Nanjing Requiem Read online

  “Four yuan a bottle.”

  “No way can you get the genuine stuff here for that price.”

  Yaoping chortled, “I can taste it’s fake too, but this is the best available on the black market.”

  “This is good enough—it tastes like it’s brewed only from sorghum. It brings back happy memories, though.”

  “Yes, we can drink this as One Grain Sap,” Yaoping said flatly.

  Rulian translated their exchange for Alice and Donna, who both giggled.

  When Minnie mentioned Yulan, Dr. Chu told her, “I don’t know if I can help get Yulan out of the hospital, but for the time being I can get you a pass so you can visit her.”

  “Thanks,” Minnie said.

  I knew he was a sincere man, and if he could have done more, he would have. Dr. Chu talked about the situation in Zhenjiang, his hometown. The Japanese had taken that city a week before Nanjing the previous winter and destroyed a good part of it. “It was worse than here,” Dr. Chu said. “They killed a lot of people and the town is still rather empty. My parents’ house has become an officers’ club, a cabaret of sorts.”

  Somehow everyone at the table spoke in a calm voice despite the sad topic. Donna shook her head, a mass of tawny curls, rolled her long-lashed eyes, and said, “Don’t you Chinese hate the Japanese?”

  “I hate the traitors more,” Shanna replied.

  Rulian said, “If the Chinese keep selling our country, we deserve to be enslaved.”

  I shot her a dirty look, but she continued, “I mean, China can be conquered only from within.”

  Batting her gray-blue eyes, Alice seemed to understand their conversation merely in part and said, “When I was in Japan, most people there were polite and gentle. Certainly they believed the war was good for their country, but very few of them were vicious and violent. To be honest, I felt quite safe there.”

  Minnie translated her words for the guest of honor and my husband. That made the table silent for a moment. Then Dr. Chu said, “In war, victory justifies all sorts of violence. A complete victory means to have finished off the enemy. In fact, I believe that the Japanese committed all the atrocities as a celebration of their victory, as a kind of reward and gratification. That’s why they acted with so much bravado and even beheaded people as a sport.”

  “That must be true,” Minnie agreed. “On the other hand, some of the soldiers who came to our campus later on were polite and well behaved, totally different from those brutes who were here last winter.”

  “I just hate every one of them,” I joined in.

  “Oh, come on,” Yaoping said, “you’re supposed to love your enemies.”

  That had the table in stitches. In the other room, Fanfan prattled in his sleep while Liya was humming a lullaby, her voice sweet and childlike.

  Dr. Chu stood, raised his cup, and proposed a toast with so much emotion that his mouth went a little askew. “Let’s drink to this great woman.” He pointed at Minnie. “She not only sheltered ten thousand women and children from harm’s way but is also devoted to educating the weak and the impoverished. Let me say this: she’s a real man—superior to any man in this city. China doesn’t lack clever people—we Chinese are way too smart and too pragmatic. This country needs people with sincere hearts willing to serve and take pains.”

  Minnie got up, but before she could speak, we had already let out “Cheers!” and touched cups.

  She sipped her apricot wine and said, “Please consider what we’ve been doing as our Christian duty. Any one of us, given the same circumstances, would do the same. The other day I came across this aphorism in the Quaker calendar Mrs. Dennison sent me, and I want to share it with you: ‘Doing what can’t be done is the glory of living.’ ”

  Big Liu proposed, “Yes, let’s drink to the impossible task ahead.”

  Some of us laughed, and we drained the last drops in our cups.

  For dessert, we had walnuts, honey oranges, roasted chestnuts, and jasmine tea. I brought out a small basket of spiced pumpkin seeds, which we cracked while conversing.

  The fake Five Grain Sap went to Dr. Chu’s head and loosened him up. Now tipsy, he kept saying he felt ashamed of being a man. For him, the cause of Nanjing’s tragedy was clear and simple, and no one but the Chinese men should be held responsible—because they couldn’t fight back the invaders, their women and children were subjected to abuse and killing, so a foreign woman like Minnie had to step up to save lives and to do superhuman work. He even wept for a few moments, insisting that he wasn’t a man either and wished he hadn’t rushed back from Germany, driven by his youthful aspiration of saving his beloved China. This country was a hopeless quagmire and an endless nightmare. “It’s an eternal heartache!” he declared. He should have gone to Italy or Switzerland or to an eastern European country, since with a medical degree from a top German university he could practice anywhere. In short, he claimed that he was a weakling, plus an idiot, who had put himself at the enemy’s disposal. No wonder some people viewed him as a traitor.

  His ravings pained my heart because I was reminded of my son. Haowen must have moments of despair like this; he might even feel worse, for he was actually serving in the Japanese army. Soon Dr. Chu calmed down and resumed speaking with the others in an amiable voice. When dinner was over, he refused to let Big Liu accompany him home. He said, “No Japs in town dare stop me.”

  32

  IN LATE DECEMBER we heard from Haowen again. A photograph enclosed in the letter showed that Mitsuko had given birth to a baby, so we now had a grandson who carried our family’s name. I had mixed feelings, though Yaoping was happy and even reminisced about his student days in Japan, of which he still had fond memories. He used to say that a Japanese woman could make a good wife. I had nothing against our daughter-in-law, who seemed to be a fine girl, but I was unsure if she and Haowen, now plus a baby, would have a happy life together. The hostility between the two countries would cast a long shadow on their marriage.

  On the back of the photo my son had inscribed “Mitsuko and Shin.” The baby had Haowen’s round eyes and wide nose, not his mother’s smooth cheeks and tapered eyes. Mitsuko’s egg-shaped face had the calm and mild expression of an older woman, someone who already had a bunch of children. As I was observing her, her mouth seemed to be moving, saying something I couldn’t understand. I put down the picture, my eyes misty.

  Yaoping and I talked about whether to ask Haowen for Mitsuko’s address so we could write to her, but we decided not to contact her directly while the war was still going on. That might get our family, and perhaps hers as well, into hot water. Someday we might go to Japan to see our grandson if he and his mother couldn’t come to visit us. Ideally, Haowen would be able to bring his wife and son back to China. But for the time being we kept the matter secret. If people knew of it, our family would be disgraced.

  I showed the photograph to nobody but Minnie. “What a nice picture,” she said. “Mother and son look so content. What does Mitsuko do for a living?”

  “She teaches primary school.”

  “If I were you, I’d go see them right away.”

  “Minnie, you’re American, but few Chinese can do that while the war is going on. Please don’t reveal my family’s Japanese relations to anyone, okay?”

  “Sure, I’ll keep my lips zipped.”

  We went on to talk about the three teenage girls—Meiyan and two classmates of hers—who had just run away, claiming that they wanted to join the resistance force in some interior region. Our staffers intercepted them at the train station in Hsia Gwan, because they didn’t have the travel papers necessary for purchasing tickets and were stranded there. I reprimanded the girls and wanted to make them do kitchen duty for a week, which Big Liu supported, but Minnie intervened, saying they had to take the finals they had missed. She gave them a few days to review their lessons.

  Meiyan came to our home to see Liya that evening, to return the ten yuan she had borrowed from her for the secret journey. They were fri
ends now, but Meiyan would remain reticent in my presence, so I stayed in the kitchen feeding Fanfan while listening in on the two of them in the sitting room.

  “Sorry I didn’t tell you my plan,” Meiyan said. “I was afraid your mom would let my dad know.”

  “No big deal,” Liya replied. “If I didn’t have a child, I might run away too.”

  “Where would you like to go? To join your husband?”

  “I have no clue where he is. I just want to join our army.”

  “Which one—the Nationalists or the Communists?”

  “It makes no difference as long as I can fight the Japanese. They killed my baby, and I still see my daughter now and then.” Liya believed that the lost baby had been a girl, perhaps because she’d never had morning sickness during the pregnancy.

  “I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”

  “Where were you three headed?”

  “We just planned to go upriver. We really didn’t have a concrete destination in mind.”

  “Didn’t you want to join the resistance force?” asked Liya.

  “We did, but to be honest, I wouldn’t mind settling down in a peaceful place where nobody knows me. I want to live a quiet life too.”

  “Where can you find a place like that now?”

  “That’s the problem—the only option left is to join the resistance. If there were a convent that’s intact, I wouldn’t mind going there.”

  “Come on, don’t you want to find a good man and have a family?”

  “Not until we drive the Japanese out of our country.”

  I mulled over their conversation, which changed my impression of Meiyan somewhat. I used to think she was just a hothead, but now I could see that she was also longing for a normal life.

  SOON AFTER CHRISTMAS, a former schoolmate of Yaoping’s back in Japan came to see him. The man was tall and well turned out, wearing a business suit and patent-leather shoes. He looked like a middle-aged dandy, his hair pomaded shiny and his face somewhat bloated, but he was agreeable, spoke amiably with a northeastern accent, and called me sister-in-law. He used a long umbrella as a walking stick. Yaoping took him into our inner room, where they talked over tea and spiced sunflower seeds for hours, deep into the night. Now and then I went in with the teakettle and refilled the pot for them. I didn’t go to bed but instead drifted off in a chair in the sitting room. Their voices rose and fell; at times they seemed to be arguing.

  After the man left, my husband became restless, pacing the floor and smoking his pipe. He let out a long sigh and shook his head.

  “What did he want?” I asked Yaoping about the visitor.

  “They’re preparing to establish a new national government, and he asked me to join them.”

  “So they offered you a job?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what office?”

  “The Ministry of Culture or the Ministry of Education.”

  “Doing what?”

  “A vice minister.”

  “That’s big!”

  “I know. Obviously they’ve run out of candidates for the top jobs. Under normal circumstances no one would think of me for a position like that. But I mustn’t serve in a puppet government. That would be treason and no one would forgive me for that. Imagine what would happen to me if China wins the war.”

  “Do you believe we will win?”

  “I’m not sure, but the uncertainty doesn’t justify any official role in a puppet government. I cannot ruin our family’s name that way. Besides, our son’s already in the Japanese clutches.”

  “I agree. Did you decline the offer?”

  “Of course not. I couldn’t turn it down flatly. That would be suicidal, so I told him I would seriously consider the offer. The man talked at length about saving our country by taking a roundabout path.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He said we should cooperate with the Japanese so that we could at least prevent some parts of China from being totally destroyed and annexed. I couldn’t contradict him.”

  “That kind of talk is based on the assumption that Japan will win the war.”

  “True, but what should I do?”

  “When are you supposed to give him an answer?”

  “In three days.”

  “Can’t you hide somewhere? Say, go to Searle’s or Lewis’s?”

  “Well, the national puppet government will be established here, so if they find out I’m still in town, they’ll never leave me alone. Heavens, it looks like I can’t stay here anymore.”

  I was glad Yaoping wasn’t swayed by the temptation, though he used to talk a lot about how he liked Japan, even Japanese things (he had once owned a Seiko pocket watch with a compass on the inner side of the copper lid). But this wasn’t just a matter of his personal integrity or preserving our family’s name. If he served in the prospective puppet government, he might be killed by the underground partisans. Even if they didn’t finish him off, he would eventually be punished by the Nationalists or the Communists. He would become a public enemy and our family would suffer on his account.

  Having talked for hours, we decided that he should leave for Sichuan to join his university there. We considered whether all of us should go with him, but thought that this would attract too much attention. Besides, I could not abandon my job here. I urged him to set off without delay.

  The next evening he left for Cow’s Head Hill in the south, where he could stay with a friend temporarily. He took along a handbag and a duffel stuffed with half a dozen books and two changes of clothes. Having no travel permit, he would walk and hitchhike to get out of the areas occupied by the Japanese, and then eventually take a boat or train inland. I gave him all the cash we had, about eighty yuan, and told him not to drink too much tea, which might aggravate his arthritis. Before getting on the rickshaw, he hugged me, Liya, and Fanfan, saying he would miss us terribly. Then he climbed into the vehicle, waving at us. We watched his lean face blurring in the dark until it vanished.

  33

  RUTH CHESTER WROTE BACK, saying they’d found a place in Shanghai for the five blind girls. We were delighted, and Minnie asked Rulian to send the girls there. The blind girls were reluctant to leave, but we assured them that they’d be better educated and better cared for in the specialized school. Better yet, Shanghai was safer than Nanjing. Minnie gave them each three yuan; the cash had been donated by a Japanese officer, Major Toshikawa, who had visited Jinling twice and was moved by the classes, saying that his daughter was going to a Christian school in Kobe. We didn’t tell the girls, or anyone else, where the money was from, but the five recipients were happy.

  On the afternoon of January 4, we set out for the Hsia Gwan station in a large car Minnie had borrowed from Lewis. She was at the wheel. I always admired her ability to do things most Chinese women couldn’t do: driving, cycling, playing ball games, keeping a dog, hiking. When we had pulled onto Ninghai Road, I reminded Minnie, “Remember when you said you’d teach me to drive?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Of course I’ll do that. When the war’s over, I’ll build my own house here and buy myself a little car.”

  I was pleased to hear that. If only I could be as capable as she. A lot of people here regarded her as “a real man,” respecting her stately physique and her ability as a leader.

  When we had passed Fujian Road and were approaching Yijiang Gate, we saw more houses leveled—the area was more desolate than it had been the previous winter. The site of the former Communications Ministry was now an immense compound fenced by barbwire, in which more than a dozen huge shacks stood as storehouses for military supplies. Along the way most of the deserted buildings had been torn down, the bricks and wood piled up ready to be shipped away. But the area near the train station was alive with people. Peddlers were hawking goods, while small shops lined the streets, offering soft drinks, fruit, snacks, cigarettes, and liquor. A handful of scalpers hung around the station, a three-story white building topped with a cupola and a spire, and were
waving tickets at passersby.

  All the trains ran on Tokyo time now, an hour behind China time. Inside the hall of the station, people were standing in two lines for tickets. One was short and only for Japanese passengers, while the other was long, with more than one hundred Chinese people waiting. At its end was Rulian. But the wicket at the head of the long line remained shut, and only the short line was moving. Near us stood a slim Japanese clerk in a blue uniform and a cap with a shiny black peak. We worried that Rulian and the girls might miss the train. Minnie went up to the man and said, “See those words?” She pointed at the slogan pasted above the front door, which declared in big characters: WE MUST UNITE TO BUILD A PROSPEROUS EAST ASIA!

  The clerk nodded without speaking. Minnie continued, “Don’t you think the way you’re treating these Chinese passengers may contravene Japan’s policy and undermine the union of East Asia?”

  He grinned knowingly, showing his tobacco-stained teeth, but he still said nothing. Then he slowly sauntered back into the office, and a minute later the other wicket opened, selling tickets to the Chinese in line.

  Outside the windows a train pulled in, shuddering a little as it came to a stop and disgorged hundreds of passengers. The new arrivals didn’t have to wash their hands in Lysol or rinse their mouths with disinfectant anymore, and the guards frisked only two young men as they exited. Life was returning to normal, though the police still checked everyone’s papers.

  Rulian came back with six train tickets and two platform tickets, and together we led the blind girls out of the hall. After checking in their baggage, we reached track 2; at the west end of the platform, about four hundred Japanese soldiers were lounging around, some lying on stretchers and some sitting on the ground paved with concrete slabs. A few men flailed their arms, groaning and shouting. Twenty or so young Japanese women—some in their late teens—moved among them, handing out rice cakes and water in canteens. A few fed the soldiers who were all bandaged up. Beyond them stood a sleeping car, in which some wounded officers were smoking and drinking tea, while others played cards. The windows of the car were partly fogged—it must be warm in there. Although the wounded men on the platform were cared for, to me they still looked like bundles of garbage scattered around in the glaring sunlight. The scene reminded me of the wounded Chinese soldiers I’d seen here just over a year ago. What a different sight this was. Yet these men were in some fashion similar to those Chinese men abandoned by their generals. Every one of them looked miserable, wasted, and aged.