by Virginia Pye
“I believe the majority of Americans today do not drink tea,” he said. “They prefer Chock Full o’ Nuts or Nehi soda pop. But Mrs. Carson, I am sure you do not care for such a low-class drink, even if I could get it for you.” He offered a good-natured laugh.
Shirley eased into the wicker seat as he leaned against the desk before her, his legs crossed at the ankles.
“I was always partial to Coca-Cola myself,” he continued, his voice confident and friendly. “Delicious drink. If they ever sell it in Japan, the tea tradition will be over forever. But I will never forget the hot toddies at football games. What a grand custom of your people! I still carry a flask with me.” He patted his breast pocket. “During final-examination period, we drank black coffee late into the night. Were you Vassar girls allowed to do that? At Princeton, no one watched over us. The young men were untamed. Nothing could have prepared me for the wildness of American boys.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. “I understand you have a teenaged son. I do not envy you.” He shook his head. “In Japan, we know how to handle boys. We are much better at this. You Americans could learn from us.”
Shirley calmly lifted the cup to her lips, unwilling to betray her surprise at everything he said. But as she drank the bitter tea, one crucial thing occurred to her: this general was trying to impress her.
He set down his cup and offered his hand. “General Hayato Shiga, Princeton class of ’15.”
His plump and clammy palm repulsed her.
“Everyone called me ‘Hal.’ I doubt you remember me, but I remember you. I saw you at Vassar’s final spring dance our senior year. You stood out even in that company of lovely young ladies.”
He pushed off from the desk, strode to the window, and gazed out. A flash of acid orange light appeared far off, briefly bathing the horizon in a sudden, astonishing glare.
“You Vassar girls were regal,” he continued. “I was not allowed to dance or date because I was engaged to be married back home. But that was all right. I was terribly shy. I admired you American girls from afar. Such thoroughbreds, isn’t that the term? Highborn women. Women of the royal court. Princesses, every one of you.”
“Not exactly,” she said. “My stepfather owned shoe stores. I was no princess.”
His insistent smile suggested that he was not to be dissuaded.
Shirley took another slow, deliberate sip to gain courage before speaking. “We are here now in North China, General Shiga. Times have changed. But I am so glad that our two countries remain on good terms. Yet, as friendly as we are, I cannot be bribed with a cup of tea.” She set hers on the desk and raised her chin. “I was taken by force from my home this evening, was marched across this unfortunate town, and am being kept here against my will. I know with great certainty that you have violated any number of international laws by treating me this way.”
Behind the thick glasses, his eyes grew sharper. “I brought you here, Mrs. Carson, in the hope that we could ignite camaraderie, even friendship. We have a shared past. But you are hardheaded. I should have expected it from an American woman.”
Shirley straightened her spine. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you brought me here, General?”
He strode behind his desk. “I have heard that you are a nurse. You care for the Chinese citizens who seek temporary shelter at your mission compound. Your Reverend Wells and I have discussed this, and I agreed that under our current rules of engagement, American civilians may assist the population. But my primary concern is my officers. They are in need of medical attention. They suffer from maladies, private medical conditions.”
“War wounds?” she asked.
“None of them have been injured.”
“So they do not suffer like the Chinese who have been bayoneted and left to die by the road? From our window, my son and I witnessed the execution of not only military but also civilians. They were shot and tossed into a ditch. Has a similar fate met your soldiers?” As Shirley spoke, she rose from her seat, her voice growing stronger. “Or perhaps they have been attacked like the Chinese women I saw in the marketplace, their bodies ruined for any future life, their very souls flayed from them.”
“Come, now, Mrs. Carson,” he said with exaggerated patience. “You are an innocent. It is not your fault that you are a sheltered, spoiled woman who has never seen such things before. What you have witnessed is typical of war, nothing more.” He waved a hand toward the window, where another flash of light illuminated beyond the farthest edge of town. “My request of you is nothing so horrific. I would not presume to burden you with real injuries. I don’t think you could handle them.”
Shirley squeezed her hands together to control herself. She longed to tell him all she had done to oversee the care of the badly wounded Chinese, but instead, she simply said, “Good of you, General.”
“Our complaints are more rudimentary. One of my officers needs dental help, and another has such bad hemorrhoids that he can no longer sit down. They have bunions from marching. Indigestion from rancid Chinese food. Coughing, most likely from TB give to us by the unsanitary Chinese. Basic ailments for which we need your help, Nurse Carson. I request that you attend to my officers. In exchange, I will see that you are fed and kept safe. My protection is worth all the money in this lousy country. And if you serve us for even a short time, I will see that you and your son are escorted out of the province to safety. I think that is a fair offer.”
Face the foe, her husband had always said, half in jest, but Shirley knew he would not be joking now. She pulled back her shoulders and said, “I wish to be escorted back to my home, General Shiga. I must decline your offer, but I thank you for considering me for these tasks.” She meant to continue in this vein, civilized and in control of her feelings, but could not. “I’m flattered that you trust me with bunions and hemorrhoids and other insignificant complaints.“
A growl began deep in the general’s chest and erupted loudly. He stroked his slick hair and spun away from her. He called out to his men, who came and grabbed her by the wrists, but Shirley yanked free.
“I will not tolerate such rudeness, General. If I were to help you, it would have to be on civilized terms.”
“Then you will still consider my offer?” he asked.
“It must be after 1 in the morning, and my son will be worried sick. Please, I need to get home.”
“You may go,” he said. “My soldiers will escort you. But do not dismiss my offer, Mrs. Carson. As you Americans say, sleep on it, all right? I hope to hear from you soon.” He bowed.
She bowed, too, but before turning to go, she added, “I do remember you, Hal. You were one of two Asian boys who attended the dances. You and a good-looking one would huddle in the corner by the band. What was his name, I wonder?”
The general seemed to flinch behind the heavy lenses. “Chen,” he said. “Harvey Chen.”
“That’s right. You two seemed to be such good friends. Thick as thieves.”
The general barely nodded.
“I think I heard that he married a Vassar girl. They live out in sunny California now. My, my, isn’t he the lucky one?”
The general may have blanched but turned his back quickly and did not answer.
Outside, Shirley leaned against the side of the building and let the thick night air embrace her. Beads of sweat rolled down her ribs, and she realized she was shaking. From around her neck, she untied a silk scarf that Caleb had given to her. On it, a colorful phoenix spread its wings and dove across a royal-blue sky. In the dim light cascading from the municipal building, the magical bird looked fierce and free. From her study of Chinese antiques, she knew that Fenghuang bestowed on all who saw it not only grace and good luck but also immortality. She patted the powerful image of the bird against her lips now and then pressed it to her damp breastbone above the buttons of her blouse, hoping for strength.
Shirley started off through the quiet town, two Japanese soldiers escorting her. They held their rifles cocked, and she suspec
ted that Chinese watched from inside darkened doorways and through the cracks in boarded-up windows. At a corner, she almost stumbled into the bent back of a coolie who was rummaging through a pile of garbage. The soot-stained man appeared haggard but unfazed and purposeful. The fear Shirley had held at bay with the general rose up, and her stomach turned. She raced to the side of the road and retched into a gully. A second wave of nausea overtook her, but she had nothing left inside. When she raised her head and noticed the desolate scene around her, she felt panicked that she had behaved in such a headstrong way with the general. She had always been like that: cocky in the face of trouble, her instinct never to flee but to stride directly toward whatever frightened her. But that was foolishness now, she thought, hubris of the first order.
As she straightened up, one of the soldiers stepped closer and addressed her in Japanese. Shirley couldn’t understand the words but looked down into the young man’s worried face.
“I’m all right,” she said in the local Chinese dialect.
The young man appeared baffled by her words, too, but bowed. Shirley bowed in return. The second soldier eyed them warily, and Shirley wondered if the compassionate younger soldier would be reprimanded. He was a boy, just a boy. So like her son. At the gates of the mission compound, she bowed again before leaving the Japanese soldiers and hurried inside. She needed to get back to Charles.
At the sight of her home and the stone gate bathed in moonlight, Shirley lifted her skirt and ran. She dashed up the steps and flung open the ornamental screen, but the iron handle on the thick front door did not turn. In peaceful times, Caleb had insisted it never be locked. She ran her fingers over a colorful bas-relief statue of a door god that he had nailed to the door frame, the ferocious warrior figure put there to protect the family inside from evil spirits.
Shirley was about to pound on the door when the thick handle turned and it swung open. Dao-Ming stepped back as Shirley entered her home. She glanced around at the peaceful sight of the patients stretched out on their beds and the nurses curled on pallets on the floor. Charles sat sprawled in the wicker rocking chair, his long legs stretched onto the stained coral blossoms in the blue carpet. He had no doubt waited up for her as long as he could, but then sleep had overtaken him as he reclined where she used to rock him as a boy.
Dao-Ming appeared to have been weeping, although her eyes were always pink-rimmed. Shirley took the girl’s chin into her hands and lifted her sorry face toward the light. Dao-Ming trembled all over, and Shirley realized that was part of her condition, too. She brought the girl closer and wrapped her arms around her thick, curved back. Dao-Ming did not reciprocate at first but merely stood like a lump of plentiful flesh. Then the full weight of her pressed against Shirley, and Shirley did not push her away. Instead, she held on and whispered into the girl’s ear, “It’s all right. I’m back now. I’m here.”
As she felt the distinct pressure of Dao-Ming’s breasts hidden under her many layers of clothing, Shirley realized that the girl was more mature than she had previously understood. Dao-Ming might even be Charles’s age. Though short of stature, she was a substantial person, a young lady, in fact—a person to be fully considered and no longer ignored. Dao-Ming drew back and stared up at Shirley with serious, knowing eyes.
At that moment, Shirley recalled Caleb’s words spoken from the pulpit: We have no one if not each other. We are united in our humanity. We are one. He had meant that we are all citizens of the world, brothers and sisters, grown from one family tree. As hard as it had been to fathom previously, Shirley thought now, this strange young woman standing before her in this strange land was of the same blood. And we must keep watch over one another, Caleb had said. We are our brother’s keepers.
“Yes, love,” Shirley whispered aloud in English, “that’s right. We are our brother’s keepers.”
Dao-Ming smiled quite genuinely at that moment, as if understanding the words Shirley had just spoken.
“Mama Shirley no leave?” Dao-Ming asked. “Mama Shirley stay!”
Shirley stared into those dark, narrow eyes that seemed bottomless and saturated in unreserved hope just when there should have been none.
“That’s right,” she said. “Mama Shirley stay.”
Seventeen
Charles stepped into the too-bright morning to meet Reverend Wells as he came up the porch steps. The older man’s hair had turned white in the weeks since the fighting had begun, and he had developed a limp. Always an odd bird, the Reverend appeared even more so in the Chinese coolie hat he wore to keep off the sun. Kathryn lagged a few paces behind him, her own stylish hat worn low and lopsided on her head. They both looked beleaguered and worse for wear.
“Thanks so much for coming, sir,” Charles said and pumped the Reverend’s hand. “But everything’s all right. Mother’s back now. She got home late last night and is still asleep upstairs.”
The Reverend took Charles’s hands between his and patted them. “My poor boy,” he said, “do not consider yourself abandoned. That’s good news about your mother. I was prepared to visit the Japanese headquarters myself this morning to insist on her release.”
Charles gently pulled his hands away. “I haven’t seen her yet, but I gather she wasn’t harmed at all. They just wanted to talk to her. And Lian’s found mien at the market this morning, and we’re planning a feast for later today. Not a feast, exactly, but, you know, a farewell dinner. No need to worry about us. We’re all quite keen.”
The Reverend glanced at Kathryn.
“I’m glad your mother’s safe,” she said, “but Reverend Wells and I wanted to talk to you, Charles, about your situation. Remember when I told you that you can always count on me, kiddo? It’s true, you know.” She reached across and straightened his collar. “You’ve grown up a lot this summer, but we want to make sure you understand the danger you’re in. I’m worried that you haven’t been given a full picture of things.”
Charles nodded warily.
“We don’t want anyone confusing you about what you should do next,” Kathryn said. “You must be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. As soon as we receive word that passage has been secured on a ship out of Shanghai, we go. Are you ready to do that, Charles?”
“My bag is packed.”
“You will have only one chance, my boy,” the Reverend insisted. “Nothing, and no one, must get in your way.”
“All right, I get it,” Charles said, his voice rising. “I won’t let her change my mind.”
At that moment, he noticed the shadow of his mother in her white dressing gown standing at the screen door. Through the metal mesh, she looked like a ghost. Her face appeared unchanged for a long moment, and he felt frightened that while her body had returned home the night before, her spirit remained elsewhere.
“Mother!” he shouted and flung the screen open. He took her hand and led her out onto the porch. He hugged her, and she seemed sturdy enough in his arms, which gave Charles courage again. But then she turned to Reverend Wells and Kathryn, and her warm smile disappeared.
“I’m glad that you and the others know your plans,” she said to them, “but please don’t presume to tell my family what to do.”
Kathryn threw her hands up and said, “But Shirley, you’ve already told me you’re coming with us.”
The Reverend reached for Shirley’s hands and said, “I’m so relieved you’re all right, my dear. I was terribly worried.”
Shirley slipped free of him and stepped back.
“Mother, Reverend Wells and Miss Kathryn are only trying to help,” Charles offered.
His mother’s expression remained stern.
“I know you are aware, Mrs. Carson,” the Reverend said, “that I’m officially in charge of everyone here in the mission. I have orders from the Missionary Board in Boston as well as the American legation in Peking that I must see us all returned home to U.S. soil.”
Charles moved closer to his mother’s side.
“I owe it to the memory
of your husband to see that Charles is safe,” the Reverend continued. “We all know how much Caleb loved the boy.”
His mother finally lowered her chin.
“And I must insist that you leave with us, too, Mrs. Carson. Those are my orders.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stood very still. Charles had seen that expression on her face more times than he cared to remember. When his mother was backed into a corner, there was no telling what she might say or do. He stepped forward and put his arm around her waist. He had never done that before. He took her by the hand as if he intended to escort her out onto the dance floor for a little spin.
“Mother, here’s the thing,” he said. “I’m ready to go back to America. I’ll miss it here, but it’s time. I think Father would agree, don’t you?” His mother’s gaze drifted toward the crowded courtyard. How, he wondered, could she look out there and not grasp that they must go? “Shall we pack your bags, too, Mother? Lian is planning a farewell dinner tonight. We’ll say our good-byes and be ready to leave whenever we get word. America,” he added, in case she had missed his enthusiasm, “here we come!”
Reverend Wells rocked forward onto his toes and back onto his heels. But Charles’s mother remained mesmerized by the sea of Chinese before them.
“Thanks a lot for dropping by,” Charles said as he escorted the Reverend and Kathryn toward the porch steps. “We appreciate it.” Then he leaned closer and whispered, “She’s a little stunned at the thought of leaving. Just keep us posted. We’ll be ready.”
“You’re a sound young man, Charles,” Reverend Wells said, shaking his hand. “Your father would be proud.” He tipped his Chinese straw hat and said, “Good day to you both.”
He and Kathryn went down the steps, conferring with one another as they left.
Charles stood beside his mother at the porch railing. “Thank goodness you’re all right. The Japs didn’t hurt you, did they?”
