Livin in the 60's
Principle Huang requested to sit in on my history class today. He could’ve sat down, but instead he’s standing stiff at the back of the classroom like he’s at attention. He had stood up front when he came In, and I had to ask him to move to the back. He’d probably interject with his war stories and I can’t teach with him standing right there in his old military uniform, monitoring every word to make sure it lined up with what had been prepared. His face is wrinkled and his eyes are hard. His beloved military jacket is adorned with medals of every shape, all of them worn down with age and dim despite the polishing they seem to receive. Even with him all the way back there, I struggle to get a word out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday, please turn to page 37.’ I turn to face the blackboard, which helped calm me a bit. I pick up the chalk, and write as I speak. ‘Following the destabilisation caused by the second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common masses with false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to slowly envelop all of mainland China.’
I glance over my shoulder at principle Huang. He nods his head. I continue.
‘Following the forced occupation of the mainland, the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan. Our glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek government.’ I turn around. Not a single student has their hand up. Usually, Lin or Jacob would have asked questions at least, but everyone could feel Huang’s eyes behind them. The old military man has a… zealous love for his country. He had fought for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese or communist, he wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. And as per martial law, he ensures my history teachings were as… mandated.
I’m not some political propaganda machine. The second Taiwan separated from the mainland, it declared itself a fortress against communism. But I’m not their soldier. It’s just a mask because they didn’t want to call themselves a rebel group. How can I teach like this?
I wish I could speak up. But I know – if I’m too loud, then one of these days, a van will show up and I’ll be led off with a bag on my head. A Communist spy. A danger to the peace. A terrorist.
*
Ms. Chen’s spacing out – she’s probably as bothered with old man Huang as I am. Did she know why he was here? All I did last week was ask about the validity of the official records for WWII. But now I can feel his eyes on me. “Traitorous little Lin, how dare he question the glorious nation.” That’s what he’s thinking. He’s looking for any little reason to pull me out and question me till he’s blue in the face. Like he wants his student to be a communist spy so he can “benefit his nation” again.
Or is this about the book club? Foreign activists routinely sneak in history books that go against the government records – there’s a whole underground system for sharing them. Our school has a book club for reading them, held in secret every week. But I haven’t been in months, he couldn’t be after me for that, right?
I need to calm down. Huang has always been proud, so maybe he wanted to listen in on history for sentimental reasons? Deluded puppet. Still, I’m not risking a peak behind me – if our eyes meet then he could even take that as an admission of guilt. “Why are you so paranoid, traitorous little Lin? Got something to hide?”
There’s a snapping sound. I look over, and Ms. Chen is wearing a terrible expression. Her eyes are closed, teeth clenched, her face is wrinkled in anger – her hands are white knuckled and her chalk is split in two.
‘Ms. Chen, are you alright?’ Old Man Huang said calmly.
She opens her eyes, and all the anger drains from her face. No, all the colour as well, from a glowing red to a porcelain doll. ‘Y-yes, I’m fine.’
She quickly turns around, and lifts the chalk to write. The broken half falls to the floor, and she pauses.
‘Actually, I think I’m feeling quite sick. Principle Huang, would you be able to cover for me for a little while?’
‘You are looking quite pale now, aren’t you? Then, get some rest; I can take it from here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She doesn’t turn around while saying that, and after walks out. I think her mouth’s trembling, but I could only catch a glance of it. When she is at the door, Old Man Huang calls out to her again.
‘O-oh, and I’ll need to talk to you later, in my office.’ Did he just stutter?
‘Okay,’ then she’s gone.
Old Man Huang marches up to the front of the class, turns on his heel and slams his right foot down like he’s being called to attention. ‘Now then, let us continue with an explanation of the newly established governmental structure…’
*
The sun is setting when I arrive at his office. The door is ajar, and I push it open as I knock. He is looking out the window at the sunset, hands behind his back, feet apart, with a distant look in his eyes. A few seconds pass before he speaks, and when he does it sounds reminiscent and hazy.
‘Tell me, what do you know about Manchuria, in March of 48?’
‘The area fell to the CPC around then, right?’
‘Our forced had been stationed there for the last 2 years, and the supplies had dwindled down to crumbs and empty shells. Chiang needed to pull us out, but he refused to accept defeat.’ Huang pauses, and goes silent for a while. Then he continues. ‘Most of us died. Those who didn’t lost the stomach for it, for war, for fighting. It was this time I realised the reds were going to take our country.’
He goes silent again. After an agonising wait, he continues. ‘You can’t fight a country. Nobody can – certainly not me. We were young, and we felt that our nation was worth the blood, but it all collapsed around us. No man is strong enough, and certainly not us.’
Us? Did he mean the Republic of China? I say ‘You’re right; I don’t think we’ll ever be able to retake the mainland.’
He shakes his head. He finally moves from the window, walking towards his desk and picking up a sheet of paper that looks like it had been crumpled and flattened out again. ‘Next week, the military inspector will be arriving to ensure we’re keeping up with the law. Mandatory teachings, proper discipline. And of course, reporting potential spies.’
He hands me the sheet. At the top it says “Book Club Register” with a date from a few months ago. Below it is a list of six names. Lin is there, but I do not recognise the others. ‘I don’t remember us having a book club?’
For the first time, Huang raises his voice. He turns, anger on his face. ‘That’s because we don’t! The damn fools have been getting banned books in from who knows where. If the inspector gets a hold of this, then they’ll be carried off and we’ll be taken for “harbouring them.”’ He takes a moment to calm himself. ‘We can’t fight a country, Chen.’
That’s what he meant? ‘You expect us to hand over our students to them for reading a few books? No, because they might have read a few books? If we do that, they’ll be lucky to get life in prison.’
‘Our hands are tied... I’ve been working in education ever since the war ended, and I’ve seen seven students and three teachers all bagged and carted under suspicion of being a spy. Each of those teachers tried to hide evidence or cover for a student. None succeeded.’
‘You’re only seeing the ones that fail though, right? How many teachers do you think protected their students and succeeded?’
‘I cannot put my faith in a possibility. Not after the dead I’ve waded through, or those faceless fools I’ve watched been marched to the noose or the cell… I’ve already given up, Chen. You can’t fight a country. The last thing I need to see is you being taken too. Those kids won’t be killed – if this damn military rule ever ends – they’ll get a chance at life again, but you’ll be executed.’
‘No matter what you say, I won’t give up on my students like that.’ Huang looks me in the eye and sighs. He doesn’t try to take back the register. He just turns and walks back to the window. The sun has set; the stars are peeking out and twilight is drifting to night.
‘I’ve never seen that register before. I won’t tell them otherwise. This conversation never happened. Good luck.’ He falls silent again. I walk out shortly after.
*
In the military, I had to stand for hours at a time like this, but it seems I’m old and soft, since my legs are struggling now. The school courtyard below is empty, as it is during class time. I’ve been standing here for hours now. It’s the day after the inspection. I didn’t tell them anything important, just answered their routine questions like normal. Now all that’s left is to see what happens and accept it. This walkway gets the best view of the road leading to the school.
And up that road comes two vans. Plain white like always. They probably knew even before the inspection – whatever intelligence they had or... It doesn’t matter now. They pull up, the back doors swing open and soldiers come out. One of them carries bags with him into the building, followed by several others. They lead figures out the school building. One. Two. Three. Lin’s there – Chen’s student, I believe. She couldn’t protect him. Four. Five. Six. Seven. An adult follows behind the others, head hanging under a bag. They’re stuffed in the back of one of the vans and they drive off.
I stand there for quite a while, looking at the road they left by. My old legs finally give out and I collapse.
*
27 Years Later.
1987.
The year martial law was revoked.
I’m standing in front of my old schoolhouse. Looks like it’s been abandoned. A little grave aside the gate remembers the loss of Principle Huang. To this day I don’t know how they found out about my stay in the book club. I choose not to pay respects. I walk in. I’m careful to make sure my walking stick doesn’t slip on the dirt. Here’s the courtyard, left is the gym. The gym doors are open – that’d only happen on a summer day. Was it summer when I was taken? I look through the door, and the roof has partially caved in. Graffiti covers the stage. I move to the main building and begin walking down the corridor. I don’t take my shoes off at the entrance; it’s too much of a hassle to bend down. I bet other men in their 40’s could bend down – prison life did me no favours.
Finally, I arrive. The sliding door is shut. How nostalgic a regular door feels now. I open it and walk in. it’s almost surreal – being alone in a classroom. I move down the rows of chairs and tables. Some are missing, one’s been reduced to a small pile of wood. Mine’s still here, though. I sit down.
I’m back, Ms Chen. Little Lin is back to class. It might’ve taken a while, but I’m here now. I hope you’ll forgive me for being late. I have a pretty good reason. Anyway, I can only hope I can continue my studies. Graduation’s taken long enough.
Right so I should write something for Writing Historical
Fiction class next week.
What time periods do I want to emulate:
-
Victorian England
-
WW1
-
Martial Law Taiwan
-
Honestly, I think my best bet is
to do something magical surrealist with the Taiwanese myths. But, of course,
that’s just opening myself up to horror, isn’t it? There really isn’t a way to
do such a story without being horror-related, is there?
Sod it, I’m just going with the
Taiwanese thing because I need to try something. If it doesn’t work out, it
doesn’t work out. That’s okay.
The plan is to have the story
from the perspective of someone who performed what was considered their
‘national duty’ by exposing people who were reading books and documents
outlawed by the martial law government for being ‘communist’. Remember, the
national party in Taiwan was fleeing the Chinese mainland and the communism
there, so it was naturally exceedingly touchy about anything remotely
anti-nationalistic. These things would be instilled in people constantly.
I need the recipe for a
classroom, so let me ask myself a few simple questions about them. What would
be taught? Math is the safe bet, history is the fun one – because it lets me
show how history is influenced by the society around it.
What if I make the MC a teacher
who has to rat out one of her own students? She has a stake in doing it – her
job, her family, it all relies on compliance with the law.
Principle Huang had requested to
sit in on history class today. He didn’t sit down, but stood stock stiff at the
back of the classroom like he was at attention. He had stood up front when he
came In, but Ms Chen had asked him to move to the back. He refused at first,
until he was told it was so that the students wouldn’t be distracted. She knew
he would interject with his stories, so it wasn’t a lie, but she just couldn’t
teach with him standing right there in his old military uniform, monitoring
every word to make sure it lined up with what had been prepared. His jacket,
which he wore every day, was adorned with medals of every shape, all of them
worn down with age and dim, despite the polishing they seem to have received.
His face was wrinkled and his eyes were hard. Even with him all the way back
there, she struggled to get a word out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday,
please turn to page 37.’ She turned to face the blackboard, which helped. She
picked up the chalk, and wrote as she spoke. ‘Following the destabilisation
caused by the second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common
masses with false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to envelop all
of mainland china.’
She glanced over her shoulder at
principle Huang. He nodded his head in approval. She continued.
‘Following the forced occupation of the mainland, the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan. Our glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek government.’ She turned around, and didn’t see any hands up. Usually, Lin or Jacob would have had questions at least, but everyone felt Huang’s eyes behind them. The old military man had a… zealous love for his country. He had fought for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese or communist, he wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. As per martial law, he ensured the history teachings were as mandated.
Version 2
Principle Huang had requested to
sit in on history class today. He didn’t sit down, but stood stock stiff at the
back of the classroom like he was at attention. He had stood up front when he
came In, but Ms Chen had asked him to move to the back. He refused at first,
until he was told it was so that the students wouldn’t be distracted. She knew
he would interject with his stories, so it wasn’t a lie, but she just couldn’t
teach with him standing right there in his old military uniform, monitoring
every word to make sure it lined up with what had been prepared. His jacket,
which he wore every day, was adorned with medals of every shape, all of them
worn down with age and dim, despite the polishing they seem to have received.
His face was wrinkled and his eyes were hard. Even with him all the way back
there, she struggled to get a word out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday, please turn
to page 37.’ She turned to face the blackboard, which helped. She picked up the
chalk, and wrote as she spoke. ‘Following the destabilisation caused by the
second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common masses with
false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to envelop all of mainland
china.’
She glanced over her shoulder at
principle Huang. He nodded his head in approval. She continued.
‘Following the forced occupation of the
mainland, the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan.
Our glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek
government.’ She turned around, and didn’t see any hands up. Usually, Lin or
Jacob would have had questions at least, but everyone felt Huang’s eyes behind
them. The old military man had a… zealous love for his country. He had fought
for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese or communist, he
wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. And as per martial law, he ensured
the history teachings were as mandated.
Notes for 3rd draft
What if Ms Chen knew about the
book club, and Huang found out about it? And confronted her after hours about
it? He could confront her with the law, and the dilemma of whether or not she
was willing to bring herself down trying to protect her students. Huang could
even be given his own bit of humanity here – showing sympathy for Chen. He
doesn’t plan to put his life against the law, and doesn’t want Chen to make
that mistake either. Huang isn’t a metaphor for military control – he is
another victim of martial law, just as Chen and Lin and everyone else is. In
fact, that scene could be from Huang’s perspective – give his perspective its
due and give him a redeeming factor now that we aren’t looking at him as an
outsider, but can see how he’s thinking too.
What if Huang wanted to report
these ‘communists’ not out of a love of his country, but out of defeatism. ‘You
can’t fight a country. Trust me, I’ve tried’ he fought on the losing side of a
rebellion for his ideals and got booted to an island vaguely clinging to his
country.
Version 3 – Messing with perspectives.
The Swinging Sixties.
Principle Huang had requested to
sit in on my history class today. He didn’t sit down, but stood stock stiff at
the back of the classroom like he was at attention. He had stood up front when
he came In, and I had to ask him to move to the back. He refused, until I told
him it was so that the students wouldn’t be distracted. He’d probably interject
with his war stories, so it wasn’t a lie, but I can’t teach with him standing
right there in his old military uniform, monitoring every word to make sure it
lined up with what had been prepared. His jacket, which he wore every day, was
adorned with medals of every shape, all of them worn down with age and dim,
despite the polishing they seem to have received. His face was wrinkled and his
eyes were hard. Even with him all the way back there, I struggled to get a word
out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday, please turn
to page 37.’ I turned to face the blackboard, which helped. I picked up the
chalk, and wrote as I spoke. ‘Following the destabilisation caused by the
second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common masses with
false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to envelop all of mainland
china.’
I glanced over my shoulder at principle
Huang. He nodded his head in approval. I continued.
‘Following the forced occupation of the
mainland, the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan.
Our glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek
government.’ I turned around. Not a single student had their hand up. Usually,
Lin or Jacob would have had questions at least, but everyone felt Huang’s eyes
behind them. The old military man had a… zealous love for his country. He had
fought for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese or communist, he
wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. And as per martial law, he ensured
my history teachings were as… mandated.
I’m meant to be a teacher, not some
political propaganda machine. The second Taiwan separated from the mainland, it
declared itself a fortress against communism. But I’m not their soldier. It’s
all just a big mask because they didn’t want to call themselves a rebel group. My
job is to guide the students to knowledge and truth, but how can I do that with
the ghost of our old country breathing down my neck, binding my wrists to
puppeteer me like I’m their marionette?
I wish I could speak up. But I know – if
I’m too loud, then one of these days, a van will show up and I’ll be led off
with a bag on my head. A Communist spy. A danger to the peace. A terrorist.
*
Ms Chen was spacing out – she was
probably as bothered with old man Huang as I was. Did she know why he was here?
I swear, all I did last week was ask about the validity of the official records
for WWII. I was just curious! But now, I can feel his eyes on me. “Traitorous
little Lin, how dare he question the glorious nation.” That’s what he’s
thinking, I’m sure of it. He’s looking for any little reason to pull me out and
question me till he’s blue in the face. Like he wants his student to be a
communist spy so he can “benefit his nation” again.
Did he know about the book club? Foreign
activists routinely snuck in history books that go against the government records
– there’s a whole underground system for sharing them. Our school has a book
club for reading them, held in secret every week. But I haven’t been in months,
he couldn’t be after me for that, right?
So, someone in this room had mentioned my
question to him, and he’d decided that was enough to investigate me? Someone
should tell him he’s not in active service. I need to calm down. Huang has
always been proud, so maybe he wanted to listen in on history for sentimental
reasons? Does he really believe this nonsense is the truth? That the army he
fought in ‘tactically retreated’? Still, I’m not risking a peak behind me – if
our eyes meet then he might even take that as an admission of guilt. “Why are
you so paranoid, Lin? Got something to hide?”
There was a snapping sound. I looked
over, and Ms Chen was wearing a terrible expression. Her eyes were closed, teeth
clenched, her face wrinkled in anger – her hand was white knuckled and her
chalk was split in two.
‘Ms Chen, are you alright?’ Old Man Huang
said calmly.
She opened her eyes, and all the anger
drained from her face. No, all the colour as well, from a glowing red to a
porcelain doll. ‘Y-yes, I’m fine.’
She quickly turned around, and lifted the
chalk to write. The broken half fell to the floor, and she paused.
‘Actually, I think I’m feeling quite
sick. Principle Huang, would you be able to cover for me for a little while?’
‘You are looking quite pale now, aren’t
you? Then, get some rest; I can take it from here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She hadn’t once turned
around while saying that, and stiffly walked out. I think her mouth was
trembling, but I could only catch a glance of it. When she was at the door, Old
Man Huang called out to her again
‘O-oh, and I’ll need to talk to you
later, in my office.’ Did he just stutter?
‘Okay,’ then she was gone.
Old Man Huang marched up to the front of
the class, turned on his heel and slammed his right foot down like he was being
called to attention. ‘Now then, let us continue with an explanation of the new
governmental structure…’
*
The sun was setting when I
arrived at his office. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open as I
knocked. He was looking out the window at the sunset, hands behind is back,
feet apart, with a distant look in his eyes.
‘You ever hear the story of Manchuria, in
March of 48?’
‘The area fell to the CPC around then,
right?’
‘Our forced had been put there for 2
years now, and the supplies had dwindled down to crumbs and empty shells.
Chiang needed to pull us out, but he refused to accept defeat.’ Huang paused,
and went silent for a while. Then he continued. ‘Most of us died. Those who
didn’t lost the stomach for it, for war, for fighting. It was the time I realised
the reds were going to take our country.
He went silent again. Then, after an
agonising wait, he continued. ‘You can’t fight a country. Nobody can –
certainly not me. We were young, and felt that our nation was worth the blood, but
it all stained red and the reds took it all away. No man is strong enough, and
certainly not us.’
Us? Did he mean the Republic of China? I ended
up saying ‘You’re right; I don’t think we’ll ever be able to retake the
mainland.’
He shook his head. He finally moved from
the window, walking towards his desk and picking up a sheet of paper that
looked like it had been crumpled and flattened out again. ‘Next week, the
military inspector will come, make sure we’re all keeping up with the law.
Mandatory teachings, proper discipline, and of course, reporting potential
communists.’
He handed me the sheet. At the top it
said “Book Club Register” with a date from a few months ago. Below it was a
list of six names. Lin was on there, but I didn’t recognise the others. ‘I
don’t remember us having a book club?’
For the first time, Huang raised his
voice. He turned, anger on his face. ‘That’s because we don’t! The damn fools
have been getting banned books in from who knows where. If the inspector gets a
hold of this, then they’ll be carried off as spies and we’ll be executed for
harbouring them.’ He took a moment to calm himself. ‘We can’t fight a country,
Chen.’
That’s what he meant? ‘You expect us to
hand over our students to them for reading a few books? No, because they might
have read a few books? If we do that, they’ll be lucky to get life in prison.’
‘Our hands are tied here. I’ve been
working in education ever since the war ended, and I’ve seen seven students and
three teachers all bagged and carted under suspicion of being a spy. Each of
those teachers tried to hide evidence or cover for a student. None succeeded.’
‘You’re only seeing the ones that fail
though, right? How many teachers do you think protected their students and
succeeded?’
‘I can’t accept that! I can’t put my
faith in a possibility, not after the dead I’ve waded through, or the faceless
fools marching to the noose or the cell. I’ve already given up, Chen. You can’t
fight a country. The last thing I need to see is you being marched off too.
Those kids won’t be killed – if this damn military rule ever ends – they’ll get
a chance at life again, but you’ll be executed.’
‘No matter what you say, I will never
give up on my students like that.’ Huang looked me in the eyes and sighed. He
didn’t try to take back the register, just turning and walking back to the
window. The sun had set, the stars were peeking out and twilight was drifting
to night.
‘I’ve never seen that register before,
and I won’t tell them otherwise. This conversation never happened. Good luck.’
He said that and fell silent again. I walked out shortly after.
*
In the military, I had to stand
for hours at a time like this, but even so my old legs are struggling. The
school courtyard below is empty, as it would be during class time, and I’ve
been standing here for hours now. It’s the day after the inspection. I didn’t
tell them anything important, just answered their routine questions like
normal. Now all that’s left is to see what happens and accept it. This walkway
has the best view of the road leading to the school.
And up that road comes two vans.
Plain white like always. I knew she couldn’t do it. They pull up, the back
doors swing open and out come soldiers. One of them carries bags with him into
the building, followed by several others. They lead figures out the school
building. One. Two. Three. I recognise Lin even with the bag – Chen’s student.
She couldn’t even protect him. Four. Five. Six. Seven. An adult follows behind
the others, head hanging under a bag. They’re stuffed in the back of one of the
vans and they drive off.
My old legs finally give out and
I collapse.
*
Taiwan is known for having the
longest imposition of martial law by a regime anywhere in the world, from 1949
to 1987. During this time, adults who were deemed communist spies were executed,
and children were put under indefinite detention. Lin was arrested at the age
of 16 on 26th June 1960.
When he was eventually released, he was 43.
Drafting notes
Huang was initially intended to
me a metaphor for martial law, or more of a manifestation. As I wrote him,
though, I realised that even the seasoned veteran likely wasn’t entirely
convinced by propaganda that was only implemented later in his life. The old
resist change, and he won’t fall for something like that. I began to see him
more as another victim of Martial Law. As a headmaster, he would’ve had to see
several people led away already. What would that do to a man? And then there’s
the whole soldier part – no way he doesn’t have some sort of undiagnosed PTSD.
So I made him a defeatist, another victim in this story. Because history rarely
ever has villains, just victims of varying degrees.
Version 4 – Messing with
perspectives.
Living in the 60’s
Principle Huang had requested to
sit in on my history class today. He didn’t sit down, but stood stock stiff at
the back of the classroom like he was at attention. He had stood up front when
he came In, and I had to ask him to move to the back. He refused, until I told
him it was so that the students wouldn’t be distracted. He’d probably interject
with his war stories, so it wasn’t a lie, but I can’t teach with him standing
right there in his old military uniform, monitoring every word to make sure it
lined up with what had been prepared. His jacket, which he wore every day, was
adorned with medals of every shape, all of them worn down with age and dim,
despite the polishing they seem to have received. His face was wrinkled and his
eyes were hard. Even with him all the way back there, I struggled to get a word
out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday, please turn
to page 37.’ I turned to face the blackboard, which helped. I picked up the
chalk, and wrote as I spoke. ‘Following the destabilisation caused by the
second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common masses with
false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to slowly envelop all of
mainland china.’
I glanced over my shoulder at principle
Huang. He nodded his head in approval. I continued.
‘Following the forced occupation of the mainland,
the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan. Our
glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek
government.’ I turned around. Not a single student had their hand up. Usually,
Lin or Jacob would have had questions at least, but everyone felt Huang’s eyes
behind them. The old military man had a… zealous love for his country. He had
fought for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese or communist, he
wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. And as per martial law, he ensured
my history teachings were as… mandated.
I’m meant to be a teacher, not some
political propaganda machine. The second Taiwan separated from the mainland, it
declared itself a fortress against communism. But I’m not their soldier. It’s
all just a mask because they didn’t want to call themselves a rebel group. How
can I teach with the ghost of our old country breathing down my neck, binding
my wrists to puppeteer me.
I wish I could speak up. But I know – if I’m
too loud, then one of these days, a van will show up and I’ll be led off with a
bag on my head. A Communist spy. A danger to the peace. A terrorist.
*
Ms Chen was spacing out – she was
probably as bothered with old man Huang as I was. Did she know why he was here?
I swear, all I did last week was ask about the validity of the official records
for WWII. I was just curious! But now, I can feel his eyes on me. “Traitorous
little Lin, how dare he question the glorious nation.” That’s what he’s
thinking, I’m sure of it. He’s looking for any little reason to pull me out and
question me till he’s blue in the face. Like he wants his student to be a
communist spy so he can “benefit his nation” again.
Did he know about the book club? Foreign
activists routinely snuck in history books that go against the government
records – there’s a whole underground system for sharing them. Our school has a
book club for reading them, held in secret every week. But I haven’t been in
months, he couldn’t be after me for that, right?
So, someone in this room had mentioned my
question to him, and he’d decided that was enough to investigate me? Someone
should tell him he’s not in active service. I need to calm down. Huang has
always been proud, so maybe he wanted to listen in on history for sentimental
reasons? Does he really believe this nonsense is the truth? That the army he
fought in ‘tactically retreated’? Still, I’m not risking a peak behind me – if
our eyes meet then he might even take that as an admission of guilt. “Why are
you so paranoid, Lin? Got something to hide?”
There was a snapping sound. I looked
over, and Ms Chen was wearing a terrible expression. Her eyes were closed,
teeth clenched, her face wrinkled in anger – her hand was white knuckled and her
chalk was split in two.
‘Ms Chen, are you alright?’ Old Man Huang
said calmly.
She opened her eyes, and all the anger
drained from her face. No, all the colour as well, from a glowing red to a
porcelain doll. ‘Y-yes, I’m fine.’
She quickly turned around, and lifted the
chalk to write. The broken half fell to the floor, and she paused.
‘Actually, I think I’m feeling quite
sick. Principle Huang, would you be able to cover for me for a little while?’
‘You are looking quite pale now, aren’t
you? Then, get some rest; I can take it from here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She hadn’t once turned
around while saying that, and stiffly walked out. I think her mouth was
trembling, but I could only catch a glance of it. When she was at the door, Old
Man Huang called out to her again
‘O-oh, and I’ll need to talk to you
later, in my office.’ Did he just stutter?
‘Okay,’ then she was gone.
Old Man Huang marched up to the front of
the class, turned on his heel and slammed his right foot down like he was being
called to attention. ‘Now then, let us continue with an explanation of the newly
established governmental structure…’
*
The sun was setting when I
arrived at his office. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open as I
knocked. He was looking out the window at the sunset, hands behind is back,
feet apart, with a distant look in his eyes. It was a few seconds before he
spoke, and when he did it sounded reminiscent and hazy.
‘What do you know about Manchuria, in March
of 48?’
‘The area fell to the CPC around then,
right?’
‘Our forced had been put there for 2
years now, and the supplies had dwindled down to crumbs and empty shells.
Chiang needed to pull us out, but he refused to accept defeat.’ Huang paused,
and went silent for a while. Then he continued. ‘Most of us died. Those who
didn’t lost the stomach for it, for war, for fighting. It was the time I
realised the reds were going to take our country.
He went silent again. Then, after an
agonising wait, he continued. ‘You can’t fight a country. Nobody can – certainly
not me. We were young, and felt that our nation was worth the blood, but it all
stained red and the reds took it all away. No man is strong enough, and
certainly not us.’
Us? Did he mean the Republic of China? I said
‘You’re right; I don’t think we’ll ever be able to retake the mainland.’
He shook his head. He finally moved from
the window, walking towards his desk and picking up a sheet of paper that
looked like it had been crumpled and flattened out again. ‘Next week, the
military inspector will come, make sure we’re all keeping up with the law.
Mandatory teachings, proper discipline, and of course, reporting potential spies.’
He handed me the sheet. At the top it
said “Book Club Register” with a date from a few months ago. Below it was a
list of six names. Lin was on there, but I didn’t recognise the others. ‘I
don’t remember us having a book club?’
For the first time, Huang raised his
voice. He turned, anger on his face. ‘That’s because we don’t! The damn fools
have been getting banned books in from who knows where. If the inspector gets a
hold of this, then they’ll be carried off as spies and we’ll be executed for
harbouring them.’ He took a moment to calm himself. ‘We can’t fight a country,
Chen.’
That’s what he meant? ‘You expect us to
hand over our students to them for reading a few books? No, because they might
have read a few books? If we do that, they’ll be lucky to get life in prison.’
‘Our hands are tied here. I’ve been
working in education ever since the war ended, and I’ve seen seven students and
three teachers all bagged and carted under suspicion of being a spy. Each of
those teachers tried to hide evidence or cover for a student. None succeeded.’
‘You’re only seeing the ones that fail
though, right? How many teachers do you think protected their students and
succeeded?’
‘I can’t put my faith in a possibility,
not after the dead I’ve waded through, or the faceless fools marching to the
noose or the cell… I’ve already given up, Chen. You can’t fight a country. The
last thing I need to see is you being marched off too. Those kids won’t be
killed – if this damn military rule ever ends – they’ll get a chance at life
again, but you’ll be executed.’
‘No matter what you say, I won’t give up
on my students like that.’ Huang looked me in the eyes and sighed. He didn’t
try to take back the register, just turning and walking back to the window. The
sun had set, the stars were peeking out and twilight was drifting to night.
‘I’ve never seen that register before,
and I won’t tell them otherwise. This conversation never happened. Good luck.’
He said that and fell silent again. I walked out shortly after.
*
In the military, I had to stand
for hours at a time like this, but it seems I’ve gone old and soft, since my
legs are struggling now. The school courtyard below is empty, as it would be
during class time. I’ve been standing here for hours now. It’s the day after
the inspection. I didn’t tell them anything important, just answered their
routine questions like normal. Now all that’s left is to see what happens and
accept it. This walkway has the best view of the road leading to the school.
And up that road comes two vans.
Plain white like always. They probably knew even before the inspection –
whatever intelligence they have or... It doesn’t matter now. They pull up, the
back doors swing open and soldiers come out. One of them carries bags with him
into the building, followed by several others. They lead figures out the school
building. One. Two. Three. Lin’s there – Chen’s student, I believe. She
couldn’t protect him. Four. Five. Six. Seven. An adult follows behind the
others, head hanging under a bag. They’re stuffed in the back of one of the
vans and they drive off.
My old legs give out and I
collapse.
*
Taiwan is known for having the
longest imposition of martial law by a regime anywhere in the world, from 1949
to 1987. During this time, adults who were deemed communist spies were executed,
and children were put under indefinite detention. Lin was arrested at the age
of 16 on 26th June 1960.
When he was eventually released, he was
43.
Feedback on this draft.
Kieran thinks I should have less
commas. He despises them, and me as well.
Kieran loves the perspective
shifts.
I should read out my text and see
if I skip over any commas with my speech.
Rebeca likes how the title gives
it an era for the story to be in
Are you convinced by Huang as a
character? Is he a villain, a victim?
He’s a disillusioned soldier who
feels like acting like a disillusioned soldier will just cause problems.
Rebeca thought he was a bit blank
at the beginning (because of the setting). Rebeca did like his characterisation
towards the end. She wouldn’t change it personally.
Kieran says that he’s done a
pretty good job of depicting someone who acts a role he isn’t happy with.
Does the switch to narration in
the end work? I’ve got some pushback on this in the past.
Kieran is on the fence, and feels
it might be better if it’s in past tense. He specifically doesn’t like how it
takes you out of the story, and basically that it’s narration. It makes the
ending not feel like a short story.
Rebeca thinks it should be clear
that Lin isn’t real. It feels like the end of a documentary type thing, an
after explanation. Like a newspaper sort of thing. Maybe I could replace it
with a present-day person reading a newspaper article about it – or someone from
the 90’s.
How’s the setting in general?
Absolutely fine. It feels
accurate, but they don’t know enough about it. It feels accurate.
Rebeca noticed that the
descriptions of the classroom and office are kept purposefully quite vague. She
says this isn’t a bad thing or that I should include more, she just noticed it.
Version 5.
Living
in the 60’s
Principle Huang requested to sit
in on my history class today. He could’ve sat down, but instead he’s standing
stiff at the back of the classroom like he’s at attention. He had stood up
front when he came In, and I had to ask him to move to the back. He refused,
until I told him it was so that the students wouldn’t be distracted. He’d
probably interject with his war stories, so it wasn’t a lie, but I can’t teach
with him standing right there in his old military uniform, monitoring every
word to make sure it lined up with what had been prepared. His beloved military
jacket is adorned with medals of every shape, all of them worn down with age
and dim despite the polishing they seem to receive. His face is wrinkled and
his eyes are hard. Even with him all the way back there, I struggle to get a
word out.
‘C-continuing from yesterday, please turn
to page 37.’ I turn to face the blackboard, which helped calm me a bit. I pick
up the chalk, and write as I speak. ‘Following the destabilisation caused by
the second world war, the communist infection afflicted the common masses with
false hope. The traitorous Mao led the enemy front to slowly envelop all of
mainland China.’
I glance over my shoulder at principle
Huang. He nods his head. I continue.
‘Following the forced occupation of the
mainland, the Kuomintang tactically retreated to the offshore haven of Taiwan.
Our glorious leader, president Chiang Ching-Kuo established the Chiang Kai-Shek
government.’ I turn around. Not a single student has their hand up. Usually,
Lin or Jacob would have asked questions at least, but everyone could feel
Huang’s eyes behind them. The old military man has a… zealous love for his
country. He had fought for it. Bled for it. Whether his enemies were Japanese
or communist, he wouldn’t tolerate anything but condemnation. And as per
martial law, he ensures my history teachings were as… mandated.
I’m not some political propaganda
machine. The second Taiwan separated from the mainland, it declared itself a
fortress against communism. But I’m not their soldier. It’s just a mask because
they didn’t want to call themselves a rebel group. How can I teach like this?
I wish I could speak up. But I know – if
I’m too loud, then one of these days, a van will show up and I’ll be led off
with a bag on my head. A Communist spy. A danger to the peace. A terrorist.
*
Ms. Chen’s spacing out – she’s
probably as bothered with old man Huang as I am. Did she know why he was here? All
I did last week was ask about the validity of the official records for WWII.
But now I can feel his eyes on me. “Traitorous little Lin, how dare he question
the glorious nation.” That’s what he’s thinking. He’s looking for any little
reason to pull me out and question me till he’s blue in the face. Like he wants
his student to be a communist spy so he can “benefit his nation” again.
Or is this about
the book club? Foreign activists routinely sneak in history books that go
against the government records – there’s a whole underground system for sharing
them. Our school has a book club for reading them, held in secret every week.
But I haven’t been in months, he couldn’t be after me for that, right?
I need to calm down. Huang has always
been proud, so maybe he wanted to listen in on history for sentimental reasons?
Does he really believe this nonsense is the truth? Still, I’m not risking a peak behind me – if our eyes
meet then he could even take that as an admission of guilt. “Why are you so
paranoid, traitorous little Lin? Got something to hide?”
There’s a snapping sound. I look over,
and Ms. Chen is wearing a terrible expression. Her eyes are closed, teeth
clenched, her face is wrinkled in anger – her hands are white knuckled and her
chalk is split in two.
‘Ms. Chen, are you alright?’ Old Man
Huang said calmly.
She opens her eyes, and all the anger
drains from her face. No, all the colour as well, from a glowing red to a
porcelain doll. ‘Y-yes, I’m fine.’
She quickly turns around, and lifts the
chalk to write. The broken half falls to the floor, and she pauses.
‘Actually, I think I’m feeling quite
sick. Principle Huang, would you be able to cover for me for a little while?’
‘You are looking quite pale now, aren’t
you? Then, get some rest; I can take it from here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She doesn’t turn around
while saying that, and after walks out. I think her mouth’s trembling, but I
could only catch a glance of it. When she is at the door, Old Man Huang calls
out to her again.
‘O-oh, and I’ll need to talk to you
later, in my office.’ Did he just stutter?
‘Okay,’ then she’s gone.
Old
Man Huang marches up to the front of the class, turns on his heel and slams his
right foot down like he’s being called to attention. ‘Now then, let us continue
with an explanation of the newly established governmental structure…’
*
The sun is setting when I arrive
at his office. The door is ajar, and I push it open as I knock. He is looking
out the window at the sunset, hands behind his back, feet apart, with a distant
look in his eyes. A few seconds pass before he speaks, and when he does it sounds
reminiscent and hazy.
‘What do you know about Manchuria, in
March of 48?’
‘The area fell to the CPC around then,
right?’
‘Our forced had been put there for 2
years now, and the supplies had dwindled down to crumbs and empty shells. Chiang
needed to pull us out, but he refused to accept defeat.’ Huang pauses, and goes
silent for a while. Then he continues. ‘Most of us died. Those who didn’t lost
the stomach for it, for war, for fighting. It was the time I realised the reds
were going to take our country.
He goes silent again. After an agonising
wait, he continues. ‘You can’t fight a country. Nobody can – certainly not me.
We were young, and felt that our nation was worth the blood, but it all stained
red and the reds took it all away. No man is strong enough, and certainly not
us.’
Us? Did he mean the Republic of China? I
say ‘You’re right; I don’t think we’ll ever be able to retake the mainland.’
He shakes his head. He finally moves from
the window, walking towards his desk and picking up a sheet of paper that looks
like it had been crumpled and
flattened out again. ‘Next week, the military inspector will come, make sure
we’re all keeping up with the law. Mandatory teachings, proper discipline, and
of course, reporting potential spies.’
He hands me the sheet. At the top it says
“Book Club Register” with a date from a few months ago. Below it is a list of
six names. Lin is there, but I do not recognise the others. ‘I don’t remember
us having a book club?’
For the first time, Huang raises his
voice. He turns, anger on his face. ‘That’s because we don’t! The damn fools
have been getting banned books in from who knows where. If the inspector gets a
hold of this, then they’ll be carried off as spies and we’ll be executed for
harbouring them.’ He takes a moment to calm himself. ‘We can’t fight a country,
Chen.’
That’s what he meant? ‘You expect us to
hand over our students to them for reading a few books? No, because they might
have read a few books? If we do that, they’ll be lucky to get life in prison.’
‘Our hands are tied here. I’ve been
working in education ever since the war ended, and I’ve seen seven students and
three teachers all bagged and carted under suspicion of being a spy. Each of
those teachers tried to hide evidence or cover for a student. None succeeded.’
‘You’re only seeing the ones that fail
though, right? How many teachers do you think protected their students and
succeeded?’
‘I can’t put my faith in a possibility,
not after the dead I’ve waded through, or the faceless fools marching to the
noose or the cell… I’ve already given up, Chen. You can’t fight a country. The
last thing I need to see is you being marched off too. Those kids won’t be
killed – if this damn military rule ever ends – they’ll get a chance at life
again, but you’ll be executed.’
‘No matter what you say, I won’t give up
on my students like that.’ Huang looks me in the eye and sighs. He doesn’t try to
take back the register. He just turns and walks back to the window. The sun has
set; the stars are peeking out and twilight is drifting to night.
‘I’ve never seen that register before,
and I won’t tell them otherwise. This conversation never happened. Good luck.’
He falls silent again. I walk out shortly after.
*
In the military, I had to stand
for hours at a time like this, but it seems I’m old and soft, since my legs are
struggling now. The school courtyard below is empty, as it is during class
time. I’ve been standing here for hours now. It’s the day after the inspection.
I didn’t tell them anything important, just answered their routine questions
like normal. Now all that’s left is to see what happens and accept it. This
walkway gets the best view of the road leading to the school.
And up that road comes two vans. Plain
white like always. They probably knew even before the inspection – whatever
intelligence they had or... It doesn’t matter now. They pull up, the back doors
swing open and soldiers come out. One of them carries bags with him into the
building, followed by several others. They lead figures out the school
building. One. Two. Three. Lin’s there – Chen’s student, I believe. She
couldn’t protect him. Four. Five. Six. Seven. An adult follows behind the
others, head hanging under a bag. They’re stuffed in the back of one of the
vans and they drive off.
I stand there for quite a while, looking
at the road they left by. My old legs finally give out and I collapse.
*
27
Years Later.
1987.
The
year martial law was revoked.
I’m standing in front of my old
schoolhouse. Look’s like it’s been abandoned. I walk in. I’m careful to make
sure my walking stick doesn’t slip on the dirt. Here’s the courtyard, left is
the gym. The gym doors are open – that’d only happen on a summer day. Was it
summer when I was taken? I look through the door, and the roof has partially
caved in. Graffiti covers the stage. I move to the main building and begin
walking down the corridor. I don’t take my shoes off at the entrance; it’s too
much of a hassle to bend down. I bet other men in their 40’s could bend down – prison
life did me no favours.
Finally, I arrive. The shoji door is
shut. How nostalgic a regular door feels now. I open it and walk in. it’s
almost surreal – being alone in a classroom. I move down the rows of chairs and
tables. Some are missing, one’s been reduced to a small pile of wood. Mine’s
still here, though. I sit down.
I’m back, Ms Chen. Little Lin is back to
class. It might’ve taken a while, but I’m here now. I hope you’ll forgive me
for being late. I have a pretty good reason. Anyway, I can only hope I can
continue my studies. Graduation’s taken long enough.
Feedback –
The combo of perspective changing
and people being unable to say what they want to say is great. More
importantly, I’m not repeating information, and using layering of how people
interpret things.
The use of a history lesson is
shrewd.
The move between different
perspectives – its really helpful to have differentiation of voices. Lin is distinctive,
Ms. Chen is formal and buttoned down. The voice that is less distinctive is Huang’s.
Maybe I should experiment with a bit more formality for his speech. Laura is
referring to his speaking voice, not his internal voice. The scene with Ms.
Chen should have him be more formal, or maybe have it fall off when he gets
heated.
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