I had placed my fate with the Communists, but would they ever trust me? To them I had always been a marked man with a problematic past. But didn't my deeds on the battlefield and in the wilderness prove that I was trustworthy and loyal to our motherland? Unlike most of the graduates from the Huangpu Military Academy, I was one of the dozen former cadets who had followed the Communists to this compound. What else did they need to verify that I was as reliable as the other prisoners? True enough, I had helped Father Woodworth translate the hymns, but I had quit in time, no harm done. Some men here had continued going to the Sunday sermons after I stopped. Why were they not singled out?

Then it dawned on me that to the Communists, my association with Father Woodworth must have amounted to a moral relapse, which revealed my "petty bourgeois outlook," a phrase they often used to criticize an educated individual like me. However, I wasn't applying for Communist Party membership but only for that of a mass association. There was no reason for them to reject me. On second thought, I wondered why I was so eager to seek their approval. Why worry so much about joining that organization? Perhaps I dreaded isolation and had to depend on a group to feel secure. Why couldn't I remain alone without following anyone else? One should rely on nobody but oneself. If Dajian hadn't followed me, he wouldn't have gone astray and remained in Wang Yong's grip. I'd better stay away from the herd.

No. If I mean to return to China, I have to take part in the pro-Communist activities; otherwise I'll cause more trouble for myself. Whether I join them or not, they'll never leave me alone, so I mustn't stand aloof. Either you become their friend or their enemy. The Communists don't believe anyone can remain neutral…

"You may leave now," Commissar Pei said to his orderly at the sight of me. Then, smiling, he gestured for me to come over and sit near him.

"I've thought about your belly, Yuan," he told me the moment I sat down.

"My belly?"

"Yes, the tattoo, I mean."

"What should I do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Leave it as it is?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

"There's no doctor here who can take it off for you."

"But some comrades had their tattoos reshaped into different words or into something like a flower."

"I'm aware of that, but you're a special case."

"How come?" I was slightly upset by his remark. Why did they always treat me differently?

He said with a mysterious look on his face, "You're not an ordinary prisoner. We may need you to deal with the Americans, and a tattoo like yours can help you, don't you think?" As he grinned an elongated dimple formed on his left cheek, though his face was emaciated.

"I don't know," I said.

"Trust me, there's no hurry to have your tattoo removed."

"What if I get punished for it after we go back to China?"

"I'll explain to the Party, I promise. This is necessary for our struggle."

"In that case I'll continue to wear this damn thing. But I have a question for you, Commissar Pei."

"Yes, say it."

"According to you, I'm needed by the Party, but why was my application for the United Communist Association turned down as though I were a reactionary? It's just a progressive mass organization."

"I know that. Some comrades still have reservations about you, to tell the truth. In fact, this is another matter I want to talk about. There'll be a study session, at which you may be asked to do self-examination."

My head expanded with a swoon, because this meant they would denounce me. I managed to ask, "What did I do to deserve such treatment?"

"Don't be so quick-tempered. All the other comrades will do self-examination as well."

"But I'm a special case, right?"

"Yes, you may have more to say than others."

"Because I helped Woodworth?"

"That's a part of it."

"You know I'm not religious."

"But you often read the Bible."

"That's only because I have nothing else to read. Believe me, if I had a copy of Das Kapital, I'd study it every day. Most men in Compound 72 gambled all the time. Do you think that was better than reading the Bible? At least I tried to improve my English and make myself more useful."

"I believe there's more to it than learning English. You must feel lonely, so you want to seek refuge in the Christian God's world."

His acumen stunned me, and I realized I must indeed have some religious longing in me, which must have been awakened by my contact with Woodworth. After a moment's silence, I admitted, "Sometimes I feel better when I read the Bible. I don't know why. It makes me feel less helpless."

"Genuine help comes from your comrades and the Party, not from God. No God can save us. See, you think differently from others. That makes you special."

"I've never claimed I'm a Communist, much less that I think like one. But I believe that only socialism can save China, and I'm willing to follow the Communists. That's why I'm here."

"Well said. I like your candor."

Encouraged by his words, I let my tongue go looser. "I admire the Communists' enthusiasm, dedication, and discipline, but I can't completely accept the logic of your working method."

"What do you mean?"

"The Communists treat every person just as a number. One plus one equals two. One hundred people have united, then you get the power of one hundred men, as though humans are horses. For me, this is too simple. I believe there must be a power much larger than an individual, like a multiplier. If you tap that power, you can multiply yourself. You can become one hundred or one thousand, depending on what the multiplier is."

"You're quite thoughtful, Yuan. So you've found God is that power?"

"No, not yet, but there must be such a multiplier available for human beings."

"I have found it," he said firmly.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's Marxism," he replied in wholehearted sincerity.

For a few seconds I didn't know what to say, then I mumbled, "That's why you can act with so much certainty."

"Right."

"That can help you overcome a lot of difficulties, too."

"Yes, it's the Communist ideal that multiplies our strength and courage."

I said with full respect, "I wish I were like you."

"You should try to be. Tomorrow when your comrades criticize you, try to remain calm and patient. They only mean to help you, no hard feelings."

"I'll remember that."

Lying on my mat that night, I went over my conversation with Pei. What amazed me was that he thought of Marxism not as a sociological theory but as a kind of religion. This religious feeling might explain why so many Communists, some of them uneducated and unable to grasp Marxism at all, were so fanatic and so dedicated to their cause. To some degree I was pleased with my talk with the commissar, who seemed to understand me.

Since the Secretariat had a staff of only twelve, we were assigned to study with the kitchen squad that cooked for the regimental headquarters. In the afternoon twenty-five of us sat on the dirt floor of the cooks' tent and began our self-examination. Six or seven men by turns talked about their experiences in different compounds, all saying they wished there had been more of the Party's leadership in those places so that they could have fought the reactionary forces more actively and with a clear objective. When my turn came, I admitted my mistake in translating the hymns and my negligence that contributed to Bai Dajian's remaining with the pro-Nationalists. I had thought my admissions might preempt some criticism, but they wouldn't let me pass so easily. Questions were shot at me one after another. How had I acquired the Bible? Why did I read it every day? What made Father

Woodworth pick me to translate the songs? What else did I do for him? Their voices grew so stern that I began losing my patience, telling them bluntly that I had read the Bible because I wouldn't fritter away my time by gambling like some of them.