‘I know what you mean,’ she said, pushing her chair away and standing up. ‘Ready when you are.’
FOUR
The killing began just after ten o’clock on Saturday night.
At that time Nicky and Clee were standing with Yoyo and Mai near the Martyrs’ Monument. Arch, Jimmy and Luke were mingling with the other broadcast journalists, mostly American and British, who were assembled nearby. All were comparing notes, trying to predict what would happen next, whilst knowing the worst was coming.
Nicky was speaking to Yoyo quietly, earnestly, trying to be as persuasive as possible. ‘Please take the money, Yoyo. I know how proud you are, but this is not the moment for pride. You must be practical. Listen to me… we insist you take the three thousand dollars, it will get you and Mai out of Beijing. Clee and the guys and I think you should leave tomorrow, no matter what the situation is here. And the money is from the five of us. We want to help you… after all, you’ve helped us. And we care about you.’
‘Too much money,’ Yoyo said. ‘Thank you. No.’ He kept shaking his head. ‘You, Clee, guys very nice. Kind. Very excellent people. But can’t take money.’
‘Come on, Yoyo, don’t be so stubborn,’ Nicky exclaimed. ‘Please accept it, if not for yourself, for Mai. Think of her—of protecting her.’
The young Chinese student shook his head again.
Wanting to make it easier for Yoyo, Clee now took charge, and with a degree of firmness. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do… I’ll go and buy the airline tickets for you and Mai. I’ll do it tomorrow—’
‘Too much money, Clee,’ Yoyo said, cutting him off. He paused and there was an unexpected change in his voice when he added slowly, ‘Okay, I think about it—’ Yoyo broke off, cocked his head, listening intently before he threw Nicky a worried glance. ‘Gunfire?’
‘No mistaking it,’ she cried and glanced at Clee. They exchanged knowing looks. He nodded, and instantly took off without saying a word.
Nicky sprinted forward, catching up with Clee, everything else forgotten in her dash toward the action. The story was uppermost in her mind.
Everyone in the vicinity of the monument heard the sound of shots being fired, and there was a sudden mad rush as the correspondents, photographers and television crews raced after Clee and Nicky. They ran across the square at breakneck speed, heading for Changan Avenue.
Once Nicky was on Changan she lost Clee in the chaos. Immediately, she saw that armoured vehicles and trucks were moving down the wide boulevard, noted that the troops were armed with AK-47 assault rifles. It was obvious to her they were making for Tiananmen, and she knew they had every intention of entering it by force. There had been a rumour earlier that Deng had reportedly told the military commanders, ‘Recover the square at all cost.’ And there was no doubt in her mind that they would do exactly that; they had already demonstrated their deadly intentions that very afternoon.
She and Clee had been witness to their brutal actions when they had returned to the square after their rather late lunch at the Beijing Hotel. At the western end of the square, close to the Great Hall of the People, thousands of soldiers had beaten up demonstrators who had tried to block their entry into Tiananmen.
As far as she and Clee had been able to determine, no shots had been fired, but there had been much violence, and apparently the troops had used tear gas at one point. Enraged, the masses had hit back, throwing bricks and rocks at the soldiers; in turn, the troops had used truncheons and belts in an effort to quell the protestors.
Seemingly, this pitched battle had merely been the prelude to what was happening at this very moment. That was why she and Clee had just tried to persuade Yoyo to leave Beijing as soon as possible. Experienced as they were, and understanding the politics involved, they were aware that the situation could only worsen in the next twenty-four hours.
Now, suddenly, the troops who had been firing shots into the air were viciously turning their guns on the citizens and students crowding the sidewalks flanking the avenue.
Nicky stood watching in horror, unable to believe her eyes.
Howling like wounded animals, the people rushed forward, hurling bricks, rocks, pieces of iron pipes, and primitive gasoline bombs at the troops and trucks. Their anger spiralled up into greater rage, and they began to scream and shout furiously at the soldiers, who replied by firing rapid, lethal bursts at them.
People fell as they were hit by bullets, crying out in terror.
The carnage had begun.
Appalled by what she was seeing, Nicky found herself unable to move for a few seconds. She was paralysed, stood staring blankly, and chills swept through her. It was a Chinese woman next to her who roused her, when she grabbed her arm, peered into her face, and said in English, ‘The People’s Army are killing us—civilians. They are murderers! Bastards!’
‘Don’t stay here, go home!’ Nicky said to the woman urgently. ‘It’s dangerous here. Go home.’ The woman simply shook her head, remained standing exactly where she was.
The drone of helicopters circling made Nicky lift her head, and she gazed up into the night sky. She remembered what Yoyo had said about tear gas being dropped by the choppers. Opening the shoulder bag slung across her body, she groped for one of the surgical masks, stuffed it into her jacket pocket where it was handy, if she needed it.
When she pulled her hand out of her pocket she saw that it was shaking. She was hardly surprised. The troops were mowing down innocent people. It was the most unconscionable thing she had seen in the longest time; she was shocked, revolted. Changan Avenue had become a battleground. Tanks and truckloads of soldiers armed with machine guns were rolling inexorably down the avenue, one after the other.
God help the students, she thought, moving away from the road, trying to get to the safety of the trees on the sidewalk, which many people were hiding behind.
Fires were beginning to break out everywhere. Overturned buses, which had been used as barricades by the people, blazed at various intersections, and a number of military vehicles burned on the avenue. They had been set alight by the infuriated Beijing residents, and orange and red flames shot up into the dark sky, an inferno in the making.
Much to Nicky’s amazement, people were continuing to emerge from the apartment buildings and houses that lined Changan. They were on a rampage, intent on fighting back, using any makeshift weapons they could find: brooms and sticks and bricks. Some of them were better armed with Molotov cocktails, and these they pelted at the tanks and armoured personnel carriers. Gunfire increased and the stench of cordite and blood hung heavy on the warm night air. She felt suddenly quite nauseous. Bullets were whizzing over her head and she ducked, deciding she had better get away from here as fast as she could.
A cart trundled through the crowd, carrying a man and a woman with gunshot wounds. When the people saw it they began to rant at the soldiers and shake their fists, and, in response, the soldiers pulled their triggers and gunfire spurted over and over again. Nicky dropped to the ground to protect herself. Several tear gas canisters exploded quite close to her, and she pulled out the gauze mask, swiftly tied it around her face, covering her mouth and nose. Nevertheless, she began to cough and splutter almost immediately. Pushing herself up onto her feet, she inched her way over to the far side of the pavement, where she sought refuge under a clump of trees.
Leaning against a tree trunk, Nicky continued to cough and gasp for breath for a few more minutes, and her eyes watered. She found a tissue in her pocket and wiped her streaming eyes; although she continued to heave for a short while, she soon began to breathe easier, felt a bit better.
The smoke was clearing, and she swung her head, looked about. Some sixty or so soldiers were advancing with fixed bayonets down Changan. She closed her eyes convulsively. Pessimistic though she had been, she had not anticipated anything quite like this. When she opened her eyes a second later she spotted Arch a few yards away. He was glancing from side to side worriedly, and she knew that he was see
king her.
Running forward, she cried, ‘Arch! Arch! I’m here!’
He swung around just as she reached him, and grabbed hold of her, pulled her to him. ‘Nicky! You’re all right!’
‘And you, Arch,’ she said.
‘Have you ever seen anything like this carnage?’ he cried, his face as grim as hers. ‘It’s horrible, the way they are killing innocent civilians, and the avenue is so jammed with tanks and trucks, the ambulances can’t get through to help the wounded.’
‘They’re inhuman,’ she said, and began to shiver uncontrollably.
‘The monstrous ways of man,’ Arch muttered. Tightening his grip on her, he added, ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’
Crouching low, they ran down the pavement under the shelter of the trees, returning to Tiananmen Square.
***
The moment they hit the square Nicky was struck by the curious calm which lay over it. The atmosphere was peaceful, weirdly so.
She and Arch slackened their pace, and continued up to the Martyrs’ Monument at a steady, easy jog. Some of the press corps had returned, were gathered there once more, chatting amongst themselves. From the expressions on their faces, she could see they were as distressed as she and Arch by what they had just witnessed on Changan.
Yoyo and Mai were standing nearby talking with a small group of students, and Nicky headed over to them, drew them away from their friends.
‘There’s so much bloodshed out there, I don’t know how to describe it to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter,’ Nicky said tersely. Fishing around in her bag, she found the envelope of money and pressed it into Yoyo’s hands. ‘You must take this. Please.’
Yoyo stared at her. ‘But Clee say he buy tickets—’
‘Don’t argue, Yoyo, take it,’ Nicky responded sharply. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be worse than tonight, and I’ll feel better, knowing you have the money on you. If anything happens and we get separated, or if we leave Beijing without you, just get yourselves to Hong Kong. We’ll be at the Mandarin Hotel. You’ll find us there.’
Realizing there was nothing else to do but take the money, Yoyo nodded, putting the envelope in his trouser pocket. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I understand. I have passport. Mai have passport. Everything be okay, Nicky.’
‘I hope so.’ Nicky swung her head, glanced around, then brought her gaze back to Yoyo. ‘What’s been happening in the square?’
‘Not much. Very quiet. Wuer Kaixi speak. Say this government oppose the people. Say Chinese must sacrifice themselves. For beautiful tomorrow.’
Nicky expelled a deep breath, shook her head. ‘It’s going to be bad, Yoyo, especially if the students show resistance to the soldiers. If you stay, you must be peaceful. That’s imperative.’
He nodded. ‘I understand. Chai Ling say this.’
‘Did she speak also?’
‘Yes. She say this peaceful sit-in. Tell students stay seated. No resist army.’
Nicky stared hard at Yoyo. ‘Listen to me, these troops are not wet behind the ears like the others were yesterday. They are hardened veterans. And dangerous.’
‘Maybe 27th Army. They tough. Bad. We be okay, Nicky. Don’t worry.’
But I do worry, she said under her breath.
‘People from Workers’ Federation here. They come protect students,’ Yoyo explained.
‘I can’t help wishing you’d protect yourselves by leaving,’ Nicky murmured for the umpteenth time, but she knew she was wasting her breath. Yoyo and Mai would stay until the end, even though he fully understood they were in peril, if Mai didn’t. She hoped they would be safe, prayed they would be. They were so sweet and innocent, but naive in many ways. Most of the kids in the square were exactly the same.
Not long after this conversation Clee came hurrying up to them looking dishevelled but unhurt. ‘Pretty rough back there, Nick. The worst bloodletting I’ve witnessed in years.’
‘It’s horrendous… there are no words really…’ She touched the camera hanging round his neck. ‘Still undamaged, I see.’
‘They’re too damned busy shooting unarmed people to be bothered with me and my camera!’
Arch walked over, accompanied by Jimmy and Luke. All three of them looked as miserable and concerned as she felt.
Putting his arm around Nicky’s shoulders, Arch said, ‘Jimmy and Luke are going back to the hotel for a while. Why don’t you go with them? You’ve been out here for hours. It’ll give you a chance to freshen up, rest for a while.’
‘I think I will,’ she answered. ‘I want to make some notes for my broadcast anyway, and prepare my opening. I’ll be back in an hour or so.’
‘Take your time,’ Arch replied. ‘I can guarantee you this little shindig is going to last all night.’
FIVE
Nicky was in and out of Tiananmen for the next few hours, as were most of the foreign press corps.
The areas surrounding the square were a mess. Soldiers were everywhere and the crowds had not diminished. In fact, it seemed to Nicky that they had increased. Overturned vehicles and abandoned bicycles littered Changan Avenue, and an even bigger number of fires were flaring as residents continued to torch tanks and armoured personnel carriers, their grief and anger unassuaged.
In the immediate vicinity of the Beijing Hotel the scenes were chaotic. The wounded, the dying, and the dead were piling up, and distraught and weeping Beijingers, many of them covered in blood, were desperately trying to move the victims. Their aim was to get them to the hospitals and morgues as quickly as possible, and they were valiant in their efforts. They were using all kinds of makeshift stretchers; Nicky even saw one made out of a door ripped from a telephone booth and tied to two long pieces of iron pipe. Several Number 38 buses had been pressed into service as ambulances, and so had pedicabs and carts. Most of the injured were being taken to Xiehe Hospital. It was fairly close to Changan, since it was located in one of the streets immediately behind the Beijing Hotel.
Conversely, the square appeared to be peaceful enough when Nicky went back there for the fourth time, at three forty-five on the morning of 4 June. Yet after only a few minutes in the square she felt the tension in the air. It was a most palpable thing, and underlying the tension was the smell of fear.
The troops had moved in, were positioned at the far end.
Near the Goddess of Democracy she saw lines of soldiers drawn up. They stood staring at the square, their faces cold, cruel, brutal, rifles in their hands, ready to charge on their own people when the order was given.
As soon as she reached Clee, hovering near the monument, he told her there were machine guns positioned on the roof of the Museum of Chinese History on the eastern side of the square.
‘They’re well prepared, aren’t they?’ she said, her tone sarcastic. Contempt settled on her face. And then she noticed that some of the students on the monument were busy writing, and she tugged Clee’s sleeve. ‘What are they doing?’ she asked, puzzled.
Clee sighed, shook his head. ‘Yoyo told me they’re writing their wills.’
‘Oh God.’ Nicky turned away, swallowing, and unexpectedly she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. Immediately, she took control of herself. The more emotional the situation and the story, the cooler she must be.
Try though she had to conceal her feelings, Clee had noticed her reaction, and he put an arm around her. ‘It’s a lousy world we live in, Nick, and you know that better than anybody.’
‘I do. Still, some things are really hard to take.’
‘I should say.’
She gave him a half-hearted smile. ‘You mentioned Yoyo. Where is he?’
‘Somewhere around. I gave him hell a short while ago, told him to split. Then I saw him talking to Arch.’
‘Where’s Arch?’
‘He went back to the hotel. To call New York, and have a pow-wow with Jimmy about your film segment.’
‘We must have missed each other on Changan. It’s a foul mess out there.’ Again she gla
nced at the students on the monument. They must know how dangerous it is now.’
‘That singer, Hou Dejian, and a couple of other leaders have been on the loudspeakers, asking the kids to leave in an orderly fashion, and—’ Clee stopped short as every light in Tiananmen went out.
‘I wonder what this means?’ Nicky peered at him in the gloom.
‘The worst, I suspect,’ he answered grimly. ‘The lights didn’t fail, they were turned off by the authorities.’
‘Bastards,’ Nicky muttered.
Within the space of only a few minutes the loudspeakers on the monument began to crackle. A disembodied voice said half a dozen words, and then the volume increased and music began to play.
‘It’s the “Internationale”!’ Clee exclaimed. ‘Christ, I wonder what the kids will do now?’
‘Leave. Hopefully,’ Nicky replied.
But as the words of the famous song rang out across the square, Nicky knew they would not do so. She could see, even in the dim light, that the students simply sat there listening to the record, motionless, unshakeable, proud in their resoluteness. The minute the record ended it was played again, and repeated several more times during the course of the next twenty minutes.
Nicky and Clee stayed together, conferring quietly from time to time, and talking to other journalists. Everyone expected the military attack to begin at any moment. Nicky and Clee steeled themselves for the confrontation between the students and the troops. But another half hour passed and nothing untoward occurred until, unexpectedly, an array of lights in front of the Great Hall of the People was turned on dramatically. They flooded that side of the square with the most powerful and brilliant illumination.
At the same time, the loudspeakers came alive once again, and several people spoke. Neither Nicky nor Clee could understand what was being said, but a British journalist standing next to them told them the gist of it. ‘The leaders were urging the students to quit the square. They’re all saying the same thing—get out before you’re killed.’