Nanjing Requiem Page 24

  The old woman had been supervising renovation and construction projects on campus. She wanted to have the half-finished apartment house near East Court completed and all the buildings repaired. In addition, she’d have the four ponds cleansed of weeds and algae. All the lotuses and water hyacinths would be eradicated too. She just wanted limpid ponds with some goldfish in them. Because people needed jobs and labor was cheap, she was eager to get the work done without delay.

  Minnie sipped the green tea I had poured for her, and said, “What we really need is a neighborhood school for children.”

  “How are we going to staff it?” Mrs. Dennison asked.

  “We don’t need to hire any faculty. We can let some students teach the classes. It won’t cost much.”

  “Who will run it?”

  “How about letting Meiyan head the school?” Minnie suggested. “It will train the girl to be a leader.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” the old woman said. “I don’t think we should have a neighborhood school at the moment. We must make every effort to bring our college back.”

  “As long as our faculty’s away, we can do nothing about that.”

  “But we can prepare for them to return. I’m sure they will in the near future.”

  I worried that the old woman would want to hear my opinion. I felt we should start a school for the poor kids in the neighborhood, some of whom had been running wild, since most of the primary schools were gone. On the other hand, I dreaded offending the former president. Luckily, she didn’t ask me.

  Mrs. Dennison thought that if we renovated the faculty’s houses and apartments, we would have an incentive to draw the teachers back. The renovation would include all the classroom buildings as well so as to justify the use of the funds specified for educational purposes. I also missed the former college, particularly the regular schedules and the peaceful academic life, which were so different from the current disorder. I could see why Mrs. Dennison had always emphasized that leisure was essential for the faculty’s intellectual and professional growth. Minnie seemed to share that belief and agreed to shelve the plan for the children’s school.

  Nevertheless, Minnie and I felt uneasy about the renovation, because the future of the college was still uncertain and it might never pay off to bank so much on such an effort.

  THREE YEARS AGO our college had decided to build a bungalow for Minnie so that she could meet with faculty and students in small groups in her own home, but because funds were in short supply after the war had broken out, she’d offered to suspend the project. Several faculty members already had houses for their personal use, including Eva Spicer, a professor of history and religion who was a graduate of Oxford. At present, she was teaching in Wuchang and couldn’t come back. Her bungalow had been damaged by the three hundred refugees who had sheltered in it for half a year. At Eva’s request, Mrs. Dennison decided to have it repaired. The decision pleased Minnie, since Eva was her friend, used to send Minnie birdfeed via British gunboats, and had written that Minnie could borrow her house for the summer. Minnie had told me several times that she was tired of living in the dormitory with more than eighty students, listening to all the noise they made and the wake-up bell at six a.m.

  A team of workers came to renovate Eva’s bungalow, replacing the broken terra-cotta tiles on the roof, refinishing parts of the floors, fixing the leaky pipes, resealing some panes of glass with putty, and repainting the interior and exterior of the house. A week later it was like new again. Minnie was excited and packed everything, ready to move. She wouldn’t mind the sour smell of the paint and couldn’t wait to sleep in Eva’s queen-size bed. But early in the afternoon, when she was about to ship the first batch of her belongings, Luhai came and told me that Mrs. Dennison had just moved into the bungalow, together with Aifeng. I hurried to Minnie’s to brief her about that. She was nonplussed, and also outraged.

  There had been shelling in the south, where even the skyline seemed to be jumping with ruddy-edged clouds. Fighting had been going on outside the city since the previous day. It was said that the New Fourth Army, the Communist force liked by the country people because of its strong discipline, was active within ten miles of Nanjing and had been exchanging fire with the Japanese. That afternoon three truckloads of wounded soldiers had been brought back into the city. We’d also heard that many Japanese women and children were leaving Nanjing, which might herald something ominous for the occupiers. Rumor had it that the Japanese military was about to abandon the city, but none of us believed that this would happen.

  That evening we visited Mrs. Dennison. We found her in a buoyant mood, and she received us warmly. Seated on a leather sofa, I looked around, admiring the bright, spacious living room. There was carved furniture, and a tall Ming vase stood beside the door. The floor was glossy, just waxed, and the built-in bookshelves, freshly painted, still held hundreds of Eva’s books. What a splendid place for entertaining friends. Mrs. Dennison was so lucky. I glanced at Minnie, who must have been nettled by envy. She avoided eye contact with the old woman.

  I wondered if Mrs. Dennison had planned to move in all along. Had Eva said she could use this house as well? Unlikely. A careful person, Eva wouldn’t have made such a blunder. Should I tell the old woman that Eva had promised the bungalow to Minnie? What was the good of that? Minnie couldn’t possibly chase Mrs. Dennison and Aifeng out. God willing, I hoped they might soon find this place lonesome and too far from everything and might move back to their apartment. Nothing could be done for now.

  Minnie remained quiet for the whole visit, while the old woman talked at length about the Rockefeller family. Despite the lethargic stock market in the States, they had just promised to donate more to our college once the war was over. But when would that be?

  Mrs. Dennison was so pleased with her new residence that she began to host dinners a few times a week and always invited Minnie. Minnie was grateful at first, but soon she told me that the old woman might be utilizing her popularity to draw visitors. No wonder Mrs. Dennison appeared so friendly to her in front of the guests. The old woman’s dinners began to feel more and more onerous to Minnie, who was increasingly chafing under Mrs. Dennison’s continual interventions.

  In early June Mr. Morrison of the United Christian Missionary Society approached Minnie and proposed that she return to the States to serve as the vice president of their organization, in charge of education.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asked me.

  “I would accept it if I were you.”

  “It’s hard for me to leave.”

  “A boat missed may never come again.”

  She gave it serious thought for some days—it was an opportunity to disentangle herself from the mess here. Though she would still supervise a good number of missionary schools in China, she feared that it would distance her from Jinling. The previous summer another job had been offered her as well—to work on Jinling’s executive committee in New York, and although she’d declined, her friend Rebecca Griest had written that the position wasn’t filled yet. So New York could be another option for Minnie. She would love to use the libraries at Columbia again, for which she still had an alumni card. She had earned her master’s in school administration from that university’s Teachers College.

  After long consideration, she decided to stay, saying she couldn’t possibly abandon Jinling, especially the six hundred poor women in the Homecraft School who regarded her as their protector. Jinling had become her home and China her adopted homeland. She wrote back to Mr. Morrison, stating that she didn’t have the training and experience for such a consequential position; that her departure from Jinling would put more burden on Dr. Wu’s shoulders, which she would never allow to happen; that a younger and more energetic person would likely be more suitable for the job, since the society needed new blood; and that, above all, she ought to remain here in China’s hour of trials. In short, she simply couldn
’t cut her losses and leave. She showed me her letter and also the reply from Mr. Morrison, who wrote that he understood Minnie’s decision and was full of admiration.

  As the summer vacation was approaching, some faculty members planned to go elsewhere to escape the sweltering heat. From Aifeng, we learned that she and Mrs. Dennison were leaving for Shanghai soon, and from there they would travel north by ship to a beach resort on Bohai Bay. This news gladdened Minnie, because she believed that once they left, she’d be able to live in Eva’s bungalow for the rest of the summer.

  It rained on and off for a whole night—enough to revive the withered shrubs and flowers on campus, but not enough to flood the paddies so rice seedlings could be planted, which should have been done two months before. Farmers had been having a tough time this spring. Besides the drought, the turmoil of the war still persisted. During the day many Japanese planes flew by to drop bombs outside the city. It was said that the guerrillas had been active in the vicinity of Nanjing, but the Japanese were determined to keep them away. For a whole week gunfire could be heard in the south.

  Mrs. Dennison and Aifeng left a few days later, together with Ban. The boy had never been to Shanghai, so Mrs. Dennison, who was childless, wanted him to visit the metropolis. She was fond of him, having seen him grow up.

  On the same day they left, Minnie moved into Eva’s bungalow. She was excited to have the entire house to herself now, but when I went to see her the next evening, she said the place felt somewhat isolated. She wasn’t sure she would like it.

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  TO OUR ASTONISHMENT, Mrs. Dennison came back with Ban a week later. Her return embarrassed Minnie, and yet it would be humiliating to move out of the bungalow right away.

  Though flustered, Minnie decided to stay in the house with Mrs. Dennison in Aifeng’s absence. Aifeng had gone alone to the beach resort in the north to meet her fiancé there. Mrs. Dennison showed no sign of resentment and only told us, “There’s so much to do here that I’d better not leave—I won’t have a summer vacation anymore. I’m used to the heat here anyway.” She still had her personal possessions in the bungalow and hardly needed to unpack.

  Minnie soon realized that she couldn’t possibly live under the same roof with the old woman for the whole summer, sharing breakfast and supper with her every day, so Minnie applied for a permit from the city’s travel office.

  The permit arrived the following week. Minnie decided to go to Tsingtao by way of Shanghai, because it would be easier to travel by boat from there. We all were surprised by her sudden decision to spend the summer elsewhere. Rulian decided to give her a picnic send-off at the poultry center and invited seven other young faculty members and me. The main course was zongzi, pyramid-shaped dumplings made of glutinous rice, dates, peanuts, and ham. There were also steamed shrimp, sautéed vegetables, and fresh dates. Minnie loved zongzi and peeled away the reed leaves, which were wrapped around the rice to give it an herby aroma, but she wouldn’t dip it into a plate of brown sugar as we did. She said she liked the natural flavor better. In the center of the table stood a glass jar holding daisies mixed with young dog-tail grass. The flowers were delicate and fluffy, each displaying a disk of white petals that surrounded a golden heart, and they gave off a faint fragrance. Rulian had thoughtfully asked Old Liao to cut a bunch.

  It had rained heavily the night before; the air was washed clean and shimmering a little. A few gnats were flickering around. Rulian had not invited Mrs. Dennison. Minnie enjoyed socializing with the young faculty. If Mrs. Dennison were here, Minnie wouldn’t have had a peaceful meal. These days, whenever the two of them ran into each other, the old woman would smirk, probably relishing her small victory in chasing Minnie out of the bungalow. I also noticed that Mrs. Dennison would speak louder, with forced cheerfulness, whenever Minnie happened to be within hearing, as if everybody were her friend. I knew the crone meant to provoke her.

  THE WEEK AFTER Minnie left, I again heard from Holly. To my surprise, she was in the Zhenjiang area now, working at a refugee relief center. She invited me to visit, saying she lived outside Gaozi, a suburban town that had a train station. Not having seen her for more than a year, I was eager to visit, so I set out a few days later, taking the train early in the morning. It was just a thirty-mile trip to the east, and I brought two pounds of barley taffy along with an umbrella, as it was cloudy.

  The refugee relief center was easy to find, in a village outside the town of Gaozi. Holly was ecstatic to see me. She hugged me for half a minute, as if afraid I might disappear the instant she released me. She took me to a ramshackle cottage, into a room she shared with a young woman named Siuchin, whom Holly had mentioned in her letters as her friend. Siuchin turned up a moment later, fetched a thermos of boiled water, and began brewing tea in a porcelain pot. She was tall and had a squarish face, in her mid-twenties. Untying the thin paper string, Holly opened the package I’d brought and poured some of the barley taffy, each piece covered with sesame seeds, onto an enamel plate. I observed her closely and found her aged a bit but in full health, her eyes brighter and her broad face more vivid, though it showed more wrinkles when she smiled. Siuchin had to leave to finish wrapping some iodine tablets, so after telling Holly she would arrange lunch, she went out with a fistful of the taffy.

  It was already past midmorning, and Holly and I were reminiscing about people we both knew while munching the sticky candy. I usually don’t like sweets that much, but, affected by my friend’s great relish, I kept chewing one piece after another. Holly remembered Minnie fondly for her big kind heart and straightforwardness, and she also praised Rulian as a fine young woman, mild and gracious. I saw Holly’s violin in its sky-blue case hanging on the wall; a Bible sat below the instrument on her bed, which was just a sheet spread over a blanket and a straw mattress on some boards supported by three small trestles. The Bible, bound in morocco, was the only book in the room. It was the American Standard Version, which I hadn’t read yet, since I always used the King James version. Amazed, I asked, “You belong to a denomination now?”

  “No, I’m still on my own.” Holly smiled, the same old nonchalance on her heavy-boned face. “So far I’ve always attached myself to a mission group for protection.”

  “But you dip into the Scriptures.”

  “Sometimes I enjoy reading them.”

  “Then why not join the church?”

  “Do I need an institution to communicate with God?”

  I closed my eyes and announced: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” I paused and opened my eyes to look at her.

  “Gosh, you sound like a priest.”

  “For the nonce I am a bishop.” I chuckled, then went on, “Even if you don’t need the church, you still need Christ, don’t you?”

  “That’s why I’ve been looking for him.”

  “So you’ve been wandering around in search of the Lord?”

  “I also look for him in my heart.”

  “You’re a strange woman, Holly.”

  “That I won’t deny. It was an irony that the Japanese burned my house and set me free.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Without my old home anymore, I can go anywhere I want to and live a different life.”

  I’d heard her say that before, so I shifted the subject a little. “I admire your devotion to our people. You’ve become one of us.”

  “Not really. I belong to myself only.”

  “But you’re a Chinese citizen, aren’t you?”

  “Citizenship is just a piece of paper. I belong neither to China nor to America. Like I said, I’m on my own.”

  “Still, you’ve been helping us in our cause.”

  “That’s because I believe it’s the right thing to do. I’ve followed only my heart.”

  “Come on, Holly, you’re living a hard life, and so is your friend Siuchin. You cannot say you two haven’t made sacrifices for this country.”

  “We’ve been doing th
e work only because we believe it’s worth our effort. One doesn’t have to love a country to do what’s right.”

  “So you like this kind of life and will live as a widow forever?”

  She laughed. “I know what it was like to live with a man I loved. It’s enough to love once in a lifetime.”

  “You still miss your husband?”

  “Yes, I do. My husband, Harry, was a poet, although he didn’t publish many poems. He was a good man and we enjoyed each other so much that we’d like to be a couple again if we meet after this life.”

  I chuckled, amused by that quaint notion, as if she were a Buddhist. “So after he died you never found a better man?”

  “No. I dated a few, but they were nothing compared to Harry. So my heart gradually shut itself to men.”

  “How about your friend Siuchin? Doesn’t she want to marry and have a family? She’s still so young.”

  “Her late fiancé must’ve been a splendid fellow or she wouldn’t live this way.”

  “You told me about her loss.” I knew Siuchin’s fiancé had been an officer, killed in battle by the Japanese.

  “She’s often said she would’ve been happy to die for him. She loved him that much. I urged her to settle down somewhere, but she likes wandering around and doing mission work. She feels safer this way.”

  Siuchin stepped in and announced that it was time for lunch. She had asked the cook to prepare a pork dish, which we should eat before lunchtime; otherwise we might make others crave meat and cause trouble for the kitchen. I followed them out to the shed that served as a dining room.

  A small basin of rice and two dishes—one of sautéed tofu mixed with scallions and baby bok choy and the other of pork cubes stewed with pole beans—sat on a makeshift table constructed of two naked boards nailed onto the tops of six short wooden poles. The pork tasted so-so, but I liked the tofu dish and put some of it on my rice and mixed it with chopsticks. Holly used a spoon instead, chewing the meat with relish. I could see that this was a treat for her and Siuchin.