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chopsticks, wet and worn thin with prolonged usage. The battered container was three-quarters full of lukewarm watery rice porridge with a few strips of pickled vegetables floating on the top. I wiped the edge of the container with a piece of toilet paper and took a tentative sip. The rice tasted smoky, and the saltiness of the pickled vegetables made it bitter. The food was worse than I could possibly have imagined, but I made a determined effort to drink half of it. I decided that if I was going to be held here, I could clean out this cell. I found that I was allowed to buy supplies, so I got a washbasin, two enameled mugs for eating and drinking, sewing thread, needles, soap, towels, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and more toilet paper. I washed the bed thoroughly. I climbed onto my rolled-up bedding to wipe the dust-smeared windowpanes so that more light could come in. After I had washed the cement toilet, I still had enough cold water left to bathe myself and rinse out my blouse. When hot water for drinking was issued, I drank it with enjoyment. Plain boiled water had never tasted so good. Many weeks passed. One day merged into another. Prolonged isolation heightened my feeling of depression. I longed for some news of my daughter. I missed her terribly and worried about her constantly. Often I would be so choked with emotion that breathing became difficult. One day, in the early afternoon, I saw a small spider, no bigger than a good-size pea, climbing up one of the rust-eroded bars. Quite a long walk for such a tiny thing, I thought. When it reached the top, it suddenly swung out and descended on a thin silken thread spun from one end of its body. With a leap and swing, it secured the end of the thread to another bar. The spider then crawled back along the silken thread to where it had started and swung out in another direction. The tiny creature knew its job and was carrying it out with confidence. When the frame was made, the spider proceeded to weave a web that was intricately beautiful and absolutely perfect. Who had taught the spider how to make a web? Could it really have acquired the skill through evolution, or did God create the spider and endow it with the ability to make a web so that it could catch food and perpetuate its species? Did it act simply by instinct? I knew I had just witnessed something beautiful and uplifting. Whether God had made the spider or not, I thanked him for what I had just seen. A miracle of life had been shown me. Mao Tse-tung and his Revolutionaries seemed much less menacing. I felt a renewal of hope and confidence. I became very attached to the little spider. First thing in the morning, throughout the day and last thing at night, I would look at it and feel reassured when I saw that it was still there. The tiny spider became my companion. My spirits lightened. The depressing feeling of complete isolation was broken.
''I WOULD RATHER DIE THAN LIE''
