Chinese Literature

with his thin, sallow face and his uncropped hair, but this may have been due to the obvious effect of his wounds and his war service. He was huddled up into a corner, in his army overcoat, with crutch lying by his side, and was engrossed in drawing in a notebook which he held against his good knee. He had made such a remarkable impression on me before that I was surprised to see his reactions to us now. -The C.O. spoke to him in a friendly way, and I said, quite naturally, “How are you, comrade?” but he did not even raise his head. .Whatever was up? Was he naturally so taciturn? I went up to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder.

“What's the great work?” I asked.

Through nearly closed lips he answered, “Look here, I’m not a counter-revolutionary, and I’m not going to try to run off. I’m not drawing anything reactionary. There’s no need for you to waste your time hanging around guarding me. Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

I could see he was perfectly sincere in what he said, but I didn’t like the biting ring. I tried to explain what I was going.

“Tm not a guard, comrade, and we're not treating you like a criminal.” I could not bring myself to argue with him, remembering his behaviour during the night. He had put up with enough then, and since had been kept under guard. I went on, “I came here just to see you. Aren’t you the comrade who helped to move the bombs last night? I was there.”

He turned round at that in a flash, and said, “Are you the Commandant, then?” When I saw into his face for the first time fully, I could see that his honesty shone out in his eyes, which reminded me of his saying last night—“Oh, me!... I am a Communist.” When the C.O. saw that we’d roused him, he seized his chance, embroidering a little on the bare facts, and said, “This comrade isn’t the Commandant, but he came from him. You can tell him what you have already told us.”

Once the ice was broken, there seemed nothing taciturn about him. He was typical of the rest of the chaps in our army, who treat you like one of the family when they get to know you. He told me his name was Tsui Yi and that he was twenty-seven. He came of working class stock; his grandfather had been an Anshan miner, and his father a fitter. Both he and his brother were apprenticed to the Anshan Steel Company, and afterwards worked in an armament factory. After the Japanese surrender he had joined the P.L.A., and as he knew about munitions he was posted to the artillery. He rose to be a company leader in five years, and had been wounded three times in the War of Liberation. Now, as a Volunteer in Korea to resist U.S. aggression, he had been wounded again. His right kneecap got a bit of shrapnel. He made light of this, and said he was still alive, and there was nothing the matter with his hands. He had not meant to leave the line, but his battalion C.O. had ordered him to get back and recuperate. He was going back when he ran into our little trouble, and had been greatly impressed with Commandant Shen’s bearing. He had instinctively come out to organize the workers, and

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