Captivity

My mind went completely blank and I couldn’t even think of fear. A militia capt-ain-like person ordered someone to tie me with a rope around both arms and the front of my neck. Soon a large group gathered, men and women, old and young. Th-ey hustled me off to a small hut. Soo-n a crowd gathered outside the door. I wa-s very thirsty and asked for water. An old woman soon gave me a bowl of hot sou-p, looking at me with sympathy but helplessness. The captain-like man called a militiaman to untie me and search me and my packet. Fortunately they did not as-k me to take off my shoes, because I hid one yuan bill under each insole by rem-oving the insole, putting the bill in and gluing the insole back. This was taug-ht by Yonglie. He said when you were released or got the opportunity to escape; you could do nothing if you were penniless. When nothing was found, the captain-like person told me to sit on a wooden bench. He and another militiaman sat beh-ind a desk and began to question me and take notes. The inquiry was simple: nam-e, age, address, class status, why should you "escape" (not “flee to Hong Kon-g”), the first time I heard the term. Following what Yonglie had taught me I ga-ve a pseudonym and false address: Chen Jiang; Xingning County, Rock Commune whi-ch was far away from the County town. Yonglie said that particular commune was rather lenient to those fleeing to Hong Kong. I gave my class status as middle
peasant. As for the reason to "escape”, I answered that I had not enough food t-o eat at home. The captain-like person glanced at me and sneered that I did not look like a hungry man. After a while, he asked in a mocking tone if I were hun-gry. I said I had eaten nothing for almost two days. He sent for a bowl of rice porridge and two pieces of yam which I devoured right away. He called a militia-man to take me to a latrine to urinate, and locked me in a small cell with only a narrow plank bed with a broken mat. I sat on the bed, downcast and confused.
I lay on the plank bed, tossing and turning. Tomorrow where would I be sent? Did they believe in my fake name and address? Would they send a letter to verify? I-f the reply was "no such person", then I would be a goner! Giving another fake name and address would be in vain. Even if I could slip by here, would I be so lucky when I got back to Xingning? I had been away from my hometown for more th-an 10 years. If I were asked about the local situation, I could not answer even one word. Finally, if I were sent to the commune and the commune called the pro
 duction team to pick me up; my lie certainly would be exposed. Then I might be beaten up terribly or ordered to kneel on broken glass like my cousin until I c-onfessed my true name and address. Any broken link would lead to exposing my re-al identity. Then I could not escape the fate of being escorted back to Kunming where all would be lost! I was frustrated to the extreme. The only hope, as my cousin Yonglie had said, was if my false name and address were accepted at each step along the way to the commune. There, after being reprimanded and writing a selfcriticism, I might hope to be released. However, could I be so lucky? Fear and despair tortured me repeatedly, but I was so tired that finally I fell asle-ep. Next morning I was awakened by someone opening the door. I didn't eat anyth-ing and, with my arms tied, was escorted to a small bus station. On the way, I asked our destination, but the militiaman did not answer. I followed him onto t-he bus. The other passengers, used to seeing such incidents, didn’t show even a little surprise. Getting off the bus, I was escorted to a large house not far away, where the militiaman handed me to a person on duty, untied my rope, put i-t back into his bag and departed. Zhangmutou Detention Center The man on duty  earched my packet and ordered me to take off my shoes. He examined the shoes ca-refully and pressed twice on the insole. Hard to tell what he might have suspec-ted, but he gave me a glance and threw the shoes back to me. I passed! I though-t he could intentionally have overlooked my stash and let me go. Anyway, there were still good people even in the bad world. There were already a few people s-itting on the long bench. A man came out from inside, sat behind a small desk a-nd began inquiring one by one. He threatened gruffly: You must be honest; if yo-u make a false statement, be careful or we peel off your skin! I was at sixes a-nd sevens and managed to calm myself. When my turn came to be questioned, I gav-e a false name and address as before. The man asked nothing more. I was worried they would send a letter to the address to confirm, as I heard they would do s-o. After the inquiry, we were taken into a large square. There already were a lo-t of people gathered in groups everywhere who didn’t pay much attention to us newcomers. Around the square there were many windowless cells and we were taken into one of them. On the right side of the dirt floor was a row of planks witho-ut mats; a few seats had been occupied. In the left corner was a urine bucket
without a cover. When we arrived, a man asked me to give him a piece of old news-paper which I tossed to him carelessly. Later I learned the newspaper was used for toilet paper. The detention center didn’t provide toilet paper; one could only use a bamboo strip or a piece of broken tile instead. After each person oc-cupied a place for sleep, a man (later I learned he was a detention aide - one
who could not be sent out for various reasons and stayed long in the detention center) came in and gave each of us an old aluminum bowl. “No chopsticks?” I asked, and the man said: "Get one yourself.” I didn't know how to get one myself but someone told me: "There are people sent away every day, so you can ask them to give you one pair; or ask someone who goes out for labor to pick two twigs f-or you." This was Zhangmutou Detention Center in Dongguan County, which was the main detention and transfer station in this area; it always held hundreds of pe-ople. There were many groups of people coming in or being sent out every day an-d almost all of them had been caught fleeing to Hong Kong. There were only a fe-w tramps because it was difficult for tramps to come within border second or th-ird zone. We get up at six o'clock every morning, took our aluminum bowls and r-ushed to the few water taps to wash. Then all were lined up to run around the s-quare; the old and weak who did not want to run or quit midway were not punishe-d. After running, we sat down in rows to listen Mao’s "Highest Directives" and admonition. The man giving admonition wore a military uniform and spoke Mandari-n.The vast majority of audience was Cantonese who did not quite understand what he said or listened carelessly. If one wanted to go to the latrine, one had to stand and asked for permission by saying "Report!” until the military representative replied, “Yes.” "Report!", "Report!" sounded repeatedly and the speech was frequently interrupted. Therefore, the military representative became angr-y, furiously shouting, "No, No, No!” But after a while when "Report!" sounded a-gain, how could the military representative continue to refuse? Once someone ha-d diarrhea and his "Report!" was denied. As a result he lost bowel control not far from the military representative who had to mask his nose incessantly.Every-body snickered. Before and after the admonition, there were often special agent-s from outside looking at the crowd, diligently searching for a missing person. Once they found the object, they immediately pulled him out with cuffs and kick-s, tied him up and took him away. Every time I saw this, I was afraid that Kunm-ing might have sent someone to catch me. After the admonition, there were the s-upervisors (each detention center had a different title, hereafter we named the-m supervisors) to call the roll, then escort those to the bus station who were to be sent to a detention center near their registered residence. Some people w-ere assigned to labor outside. Most of those were from remote counties and had to wait until a large enough group was formed to bus them. Meanwhile, they were taken to the nearby commune production team. Some people vied to go, because th-ey would get a little more to eat. Although it was not enough to sustain hard l-abor, it might temporarily satisfy their stomach. We had meals twice a day, at 10 am and 5 pm. Each person had a ration of three liang (totally 150 grams) ric-e with some boiled vegetables per meal. We joked "Tan three liang" (Cantonese d-ialect "tan" means enjoy, here was irony), but we devoured them as quickly as h-ungry wolves and tigers do. In less than two hours the belly was empty again an-d rumbling. That kind of discomfort for people without experience is hard to un-derstand. Hunger was a nightmare for detainees. However, food was the most popu-lar topic of discussion. “Looking forward to the plum grove to quench thirst” had been a saying since ancient times, but talking about food to relieve hunger was absolutely futile. However, people still enjoyed talking about it, probably as a psychological compensation. It was not uncommon to secretly sell personal rations or trade for cloths. Fifty cents per ration was almost five or six time-s the price outside. There was also purchase of only half a ration. The problem
was that money was mostly confiscated, so how often could you buy? At first when I saw someone sell his ration, I was amazed that since he himself had not enoug-h to eat, why did he sell? Later I learned that those who sold their rations we-re mostly so-called "odd-job migrants”. So as not to be penniless when being sent back home, they would rather endure hunger. It was really sad to hear that!
Hunger was tough, but for me the bigger threat was not knowing what would happen next. Would the detention center send a letter to confirm my name and address? Could I slip by when being sent back to Xingning? If not, and I were sent back to Kunming, the consequences would be miserable. My heart seemed to be pierced by a thorn. I felt restless day and night and often had nightmares. One night
I was awakened and was asked why I was screaming. After brunch, if not being called for transport or inquiry, people could chat, play chess or poker to kill tim-e. Many took the opportunity to exchange stories of fleeing, make new friends, discuss new ways, and secretly exchange addresses written on sleeves, waistband-s or elsewhere. Exchanging addresses was risky because, once discovered, inevit-ably both parties would suffer a brutal beating. There was a young man with a f-air and clear face who looked like a zhiqing from high school. It was said that he had failed six times in fleeing. He was an optimist and smiled all the time. Many people liked to talk with him, of course, to learn his experience. No wond-er people said that the detention center was also a school to share and acquire experience. This time of failure could be the mother of a future success. Howev-er, I was heavyhearted. I dared not exchange addresses and communicate with oth-ers because I was afraid of exposing my true identity. I felt extraordinary lon-ely. Once we saw two men handcuffed together and left squatting in the center o-f the square. The charge was faking names and addresses. My heart tightened. Th-ey looked like farmers so why should they fake addresses? An experienced fellow detainee told me that they were not necessarily faking. The detention center wa-nted to warn against faking address every now and then, they arbitrary charged two persons so as to frighten the others, so call “warning the monkey by killi-ng the chicken”. I was afraid that one day I would be handcuffed and exposed p-ublicly. Detainees were many and miscellaneous; inevitably they might have fric-tion or conflict, but generally they dared not fight, otherwise the supervisor would indiscriminately beat both parties. The detainees might be beaten by the supervisor at his will; even lining up irregularly might result in a thrashing. But as I reflected later, beating events were less in the detention center of G-uangdong than in some other provinces, and control also was relatively loose. E-scorted Back to Xingning County More than ten days elapsed. One day at noon, I was chatting with others on the square, when unexpectedly a supervisor came in to call roll for transport. My pseudonym "Chen Jiang" was called repeatedly but I had not replied until the third time. Then I timidly approached the superviso-r who looked at me suspiciously and yelled: "Did you fake a name?" I answered h-altingly, “No, no,” my heart pounding with fear. A total of a dozen detainees for the same route were collected. Escorted by two supervisors we boarded a ca--r.The car drove to Haifeng - a Teochew dialect coastal county. We were sent to the first midway detention center. Everyone was not only questioned but also fi-ngerprinted. Because my fingerprints were not heavy enough, the supervisor fier-cely slapped my face and ordered me to print again. After registration, the wom-en were sent to a cell downstairs, the men to a cell upstairs. There were already two people in my cell. One was sitting, his foot wrapped with thick bandage,
oozing blood. I did not understand the Teochew dialect. Someone told me the man was a fisherman. He and several others went to flee to Hong Kong in a small boa-t. Sailing out a short distance they were caught by a patrol boat. Near the bea-ch he jumped out of the boat to escape. Unfortunately he jumped on an oyster sh-ell, his foot was cut deeply and lost a lot of blood. He also got a good beatin-g.