by Iris Yang
Father John came in the evening. “I’m going to drive Jasmine out of Japanese occupied territory,” he said to Professor Valentine. “As far as we need to go. Then she can take a train back to Chungking.”
All three sat at the dining table. For the first time in two months, the house was quiet except for the storm that was still raging.
“How do you propose to pass the checkpoints?” asked the professor. “They won’t allow a beautiful girl like Jasmine to leave. The Japanese have no mercy on Chinese and care little for Americans. We have limited power here. Haven’t we learned that the hard way? They bombed the Panay. Remember?”
The priest nodded.
The USS Panay was a gunboat packed with American diplomats, journalists, and Western and Chinese refugees. Ignoring the American flags on the boat, the Japanese aviators had sunk it without warning. Afterward, they circled over the area, as if they planned to kill any survivors who cowered in a culvert of riverbank reeds.
“It’s too dangerous. I can’t allow her to take the chance,” Professor Valentine continued. In the faint candle light, a shadow of pain passed across her face. “I’m sure her mother would agree.”
Jasmine dipped her head. She had the same concern. The thought of being scrutinized and captured by the Japanese soldiers sent chills down her spine. The house was cold. They hadn’t had electricity since the fall of the city. Everyone wore heavy jackets or coats, even inside. She shivered as the atrocities flashed through her mind.
Father John picked up a cup of hot water. A sudden gust of wind rattled the panes of the window. The entire house seemed to creak and shudder. Wincing, he took a sip. “Lord, when will winter be over?” He wrapped his hands around the cup to warm his fingers. “I’ve got an idea,” he said nonchalantly, “but I need your students’ help.”
Both Professor Valentine and Jasmine arched their eyebrows.
“It’s a good one, I think.” He paused for effect. The corner of his mouth twitched with the need to smile. Picking up a pair of chopsticks, he said, “But let’s eat first; I’m starving.”
Chapter 13
Several days later, Father John left Nanking with a Western woman. Dressed in a black robe and veil, she seemed in her sixties. Her pale skin had a wrinkled appearance. They drove in his sedan with an American flag painted on the hood.
The devastation was evident everywhere. Nearly everything in the city was razed. The houses and shops had been looted, burned, or smashed. Broken vehicles, carts, and rickshaws were left by the side of the rubble-strewn streets. Despite the recent storm, bloodstains were visible here and there, and a foul smell permeated the air. The only things colorful were the posters displayed on street corners of the wasteland. In bold characters, they all proclaimed: “Trust Japanese Army. We will protect you and feed you.”
“The Nanking I knew is gone,” Father John sighed.
The nun frowned. They drove in silence.
A massive stone wall, built several hundred years earlier during the Ming dynasty, encircled the fallen capital. To get out of the city, one had to pass through one of the dozen Japanese-guarded checkpoints where he was subjected to a search. Attractive women and young men were in danger; they were more likely to be singled out as prostitutes or ex-soldiers.
The path leading to the gate was crowded. Most people walked. Many carried their belongings in baskets suspended at the ends of a shoulder pole. Some parents carried their youngsters in the baskets. Sick people and the elderly were transported in push-carts.
“Where are they going?” asked the nun.
“Back to their homes, or to relatives’ homes. Anywhere out of this war-torn city, I guess. Some will walk a long distance.”
She shook her head in sympathy. Unwilling to see the misery on their faces, she lowered her head. Only when the car approached the gate did she look up. Instantly she tensed.
Father John put his right hand on her arm.
A dozen Japanese in muddy yellow uniforms guarded the gate. They blocked the path, checking for identification cards. Their rifles and bayonets glinted in the sunlight.
As the car approached, a soldier dragged a beautiful girl out of the line. An older woman, probably her mother, dropped to her knees in front of him. Ignoring her pleas, the Japanese shoved the girl into a truck where a group of helpless young women were guarded by several armed soldiers.
The nun gasped. She turned to the priest, her eyes imploring.
“Not today.” Father John shook his head, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
Just then, another Japanese picked out a young man. As he tied the captive’s hands, the Chinese bolted. A few yards later, another soldier standing guard stabbed him with a bayonet from behind. Screaming, the young man fell. When he tried to crawl away, the Japanese finished him off with several more thrusts.
The nun sobbed.
“No!” Father John said sternly, “No tears.”
She dabbed her eyes and cheeks carefully with a handkerchief.
They stepped out of the car when it was their turn. Two Japanese came to search the vehicle. The priest handed over their identification cards. The soldiers checked the paperwork. After looking at the International Safety Zone’s armbands and the American flag painted on the hood, they exchanged a glance and waved them off.
As Father John and the nun returned to the car, a voice from behind commanded, “Stop! Wait!” The man was speaking in forced English.
“Turn around,” whispered Father John. “Slowly.”
Biting her lip, the nun followed his suggestion.
A short and stubby Japanese officer approached. “Photo”—he signaled the camera in his hand—“with her.” He pointed to the nun.
She turned to Father John who nodded his approval. The officer handed the camera to the priest. From the viewfinder, Father John watched the grinning Japanese hold his sword in one hand and wrap his other arm around the nun’s shoulders. Behind them, a Rising Sun flag flapped in the wind on top of the damaged city wall. He moved to the right. The truck with doomed women and the body on the ground came into his view. He pressed the button. Satisfied, the Japanese officer dismissed them.
Tension drained from her shoulders as they settled back in the car. “Are there more checkpoints?”
“Most likely. I don’t know for sure.”
“How long will my makeup last?”
“A long time if you don’t cry.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Father John. Without you and Professor Valentine, I—”
“No need to thank me, Jasmine. Your father was my best friend, and your mother was Minnie’s. It’s our job to protect you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.
They drove along the Yangtze River. At almost four thousand miles, it was the longest river in Asia. For thousands of years, the Yangtze had been used for water, irrigation, and transportation; it had played a significant role in Chinese history, culture, and in China’s economy. These days, though, it was a body disposal site. Countless corpses had been dumped into the river, and the water had turned red for days at the peak of the massacre.
Even now, dead bodies were scattered on the shoal or near the shore, their faces black and rotten, some covered with riverbank reeds. Unnaturally fattened dogs walked along the edge of the water, hunting and feasting on corpses. Two dozen young men wearing Red Cross armbands collected the bodies and fought off the dogs.
Jasmine searched the faces of the young men and wondered if Li Ming had escaped the city. Once the car left the riverside road, she asked, “Father John, how many people died in the last two months?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thousands?”
“Hundreds of thousands! So far, the Red Cross has buried twenty thousand. I heard that the Advance Benevolence Society had buried over one hundred ten thousand. Several other burial groups are still at work. The Japanese troops also buried or burned bodies, or dumped them into the river. I’m afraid no one wi
ll ever know the exact number.”
Chapter 14
The makeup artist at the college had done a good job. Jasmine’s disguise held up well. She was anxious and scared whenever they passed a checkpoint, but with the American flag on the car, the International Safety Zone’s armbands, and her false paperwork, they didn’t run into much trouble. The sun sank below the tree line and the sky was streaked with tendrils of lilac light when they finally left Japanese-controlled territory.
The earliest train leaving for Chungking from a nearby town was scheduled to depart the next morning. Father John bought the ticket and found an inn. For the first time in two months, they had dinner with fresh meat and vegetables.
That night, Jasmine slept without worrying about bumping into Professor Valentine or Xiao Mei. A smile tugged at her lips when she tried to imagine how the innkeeper would react—an old Western woman walking into the room that evening, but a Chinese girl leaving in the morning.
The sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon as they arrived at the train station.
“Take care of yourself, Jasmine!” Standing on the platform, Father John waved his arm as the train pulled out of the station.
Jasmine pressed her forehead against the glass and fastened her gaze on the American until he was out of sight. Two months ago she’d had a loving family, and she’d been on an eastbound train to see her parents. Now she was going west. She was in the same oyster-colored coat and had the same patchwork book pack, but she was alone, motherless, fatherless. A lifetime had passed in those few weeks. Jasmine slumped in her seat.
The train was overcrowded. All the seats were taken; the aisles were jammed with people and their baggage. Some passengers traveled with chickens or ducks. Others carried their belongings in baskets fastened to shoulder poles. Babies cried, children complained, and mothers tried to soothe them. The musty smell of unwashed humanity filled the air.
Three soldiers in bloodstained uniforms stood nearby. One man had a dirty bandage around his left eye. Another held his arm in a sling. The third balanced his weight against a crutch placed under his left arm. Other travelers looked at the soldiers with contempt. The Nationalist Army had failed to protect civilians and abandoned them in their hour of need.
Jasmine felt pity for the wounded soldiers. They were taking the blame for the wrongdoing of the leader of the Army and the government. “Come here!” Standing up, she signaled to the one with the crutch.
The soldier was so stunned that it took him a moment to understand.
“You shouldn’t give your seat to him,” said a middle-aged woman. She sat next to Jasmine and stretched her legs, blocking the way. “Look what they did in Nanking!”
Another traveler grunted with palpable disgust. “They deserted the city and let the Japs kill thousands and thousands of people.” All within earshot nodded.
Demoralized and ashamed, the soldiers lowered their heads.
“They were ordered to retreat or surrender,” said Jasmine resolutely. “They’re soldiers. It’s not their fault.”
The woman grimaced and remained seated. “Yang bing qian ri, yong bing yi shi—Troops are maintained in long years to be used in the nick of time.”
“Please,” Jasmine begged while trying to get out of her way.
“It’s okay,” said the soldier with a wounded leg. “Thank you. I’m all right.”
“It’s not easy for them,” Jasmine reasoned with the woman. “The Japs killed so many of the surrendered soldiers. I’ve seen bodies—”
“You came from Nanking?”
Jasmine nodded. “Several of my friends are soldiers. I watched as one was…killed.” The image of Lu Ping’s blood-covered body flashed before her, and she frowned. After a beat, she added, “My Big Brother was a lieutenant of the 88th Division. He almost died.” She was thinking of Li Ming and wondered where he was and if he was safe.
The passengers shook their heads and sighed. The woman pulled her legs in and moved. Jasmine scooted out of the seat and tugged the sleeve of the soldier with the crutch. “Sit down, please.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Tears welled in his eyes as he sat. “Thank you.”
“My name is Bai Moli. Call me Jasmine.”
“I’m Song Fu. We’ll take turns sitting.” He pointed to the taller of his companions. “This is Big Wang.” He gestured to the shorter one. “Little Wang.”
The two men smiled at Jasmine.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“We were stationed outside Nanking,” Song Fu replied. “A group of us didn’t want to surrender. We fought our way through.” He paused, swallowing hard.
Big Wang finished for him, “Out of one hundred, only…only three of us made it.”
Jasmine gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
Their fellow passengers clucked sympathetically.
“Better to die fighting than to be slaughtered,” the three answered in unison.
“If everyone were like you,” Jasmine said, “then the Japs wouldn’t have won so easily.”
“We heard what happened to those who were disarmed.” Song Fu heaved a tired sigh.
“Where are you going now?”
“Chungking.”
“Good. I’m going there, too.” Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Jasmine was glad to find three companions for the long journey.
Chapter 15
By noon, the train pulled into Wuhan. Located halfway between Nanking and Chungking along the Yangtze River, this large city was a major transportation hub within inland China.
Jasmine took out a few baked yams from her book pack. “Here.” She handed the food to the soldiers. “Sorry, they’re cold.” Father John had bought them the night before on their way to the Inn. He’d been worried they wouldn’t find anything early in the morning.
“Thank you, Jasmine,” said Song Fu.
His companions nodded their agreement, licking their lips. They took out their water canteens.
The train was less crowded when it left Wuhan. Jasmine and Song Fu sat on one side of a small table, and Big Wang and Little Wang sat on the other side. Sunlight streamed in through the large windows. For the first time in weeks, Jasmine felt a semblance of normalcy as they shared food and the water like friends on a picnic.
A roar of airplanes overhead interrupted the peace. Enormous explosions rattled the train, and it screeched to a halt.
Whump! Bam!
The shock wave hit Jasmine. For a split second, she was so stunned that she thought she was dreaming.
“Run!” shouted Song Fu, pushing her.
Now she knew it was real. She jumped to her feet and ran after the other two soldiers. A few steps later she turned and grabbed Song Fu’s arm. He was struggling with his crutch. They stumbled toward the door as more bombs hit the train.
Outside wasn’t any safer. The Japanese planes swooped low. Their machine guns stuttered, and something exploded. Flame and smoke spewed into the air. The crowd screamed, their voices muffled by the ear-piercing sound of the explosions and firearms. Jasmine shrieked, but she couldn’t hear her own voice.
The airplanes kept circling, dropping more bombs and peppering the area with bullets. Trees cracked and tumbled. Buildings collapsed. Dirt and bricks flew everywhere.
Jasmine and Song Fu staggered together. With his wounded leg, he couldn’t walk fast enough. At one point, a plane dove at them. The bullets were perilously close.
“Get down!” Song Fu pushed Jasmine to the ground.
Lying flat on her face, her body was covered by Song Fu’s. The debris from the explosions rained around them. Her hands flew over her head. Even so, she could hear the gunfire. Fear squeezed the air from her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut and lay as still as she could, blood pulsing in her ears.
Overhead noises announced the arrival of new planes. Jasmine trembled, feeling sorry for herself. This is it. Her life would end on this pavement in a city halfway between he
r two homes. None of her loved ones would know where she was or how she died.
Time seemed to slow, heightening her fear and panic. A few tense moments passed. To her surprise and delight, the noises overhead moved away. They sounded more like thunder on the distant horizon. No more artillery fire around them. Is it because our fighter planes came? Did the Japs have to deal with our Air Force? Is Cousin Birch one of the pilots?
Then she heard her name. “Jasmine? Song Fu?”
She lifted her head and called out, “We’re here!”
Moments later she felt Song Fu’s weight lift from her. Using all fours, she pushed herself up but froze instantly as she looked down.
Song Fu lay in a pool of blood. His eyes were closed and still.
“Oh, God!” she cried and bent down. She was pulled away by the two soldiers.
“He’s gone,” said Big Wang.
“Impossible,” Jasmine argued. Her eyes scanned Song Fu’s body. She couldn’t detect any wounds.
“He’s gone,” repeated Big Wang. “Hit from behind.” He leaned down, unbuttoned Song Fu’s uniform, and took a few items from his chest pocket.
Jasmine caught a glimpse of an envelope covered with dark blood. “Are you sure?” she stuttered, dumbfounded.
Both men nodded.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Another life vanished. And this man had died saving her.
“We have to go!” said Big Wang, grabbing her arm.
“Where are we going?”
“Airport. The rail track was destroyed. It’ll take days or weeks to repair. We’ve got to go to Chungking. Now!”
Chapter 16
It took Jasmine and the two soldiers several hours to reach the airport. The bombing created such chaos that they had to abandon buses and, finally, walk several miles. As part of a terror campaign, the air raid was focused on civilian targets, as it had been in Nanking. Piles of rubble and twisted bodies lay in the streets. The smell made Jasmine want to vomit.
