At eight the next morning, six truckloads of GIs arrived at our compound. Their officer, a craggy-faced man, ordered us to come out with our blanket rolls and line up on the front yard, but none of us moved. The GIs were waiting. A hush enveloped the compound, as if all the men were sleeping. The officer shouted his orders again. Still nobody stirred. The barracks were so quiet that you could hear bursts of static coming from the megaphone and a flock of orioles chirping in the crown of a crooked elm.

The GIs waited about half an hour. Then the gate was opened and they came in, advancing while pitching tear-gas canisters at our tents. In no time the compound turned cloudy and people began coughing.

"Get your damn asses out!" shouted the officer.

Now balls of dark smoke started rising from two tents at the west side. Surely it was our men who had set fire to their quarters, to make it look like the GIs' doing. A few minutes later we filed out of our tents, each carrying his blanket roll, and many men covered their noses with wet towels. We formed up in the yard while a company of GIs surrounded us. The officer ordered some three hundred prisoners to go fight the fire. He kept hollering, "Damn it, I'm gonna try you all for arson!"

Two fire engines arrived, and without difficulty they extinguished the fire.

Then a squad of GIs led us out of the compound, with more guards escorting us on both sides. As we were leaving, about a hundred pro-Nationalist prisoners appeared outside the gate. They rattled sticks and threw pebbles at us, calling us all kinds of names. Some of them even shouted: "Feed them to sharks!" "Work them to skeletons in the coal mines!" "Dump them into the ocean!" "Commies, your final hour is coming!"

I had never met any of these men before and wondered which compound they came from. Suddenly one of them, a young boy, sprang out of their ranks and sprinted toward us, yelling, "I want to go home. Let me go with them!" Surprised, we stopped to watch. The boy looked fourteen or fifteen. I thought it bizarre that he believed we were headed for China. A beefy man was chasing him, brandishing a self-made machete and barking, "Little rabbit, I'm going to chop you to pieces." Still the boy was dashing toward us for all he was worth.

Richard, the corporal who had been sympathetic to me, stood close by but watched amusedly while the other GIs were whooping and whistling. I cried, "Richard, help him please!"

He strode over and thrust his rifle at the chaser. "Halt!" he ordered.

The man stopped short, then protested in Chinese, "That little bastard is a Commie. I must let him have it." He slashed the air with his machete and stamped the ground.

Ignoring his explanation, Richard pointed his rifle at the man's chest and said, "You go back now." He jutted out his chin in the direction of the other harassers.

Deflated, the man returned to his party near the fence while the boy, having joined us, was still sobbing, his face crumpled. With his index and middle fingers held together, Richard saluted me, and I returned him one.

Our long procession continued toward the shore. Some crippled men couldn't go fast and were supported by their comrades. I walked beside Commissar Pei, who looked wearied, his thick lips cracked. He said he hadn't slept well the night before and had gotten a migraine. The steady breeze from the sea, fishy and warm, wafted over the smell of burned firewood from a village. The yellowish ocean came into view, on which some gray sails were bobbing. The willow bushes and cypresses on the hills looked tired of growing, as if stunted by the salty wind. To our left the rocky bluff, brightened by the rising sun, was still wet, while dewdrops on the overhanging shrubs glistened, sending out tiny flashes. On the roadside, puffs of cobwebs were scattered here and there on the grass like miniature jellyfish. I could sense the agitation in the procession. It was rumored that some POWs had been shipped to Canada as guinea pigs for chemical-weapon experiments and that hundreds of prisoners had been forced to labor in a gold mine on an island near Japan. Once we got on the ships, God knew where the enemy would take us. They might have lied to us about Cheju Island all along.

At the fringe of a sloping pine grove, a knot of small boys, barefoot and in baggy shorts, were flourishing slingshots and hunting tits, sparrows, wrens. One of them carried about a dozen dead birds strung together on a wicker twig pushed through their mouths. Still there were a lot of birds warbling in the woods. Another boy, the smallest of them, waved a whittled branch, to the tip of which was affixed a ring of iron wire covered with many layers of spiderweb; he used this tool to catch dragonflies, which would be fed to chickens and ducks. I kept watching the boys until they faded into the forest.

Once we were clear of the hill slope, the muddy beach appeared, spreading like a long strip of unplanted paddy fields. At its northern end, at the beginning of the wharf, were anchored two large black ships, the sides of their prows painted with white Korean words that none of us could understand. They were cargo ships, whose tonnage must have been over three thousand, and each had a pair of tall funnels puffing out dark smoke. On the beach hundreds of armed GIs had already assembled; General Smart, in a helmet, was also there waiting for us. Together with him were a group of junior officers and about twenty Chinese men in the uniforms marked with PW.

We were made to form up into eighteen lines on the beach. Each of the junior officers took one of the Chinese helpers to the head of a line and began checking us one by one. "Turncoat!" somebody cursed one of the collaborators. Obviously they were searching for Pei, who was standing next to me. These Chinese helpers had all served in our division and had met Pei before; perhaps they could recognize their commissar, whose face might be memorable to them for his bright eyes, stout nose, and fat ears. I wondered what we should do if they identified him.

The two men in charge of our line were moving closer. I stared at them and forced myself not to show any fear. The second they passed me, the mousy Chinese man lifted his hand to point at Pei. The American officer turned and yelled, "We got him!"

Dozens of GIs rushed over. The commissar stepped out of the line, turned around to wave at us, then walked away with them without a word. I was amazed by such a peaceful apprehension. Had this happened to Mr. Park, the Koreans would definitely have gone berserk and broken ranks to fight with the GIs.

"Well, Mr. Pei, we finally meet," General Smart sneered, his arched upper lip curled.

The commissar didn't respond and stood sideways to us as though to keep his face partly out of our view. Somebody poked my back and I turned around. It was Zhao Teng. He whispered to me, "Go to the front and tell them we won't board the ships unless Commissar Pei comes with us."

I hesitated, unsure whether the GIs would allow me to get there. Zhao Teng pushed me. "Go now!"

I stepped out of the line and walked toward Pei. "Turn back!" a sergeant shouted at me.

"I have an urgent message for General Smart." I raised both hands above my head. He came over, put his big hands on my stomach, and searched me; then he stepped aside and let me pass.

I went up to the heavyset general and said, "I was sent over to inform you that none of these men will board the ships without Mr. Pei coming along with us."

He turned to look at the swarm of dusty, emaciated faces. I too gazed at my comrades. I could feel their fear and anger. They were tense, their eyes all fastened on us. I repeated, "General Smart, they won't get on the ships if you take Mr. Pei away."

"Who are you?"

"I'm just a regular serviceman who happens to know English. Just a messenger."