On Sunday, I borrowed a needle and thread from the caretaker and sewed up two newly purchased towels to make a mat for the cement toilet. I also padded and sewed up hand towels and made a lid for the basin where I store water. Then I cut a blindfold out of a handkerchief so that I would not be disturbed by the electric light when I fell asleep at night. When I borrowed the shears from them, the watchman kept watch over me at the small window, and when I was done, she immediately took them back. I did a few concrete things to improve my life situation, which made me feel better about myself. I find sewing particularly relaxing.
A few more days passed, and every day I asked to see the interrogator, but always to no avail. One bright, sunny morning, the inmates were allowed to go outside. The guards called out to each cell in turn, “Let’s go.”
I was eager for sunshine and fresh air, and when I heard this call, I put aside my copy of Mao, jumped up and rushed to stand by the door. But I waited for a long time before it was my turn. It turned out that there was this rule in the First Detention Center that prisoners in each cell could not see each other. So I was only allowed out of my cell when the inmates in the next cell walked past the corner until I couldn’t see them, and went out to let off steam. On the way, the canal was filled with guards on both sides, watching and escorting them into the playground.
The field where I was released was not small, but it was barren and seemed untouched. The lime on the fence had peeled away, exposing the masonry inside. The ground was covered with dirty mud and gravel. There was a cluster of weeds growing in the corner of the wall, and when I looked closely, I found a small pink flower blooming on the top of a slender stem. The bud was surrounded by five petals that were no bigger than the seeds of the flower. This small plant was bathed in bright sunlight and stood proudly between the sludge and gravel, seemingly intent on marking this deadly prison with a symbol of life. I gazed at this extremely gorgeous little flower and felt only a pleasant comfort inside.
“Go along the four walls! No looking around, no stopping without permission!” A guard, standing on the bleachers of the playground, shouted. Two posts were built on the bleachers, one open and the other surrounded by glass. It was a sunny day, so the guards stood in the open booths and watched the prisoners.
I began to circle the weed field, and gradually just feel relaxed and open-minded. The breath of autumn, cool and high, the sun on the face, warm and melting. The days in prison can really be described as days and years, but the only exception is the time spent outside in the wind. So even though I felt hungry and cold in the winter months, I still felt that the moments I spent outdoors were the most valuable.
When I returned to my cell, the guard who was escorting me could not figure out the key to my cell door. As he tried to insert a key into the keyhole, I took the opportunity to ask to see the interrogator again.
“I’ve been here for a long time, can I see the interrogator?” I asked him.
“A long time?” He straightened up and turned around, “What are you babbling about? I know you’ve been here less than a month. What’s a month long? There are many people here who have been locked up for years and still haven’t been solved. Why are you so lacking in patience? You keep clamoring to see the interrogator. What are you going to say to him when you see him? Are you ready to give a full and complete account of your crimes?”
“I asked the interrogator to conduct a full investigation and clarify the facts.”
“Set the record straight?” Now he really felt a little puzzled, “What facts?”
“The misunderstanding that put me in here.” I said.
“You came in here because you committed a crime against the people’s government, there is no such thing as a misunderstanding or not. Don’t make three blind statements.”
“I was born and raised and have never committed any crime.” I said firmly.
“You have not committed a crime, so how come you were put in here? The fact that you came in means you are guilty.”
This logical reasoning of his creeped me out. He was deducing this argument from the theorem that the party and government were absolutely right. But I couldn’t debate with him because I didn’t want to offend the party and the government. So I could only say, “Honestly, I have never committed a crime; you must be mistaken.”
“Maybe you have done something yourself and forgotten. Generally, prisoners need the help and enlightenment of the interrogators before they can give an account of their problems.”
“I think if I had committed a crime, I would not be able to forget it.” I said to him. I recalled many cases I had heard of in the past, when the prisoner was giving an account and the inquisitor provided him with many materials that required him to plead guilty. Finally, the court recorded each of these crimes, and then planted the blame on that prisoner.
“Maybe you didn’t realize you were committing a crime at the time, or maybe you’re not in your right mind now.” The guard said, but his tone was quite sincere.
Is it possible that what I think is innocent is, in the eyes of others, a crime against the party and the government? Although I had always been cautious, always followed the rules, followed the government, and studied all the important policies on politics and economy, I had never read the criminal law of the people’s government. I decided to make up for this lesson immediately. So I said to the guard, “In that case, I would like to borrow a few books on the law to check whether I have really violated the law unintentionally. Could you lend me some law books?”
“What law books? You are really like those bourgeois intellectuals who were exposed in the movement. You want to bring out all the laws, regulations and other rules and regulations? We are the proletariat, we don’t talk about that.” He was bubbling over, as if I had slandered him by saying he had a law book.
“If there is no law, then on what basis is a person convicted? How do you decide whether a person is guilty or not guilty?”
“We go by the teachings of the great leader Chairman Mao, and his instructions are the standard by which we convict. Suppose he delineates a certain category of people as guilty, and if you belong to that category, you are guilty. It’s much easier than doing things according to the law.” He said.
In his opinion, it is most correct and logical to use Mao’s instructions to easily decide a person’s fate. And Chairman Mao’s instructions are changing from time to time, and Mao has the right to make changes to his instructions according to the needs and characteristics of different periods. The content of some instructions, again, is ambiguous, which makes it impossible for grassroots cadres to implement them in the light of the actual situation. Taking Mao’s instructions as the absolutely correct truth was also a part of the personal worship of him. I don’t know how the guard would have felt about all this if he had been persecuted himself.
He locked me in my cell again. I sat down and began to study Mao’s writings in earnest, looking for the theoretical basis for my persecution in his writings. At the same time, I also wanted to use his theories to refute my accusers. I decided that I had to learn Mao’s language to speak, and asked myself to be able to quote Mao’s words in an eloquent and well-versed manner when I was on trial.
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