God's Double Agent by Bob Fu Page A

school would be devastating. After all, my family sacrificed so much for me. They placed their hopes on me alone. Had I just placed my entire family’s future in jeopardy?
    The grim-faced deputy secretary of the Communist disciplinary party met me at the administration building. “I’ll be watching you,” he said. “This is your special agent from the Public Security Bureau.” He pointed to one of the other two men. “And this is the director of the investigation.” They woreplain clothes and were of similar height. Their eyes were dark and seemed to stare right through me.
    “Our job is to monitor your progress,” he said. Only the next day would I begin to understand what this “monitoring” would entail. The next day, my interrogator showed up at my dorm at around eight o’clock in the morning. “Let’s go,” he said.
    I assumed he’d take me to the English department and watch me sit there during class. Perhaps my activities would be restricted, but I’d still generally be living my normal life.
    However, we didn’t head toward the English department.
    “Here’s your area,” he said, opening the door to an empty classroom with one desk and nothing else but paper and a pencil. “Write your confession.”
    “For how long?” I asked.
    The officer looked at his watch. “You only have until six in the evening,” he said.
    “That’s ten hours!” I said.
    “You have a lot to confess,” he said. “Write what you’ve done, with all the details. Where did you go? When did you start your insurrection? Who are your witnesses? What happened when you got to Beijing?” Then he smirked at me and slammed the door shut.
    But I knew he was standing on the other side of it.
    I took the paper and positioned it correctly on the desk, trying not to panic. Why was I not allowed in class? What would Heidi do when she noticed I didn’t show up?
    “My name is Xiqiu Fu,” I wrote, tears filling my eyes. “And I’m an enemy of the Chinese people.”

7
    I slammed the button on my alarm, pulled down my covers, and yawned. Another morning. On a normal day, I would brush my teeth, grab a bite to eat, and head off to see my friends in the English department. However, registered counterrevolutionaries weren’t allowed that privilege. Instead, I walked to my solitary room for more confessions.
    “You haven’t told us everything,” the deputy said, when he saw me. His clothing was pressed perfectly. Not one hair was out of place, and his general air of perfection made him look like he’d just stepped out of an expensive catalog the Communists used to order deputies. His only imperfect feature was his bottom row of teeth. Now that he was angry, he snarled a bit when he spoke, revealing that they were crooked. He tossed a notebook on my desk, which caused my pencil to fall to the floor.
    “Good morning to you as well,” I said.
    “Start all over again,” he said, “but this time don’t leave anything out.”
    I couldn’t believe my ears, but I tried to shake it off. “How long should I write today?” I asked, forcing a nonchalant smile.
    “How long will it take you to start telling the truth?”
    I was told I needed to eat lunch at my desk, which further stripped me of time to spend with my friends. I hadn’t gottena chance to tell them all that had happened, and I knew they were worried.
    “And dinner?” I asked.
    “Do I look like your babysitter? I don’t care what you do between six and eight,” he said, before beginning to walk out of the room. “But meet me at the back of the classroom in the English department so I can check your work.”
    I suppressed a smile and simply nodded. I didn’t want him to know he’d given me a gift. Since I’d registered myself as a counterrevolutionary, I’d been in exile. Being able to see my friends at dinner would allow me to tell my story and, honestly, to revive my spirit a bit. My friends had become my family while at college, and I couldn’t wait to