Escape!
My emotions were hard to define that beautiful morning of June 21, 1972.
It was five minutes to seven. Like many hundreds of other Chinese at that hour I was hurriedly cycling along the busy street. But, unlike the others, I was bound for the railroad station. No, I was not going to visit a friend, nor was I returning to the farm where I had worked.
I was bound for a place I had never seen before — except in my dreams. For weeks and months I had planned this trip, but only last night had I made the decision to leave . . . tomorrow!
Now the time had come.
It had been no easy parting. As I pedalled along I recalled my father cooking breakfast — our last meal together. I presumed that my parents had sensed something unusual about my behavior that morning. It had been hard trying to suppress my emotions.
When the time had come to say goodbye I hadn't even shed a tear; without turning my head, I had simply hurried off. But now tears welled up in my eyes. I bit my lip as I tried desperately to control myself, for anything unusual might arouse suspicion.
Arriving at the station I bought my ticket and stowed my bicycle with little difficulty. As the booking clerk examined my papers my heart was beating hard. Surely he would hear it thumping!
"What's the bicycle for?" he scowled as he gave me back my papers.
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"I have a long way to go once I get off the train," I mumbled almost apologetically.
He motioned me to go.
Scrambling onto the train with growing excitement, I found a seat.
"So far, so good," I sighed to myself with nervous relief, as the train began to move.
The scenery surrounding the Pearl River delta was particularly beautiful that June morning. For the artistic, it was especially pleasing. yet, although from childhood I had had a love of art, the view that particular morning left me cold.
Sitting in the hot, crowded train was like sitting in an oven, but even that didn't seem to register. The cumulative noise of men talking, women laughing and children shouting didn't bother me either. I was numb — numb with grief . . . and fear.
I was weighing my chances of success. To succeed meant to say goodbye to this beautiful place where I had grown up, and which I so dearly loved. To fail would mean to say goodbye to what freedom I had. But there was still a third — a likely alternative: death!
The one hour train journey seemed more like a year. Nothing appeared to be moving — not even time itself. The atmosphere to me was heavy and ominous.
Suddenly my thoughts were shattered. "Where's your pass?" came the terse question. I gave my "pass" to the conductor and he scrutinized it for at least two minutes. Then he stared me straight in the face. My own experience told me that conductors are always suspicious. I managed a weak smile and he gave my "pass" back.
As the train came to a final stop I found that I had broken out into a sweat. Following the others, I got off the train. As I passed the two armed guards at the exit, one pointed at me.
"You! Stop!" he bellowed.
What should I do? Did he suspect that I was planning to escape?
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"You been here before?" he snapped.
"No," I answered.
"Want to go to Hong Kong?" he glowered at me.
I almost laughed. Of course I did! But how could I tell him?
"No, no of course not!" I blurted out, feigning innocence.
"Do you know this exit leads to the bridge for Hong Kong?"
Then I realized I had accidentally gone out the wrong way, but I still fumbled for the right words.
"That way," he motioned, pointing to another exit.
Taking a deep breath, I strode away, amazed that he let me go so readily. Evidently he did not suspect me on account of my apparent boldness, and the fact that my mistake was genuine.
As soon as I had retrieved my bicycle, I was on my way again.
I had studied the map meticulously so that the route I had to take was imprinted in my memory.
I headed west. There were many checkpoints along that road. I had all their locations memorized. In order to pass each sentry I needed a different pass. With the help of my friends I had armed myself with a good supply of forged certificates and passes.
Entering the border area, I knew I had to be on constant alert. One small slip would bring disaster to all my plans. To keep up my courage I contemplated singing or whistling, but thought better of it. In fact, I felt so choked up that I don't think I could have if I'd wanted to.
The only sound to break the silence of the countryside was that of my bicycle tires on the sandy road.
After fifteen minutes, I came to the first checkpoint. Two militiamen were waiting for me, guns at the ready. They motioned me to stop.
As I propped up my bicycle, I took a deep breath and, as calmly as possible, walked up to them.
They looked at my "pass," then my traveling bag. I was confident they would find everything in order. I had taken the added precaution of including in my bag a copy of the
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revolutionary novel "Tracks In The Snowy Mountains." This would make me look like a loyal government supporter and local worker.
"What is this?" one asked with a questioning smile as he held up a can of condensed milk.
"And how about these?" the other added, holding up the chocolate bars I had just bought at the station.
Evidently they had found items like these in the bags of escapees they had caught on previous occasions. Nutritious foods such as those were ideal for the energy needed in the long swim for freedom.
"The doctor suggested that I take those. I am still recovering from a serious illness," I answered calmly.
"We are not doctors, neither do we care about what the doctors recommend," one of them said pompously.
To lend support to my excuse, I produced a "certificate" from the hospital. Evidently it was enough to convince them, for they nodded doubtfully and let me go.
I had never counted on food getting me into trouble. Had I known that I wouldn't have bought those chocolate bars.
As for the militiamen, I knew they were no fools. Just to think of my carelessness made me break out into a cold sweat. So, not wishing the chocolate bars to cause me further trouble, I ate them immediately, though eating them under the hot sun almost made me sick.
I arrived shortly at the next checkpoint. Mentally I reviewed which pockets I had put all my passes in, especially as I would need a new set for the second checkpoint, and the third, and so on.
Again there were two militiamen waiting. One was a boy, the other a girl of about the same age. They were talking, laughing, joking together, and obviously very wrapped up in each other, so much so that they didn't even notice my presence.
I cleared my throat and they looked up in surprise. Seemingly irritated by my intrusion, they examined my papers quickly and let me go.
Much to my surprise and relief, I passed the third checkpoint without any difficulty also.
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The fourth checkpoint would be the last, and most decisive one.
With great apprehension, I pedalled up to it. To my surprise, I found it to be manned by a boy of about sixteen. He was a real greenhorn, but very haughty. Everything he wore was five sizes too big for him. He stood no taller than his rifle, his pants dragging on the ground and his coat drooping off his shoulders. He could have been mistaken for a scarecrow.
His questions reflected his ignorance, yet I had to answer him patiently, knowing that he could cause me serious trouble. Holding his head high, he instructed me to keep his orders and to report back to him on my return.
I left him behind with mixed emotions. Did he really know what he was doing, or was he blindly following his leaders? Would he end up going the same way as I?
Elation suddenly swept over me. I already felt I was free, although my ordeal had barely begun. No one could stop me now! The checkpoints were all behind me. Now it was all up to me.
I felt like throwing away all my papers, but instinctively knew this would be unwise.
Suddenly I found my surroundings not so ominously depressing as I had earlier. I saw peasants working in the fields and the sight of them seemed to lift my spirits. Just a little further ahead was the place for me to hide. I was almost there. I felt ready to burst forth into song.
In an instant my thoughts were shattered.
"Comrade! Wait a minute!" a man's voice stopped me in my tracks.
Panic seized me. I turned and saw a man on a bicycle coming toward me.
"Where are you going?" he probed as he lay his bicycle down hurriedly.
I was so terrified that words failed me, but I nervously handed him my "certificate." He was just a laborer, but that didn't minimize the trouble he could cause me. Their words were law.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he said. "You may go," and he
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handed me back my "pass." As I watched him go, he disappeared into the tractor plant I had just passed.
That brief incident seemed more like an age to me; I found I was still shaking.
Had it been the year of the Cultural Revolution, I thought to myself, I would have blown up that plant, because it had almost destroyed my whole plan.
"What next?" I thought with fright, my former jubilance having eroded.
Just then a truck full of workers passed by. They stopped chattering and gave me a searching look that added to my uneasiness. I decided I should get off that road as soon as possible.
By now the ruins that had been recommended for a hiding place were just opposite me. The time had come to lay aside my bicycle. It needed to be hidden carefully, else its discovery would betray my presence. Finding a suitable bush, I hid the bicycle from sight, then, looking around for any sign of life, I made a dash toward the ruins.
Suddenly I saw some peasants working about fifty yards distant. Throwing myself to the ground, I watched them for several seconds, then, taking my chance, slipped into the ruined house.
I jumped into the waist-high grass that covered the floor. This was to be my hiding place until midnight. I was thankful I didn't have to stay too long in this damp and musty place, for its smell was overpowering.
It was only now that the tension was off that I discovered how exhausted I was. In fact, it was not until when I awoke around midnight that I discovered I had fallen asleep — just what I needed to rest my body in preparation for the long hours of swimming ahead.
I gazed up at the night sky. The moon shone brightly, bathing the landscape in its cool light. From the North Star I found my bearing for getting to the sea. For two weeks I had studied astronomical charts. Once sure of my direction, I set off crawling toward the beach.
I first crawled through an orchard, then an area covered
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with heavy undergrowth, then rice fields and thorn bushes. Thorns, some half an inch long, tore into my hands, my feet and my legs. In fact, they so embedded themselves into my flesh that only their black heads could be seen.
Frequently I stopped because of observation posts. Sometimes I hesitated before a pool of water, not knowing if the light was from a searchlight or was merely from the moon.
Finally, after an hour of crawling, I reached the beach.
Crouching in the bushes, I gazed out over the sea. The inky blackness was so vast! I listened to the waves beating on the shore and sniffed the salt air. To the south the night sky glowed brightly. Hong Kong! It represented heaven to me. Who could tell how many countless people had fought for that dream — and died in trying to attain it. For in the heart of many of China's young people, Hong Kong stood as a symbol of freedom and prosperity.
Excitement again welled up within me. Surely my escape bid must succeed. But I forced myself to calm down now that I had come to this very crucial instant. Many escapees had been caught by guards waiting in hiding. Now I had to be extremely cautious.
As I listened carefully, watching, waiting, the night air was suddenly pierced by the fierce barking of a dog, followed by some men's voices.
Someone was getting caught.
I peered through the bushes at the sandy beach. It shone silvery gray in the moonlight. Except for the sound of waves breaking on the beach below, all was still. There were no guards to be seen.
Now was the time to act!
I leaped out of the bushes and rushed toward the sea!
The Water was unexpectedly cold and sent shivers down my spine.
Only about thirty percent of all escapees got as far as this. How very fortunate I was. Many were caught by the guards or died from snake bites or lack of food even before reaching the sea.
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The hardest part was behind me. For the rest of the way, I just had to do my best and swim. Removing a small plastic pillow which I had tied around my chest, I hurriedly inflated it. This would serve as a simplified life belt to help me stay afloat when I got tired. I connected it to a line which I tied around my waist so that as I swam it would float behind me.
I was anxious to start swimming immediately but was prevented by the shallowness of the water. The tide was on the ebb, leaving me squatting in only a foot of water. I couldn't walk, either, for the danger of being seen, so I chose to crawl again.
But as I crawled forward, sharp pain began to run through me, as if thousands of knives were slicing into my flesh. Oysters! I had heard about them from other escapees who had been caught, and I had prepared myself psychologically to face this eventuality. However, to experience it physically was something else. The sharp shells deeply lacerated my legs, my body, my feet and hands. Some cuts were an inch and a half long and as the salt water penetrated these wounds, I shook with pain.
I crawled for about thirty minutes. By this time the water was deep enough for swimming. I began to move my arms with steady strokes, going toward the bright sky over Hong Kong.
The water was cold but I knew I would keep warm swimming. I needed to take care to conserve my energy because, according to the map, I had nearly seven miles to go.
To begin with, it was almost like swimming in a river, the water being quite choppy on account of the wind. But the sea presented a face more sinister than I had ever seen before. The inky blackness was very scary. I was afraid to look down — to me it was a bottomless abyss, terrible and mysterious.
Rhythmically I swam the breaststroke, inching my way toward my goal. Now I no longer felt the cold; in fact, the water even felt comfortable. Quickly I snatched a backward glance at the seashore and found it disappearing into the darkness.
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All around me were just sea and sky. The waves were already getting higher and higher. In the faint moonlight I suddenly became aware that there I was, so small and insignificant, right in the center of a boundless world.
"Why had I never thought about these things before?" I asked myself. They have always been in existence, but I have just ignored them. Hitherto my view of the world has been so narrow and my experiences limited to my own immediate circle. Now, however, I must face the universe single-handed.
For the first time in my life, I found my world view being challenged. All these years I had been taught that man will conquer nature.
With a strange fear, I began to see the waves streaming toward me like many armies. Wave after wave engulfed me, then passed on by as the next advanced, silently, mysteriously. They came upon me like walls, following quickly, one upon the other.
Sometimes they lifted me up as if on a hilltop; sometimes they sucked me down as if to the bottom of a large bowl.
I had always loved the sea and used to spend many hours down at the harbor in my home town, but now the sea was to me like an ugly, merciless monster, intent on drowning or swallowing up everything that stood in its way. It became to me powerfully cruel.
As never before, I began to feel the "personality" of nature itself.
An hour in the water had passed already, and the waves had become stronger. Moreover, it was about time for the flood-tide, something I was very worried about, as this would tend to push me back toward the Chinese mainland. I had no time to lose!
Beginning to feel somewhat tired, I tried to draw courage from the words of the "Great Leader" — Mao himself: "Be resolute, fear no sacrifice and surmount every difficulty to win victory."
Reciting these words helped me to relax. Of course, it
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was not the words themselves that made me feel better, but rather amusing myself at the irony of using his words at such a time as this. What would he think if he only knew!
I swam on, my limbs moving mechanically. there was no sign of the distant shore yet except for one or two faint lights. The waves were still high, but they didn't bother me now as at first.
Sometimes swarms of tiny fish would splash against my face and I would almost smile at them benevolently, appreciative of their companionship. Thinking of fish, I was suddenly struck by a dreadful thought. Sharks! Many of those who had swum these waters before had lost their lives to sharks. I had been told that sharks only inhabit the eastern bay in the autumn, but could there be an exception?
Before I left, I had grappled with this question. I had read many books on the subject of how to combat sharks, and took advice from people with experience. I learned that sharks tend to fear coal tar, petroleum, or even the color yellow. Some said that sharks hate the smell of vaseline. But there was no way I could repel sharks by any of these means.
Finally, I decided to submit my fate to Providence. But in spite of this, I still feared losing my legs, or even my life.
Two hours had now passed. I was feeling tired and very hungry. In fact, the empty feeling of hunger had come on fast. It was impossible to ignore, and every wave that beat against my stomach served as a reminder as if beating an empty drum. The words of the old adage sprang to mind, "Hunger will relish the plainest face." Till now I had paid little attention to this, but now the words took on meaning. Tasting the sea water I found it salty, but nevertheless gulped it again and again to fill that empty "drum."
It made me feel better. "We are extremely versatile creatures," I thought to myself with a bitter smile. But I realized that my energy would soon be totally depleted. I had stopped sweating and didn't feel warm anymore.
The coldness began to chill me thoroughly, the cold now coming from within rather than without.
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Desperately I tried to move faster in order to get warm again, but couldn't. Worse still, my arms and legs seemed not to want to obey me. They would only move mechanically.
My progress was evidently slowing down.
"Perhaps I could rest," I encouraged myself. "After all, I have been swimming for three hours." I drew in the small pillow, and holding on to it gave my arms a rest while moving only my legs.
The rhythm of the waves became like music to my ears. The sea rose and fell like some strange bed, rocking me obliviously into sleep.
Suddenly I awoke. Dare I sleep in the sea? It might help me recover my energy but I could ill afford to spend much time relaxing. By not swimming, I was surely going backwards! I must swim!
"How much further?" I asked myself. "Who knows?" I answered aloud, my discouragement growing.
But, looking up, I saw more lights, and my spirits rose as they seemed to beckon to me.
"If I don't reach the shore before dawn I'll be picked up by the communist patrol boat," I reasoned. But if my reason told me one thing my body told me another.
"Rest!" it screamed at me. Swimming a few more yards, I found I couldn't move anymore. Sleep again overcame me.
When I awoke, I thought I might now have more energy, but the more I rested, the more I wanted to rest. It seemed as though I had been in the water a whole year!
"How much longer must I suffer?" I asked myself. "And what will be my end?" My determination was dwindling. I even contemplated returning to the mainland. But all around was water; where would I go? The only thing to do was keep swimming.
Again sleep overtook me, but how long I slept I had no idea. Dimly I saw my father and mother. It seemed they were talking. Their faces were so serious and sad, yet neither shed a tear.
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What could have happened to them? Suddenly, I understood. They were talking about me. By now they would know everything. They were too sad to weep. No, it was not because they might be labelled "traitor's parents" that they were grief stricken, but rather that they were worried about their son!
It was the middle of the night now, and all of my family were asleep. What would they be thinking about me? The saddest were my parents, but it was too late for me to console them now.
"Mom, Dad! Why did I have to leave you? Won't you answer me? If only I could hear your voices again!
"How many families must be suffering," I thought, "and how many sleepless? Maybe some mothers are patting their babies to get them to sleep. And some are waiting for sons to return home. And fathers are deep in thought over their sons' futures.
"And what might others be doing now? Workers on night shift standing before their benches . . . lovers lingering in the parks reluctant to say goodnight . . . radio stations bidding 'goodnight' to their last faithful listeners . . . perhaps somewhere a mother giving birth to a new baby.
"And here am I in the middle of the inky black sea!"
Suddenly I awoke, frightened. Now I understood my situation well. In fact, I had not slept, but rather had fainted. Were I to sleep again, I would sleep forever. The options that confronted me were not "success or failure," but "life or death!"
Now death was beside me, closer than ever before, waiting.
I felt a burning desire to cry out for help, but to whom could I cry?
I was alone in the big, wide sea. No others. No help.
Despair, grief and anger were all mixed together in my heart. I felt abandoned, not only by my country, but by the whole world.
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Why should I die so young? Why must this tragedy be enacted? Why . . .?
I looked up at the sky. Could it help me?
"In this world there is no truth, no righteousness, no love, only hatred, oppression, violence, extermination and cruelty," I concluded.
Despising everything in this world, I wanted to leave it behind.
"Come, death, I don't care!" my heart cried out. I closed my eyes and just floated amidst the waves, waiting for my time to come.
But it didn't.
Suddenly, consciousness struck me and messages came to me that I could scarcely believe.
"Impossible!" I thought. But beyond my imagination, they became clearer and clearer. It was as though a voice was speaking in my heart, "You are in Hong Kong now," it said.
I looked ahead. More lights were visible now, but the seashore was still in darkness. "You really are in Hong Kong," the voice reassured, so definitely that I could not doubt.
Perhaps it is true, but how can I prove it?" I thought, for the wide sea lay ahead in all directions.
Then another thought came flashing into my mind. Suppose the Hong Kong beach sloped gently like the beach of China. If so, the water might not be very deep now. It was worth a try.
Changing to an erect position and pointing my toes down towards the bottom, I let my body go straight down slowly. The water covered my shoulders, my neck, my chin . . . my mouth.
I caught my breath. "It is still very deep," I concluded.
At that instant my heart seemed to stop beating. There was no disappointment nor sadness. The world no longer meant anything to me. Holding my arms above my
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head, I went straight down. The water covered my head. down below everything was strangely calm, but it was nevertheless still dark and cold. Soon my suffering would be over.
Suddenly I stopped descending. What was happening? While my hands could still reach the surface, I found that my feet were touching something — the soft mud on the bottom of the sea!
The beach!
"A miracle!" I shouted in my heart. The water was still deep, the seashore was still invisible, yet I knew I couldn't be far from shore. I could take turns swimming then resting awhile by standing on the bottom. The despair vanished.
My pace quickened in my excitement. To think that just few minutes earlier I had passed the shadow of death. I couldn't believe my good fortune! Just to think . . .
Soon I could feel the rocky bottom under my feet and the shore dimly came into view.
There were more oyster beds, but what did I care now? "A squall means nothing to a man who has gone through a typhoon," the saying goes.
But who can understand a man who has cheated death? And what great changes take place in his life after such an experience?
Some might think that a survivor such as myself would value his life more highly than others. But I beg to differ. A survivor who has had a narrow escape would think that his life is not his own, but merely something found on the street. A gap appears between his physical body and his self consciousness, something like a boy who finds a $100 bill in the street and fritters it away. He, in a similar manner, idles his life away.
This is one of the main reasons why so many young survivors like myself come to despise their lives and take to crime.
Now I felt there was nothing to fear in this world. The world didn't count for much, even less those oyster shells on
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the beach.
When I stepped on the sharp shells I felt pain indeed, but it seemed that they weren't my feet that suffered, but someone else's. I passed over the oyster beds this time much faster than previously on the Chinese shore.
After half an hour the water became very shallow and the water's edge was clearly in sight. To my right there was a wharf where several boats were anchored, most likely fishing boats operated by leftist elements in Hong Kong. If they saw me they would catch me and send me back to China.
Keeping well away from them to the left, I finally came up out of the water. I tried to stand, but couldn't, and fell down on the rocks. Seconds later I tried again and this time was successful.
Toward the north the only thing I could see was the dark sea. The Chinese mainland was still in darkness and deep in sleep. I had mixed emotions. I felt happy because, for the first time in my life, I stood in a land of freedom. I was free from heavy political pressures. I was free from the life of misery I had led for the last four years. Just to think of that life made me tremble.
I also felt sad because I could never return to my homeland. There I had been born and had grown up. There I had spent twenty years of my life with both laughter and tears. I loved that land — yet hated it, too. I had been so devoted to my homeland I would even have given my last drop of blood for it. But finally I had to abandon it, because that land had abandoned me.
Two years later I was to understand that it was not the land that had abandoned me, but rather the one that ruled it. I had been so faithful to him during my "Red Guard" days. Could he ever imagine that his "Red Guards" should flee from him in search of freedom?
I thought back to my grandfather who refused to leave the mainland on the eve of the communist takeover. He said
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that he was Chinese; he preferred to die where he was born. Never had he thought that his grandson would leave that land twenty years later. If he had known then, what would he have done?
I felt sad because I would never see my dear parents again. "Mother, Father, how I wish you the very best . . . in spite of everything!"
"Oh, freedom, it is only for you that I have forsaken everything, my parents, my home, my native land! What a price I have paid for you!"
But I was also very excited, for I was facing a new life, a bright future.
Though it was dark on the beach, the eastern sky was already turning red. In three minutes the clock would strike five. The beautiful morning of June 22 was already dawning.
I lifted my eyes to the sky. Where could that still small voice have come from that I had heard deep within? But for that voice, I would have perished in the sea. It had to be a miracle!
One year later I was to find the answer.
