Nanjing Requiem Read online

  We discussed this, and everyone, including the American teachers, supported Minnie’s idea, because we knew some of the girls were loose cannons and might take the public celebration as an insult. If some of them started an anti-Japanese chant or song, it would get us into deep water. What’s more, Alice and Donna had informed us that some young girls were planning to demonstrate against the Japanese occupation. We didn’t want to kindle their anger by sending them to the official rally, so we chose the women from the Homecraft School.

  As we were setting out the next morning, bearing a large banner that displayed the characters JINLING WOMEN’S COLLEGE, Mrs. Dennison blocked the procession outside the front gate. She said to Minnie, “I won’t let you bear our flag, because these are not students of our college.”

  Minnie grimaced but caved in. “Okay, we won’t carry it, then.”

  So we continued downtown without the flag, while Mrs. Dennison held it with both hands, standing there alone and watching us march away. The white silk flapped a little, shielding a part of her thin shoulder. It was almost midmorning, the sun already high and hot. The women all knew we were going to demonstrate in honor of Emperor Hirohito, so they looked dejected and walked silently, some hanging their heads low.

  In the city, martial law was already in force to prevent protests and to control drunken soldiers. We stood in the plaza before the city hall, each given a tiny sun-disk flag made of paper. The celebration started with a review of Japanese troops—one thousand cavalry, three columns of mountain guns, and a regiment of infantry marched past the platform near the templelike building with three tiers of flying eaves. Every officer raised a gleaming sword, its back against his collarbone, to lead his unit forward. The band was blasting out “Japan’s Army.” As the troops passed the platform, they shouted, “Long live the emperor!” and “Japan must conquer Asia!” and “Wipe out our enemies!” On the platform stood two Japanese generals in high boots and some Chinese officials, including Jimmy Pan, a tall, intelligent-looking man despite his slightly lopsided eyes. Pan always claimed that he’d taken the office of vice mayor because it was the only way he could help protect the local citizens’ interests, but the Nationalist government had already set the price of two thousand yuan on his head. Some of the puppet officials on the stage kept their eyes on the floor throughout the ceremony, though they applauded from time to time.

  One such official, Yinmin Feng, a scraggy man with jug ears who had earned a master’s in archaeology from Tokyo University, gave a short speech, which, despite its brevity, was empty prattle. He praised the Japanese authorities for their efforts to restore order and normalcy in the city. He also insisted that all Chinese support “the New Order of East Asia.” He stepped down from the rostrum in less than ten minutes, after shouting “Heaven bless the emperor!” and “Long live the cooperation between Japan and China!” Then the Nanjing garrison commander, Major General Amaya, delivered a speech through an interpreter, in which he listed several causes for the suffering the Chinese here had gone through. Among them two were primary. First, the Chinese forces were responsible for the devastation of Nanjing, because they had resisted the Imperial Army, which was renowned for its bravery and invincibility. And once defeated, the Chinese soldiers had disappeared among the civilians, exploiting women and children as camouflage. That was very unprofessional. Also, Chiang Kai-shek had instilled in the entire population so much hatred for the great Japanese nation that most civilians became hostile to the Imperial Army, refusing to cooperate or give provisions. Worse yet, there were snipers everywhere, who mainly targeted Japanese officers; consequently, many commanders had to wear the uniforms of the rank and file to disguise themselves. When Nanjing was taken, the army had no alternative but to “mop up” all the stragglers and deserted soldiers. The second cause was that some foreigners from a certain country—namely the United States—remained here, and their presence emboldened the Chinese to oppose the victorious troops. Those foreigners actually provoked the Japanese soldiers to break rules and vent their frustration on civilians, so the Westerners were the real troublemakers for China and should be repatriated.

  The pudgy general wore circular glasses and two rows of ribbons on his chest. As he was reading from the written speech, his eyes were so close to the paper and the microphone that the audience could hardly catch a glimpse of his doughy face. What’s worse, his voice was drowned out by the interpreter, a young dandy with slick hair and powdered cheeks, whose delivery in Mandarin was much more impressive.

  After the speeches there was a large demonstration against communism, which the women from our school didn’t join. We just stood there as spectators. Even Chiang Kai-shek was labeled an arch-Communist who’d taken up the hammer and sickle of the Russians, and some placards with his portrait crossed out in red ink were raised among the civilians who lined up in front of the platform.

  As soon as the celebration was over, Minnie and I led our students back to campus. John Allison from the U.S. embassy telephoned Jinling and urged the American women to be vigilant and to avoid the downtown area for a few days.

  We wouldn’t let any students go there either, and instead held a service late in the afternoon. More than three hundred people gathered in the chapel, and some of them were girls from the middle school. The service started with the hymn “He Leadeth Me.” Next was a prayer led by Minnie—for peace in Asia and Europe and for the reduction of the suffering inflicted on the Chinese. Then Lewis Smythe preached his last sermon here, as he was leaving for Chengdu in two days. He wore a gray tunic, which made the narrowness of his shoulders more pronounced. He read out Matthew 5:11–12 and spoke about slander against the righteous as an indication of their virtue. He declared in a cadenced voice, “True Christians should rejoice when evildoers vilify them, for the Lord says that you shall be hated by men for his name’s sake. The vilification is proof that you have been doing something right. In fact, all the wicked tongues cannot really discredit you. What they can accomplish is just an emphatic verification of your righteousness. Let the vilifiers wag their tongues and waste their breath while we do our work with a clear conscience.” He went on to speak about God as the only qualified judge for the upstanding who would always make fair judgments.

  I could tell he was still troubled by the malicious rumors about his collaboration with the Japanese. He had worked so hard for the benefit of the needy and the weak that he deserved to be honored, not slandered. He had recently completed his survey of the damage to our city and its suburbs and secretly published the results in a booklet with the small Mercury Press in Shanghai.

  The service ended with the hymn “I’m a Pilgrim.” Afterward Mrs. Dennison invited Lewis to a wonton dinner, which Minnie, I, and four others also attended.

  That evening the middle-school girls got restless. A few wore black armbands, and some sang patriotic songs in the open. In the south, salvos rumbled while fireworks cascaded over ragged clouds, bringing to mind towering willow crowns and dangling bean sprouts. The racket of the official celebration outraged the girls. A group of them, led by Meiyan, began singing “The Big Sword March,” which had been a battle song popular among the troops defending Shanghai twenty months before. Arm in arm, the girls stood in rows, swaying from side to side while belting out: “Big swords chop off the devils’ heads. / All the patriotic compatriots, / Now’s the time to fight the Japanese invaders!” As they were chorusing, tears bathed their faces and their voices grew shrill. Meiyan was the loudest among them and even kept time with a tiny national flag. She was half a head taller than most of the other participants.

  We observed them from the windows of the dining room. After the battle song, Meiyan shouted, “Topple the puppet municipality!”

  The crowd, more than a hundred strong, repeated the slogan together, all thrusting their fists into the air. Luhai stood beyond them, massaging his nape with his hand, as if he couldn’t decide whether to join in. I could see that he was excited, but why did he just lurk around wa
tching? Did he have a hand in this?

  “Repay blood debts in blood!” Meiyan cried again.

  All the voices shouted after her in unison.

  “Drive the invaders out of China!” she went on.

  Again the others followed her in one voice.

  Mrs. Dennison said about Meiyan, “I like that girl. She’s full of fire and can become a fine leader.”

  “She’s Big Liu’s daughter, very hot-blooded,” Minnie told her.

  “Yes, I saw her and two other girls cursing a Japanese woman on the street the other day,” Mrs. Dennison continued. “I’ve always admired Chinese women more than Chinese men.”

  “We should stop them,” Minnie said. Without waiting for the old woman to respond, she set out. Some of us followed her.

  Minnie went up to the girls and said, “All right, enough for today. You all go back to your dorms.”

  Meiyan, her face burning with passion, stepped forward and blasted, “Why are you so scared of the Eastern devils?”

  Taken aback, Minnie said, “I have only your safety in mind. If the Japanese find out about this, they’ll start an investigation, and you all will get into trouble.”

  “Let them come. Who cares?”

  “Don’t boast like that,” Minnie warned.

  “Stop it, Meiyan!” I said almost in a cry.

  Mrs. Dennison came over and intervened. “Girls, don’t do anything rash. Listen to Dean Vautrin. It’s for your own good—she just wants to keep you out of harm’s way.”

  “There’re no spies here,” another girl said.

  “You never know,” Minnie went on.

  The girls looked around to see whether some of the puppet officials’ daughters were still among them. None of those rich students was around, though a few had been here half an hour ago, clapping their hands while watching the gorgeous fireworks. One of them had even mocked the demonstrators by sliding her index finger across her throat. Now the girls seemed swayed by Minnie’s words; some even took off their black armbands, and some turned, leaving for the dormitories and the classroom buildings. Although the crowd was dwindling, Meiyan and about thirty others continued chanting patriotic songs.

  I left with Minnie and Mrs. Dennison, and as we neared the front entrance, we saw a company of cavalry passing by on the street. We stopped to watch the tall horses galloping away and fading into the dark while their hooves clattered on the asphalt. Then we continued toward the south of campus, the two American women’s long shadows mingling on the ground bleached by the moonlight.

  39

  I NOTICED that the students liked Alice very much, not because of their fondness for English but because of the way she conducted her classes. Although thirty-seven, Alice was so youthful and vivacious that if viewed from the rear and with a kerchief over her corn-silk hair, you could easily take her for a student, especially when she was among the girls. She often taught them hymns and American folk songs, staged miniature scenes of American life—shopping, asking for directions, visiting the post office, canvassing—and even showed them how to make lemonade, cakes, and fruit pies. One evening in early May, Minnie, Alice, and I took a stroll through campus while talking about how to monitor the students, particularly the few firebrands, so that they wouldn’t run away again or endanger themselves. Alice agreed to often engage them in small talk to follow their concerns. As the three of us were approaching the south dormitory, we saw a crowd in front of the building.

  “Yeah, smash her mug!” someone urged. I recognized Meiyan’s rasping voice.

  We hurried over and saw two students rolling on the ground. One was a tall girl named Yuting, whose father had been among the six IRC men arrested by the Japanese and had died in prison recently. The other was the mousy girl who’d slid her forefinger across her throat on the night of the emperor’s birthday, mocking the singers of patriotic songs. “Damn you,” Yuting gasped, pulling the girl’s hair. “Tell your dad we’ll get rid of him sooner or later.”

  The small girl kicked her assailant aside, rolled away, and scrambled to her feet. “He had nothing to do with your father’s death, all right? You’re going out of your mind.”

  “Rip her tongue out of her trap!” Meiyan told Yuting.

  The runty girl turned to the crowd. “My dad just designs boats. He only supervises twelve people in his institute. You’ve blamed the wrong man.”

  “He builds patrol boats for the Japs,” someone said.

  “Yeah, your dad is a stooge,” added another.

  “But he has to work to support our family,” the girl wailed, her nose bleeding. “He has no direct contact with the Japs.”

  “I’m gonna to finish you off right here!” Yuting yelled, and rushed toward her again.

  All of a sudden, the cloudless night became darker, the moon fading away. The whitish boles of the ginkgos and aspens around us disappeared. A handful of yellowish stars blinked faintly, as if the invisible chains connecting them had all at once snapped, scattering them across the sky. Everybody turned silent, awestruck. It took me a while to realize that a full eclipse was under way. Dogs began barking, and a tremendous din rose from the neighborhood in the southwest. Then came the sounds of people beating pots, pans, and basins while firecrackers exploded and horns blared. Every household in the area seemed to be engaged in the great commotion, which threw the girls into a panic. They all stood there listening; some moved their heads this way and that, totally confused. I felt embarrassed by the racket, which showed how backward we Chinese were in understanding this natural phenomenon.

  “What’s going on?” Alice asked in a guarded whisper.

  “It’s an eclipse,” Minnie said.

  “That I know.”

  “People believe that some animal in the sky is swallowing the moon, so they’re making all that noise to scare it away.”

  Indeed, this was the locals’ way of driving off the mystical creatures, a dragon or a divine hound, who was attempting to eat up the moon. If they’d still had firearms, I was sure they’d have fired volleys of bullets and pellets into the sky. There was simply no way to convince them that the moon’s momentary disappearance was merely due to Earth’s passing between the moon and the sun.

  Alice told the girls in her stern contralto voice, “You all see that the Lord of Heaven doesn’t approve of your fighting like wild animals. Now, go back to your dorms.”

  Meiyan, who knew English better than the others, told the girls what the teacher meant. At once the crowd dispersed, disappearing into the dark or into the nearby dormitories. A few scraps of paper were fluttering on the ground in the dim light shed through several windows.

  Once the girls were out of earshot, we couldn’t help laughing. “You scared the heck out of them,” Minnie told Alice.

  “We had to break up the fight. The eclipse came in handy.”

  “You’d better explain to them that it’s just a natural phenomenon—that there’s no such thing as a dragon or divine dog.”

  “Okay, I’ll speak about it in class tomorrow.”

  A couple of minutes later, the moon came out again, bright and golden like a huge mango. In the distance a line of electric poles reappeared with the wires glistening, and the distant din subsided. We headed back to Minnie’s quarters. Alice told us, “I once saw an eclipse in Kyoto, but nobody made a fuss about it. People just went out and watched.”

  “That’s why I sometimes wonder how a backward country like China could fight Japan,” Minnie said.

  “Do you believe China will win this war?” Alice asked.

  “Only in the long run and with international help.”

  “I’m sure we’ll win eventually,” I said.

  We entered the flower garden encircled by a white picket fence that Minnie had designed a decade before. The air was intense with the scent of lilacs, sweetish and slightly heady. Alice was worried about her job here. Her former girls’ school, sponsored by our denomination, had shut down, and she felt that Mrs. Dennison was always lukewarm
about her, probably because it was Minnie who had hired her. Minnie assured her that Jinling needed English teachers and she’d be in demand for a long time, so there was no reason to worry.

  “She’s such a pain in the ass,” Minnie said about Mrs. Dennison. “I’m wondering if she’s the empress dowager reincarnated.”

  We all cracked up. I said, “Minnie, you must avoid clashing with her. Keep in mind that she’s pushing seventy and will retire soon.”

  “I don’t think she’ll ever leave China,” said Alice.

  “That’s true,” I agreed, “but she’ll be too senile to interfere with the college’s affairs.”

  “Sometimes it’s so hard to control my temper,” Minnie admitted.

  “Remember our Chinese saying—a bride will become a mother-in-law one day?”

  “I may never have that kind of patience,” Minnie said.

  “There’s no way to remove Dennison,” I went on. “All you can do is outlive her. Just don’t provoke that crone.”

  Minnie turned to Alice. “Someday I’ll become your crazy mother-in-law and kick you around. Will you still put up with me?”

  “Only if you find me a husband first,” Alice replied, poker-faced. “Do you have a grown-up son somewhere?”

  We all laughed.

  40

  MRS. DENNISON and Minnie were discussing how to use the funds at hand. I happened to be in the provost’s office, and the old president wanted me to join their discussion. Jinling had just received four thousand yuan, which the donor specified should be spent on education programs for the poor. I listened to the two American women without expressing my opinion. Mrs. Dennison talked excitedly, as she always enjoyed making financial plans and was particularly fond of the Chinese saying “Money is like bastards—the more you get rid of, the more will come.”