Martin was very pro-American in his attitude and statements. When I knew him, he was divorced, alone and a Korean who had never lived in Korea—neither in what became North or South Korea. A man without a country.

There weren’t many foreign women living in Beijing at that time—much less zipping through traffic like I did wearing my sunglasses—with my window rolled down, radio blaring and a cigarette dangling from my fingertips.

Later I attended many press events at the Great Hall of the People. Each time I saw it, I was impressed.

They were so shocked to see me (a woman) driving that I never had any trouble getting okayed to proceed past checkpoints.

It was difficult to go to one of my favorite Asian restaurants alongside the southern section of the square. All around the front door, the exterior of the building looked like it’d had a bad case of acne due to pitting—but the small round holes were from bullets.

I noticed a couple of dark things flying in a zigzagging pattern near the lights. I wondered what kind of night-flying strange birds they could be. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were bats.