Sure enough, as Commissar Pei predicted, the next morning a jeep appeared at the gate. In it were seated General Bell and Major Leach; behind them followed about twenty GIs in a ten-wheeled truck. I was summoned to our headquarters while Ming set off to inform the Americans that we would like to talk with the general in the tent of our Secretariat. A few minutes later Ming returned with a message from Lieutenant East, who insisted we go to the front entrance and speak with the general there. So Chaolin, I, and six other men approached the gate, behind which we were ordered to remain.
Lieutenant East went up to the jeep to brief General Bell. Bell was a robust man with a ruddy complexion, in his mid-forties, wearing shiny boots and a diamond ring, which made him look rather urbane. Below his cap a bit of gray hair was visible. He seemed to have spruced up for this occasion, and even the insignia on his cap was shiny. Following him was the short major with a briefcase under his arm and a thick book in his hand. All the GIs had jumped down from the truck and stood in a fan shape, holding Ml Garand rifles. Chaolin said to me, "They really believe we're going to hurt him, don't they?" Then we stepped closer to meet the officers.
Through the barbed wire on the gate, Chaolin said, "Welcome, General Bell. Thank you for taking the trouble to come personally."
I translated his words. Bell nodded with a complacent smile and said, "I respect you Chinese. And your compound is a model of discipline and cleanliness. You can let me know your gripes now."
Chaolin smiled and said again, "We'd like to invite you to inspect the malnutrition most of the inmates have suffered here. Many wounded men are bedridden and need medical treatment, but we don't have enough medicines and staff to help them. Most of the prisoners in this compound suffer from night blindness, scurvy, beriberi, skin disorders, and other diseases because we haven't eaten enough vegetables. We hope you will observe the Geneva Convention and treat us decently." Chaolin's description of the inmates' physical condition was true on the whole. Some prisoners could see nothing but a wall of darkness at night, and some still had running wounds.
The general cleared his throat and said, "We have always abided by the Geneva Convention and tried our best to honor all the articles, although I don't have enough staff and materials at my disposal. Let me ask my aide to read some paragraphs from the convention to refresh your memory."
Solemnly Major Leach opened the big green book and began reading in a bass voice. I didn't bother to translate, because Chaolin was familiar with the Chinese version of the relevant articles. Meanwhile, General Bell looked absentminded, shifting his weight from one foot to another. To my amazement, he took nail clippers out of his jacket pocket and picked his nails with the tip of the file. The backs of his hands were bristly with brown hair.
We knew those articles by heart, so none of us listened to the major. To the Americans' credit, I should mention that they had posted the relevant clauses of the international law in every compound, in both Chinese and Korean, and that they also issued to every platoon a booklet containing the text. Before seeing the booklet, we had only heard of the Geneva Convention but hadn't known its contents. Having studied the document thoroughly, our leaders concluded that the Americans had contravened Article 118, which stated: "Prisoners of war shall be released and repatriated without delay after the cessation of hostilities." However, when the regulation had been drafted three years before, the world had been less complicated and none of the participating countries had been able to imagine our situation – in which more than two-thirds of the Chinese POWs wouldn't be going home. Still, whenever possible, we would confront our captors with their violation of Article 118, and most of the time we could get the upper hand.
In addition to the issue of repatriation, our leaders also accused the American side of some other serious violations of the convention. To be fair, I didn't feel that our captors treated us very badly. At least we were sheltered and had food. Most of the wounded prisoners had access to medical treatment, though conditions still had room for improvement. About six thousand people had been crowded into a small compound, with no disease springing up, because sanitation had been adequately maintained. Some inmates had even gained a little healthy color, especially some cooks whose cheeks had grown thicker. We often joked that the latrines in the compound were better equipped than those in our barracks back in China. Seats had been installed in them, and at the centers of the rooms were washing facilities – faucets for running water and metal basins set into round concrete tables. On the whole, I had to admit that the Americans were generous, at least materially. Besides food, each POW was given at least one pack of cigarettes a week, and sometimes two packs. I saw with my own eyes that American medical personnel treated injured civilians at the Pusan prison hospital. Here in every compound the United Nations had set up a program for civilian education that distributed books among the inmates, offered courses in mechanics, science, and Christianity, and often showed movies. Unfortunately our compound, controlled by the Communists, wouldn't have anything to do with such a program. Whenever a prisoner reported that he had lost his blanket or mat, he would be issued another one, since there was always a surplus of these things within the compound. Sometimes this would even apply to uniforms. Such replenishment was unthinkable in our own army, in which you would be disciplined for the loss. Back in China I had never heard of a soldier losing his bedroll.
Chaolin had a sharp tongue. The moment the major finished reading, Chaolin said, "Obviously our treatment falls short of the standard set by the convention. For example, we Chinese don't eat barley, which is fed to livestock back home. But you have made barley the staple of our diet, and most of the time there isn't enough barley for everyone. Each man can have only two bowls a day, and the calories are way below the minimum need of the body. What's worse, there's very little vegetable in our diet, and meat is absolutely a rarity. If your country has difficulties, please notify our country. I'm sure China will send over shiploads of rice, meat, and eggs to keep us from starving."
What he had said about barley wasn't true. No Chinese would feed animals barley, which we didn't like as much as rice but which tasted better than corn and sorghum, the principal foodstuffs in northern China. Having heard my translation, General Bell reddened and said, "I will take your unusual Chinese dietary habits into consideration and try to solve this problem. If you always feel hungry, I suggest that you stop the hunger strike now, which will just increase your fellow men's misery and waste food. As for the medical conditions, I will see what I can do."
Chaolin replied, "We appreciate that. If you agree to take steps to improve our living conditions, we'll be glad to end the hunger strike."
General Bell straightened up and promised, "I give you my word."
Chaolin and the other men looked at one another for a few seconds. Then he said, "We're willing to believe your sincerity, General Bell. Please accept our gratitude for coming to meet us personally."
"Does this mean you will call off the hunger strike?"
"Yes, we shall do it today."
"Very good, I'm glad we've met and talked."
"Thank you, General."
Bell nodded with a satisfied smile and then headed back. He got into his jeep, which pulled away, splashing muddy water from a puddle.
Not far from the gate, a middle-aged woman in a ruffly white dress was squatting on her haunches at a garbage dump, digging around with a mattock about two feet long. She was blind but came here every day to rummage around for edibles. On her neck was a healed gash. Beside her were a large gourd bowl and a small girl, four or five years old, whose hair had been cut straight across at the upper ends of her ears. The child held a bunch of grasshoppers, all strung through the mouths by a straw of dogtail grass. Now and then she ran away from her mother to catch a grasshopper. For a moment I was lost in a memory of my childhood, when my pals and I had often gone into the wilderness to catch insects and roasted them to eat. Cicadas and grasshoppers had been our favorites. My reverie was cut short by the woman's calling to her daughter, asking her what she herself was holding in her leathery hand. It was a piece of turnip peel, the child told her. The woman raised the thing and smelled it, then with a faint smile put it into the gourd bowl.