Chapter Ten: The Northern Villa Prison Intake Squad (2)

In the afternoon, we were collectively assigned to the prison intake squad. Over thirty people shared a single room with a large communal bed; the space was fairly sizable. As soon as we entered, we saw the place filled with paper bags, stacked so high there was barely any room to step. We had to get to work immediately—folding paper bags.

The prison guard announced, “Thirty people, thirty thousand paper bags a day. Once you’re done, you can rest.” Hearing this, I was secretly delighted. This was exactly the sort of work I had done in the detention center, and folding two thousand bags a day was no problem for me. I just didn’t know about the others.

At that moment, the supervisor ordered, “Stand in two rows, line up front and back. I’ll do a headcount!” We lined up in two rows. The guard counted us off and took away fifteen people, then soon returned with another fifteen. I didn’t recognize these new arrivals; they were said to have come yesterday from Qingdao and Pingdu, transferred from other detention centers. Perhaps the authorities were trying to prevent us from forming cliques.

So, we formed one row, and those from Pingdu another. Each group started dividing up tasks, but with so many steps in the process, no one knew how to organize things. We puzzled over it for a long time without any result.

After about an hour, hardly any progress had been made, and not a single finished product was in sight. The prison guard came by and asked, “Don’t know how to do it? None of you has done this before?” Everyone stayed silent. The guard said, “I’ll have an old hand teach you and keep an eye on you.”

At that, I thought, “This is bad—if someone watches over us, we’ll be worked to death.” So I spoke up, “Excuse me—”

The guard replied, “Speak.”

“I know how to do this, and I’m familiar with every step.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Yes, outside and inside, in the detention center—I’ve been at it for years.” In truth, I was exaggerating, hoping to catch the guard’s attention; maybe it would make my time here easier. I even dreamed of becoming a squad leader.

The guard looked me over. “Show me how you organize the work. Our quality standards are strict!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be back in a while. Get moving!”

After the guard left, a few inmates from Jimo whispered, “If an old hand is put in charge, you won’t even dare to breathe.”

Someone nearby asked, “Why’s that?”

The Jimo inmate replied, “Didn’t you see when we first came in? The old hands bully everyone under the guise of authority.”

I asked, “None of you know how to do this?”

They all chimed in: one had been picking chili peppers, another sorting hair, someone else making false eyelashes—every kind of job you could imagine. Besides me, only one other, named Yang Liuqing, had worked with paper bags, but he only knew how to brush on paste and glue the bottoms.

I was amused—just what we needed, someone to do the pasting, since the rest was all manual: folding, packing, and so on.

I asked the Pingdu group, “Do you want to work with us or on your own?”

After some thought, they agreed to join forces. “Fine,” I said, “but you’ll follow my instructions. Do what I say—anyone trying to slack off can go work alone.”

They agreed—after all, the sooner we finished, the sooner we could rest.

I began to assign tasks: Yang Liuqing would handle the paste, I’d do the folding of tops and bottoms, two would fold sides, a few would roll the cylinders, others thread the strings, two would handle packaging, and the rest would glue the bases and insert the paper strips. With tasks distributed, there was even some spare manpower, so I taught the remaining two how to fold tops and bottoms; once everyone was up to speed, I just had to supervise quality.

After half an hour of figuring things out, people started picking up speed. Around the room, paper sheets were flying back and forth—some even tucked between knees, some working one at a time, others in stacks of ten. They adapted quickly, and with both quality and quantity improving, the guards would notice and probably ease up; a happy guard meant better days for us all.

The guard never showed up again, so we worked steadily until five o’clock. “That should do it,” I said. “With thirty people, fifteen thousand bags in half a day shouldn’t be a problem.”

Others discussed it as well: about a thousand bags per person per day, so five hundred in half a day. I said, “Fifteen thousand—that’s one hundred per bundle, one hundred fifty bundles. Looks about right. Let’s count.”

We started counting bundles, over two hundred in total—task exceeded! I quickly had them stash the extra and only handed in fifteen thousand, testing the waters. The remaining five thousand we covered with unfinished bag skins and hid in a corner of the room. I knew that saving some today would make tomorrow easier; if we handed in too many, they’d only raise the quota, which would be a loss.

By five thirty, after cleaning up, the guard seemed pleased—a bunch of newcomers finishing the task and meeting the quota, making it easier for him to report up the chain.

He announced, “You can rest now. Wash up, go to the bathroom, then you can sit on your beds and relax.” So we went to shower and unwind. Passing by other rooms, I saw they were still hard at work, and the quality—frankly, not great. Some even had to redo their work; they probably wouldn’t finish until midnight.

The next day, as we worked on the bags, our pace was noticeably slower—after all, we had leftovers saved, but we couldn’t finish too early or too late. Finishing about two hours ahead of other cells seemed best, usually wrapping up around four in the afternoon, and always setting some aside...

That morning, each of us was called to the office for questioning, making statements, and personal interviews. To arrange family visits, we had to provide names and phone numbers of direct relatives; only those registered could visit. We also got personal cards—shopping cards, registration numbers, and so on. Everything needed for later was handled in the intake squad; after we were assigned to our permanent squads, it would all be done.

When it was my turn, I shuffled in because my legs were numb from squatting. The guard didn’t make things difficult for me and let me sit on the floor while he sat at the desk—a rather unequal sight.

He asked questions, and I answered truthfully. He inquired, “Do you have any special talents?”

I replied, “Singing, poetry, painting, writing—do those count?”

“Of course they do!” he said.

I shrugged, “Not much use though—you can’t eat them.”

The guard explained, “You can do a lot here: prison variety shows, holiday performances, poetry contests, posters for the cell blocks—there’s a cultural troupe here, and it’s best if you’re versatile.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” I said. “I didn’t expect there’d be so much to do in here.”

“You’ve just arrived,” he said. “You’ll understand in time.”

He asked, “What did you do outside?”

I said, “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He joked, “What, flew planes or built missiles?”

“No, no. I was in a communal home. A bunch of kids, all orphans or children of inmates, and some homeless kids taken in. I just helped Director Mao look after them.”

The guard was quite intrigued; it was the first time he’d heard of such a place. “Sounds like there are still good people in this world.”

He pressed, “Why did you get in trouble?”

“I got into a relationship, felt I had no money, couldn’t earn any, so I decided to go big—tried to make a few million. Ended up with a long sentence instead.”

He shook his head. “You all think the police are just sitting around? Bet you’ve learned your lesson now.”

“A long sentence all at once—I’ve learned, believe me.”

We chatted for quite a while. He asked me to sign some papers. I glanced at them: “Elderly Prisoner Block...” What did that mean? I didn’t study it too closely, just wondered—elderly block? I’m only eighteen! Surely not. But I soon forgot about it.

Ten days later, we were assigned to our permanent squads, just like army recruits being assigned to their units. That morning, we didn’t work; we all sat out in the yard under the sun, waiting for the leaders to arrive. We waited more than three hours, from six until nine, before the political officers and squad leaders from each block strolled over to the yard to handle the handover.