was. He ruffled his thick hair with his fingers.
He felt miserable, massaging his stomach continually. To tell the truth, he was more upset than frightened, because he would have to catch up with his work once he was back home — a paper that was due at the printers next week, and two dozen books he ought to read for the courses he was going to teach in the fall.
A human shadow flitted across the opening. Mr. Chiu rushed to the door and shouted through the hole, “Comrade Guard, Comrade Guard!”
“What do you want?” a voice rasped.
“I want you to inform your leaders that I’m very sick. I have heart disease and hepatitis. I may die here if you keep me like this without medication.”
“No leader is on duty on the weekend. You have to wait till Monday.”
“What? You mean I’ll stay in here tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Your station will be held responsible if anything happens to me.”
“We know that. Take it easy, you won’t die.”
It seemed illogical that Mr. Chiu slept quite well that night, though the light above his head had been on all the time and the straw mattress was hard and infested with fleas. He was afraid of ticks, mosquitoes, cockroaches — any kind of insect but fleas and bedbugs. Once, in the countryside, where his school’s faculty and staff had helped the peasants harvest crops for a week, his colleagues had joked about his flesh, which they said must have tasted nonhuman to fleas. Except for him, they were all afflicted with hundreds of bites.
More amazing now, he didn’t miss his bride a lot. He even enjoyed sleeping alone, perhaps because the honeymoon had tired him out and he needed more rest.
The backyard was quiet on Sunday morning. Pale sunlight streamed through the pine branches. A few sparrows were jumping on the ground, catching caterpillars and ladybugs. Holding the steel bars, Mr. Chiu inhaled the morning air, which smelled meaty. There must have been an eatery or a cooked-meat stand nearby. He reminded himself that he should take this detention with ease. A sentence that Chairman Mao had written to a hospitalized friend rose in his mind: “Since you are already in here, you may as well stay and make the best of it.”
His desire for peace of mind originated in his fear that his hepatitis might get worse. He tried to remain unperturbed. However, he was sure that his liver was swelling up, since the fever still persisted. For a whole day he lay in bed, thinking about his paper on the nature of contradictions. Time and again he was overwhelmed by anger, cursing aloud, “A bunch of thugs!” He swore that once he was out, he would write an article about this experience. He had better find out some of the policemen’s names.
It turned out to be a restful day for the most part; he was certain that his university would send somebody to his rescue. All he should do now was remain calm and wait patiently. Sooner or later the police would have to release him, although they had no idea that he might refuse to leave unless they wrote him an apology. Damn those hoodlums, they had ordered more than they could eat!
When he woke up on Monday morning, it was already light. Somewhere a man was moaning; the sound came from the backyard. After a long yawn, and kicking off the tattered blanket, Mr. Chiu climbed out of bed and went to the window. In the middle of the yard, a young man was fastened to a pine, his wrists handcuffed around the trunk from behind. He was wriggling and swearing loudly, but there was no sight of anyone else in the yard. He looked familiar to Mr. Chiu.
Mr. Chiu squinted his eyes to see who it was. To his astonishment, he recognized the man, who was Fenjin, a recent graduate from the Law Department at Harbin University. Two years ago Mr. Chiu had taught a course in Marxist materialism, in which Fenjin had enrolled. Now, how on earth had this young devil landed here?
Then it dawned on him that Fenjin must have been sent over by his bride. What a stupid woman! A bookworm, who only knew how to read foreign novels! He had expected that she would contact the school’s Security Section, which would for sure send a cadre here. Fenjin held no official position; he merely worked in a private law firm that had just two lawyers; in fact, they had little business except for some detective work for men and women who suspected their spouses of having extramarital affairs. Mr. Chiu was overcome with a wave of nausea.
Should he call out to let his student know he was nearby? He decided not to, because he didn’t know what had happened. Fenjin must have quarreled with the police to incur such a punishment. Yet this could never have occurred if Fenjin hadn’t come to his rescue. So no matter what, Mr. Chiu had to do something. But what could he do?