An hour later Chaolin returned with Ming and another man, Wu Gaochen, who had witnessed the bloodshed in the Third Collection Center in Pusan during the "screening" a month ago. That night together Ming and I revised our speech for the following day; then we translated the whole thing and the gist of Wu's accusation into English.

While we two were working, I told him that we had eaten dumplings the night before. He slapped me on the shoulder and said, "Damn, I should've come with Chaolin first. You stole my luck."

"Maybe tomorrow they'll give us some goodies again," I said.

"Hope so." He turned away to check an English word in our dictionary. In fact, for the rest of the conference we ate the same food as the other prisoners.

The next morning the condemnations resumed. Our man Wu Gaochen stood up and spoke. We had given General Bell the English version of his accusation, so there was no need for me to translate Gaochen's words orally. Colonel Lee had our material in Chinese and interpreted it directly from the paper for his comrades while Gaochen was speaking. In a torn voice the accuser described the violent incident that had occurred in the Third Collection Center about a month before. He told this story, which he had rehearsed twice the previous night:

"On the evening of April fourteenth two battalions of GIs surrounded our compound. Together with them were six Sherman tanks. Through a loudspeaker they ordered us to come out of our tents within five minutes and to go through the screening, which was held just outside our compound. But five minutes passed, and nobody went out. The loudspeaker ordered us again and gave us another five minutes. When the time was up, still no one had come out. They repeated the orders several times. Then about an hour later they took action. Two tanks rolled into the compound, followed by a platoon of GIs. They came to move us by force, and we resisted them with whatever we could lay our hands on. In the scuffle we beat up some GIs and grabbed two rifles from them. Because there were more prisoners involved in the fight than they'd expected, the GIs were scared and withdrew from the compound. Even the tanks turned back. This enraged their commander, who ordered another attack twenty minutes later. They fired machine guns and threw grenades at us. Instantly, thirty-four comrades were killed and more than fifty wounded. Since it was impossible to resist them with bare hands, about two hundred of us agreed to submit to the screening. Also, many of us were ill and starved and couldn't fight back at all. Their gas bombs nauseated us and stung our eyes, and we couldn't breathe and vomited repeatedly. So the Americans rounded us up and took us to the screening area.

"Both my cousin and I were among the two hundred men. Before this massacre, we two had talked about what to do if we were forced to go through the screening, and we were both determined to return home at any cost. Now all the men lined up, but we were allowed to go up to the screening desk only one at a time. When my turn came, an American officer asked me, 'Do you want to go to Free China?' 'Where's that?' I said; I truly didn't know what country it was. ' Formosa,' the man said. 'No, I want to go back to mainland China,' I told him. He handed me a card. 'Go there and join those men,' he said and pointed at a door. That's how I avoided going to Taiwan. But afterward I searched through the crowd in the yard and couldn't find my cousin. Someone told me that he had betrayed our motherland. That was impossible! We had sworn to go home together. I was so worried I burst into tears. What happened was that he had mistaken Free China for mainland China, so he'd said yes to the question. As a matter of fact, another four men from our group had made the same mistake and all had landed in the enemy's hands.

"Now, General Bell, you tell me, why did your American army force us to go through the screening? And why did you purposely set the trap for us at the screening desk? Two of the four men were loyal

Communists and couldn't have been willing to join the Nationalist ranks at all, but they were tricked into the demons' den. Before I came to Korea, I had promised my uncle and aunt to take care of my younger cousin. Now he's gone, what can I say to his parents?" Gaochen broke into noisy sobs, which made his words unintelligible. A Korean man handed him a towel.

His accusation seemed to affect General Bell, who sighed, chin in palm, his elbow resting on the table. "There're lots of crimes in the war, but I can't be responsible for all of them," he said in a low voice.

In fact, Gaochen's story of the massacre wasn't the entire picture. He had left out the immediate cause of the incident: the Chinese prisoners had planned an uprising at night, to break prison, attack an American company nearby, seize some weapons, then flee to a mountain where they would carry on guerrilla warfare. But a traitor among them stole away to inform the guards. That was why such a large force came to subdue the prisoners. Of course, when preparing the accusation, we were told to expunge the cause of the incident. Neither General Bell nor the Koreans could know the whole story.

Now it was my turn. I spoke in English, describing the persecution in Compound 72 – how Liu Tai-an had disemboweled Lin Wushen and how my former schoolmate Yang Huan had been cudgeled and strangled to death. After giving an account of how the pro-Nationalist officers in that compound had cut some men to collect the tattoos they themselves had inflicted on them by force, I pulled up my shirt and displayed the words on my belly – FUCK COMMUNISM. To my surprise, General Bell chuckled. He immediately checked himself; yet his large nose still gave out a snuffling sound. I banged the table with my fist and shouted, "You think this is funny, huh? Damn you!"

"No, that's not what I think," he said. "I can't imagine they'd play such a prank."

"Prank?" I cried. "With these words on me, how can I live a normal life in my homeland?"

Red patches appeared on his face. "I hadn't thought of it in that light." He lowered his head and pressed his lips.

"This is a crime, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, of course."

"This took place in one of the compounds under your charge. Are you not responsible for it?"

"Maybe in part, I would say," he muttered.

"Those prison chiefs were trained in Japan and Taiwan, and then sent back by your government to help you run the camp. They murdered and beat us at will. Isn't the American government responsible for their crimes?"

"If what you say is true, our government didn't do a great job. To be frank, I have no idea who trained them."

His equivocal answer infuriated me. I lost self-control, shouting at him hysterically, "Stop dodging! You think you're clean? Let me tell you, you too are a criminal whose hands are stained with Chinese and Korean blood. You think you can pretend you don't know what crimes your men committed? You think you can bend our will and force us to betray our motherland? Do you know what the true Chinese spirit is? Let me tell you, if we're alive, we're Chinese men; if we're dead, we're Chinese ghosts. Those bastards under your protection can never change us by mutilating our bodies. Let me say this to you – "

Ming grabbed me by the shoulders and dragged me out of the tent to cool me down. "Boy, I never thought you could be so emotional," he said. I too was surprised by my outburst, which began to embarrass me.

When we had returned to the tent after a smoke, Colonel Choi asked solemnly, "General Bell, are you responsible for the crimes committed by your men or not?"

"Maybe for some of them."

"Are you guilty or not?"

After a long pause, Bell answered, "Perhaps partially."

Chaolin stood up and spoke in a voice of some authority. By now I had calmed down, so I translated his words to the general.