After Smart left, an emergency meeting was held in our headquarters, for which I served as secretary. Without blank paper I just jotted down a few notes on the margins of the Bible I had once owned, so that we could keep track of who said what. The leaders were deliberating whether to depart for Cheju Island peacefully. Commissar Pei said, "Perhaps we shouldn't resist this time, just to save our strength for future struggle."
Several men disagreed, feeling our country might lose face if we yielded to the enemy without a fight, because the Koreans had just scored a huge victory and were watching us. They argued for collective resistance, or at least for creating some difficulties for the Americans.
"I can see your points," the commissar said. "But we don't know anything about the situation on Cheju Island. Who will guard us there, Americans or South Koreans or the Nationalist troops from Taiwan? Are we going to be the only POWs in the camp? Are there other armies on the island? There're so many unknowns that we should be cautious about any action now, not to waste our energy."
"I'm afraid the enemy has another ax to grind," put in Zhao Teng, the compound's nominal chief, licking his gold teeth.
"That's true," another voice added.
"What if they take away our leaders before they put us on the ships?" asked a third man.
The commissar's eyes brightened. "I've thought of that. That's a possibility. Let's talk about it."
"I believe we must refuse to move," Zhao Teng said. "First, we should show the enemy our determination to fight, so when they come to search for you, they'll understand that even if they find you, they might not be able to take you away without causing lots of trouble for themselves."
"I don't want to get our men into danger," said the commissar, blushing a little. This was the first time I had ever seen his face change color.
"We know that, but this is a part of the struggle we cannot avoid."
A bald man chipped in, "This is also an opportunity to create a scandal for the Americans. If they open fire and burn our tents, they'll be condemned by the whole world."
More men argued for resistance. Commissar Pei seemed in an awkward position because his personal safety was also at stake. He was much less resolute than before. After another hour's discussion, he finally gave way, but he specified some conditions: "Tomorrow morning we won't move unless they come in to take us out. But we must make sure none of our men will be hurt and there'll be no bloodshed. We should exhaust the Americans' patience so that they'll expose themselves to the eyes of the world."
After the meeting I mulled over Pei 's words. He had never been so cautious, so unwilling to risk the lives of his men. I was impressed by the compromise plan he had made. Then the thought occurred to me that he might have argued for peace for personal reasons. A fullblown confrontation would have put him at a disadvantage. If he fell into the Americans' hands, they might punish him more for the resistance he had masterminded. Enraged, they could cripple or even kill him and then blame it on an accident. In other words, he must have been fearful, worried about his personal safety, knowing that without thousands of men around him, he would be at the enemy's mercy. So I had mixed feelings about his attitude. On the one hand, I was totally for a peaceful departure, and on the other, I felt that by nature Pei wasn't a peaceful man – he had only been frightened into supporting a relatively passive resistance.
At eight the next morning, six truckloads of GIs arrived at our compound. Their officer, a craggy-faced man, ordered us to come out with our blanket rolls and line up on the front yard, but none of us moved. The GIs were waiting. A hush enveloped the compound, as if all the men were sleeping. The officer shouted his orders again. Still nobody stirred. The barracks were so quiet that you could hear bursts of static coming from the megaphone and a flock of orioles chirping in the crown of a crooked elm.
The GIs waited about half an hour. Then the gate was opened and they came in, advancing while pitching tear-gas canisters at our tents. In no time the compound turned cloudy and people began coughing.
"Get your damn asses out!" shouted the officer.
Now balls of dark smoke started rising from two tents at the west side. Surely it was our men who had set fire to their quarters, to make it look like the GIs' doing. A few minutes later we filed out of our tents, each carrying his blanket roll, and many men covered their noses with wet towels. We formed up in the yard while a company of GIs surrounded us. The officer ordered some three hundred prisoners to go fight the fire. He kept hollering, "Damn it, I'm gonna try you all for arson!"
Two fire engines arrived, and without difficulty they extinguished the fire.
Then a squad of GIs led us out of the compound, with more guards escorting us on both sides. As we were leaving, about a hundred pro-Nationalist prisoners appeared outside the gate. They rattled sticks and threw pebbles at us, calling us all kinds of names. Some of them even shouted: "Feed them to sharks!" "Work them to skeletons in the coal mines!" "Dump them into the ocean!" "Commies, your final hour is coming!"
I had never met any of these men before and wondered which compound they came from. Suddenly one of them, a young boy, sprang out of their ranks and sprinted toward us, yelling, "I want to go home. Let me go with them!" Surprised, we stopped to watch. The boy looked fourteen or fifteen. I thought it bizarre that he believed we were headed for China. A beefy man was chasing him, brandishing a self-made machete and barking, "Little rabbit, I'm going to chop you to pieces." Still the boy was dashing toward us for all he was worth.
Richard, the corporal who had been sympathetic to me, stood close by but watched amusedly while the other GIs were whooping and whistling. I cried, "Richard, help him please!"
He strode over and thrust his rifle at the chaser. "Halt!" he ordered.
The man stopped short, then protested in Chinese, "That little bastard is a Commie. I must let him have it." He slashed the air with his machete and stamped the ground.
Ignoring his explanation, Richard pointed his rifle at the man's chest and said, "You go back now." He jutted out his chin in the direction of the other harassers.
Deflated, the man returned to his party near the fence while the boy, having joined us, was still sobbing, his face crumpled. With his index and middle fingers held together, Richard saluted me, and I returned him one.
Our long procession continued toward the shore. Some crippled men couldn't go fast and were supported by their comrades. I walked beside Commissar Pei, who looked wearied, his thick lips cracked. He said he hadn't slept well the night before and had gotten a migraine. The steady breeze from the sea, fishy and warm, wafted over the smell of burned firewood from a village. The yellowish ocean came into view, on which some gray sails were bobbing. The willow bushes and cypresses on the hills looked tired of growing, as if stunted by the salty wind. To our left the rocky bluff, brightened by the rising sun, was still wet, while dewdrops on the overhanging shrubs glistened, sending out tiny flashes. On the roadside, puffs of cobwebs were scattered here and there on the grass like miniature jellyfish. I could sense the agitation in the procession. It was rumored that some POWs had been shipped to Canada as guinea pigs for chemical-weapon experiments and that hundreds of prisoners had been forced to labor in a gold mine on an island near Japan. Once we got on the ships, God knew where the enemy would take us. They might have lied to us about Cheju Island all along.
At the fringe of a sloping pine grove, a knot of small boys, barefoot and in baggy shorts, were flourishing slingshots and hunting tits, sparrows, wrens. One of them carried about a dozen dead birds strung together on a wicker twig pushed through their mouths. Still there were a lot of birds warbling in the woods. Another boy, the smallest of them, waved a whittled branch, to the tip of which was affixed a ring of iron wire covered with many layers of spiderweb; he used this tool to catch dragonflies, which would be fed to chickens and ducks. I kept watching the boys until they faded into the forest.