"Chih-Chings"
There is a strange sense of kinship that exists between those who have passed through similar trials and hardships. Such was my experience, for it was those who, like me, had escaped from the mainland, that became my best friends.
I remember one holiday some of my friends and I, all former classmates from the mainland, revisited the beach where we had first set foot in Hong Kong. We stood in silence atop a rocky outcrop and looked out to sea, and beyond that, to the hazy mountains of the Chinese mainland. The sea looked so vast and the fishing boats like small leaves floating on the water. Together we breathed the fresh air that blew across the water from our homeland.
"Isn't it hard to imagine how we all managed to cross this vast expanse of water?" Tseng broke the silence.
"Yes. I am sure I could never do that again!" Chen agreed.
We concluded that if we had tried to cross in the daytime we would have quickly given up. At night time we were spared from seeing how far we yet had to swim.
"Do you know Ming?" Liang asked me.
"Ming? Sure I do. How is she?"
"I just got a letter from one of her friends. She's dead!"
"No!" I was quite shocked.
"About one month ago she tried to escape. That was her fourth attempt, but she died in the mountains."
There could have been any number of reasons why she had died. Perhaps from gunshot wounds, or lack of food, snake bite, or even from falling over a cliff in the dark . . . I was quite shaken.
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"If she hadn't stopped to help her companion the first time," Liange went on, "she would already have been in Hong Kong."
Yes. She had told me about that time. She had arrived at the beach too late, so that by dawn she was still in the sea. The worst thing was that her companion got cramps and was unable to swim any further. If she were to abandon him and continue on her own, she would succeed; if she stayed with him and asked help from a communist fishing boat, she would certainly be caught. She had chosen the latter.
I had met her just after she had been released from jail following her second unsuccessful attempt. She looked weak and thin, but showed great spirit.
"Chang told me you would come." She shook hands and gave me a friendly smile.
I carefully unfolded to her my plans. She listened quietly as I spoke. Although only a junior high graduate, she was highly experienced compared with me when it came to the question of escaping.
"You know that it is very dangerous to take the train to get to the border?" she commented once I had finished.
"Yes, I know. But because so few people dare to go that way, I don't think the guards will be so suspicious of me."
She nodded approvingly.
"But what I don't know is about the restricted area and how to change the photos on the 'safe conduct' pass my friend has offered me."
"I'll help you," she said.
We spent nearly three weeks working together on my "safe conduct" pass and other documents. We did a lot of research and designed ways of dealing with the many eventualities that might occur.
And, of course, there were many things with which I had to become familiar in order to act out my new role, things like having the right response should someone call me by the new name written on my I.D. card.
The day before I left, she told me she would like to come to see me off, but I said "no." I didn't want anyone to come to
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say goodbye at the station, because this could mean "death" to my plans.
She asked me to send her my "safe conduct" pass by mail as soon as I passed the last town on my escape route, if that were at all possible. I had agreed, but in my heart I knew I could never do that.
She wished me good luck, then left. Moments later, she was back again.
"I want to pass on to you the most valuable piece of information I know," she said. "There is a very good dueikou where you can hide before you climb down to the beach. The guards don't know about that one yet. Don't tell anyone else," she added. "I want to use it later."
For me, that was a most valuable piece of information, because I expected to reach the end of the road between 4 and 5 o'clock that afternoon and would have several hours to wait before making my way down to the beach around midnight. If I had nowhere to hide, I could easily be caught by the guards. Without her help, I could never have succeeded.
But somewhere in those black mountains across the water, she had died.
She might have hated me because I had not kept my word, like many young people of my kind who lacked trust and sincerity on account of the things they had suffered during their upbringing. I felt deeply sorry.
By now I was getting quite skilled in my job. My hammer was no longer so cumbersome and my hands no longer blistered. My foreman was pleased with my progress, too, and gave me a raise.
Then one day, one of my workmates asked me how much I was getting paid.
"Four hundred," I told him.
"Is that all?" He shook his head.
"You mean that's not much?" My eyes opened wide.
"That's what I am saying. You know how much he pays
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me? Six hundred. But that is still not enough for a skilled worker."
How much does he get?" I asked curiously.
"More like twelve hundred a month."
"Really?" I said incredulously. I had only compared my present wages with what I used to earn on the farm — and I'd been quite content, never having thought about any difference until now.
"He got the contract for this job, then found us to do the work for him. But what does he do? You'll find him right now fast asleep in the storeroom, suffering a hangover from the party he went to last night!"
What exploitation! I found myself getting angry inside.
My friend continued. "From each order he makes thousands but just gives us a little."
"The ugly bourgeoisie!" I thought. On the mainland we had learned a lot about class contradiction and the class struggle, but now I found myself a victim! It made me feel sick inside and discontented with my work, so much so that I contemplated leaving.
I went to see my friend, Pai, whom I knew on the mainland.
"How about taking up painting like me?" he suggested. "I work for an art studio. Both the boss and most of the artists come there from the mainland, so we all get along fine. You have studied art already, but at this place they will teach you to paint fast. We are swamped with hundreds of orders, so each of us finishes many paintings a day. Although what we get paid for each painting is very little, we can still earn a fair amount of money. Of course, you may feel bad because you may begin to feel more like a painting machine than an artist, but in this capitalistic society, you have to be prepared to change your outlook and become commercialized; otherwise you will find it hard to survive.
"Where do these big orders come from?" I asked.
"They come from exporters. These exporters pay you, say, $25 for a painting that would sell in the United States for US$100 or even US$200. But you need to reckon on
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making $125 a day if you can finish five paintings. That's still better than doing many other jobs. You would be able to manage that, I am sure, after a few months of training."
The thought of painting for a living really appealed to me.
"Could I join that studio?" I asked.
"I'll ask my boss," was the reply. "I'm almost certain he will accept you, but the regular pay is not very good — only about $300 a month. However, you can take your own orders on the side and then work on them at home in the evenings. That way you will make some very good extra income. Then, after two years you will get promoted to director-painter, or you can resign and open your own studio."
His suggestions sounded most attractive, so after seeking out my uncle and getting his advice, I gave notice where I worked as an electrician, and the next day signed an agreement with the art studio.
But being a "painting machine" was not easy, either.
For the first few weeks my whole body felt stiff after standing at an easel eight hours a day, and my arm felt like it was going to drop off. Even when I went to bed at night the colors on my palette still danced before my eyes.
Yet, I loved that work. Within a few months I, too, was finishing several paintings each day and also going to the exporter to get more orders for myself to earn extra income.
The night I left the coffee shop after talking with my uncle I went straight out to look for my former classmates, only to find that they all lived with their relatives.
Chen, however, came to my help. He told me of a friend of his, named Chao, who had recently escaped from mainland China and who was living with some "Mainland boys."
"Maybe you can live with them," he suggested.
So, I left my uncle's house. But before I closed the door I slipped back to leave some money on his desk in a final attempt to help him out. Several days later he came to see me.
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"I know you have kind heart, but I really can't take this money," he said, handing it back.
"I know many people who can help me out; I'd prefer to deal with them. I'll let you know when the whole matter is settled." With a bitter smile, he turned and hurried away.
Night had fallen. The dazzling neon lights again blazed with color. The words came to my mind: "If the sky has sentiment, it is old already."
"It is a cruel world," I thought to myself. "One has to harden one's heart in order to survive."
My new roommate, Chao, had arrived in Hong Kong about the same time as I. That was why his face looked familiar. We had first met in the Yuan-lang police station, the place where all refugees from China were taken to "check in."
He wore glasses with heavy black frames. He struck me as being a very idealistic fellow. He was handsome, too, and gentle. The Hong Kong people could not figure out how anyone could climb across the mountains for ten days and then swim the sea.
That first evening he told me his story.
In 1964 he had graduated from junior high school but, because of his family's political background, had been prevented from continuing into high school. That same year he was transferred to a farm in northern Kwangtung. He was then in charge of a "revolutionary rebel group" in the Cultural Revolution, but when this folded up in 1968, he had to decamp and was forced to go into hiding since his name was on the local police department blacklist.
Finally, on account of his hard work, he was again given a high position and was even elected to attend a meeting of the Chih-ching1 delegates. But instead of going through with this he decided to escape. Twice he was unsuccessful and was put on trial.
"The crowd stoned me; the militiamen beat me up badly,"
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he told me. "But fortunately I had rapport with some of the principal members. Otherwise, I would have been killed."
The third time he finally succeeded.
What do you do now?" I asked him.
"I'm a door-to-door salesman, selling quilts. All the 'Mainland boys' who share this house are doing the same job."
I nodded. That accounted for the many bags of quilts heaped in the corner.
"How do you find this work?"
"Well, if you have the gift of gab, it's not hard. Take Da-lin who lives next door. He earns a good thirty or forty dollars each day without any problem. It's not so easy for me — perhaps twenty a day. But with the security problem in Hong Kong on the decline, many people are reluctant to open their doors to strangers. Added to that, the economy is bad right now, so people's purchasing power is getting worse. All this means that this work is getting harder."
As he was talking, a pleasant-looking young fellow in a blazer came into the room, asking for a hair dryer.
"Come here and let me introduce you," Chao greeted him. "This is Hsiao-lin, Da-lin's younger brother whom I was just telling you about. And this is Yi-lin, a friend of Chen, now my roommate."
"Welcome!" We shook hands.
"And are you from the mainland, too?" he asked me with a smile. "When did you arrive?"
"In June. Have you been here a long time?"
"It's been two years already."
"That's quite a long time. I just got here and know nothing about Hong Kong. I'll have to learn my way around from you sometime."
After a short chat he went out. Soon he returned to invite Chao and myself to join him for some green bean soup.
We found several fellows sitting around watching TV in the large room next door, each with a bowl of soup in his hand. When we walked in, they were evidently pleased to see us as we shook hands and told them our names. It was
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fascinating to me that we could all eat together under these circumstances because I found that, as I was introduced to them one by one, not only had we all attended different schools, but had also been members of different, even antagonistic, Red Guard organizations.
A few years ago it would have been unthinkable that Red Guards from Red Headquarters, the Third Headquarters and the Mao Tse-tungism Headquarters could all get together peacefully. Once we had been foes, now we were friends. To be with them transported me back in my memories — to my school, to our Red Guard group, to the farm and to the Chih-chings who wanted to escape. Their frankness verging on rudeness, was so familiar to me. Just to be with them gave me a sense of relaxation, freedom and warmth that was almost indescribable. My coldness soon disappeared and I didn't even miss my uncle's family anymore. I was with my own people again.
"You have a job now?" Da-lin asked.
"Yes. I'm working in an oil-painting studio."
"That's good. If you hadn't, I was going to suggest that you join us as a door-to-door salesman. I believe Chao has talked with you about this already."
I like Da-lin. He struck me as being a talented fellow, very capable and having lots of leadership potential. I shared with him about my uncle and why I had moved in here.
He was very sympathetic and tried to console me.
"Whatever happens, you are here now and don't need to worry about anything. We've all been through the same things ourselves, and even if you had no job it wouldn't matter to us. You see Ah-hu (he motioned towards a young open-faced boy sitting on the bunk grinning at me), he has been in Hong Kong for only two weeks and has no relatives to turn to for help. So we told him, 'You just stay here and make yourself at home with us.' "
That moved me. Here was found that same Chih-ching spirit of unity and bravery, yet built on the common ground of disillusionment which had forced each of us to leave. The room was so plain and sparsely furnished, untidy and even
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dirty, carrying with it something of a vagrant atmosphere. But all this did not bother me. The most important thing was that we were all happy and free people now.
Shortly after moving in with those fellow compatriots I wrote to my parents in China, telling of all that had taken place. Evidently my mother was quite shocked by the news, for in her letter she wrote back: "Perhaps this is not my brother you have met; maybe you've got the wrong person."
I shook my head and sighed as I read her reactions. "They are so innocent; they don't know how this capitalistic society can make a good man bad." She was worrying about me needlessly, especially now that I had found my niche.
I found I got along very well with them there in the Chih-ching Dou.2
Hsiao-lin made a special impression upon me. He was gentlemanly and cultured with excellent manners and fine behavior.
Another favorite was Yu-cheng, formerly an editor of one of the famous Red Guard newspapers. During the Cultural Revolution, wall posters bearing his pseudonym would always attract a crowd. But now, here in Hong Kong, he was the assistant editor of a pornographic magazine. He was the kind of person who, once he got onto a topic, would have hard time trying to stop. I used to like to get him talking on literary topics, such as Tang dynasty poetry or the French novelist Alexandre Dumas and his son. We used to have a lot of fun together.
During our free time, or on Sundays, we would "empty the nest" and go to the movies or just wander around town. Once when the Hong Kong Governor's office was open to the public, we went to visit this beautiful area. We took pictures, and I clearly remember one of them showed a church in the background, a cross on its roof pointing up toward the sky.
One evening I returned home from the studio, ready to start painting an order I had just received from the art
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exporter. As I was getting set up, Hsiao-lin came into my room.
"I like your new suit," he said. "I think I'd like the tailor to make me one just like it."
"Oh, that's no problem; why not take mine along with you so that the tailor can copy it?" I suggested.
Having said that, I felt a little uneasy Hsiao-lin sensed this and apologized, then added, smiling, "Since it's close to New Year's Day, I am sure the tailor's shop is very busy. He'd never get my suit finished in time for New Year's."
What could I say? He thanked me profusely, making me feel awkward, and walked out with my suit.
Scarcely had he gone when Chao came in. His tone was serious.
"Did Hsiao-lin ask you for some money?"
I told him no, but went on to explain about the suit. When I had finished, he had a long face and said nothing.
"Something wrong?" I asked suspiciously.
"Sorry to tell you this, but as far as I am concerned, you can't trust him," he said, and ran out.
I found that hard to believe.
Moments later, he was back.
"What did you find out?" I asked anxiously.
"He's taken it to the pawn shop already!"
"What?" I exclaimed in disbelief, completely floored by this new development. Naturally, I was upset about losing my suit — the first new one I had had in my life. But the thing that hurt me most was the fact that I had spent at least HK$200–300 for it.
"He has a passion for gambling," Chao went on. That gave me another shock. "Whenever he loses any money, he either steals something from his brothers or asks friends for money outright."
Reflecting a moment, he then added, indignantly, "I know him quite well and don't wish to poke my nose into anybody else's business; but how dare he do something like that to a friend of mine!"
"How long have you known him?" I asked after a pause.
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"More than ten years, since we were in elementary school. We grew up together. During the Cultural Revolution his whole family was driven into exile and he had nowhere to go, so he and his girlfriend often used to stay in my home for months at a time. Do you think I could have wronged him in some way?"
"How was he before? The same?" I wanted to know.
"No, not at all," Chao recalled. "He was a good fellow, the best student in the class and always willing to help others. No one could believe the change that came about when he got to Hong Kong."
All this talk was getting to Chao. He hung his head, then after a short pause, continued, "Don't worry about your suit; I'll work on it for you. Leave it to me. If he doesn't give it back, I'll break his neck!"
I was beginning to feel responsible myself for this situation. I told him not to let it upset him; after all, I didn't care too much about that stupid suit anyhow.
After supper I heard a terrible noise coming from next door. I sounded as if something were being thrown around and people were fighting. When we hurried in to see what was happening, we found Hsiao-lin backed into a corner of the room with Da-lin holding up a folding chair, ready to strike him. We rushed over to separate them. Apparently, when Da-lin had returned from work he heard the story of my suit. Immediately, going to check his own money that he kept in his suitcase, he found that it was all gone.
In the excitement following the fight, Hsiao-lin had run off. Da-lin wept uncontrollably, holding his face in his hands.
Several days later, Hsiao-lin was still missing. I was beginning to think my suit was gone for good and felt more concerned for Hsiao-lin, fearing that he may have met with an accident.
One evening when I returned home, Chao met me with a smile. "Take a look under the bed," he urged.
I bent down and found there a box; inside was my new suit. I was delighted.
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"And has Hsiao-lin come back?" I inquired.
"Not yet. This was sent back by his girlfriend."
"Then, where is he now? Where does he spend the night?" I was deeply worried about him.
"Who knows?" Chao seemed to want to close the subject.
A few days later, Hsiao-lin was back.
"I'd like to see you a minute," I told him. Without saying a word, he followed me into my room.
I invited him to take a seat. Having been away for three weeks he wore a haggard look on his face. His eyes looked dull and I even noticed some premature gray hairs. He seemed to have aged twenty years in just those few short weeks.
As I looked at him I was moved by a flood of sympathy and self-reproach combined, because I felt partly responsible for his running away.
"Yi-lin," his eyes glistened with tears and seemingly begged forgiveness. "I am truly sorry for what I've done to you."
"Let's forget it," I interrupted him. "The matter is all over with. But as a friend, and someone from the mainland like yourself, I want to let you know I hate to see you doing things like this."
Hsiao-lin hung his head in shame.
"Just think," I continued. "We both risked our lives to come here. For what? Freedom? A good future? The chance to have our own jobs and work as law-abiding men? Now we have all these things, but we don't appreciate them, and to make matters worse, we spoil ourselves and rush headlong into questionable pursuits. That's both a reproach to ourselves and to our families."
He nodded.
"Probably you know why I've moved in here. It was because of my uncle's situation. He has been in Hong Kong for more than thirty years now and is now a man of the world. He's no fool, either, but they still make a fool out of him. You see, he is a gambler, too. Have you considered what gambling does to you?"
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"Dammit! I am really bad!" he said remorsefully, openly repentant of his ways.
"The thing is," my tone changed, "you have to make a firm resolution, this very moment, to quit gambling!"
"Yes, I know I have to give it up," he admitted. "Do you know, I spent one whole night in a gambling house and seem to have gone out of my mind? I bet one hundred, then another hundred, then another . . . Sometimes I would throw down five hundred at a time! I would think of them as just pieces of paper, not real money!"
"Well, you know that if you keep going on that way you'll certainly destroy your whole life!"
Then Hsiao-lin opened up to me how during these last few weeks he had been too ashamed to come home to his friends. Instead, he had spent whole nights on park benches.
Looking straight into his pallid face, I told him:
"Look, I've chosen to forget this thing about my suit. But you must learn this lesson in your heart: even though your trick nearly paid off this time, don't think you will always succeed in this manner. You can't go on deceiving people for the rest of your life."
He thanked me again for forgiving him, then left. I knew that what I had just done was right. It might have been very similar to a "heart talk" that party members used to sway the political thinking of the crowds, but I still felt it was the thing to do. We had all come out of the same background and therefore felt responsible for one another. If we look out for one another we can keep eachother from falling!
I truly believed that Hsaio-lin would get straightened out. However, I came to realize that I had been naive. Later Chao told me that even Hsiao-lin's girlfriend, pleading with tears in her eyes, had failed to get him to reform.
Several months later, Hsiao-lin was missing again. This time he had been arrested for being in possession of drugs and was under a prison sentence.
"Generally speaking, freedom is highly prized and good,"
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I thought, "but should it be misinterpreted or abused, it is no longer beneficial, but rather harmful and bad."
It is not always easy to correctly understand how to treat and enjoy "freedom." In communist countries, one can readily see the harm done to people deprived of "freedom," but in the so-called "free world" one can also see the problems resulting from people having that "freedom." Both interpretation and application vary so widely from one individual to another.
For a man like Hsiao-lin, it might have been better had he never come to Hong Kong.
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1. Chi-Ching lit. "transplanted youth." These were mostly former Red Guard members who, when disbanded, were sent out into the country to work on the farms for re-education.
2. "Dou" means "den." Hence, the Chih-ching Dou is the place where the "transplanted" young people lived together.
