White Shanghai

by Elvira Baryakina

  “Yes, sir.”

  Felix stepped onto an open car protected by steel plates on its sides. Soldiers from a machine-gun detachment were using the break to munch on sea biscuits. Having noticed Felix, they jumped up. “Permission to speak, sir. What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to fight through to the foreign concessions.”

  Smoke from fires turned the sky brick-brown. Ash flakes settled on shoulders, caps and hair.

  Boots thudded on the platform.

  “Felix, Ada’s here!” Father Seraphim roared. “And Mitya’s with her!”

  “What?”

  Ada couldn’t explain how she’d turned up on the armored train. She was shaking, her torn ball-dress all covered in dirt. She looked like an alien from the Moon.

  “Felix…Felix…” she kept repeating, hugging him.

  “Mitya…what a fool!” Father Seraphim whispered. “Why did you bring her here?”

  Mitya shrugged. “She asked.”

  “I was on watch and saw two people running towards our train,” a sentry told them. “I thought they were spies and took aim at this one’s shaven head. But then I saw a lady. On high heels! She shouted to me in Russian.”

  Felix twiddled Ada’s slender fingers in his hand, looking perplexed. “Silly girl, what should I do with you now?”

  “I couldn’t…without you. … When I heard that your armored train is here, I dropped everything…”

  Felix frowned at his companions-in-arms crowding them. He lost his nerve, shouting, “Leave us alone! It’s a private matter.”

  They sat on a sack of sand and talked, Felix—about death, Ada— about love.

  “Why didn’t you write to me?” she asked. “I waited for so long. So long!”

  “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m a military person—they could kill me any second. And if they don’t—I’ll come back to you. I asked Lemoine to let you know I’m alive. Did you receive his note?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Cannons thundered: one, then another, and another. Bullets started to pummel the steel plating.

  “Take cover!” Felix yelled.

  3.

  Darkness fell. They were about to jump off a moving train—the engine driver only slightly reduced the speed. Mitya was first, then Felix and Ada. Father Seraphim volunteered to stay and defend the train till the end.

  Ada fell onto an embankment. Something cold slashed her arm and she cried out in pain. Felix jammed his hand over her mouth, hissing, “Quiet!”

  They hid in a burned house—embers still smoked underfoot.

  “A switchman used to live here,” Mitya whispered. “A very good man. He could make straw hats.”

  Felix shook his fist at Mitya in a silent shut up! He bent close to Ada. “Listen to me carefully. Take my map-case—there’s money in it. I hid it before my arrest and now I have it back. We’ll be rich. I’ll divorce Betty, I’ll say she’s a whore—it’s a good reason for divorce. And you…will you marry me?”

  “Yes. I love you.”

  “Later…” Felix pressed his finger to Ada’s lips. “Most important— keep the map-case safe.”

  4.

  Daniel Bernard stood in the middle of the street, breathing in aromas through his trembling nostrils: soapy smells from a public bathhouse, incense wafting from a temple…petrol, oil, people, earth, dogs.

  His case hearing never happened. There was no time for it: all the investigators and attorneys were busy marching in the Volunteer Corps. Daniel knew there wasn’t much evidence against him apart from his wife’s letter. Lemoine was probably free.

  Despite all the official red tape and chaos, there was another problem that hindered the case—the eternal question of judicial competence: who was fit to judge Daniel Bernard? If he hadn’t resisted arrest and wounded one of the policemen, he would probably have been released on bail.

  In the end, Daniel was given to the Chinese City authorities. The hope was that the Chinese would quickly execute him as a war criminal. He’d come to terms with being executed by firing squad, then suddenly his guards opened his prison door, threw the keys to him and fled. Welcome to paradise or to hell.

  Daniel was surrounded by a young, happy, elated crowd. Everyone had banners in their hands: the white sun on a blue background with red fields. In every window of every shop there were flags.

  One of the Russian aviators, Sergey, told Daniel that the best day of his life was straight after the October Revolution in St. Petersburg. Together with his comrades, he roared around the city on a truck, freeing friends from prisons and jailing enemies, closing ministries and opening commissariats—as they now called new departments of government in the USSR.

  Amongst the Chinese factory workers, Daniel also felt like he was with the creators of history. From time to time people would tease him, calling him a foreign devil, but soon they left him alone. He was dirty, emaciated and unshaven with a bright, happy, but confused smile on his face—he was one of them.

  A little girl sold cigarettes on the corner. Daniel noticed the Kuomintang emblem was printed on the packs—the nationalists were quick to prepare their propaganda. Another crowd of demonstrators came into his view. He heard people shouting, “Warlords out! Long live united China!”

  During the long months spent in solitary confinement, Daniel thought of many things. At first, he was very angry at himself, at Ada— he had no doubt she was to blame for his arrest. Then, he learned he’d been caught due to Edna’s letter so he was angry at his wife. Then the fear of death came—not that careless, heroic death in war he wished for, but a torturous, miserable perishing in a prison cell. Daniel had food poisoning and became sick. For days, he vomited constantly. No doctor, no medicines, no simple human compassion—not allowed.

  The ignorant policemen hadn’t taken Daniel’s little fox kitsune netsuke—they thought it was a one-penny lucky charm sold everywhere in the Chinese City. Daniel asked his warden to take the netsuke to the Japanese Quarter, to the store of his acquaintance, a pharmacist who collected antiques. A while ago, he was begging Daniel to sell him this lady-vixen with nine tails. He gave the warden his payment and sent Daniel capsules with pulvis which saved him—at least until his court hearing and execution. It turned out, Nina had given him a priceless present.

  While waiting for death, Daniel thought more and more about Edna. After their wedding, he took her to enjoy the ancient temples in a bamboo forest.

  They sat on a boulder and Daniel told her about Journey to the West, a Chinese novel created in the sixteenth century by the great scholar Wu Cheng’en.

  “It’s a story about the Monkey King, a fearless warrior, who flew on a cloud killing demons with his magic staff. The Monkey King proclaimed himself a Great Sage Equal to Heaven and at the same time was a real scumbag.”

  Edna laughed, “Well, you have to choose here: you are either wise or mean. An intelligent person can’t be a bastard, because it’s stupid: if you’re evil to people, they’ll turn away from you.”

  Sometime ago Daniel used to say, “Wherever I go, the world must be better.” He would pick toilet paper off the floor in a restroom for cleanness. He dealt in weapons for the revival of Germany and Austria. He bombed cities for the illusion of freedom and mightiness. A man who sows fire from the sky is a god himself, isn’t he?

  Daniel Bernard became the Monkey King, who by some silly mistake was allotted too much power and used it as if he was…a monkey. Wherever Daniel went, he left discord and unhappiness. But he considered himself the main character of a fairytale, and who cares what those third-rate demons feel like when he so skillfully punishes them with his staff?

  A Great Sage Equal to Heaven was fighting for fairness and finally he got it—in a prison cell. When it came to improving the world, he should have stuck to toilet paper.

  But the gods took pity on the Monkey King and gave him a second chance. Go now with your hands full of hot, liquid, steaming happiness. How should he use it? How could he not let it slip
through his fingers?

  He had no idea.

  For too long he had stomped on the heads of others, made faces and rewarded himself with flowery titles.

  Let that be a lesson to you, Sage Equal to Heaven. And remember that, after all, heaven is still just empty air.

  5.

  Cold rain is the best policeman in the world. The day before, the city was boiling with demonstrations, but, on the morning of March 23, 1927, the streets were empty. There were only patrol cars and the queues at newspaper stalls, reading lists of the dead.

  Fifteen hundred houses had burned down. The gray uniform jackets of the Dogmeat General’s troops and red armbands of his butchers were scattered in the streets. Wind buffeted wet flags.

  For the second day, the checkpoint on Boundary Road was besieged by a crowd of refugees. Drooping hats, military caps and gloomy umbrellas stood sulkily, quiet.

  A British officer climbed onto an armored car protecting the gates to the International Settlement. “Chinese policemen and soldiers are not allowed into the territory of the International Settlement,” he shouted in his megaphone. “It’s banned to carry flags, banners or any insignia with agitation purposes, written in any languages. All military uniforms are banned except those listed below—”

  Mitya and Ada stood there, holding one piece of a carton over their heads. Both were covered in dirt from head to toe. Ada had lost her fox neckpiece somewhere; one heel of her shoe was broken off.

  Felix was allowed behind the gates—to talk with the head of the checkpoint.

  For two days, they’d rushed around the cordoned area, trying to get through. When people heard their Russian accents, they chased them away, threatening to shoot them on sight. “Get lost, you Bolsheviks!” In the same way, soldiers of the Dogmeat General ran from one crossing point to another—barefoot, bandaged, with torn off rank insignias.

  At Boundary Road, Felix met three officers from the Great Wall.

  “It’s all over,” they said. “Those who didn’t leave the armored train were killed.”

  “What about Father Seraphim?” Ada asked.

  “Caught a bullet in the head.”

  There was no sign of Felix for more than an hour.

  “He won’t come back,” Ada whispered in despair. She was completely exhausted. A swollen cut glowed from her wrist to her elbow.

  Mitya stroked her shoulder. “Felix will come back. He’s a good man.”

  Suddenly, Ada noticed Daniel in the crowd. He was standing very close and did not look like himself—unshaven, dirty and tousled.

  “Mr. Bernard, is that you?” Ada gasped.

  He didn’t have time to answer. A paper was given to the British officer on the armored car. He looked through it and raised his megaphone. “White race representatives can enter the International Settlement!”

  The crowd stirred. Chinese people who spoke English started to translate the officer’s words.

  Felix appeared at the gates. “Ada!” he called. “Come here!”

  She rushed towards him, but a Chinese man grasped her hand. “We’ll all go together,” he shouted menacingly. “We won’t let you go alone!”

  Mitya started to argue and received a blow to the head. Blood flowed, yells and a stampede followed.

  “Miss Marshall!”

  Ada saw Daniel dashing towards her. She turned—Felix was trying to squeeze through from the other side, dozens of hands were grasping at him, pulling him back. A Chinese officer took a saber from its sheath, swung it over his head, and something hot spattered across Ada’s cheek. As if halted by a raging explosion, the crowd leapt back. Daniel fell, his neck carved open.

  “To the gates!” shouted Russian officers, someone dragged Ada with them.

  The loud roar of a machine-gun deafened her.

  The head of the checkpoint ordered a burst of bullets over the crowd, to scatter the refugees. Several bullets rebounded from the walls and two people were left lying on the crossroads. Russian officers lifted Felix Rodionov off the ground and carried him into the cordoned area. He died an hour later.

  CHAPTER 76

  THE NANKING INCIDENT

  1.

  The Revolutionary Army burst into the city from the Longhua suburb side, known for its pagoda, arsenal and place of executions.

  Chiang Kai-shek’s naval ship moored at the Bund. The thunder of weapons ceased; Big-Eared Du had convinced the foreigners they could come to a peaceful agreement with the General.

  They gave Chiang Kai-shek a pass allowing him to enter the International Settlement at any time, even accompanied by his armed security.

  Rumors spread around the city: Chiang Kai-shek has met with the Chinese merchants and told them that if anyone would pay his bills he’d happily break ties with Russia.

  The new commandant of the Chinese City, General Bai, made a public announcement that all unfair agreements with foreigners and their concessions would be sorted out by diplomats. While the negotiations were taking place, he advised the workers to be patient—great deeds take time. He told them all to return to the factories and continue working—if their masters go bankrupt it would be worse for everyone.

  As a protest, the labor unions, communists and student ringleaders banded together to elect their own Shanghai Government, the Council of Nineteen. No one, except for Borodin in Hankou, acknowledged it. The Council was a real headache for Chiang Kai-shek: their several thousand workers under arms meant he could never fully control the Chinese City.

  2.

  People said there was an ominous, unbroken, two-mile long row of military ships spread along the Huangpu River: the French Jules Michelet, the American Pittsburgh, British Argus and vessels from Japan, Italy, Spain and the Netherlands.

  On March 25, 1927, news spread like wildfire through Shanghai that a catastrophe had occurred in Nanking. Soldiers from the Revolutionary Army burst into the foreign concessions, pillaged them, killed the vice-president of the Nanking University and wounded the British Consul. White Shanghai froze in horror. This was it—their worst nightmare had come true. Even those who had resisted their family and friends’ fears were busy packing their suitcases.

  Rumors flew that all the steamer tickets for Europe and America were bought out in a single day.

  Tamara listened to the radio all the time.

  “Nanking events have triggered a mass exodus of the whites from the Chinese provinces,” an unknown anchorman said.

  It was more then a week since Klim had been on air. Tamara missed him. She called his house many times, but no one answered.

  “…there are more than twenty thousand refugees,” an anchorman continued. “The majority of them are American missionaries who lived in China for over a decade. The baptized natives are now plundering their houses.”

  “Apparently, all this time, the Chinese were waiting for the Revolutionary Army, not the Savior,” Klim’s said.

  Tamara snapped to attention—He came back after all! Where has he been?

  “Tell us, please, what happened in Nanking?” the anchorman asked.

  Klim was in that mess? Tamara wondered in astonishment.

  His voice sounded tense as if he was struggling to choose the right words, “Tony Aulman and I arrived in Nanking the day before the carnage started. We spent the night in prison. The Dogmeat’s people hate us no less than soldiers of the Revolutionary Army—it was safer in a cell than anywhere else in the city. When the massacre started, all the foreigners gathered at Mr. Hobart’s house on the top of Sacony Hill. There were about thirty of us.”

  Tamara’s soul, her thoughts and heart turned to stone. She looked blankly at the polished side of her radio receiver. Tony was there, in Nanking. But he told me he went to Qingdao!

  “Looters started to break in,” Klim continued. “We threw all the valuables out the window to buy us time; it worked and the soldiers began fighting over them. Mr. Hobart had a radio transmitter so we sent a distress signal. American and British ships opened fire on th
e city, forcing the besiegers to let us go. I don’t know how many Chinese people died; I only know our numbers.”

  Even in her wildest dreams, it had never occurred to Tamara that Tony could die before her.

  “We made ropes out of sheets and climbed down a city wall,” Klim said. “First down were the men carrying weapons, then the women and children. British seamen waited for us on the riverbank with lifeboats.”

  “Are you sure you were attacked by Chiang Kai-shek’s soldiers, not the communists?” the anchorman asked. “After all, we have a cease-fire now.”

  “You think the commander knows what his troops are up to?” Klim answered. “They do what they like. It’s civil war—meaning people kill people just because they feel like it.”

  “Therefore the bombardment of Nanking was justified?”

  Silence.

  “I’m very happy I’m sitting here talking to you,” Klim said. “But I could just as easily be lounging in a ditch with a hole in my head.”

  Tell me, is Tony alive? Tell me! Tamara begged.

  “I need to say goodbye to the listeners,” Klim said. “I’m afraid this is my last time on air. Tomorrow, I’m going to Peking on personal matters.”

  A Hawaiian trio started to sing.

  A floorboard creaked, a door hinge groaned. Tony walked into the room, his head wrapped in bandages.

  “Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall,” he said apologetically. “The rope made out of sheets came undone. It was lucky Klim and a British lieutenant dragged me to the lifeboats or I wouldn’t have made it.”

  “It’s okay,” Tamara sobbed. “We’ll just sit here together, recovering and listening to the radio.”

  3.

  A British cruiser ferried Klim back to Shanghai. He sat in the wind on deck, his coat collar upturned, reflecting on his life—a colorful Indian necklace. He had threaded all events, cities and people carefully on and then unexpectedly caught it on something and the beads had flown in all directions. Now what? Make a lot of fuss and collect everything back together, climb to those far corners for his loose beads—or to hell with it all, let them lie as they are?