The principal had a scar on the side of his face. He wasn’t a teacher either, just a Chinese government worker who cooperated with the Japanese. All he wanted to do was yell at us in a loud, angry voice, “The foreigners are evil and cruel. They want to take over China. Japan is going to save China from the foreigners.”
He said we had to learn to speak Japanese, so a woman came to teach it. All the students were Chinese and didn’t want to learn Japanese, so we just stared at the teacher and acted like we couldn’t understand her. After the first day, the teacher’s face turned red and she left the room. When she came back with the principal, he yelled at us again.
“If you don’t learn Japanese, you will become slaves of the Americans. The Americans want to make you their slaves. You must learn Japanese so that you can be strong and victorious over the Americans!”
He walked around the room while the teacher resumed her lessons. She spit out phrases. Repeating what she said, we mimicked her sounds, but we didn’t really listen to what she was saying.
At the end of class, the principal lectured us again. He told us terrible stories about how Americans were devils and had horns and how they cut off children’s heads. He looked straight at me when he said, cut off children’s heads.
The room was freezing cold, but I was burning up. I gripped my hands in a fist until my knuckles turned white. The muscles in my throat were so tight I couldn’t speak. I started coughing. The teacher dragged me out of the classroom, boxed my ears, and made me stay in the latrine. At least that was better than hearing the principal’s lies.
After school, everyone had already left by the time I was allowed to leave. I walked home alone. I wanted to avoid the soldiers, but it was impossible. Soldiers were all over the streets, drinking and laughing. I had never seen them act like this before. Japanese flags were everywhere, and harsh military music was blasting from loudspeakers.
I saw a big banner hanging across the front of a building that read, JAPAN DEFEATS BRITISH EMPIRE. SINGAPORE HAS SURRENDERED!
It made me feel sick. I ran with tears streaming, trying to avoid drunken soldiers and get home as fast as I could.
When I reached Auntie Boxin’s house, I saw a man with a cap pulled down on his head, looking up at the house from across the street. He must have seen me because he ran off as I approached the gate. I was surprised to find the gate open. I looked around in every direction.
Was this man watching us? Had he been coming in or going out of the gate? I didn’t stop long to find out but ran up the steps and knocked hard on the door.
Auntie Boxin’s servant took a long time to answer and then she scolded me. “Why are you making me answer the door? You cause me so much trouble!” I ran past her and straight to the drawing room where we spent most of our time, a small room with a coal stove where we could stay warm.
Ma and Auntie Boxin were at a table near the stove. Ma was reading the newspaper.
“Lies! Lies! Lies!” Ma shouted and slammed her fist on the newspaper.
Auntie Boxin covered her mouth with a handkerchief and didn’t say anything.
The Peking Chronicle was the only paper the Japanese allowed to be printed in English. The front page declared in large bold type, JAPANESE VICTORY IN SINGAPORE! BRITISH EMPIRE BOWS IN DEFEAT!
“Does this mean the Japanese are winning, Ma?”
“Of course not!” Ma exclaimed. “That paper is controlled by the Japanese. It's just propaganda. They want us to believe they’re winning so we’ll give up.”
But when Da came home later that day, he told us it was true. The British had surrendered Singapore, just as they had Hong Kong. The US had also lost their positions at Guam and Wake Island.
“Da, are you sure? Aren’t they lying?” I insisted.
“No, Nini, it’s true. I heard from people I know. We have to trust our friends. That’s all we have now.”
“The Japanese are winning then?” Auntie Boxin asked in disbelief, muffling her question behind her handkerchief.
“Absolutely not!” replied Ma. “They may win a battle, but they won’t win the war.”
“But how can you be sure?” Auntie Boxin asked. “My mother was sure Korea would never lose, but look, we lost, and Japan controls Korea.”
“We will outlast them. America will come! Just wait.”
I was hoping Ma was right about those American planes coming soon. What were they waiting for?
“I am tired.” Auntie Boxin pushed herself up from the table. “Where is Isabella? Nini, will you take me to my room?” She was shaking.
Walking Auntie Boxin to her room, I looked toward the front door for Isabella, but I didn’t see any sign of her. When she got in bed, Auntie Boxin leaned against the big pile of pillows. Her face was pale.
“Tell Isabella to come see me when she gets in.”
Soon after that, I heard Isabella come in and rushed to catch up with her on the stairs. “Isabella,” I called to her.
“Nini, don’t bother me now,” she said, not even looking at me. She wasn’t dressed in her usual stylish skirts and sweaters, but in an old dress with a brown jacket. Her usually soft brown hair was covered with a scarf.
“But, Isabella, where have you been? It’s already dark outside.”
“It’s none of your business. I will talk to you later.”
“Your mother wants to see you. She is—”
“Leave me alone.” Isabella went to her room and shut the door.
The next day when I came home from school, I saw that same man in the cap darting away as I approached. This time the gate and the front door were both wide open. I rushed in and found Amah on the floor holding her head in her hands and moaning.
“What’s the matter?” I dropped my knapsack on the floor and knelt beside her. Her hair, usually tied back, had fallen loose. She rubbed her forehead as I helped her sit in a chair.
“Oh, my head,” Amah moaned.
“What happened?” I’d never seen Amah like this.
The words came slowly. “A . . . a man . . . I came down . . . down the stairs . . . grabbed . . . hit me on the head.”
“Who was it?”
“I didn’t see. . . ohhh,” she groaned.
“Where did he go?”
“I . . .” She fumbled with her hair, trying to tie it back in a knot.
“You stay here. I’ll get help.”
I wanted Ma but could only find Auntie Boxin. I told her what had happened, and she cried, “Amah—that useless woman! Did she let him get away?”
“Please, Auntie Boxin. Please come help. Amah is hurt!”
When we reached Amah, she was in the dining room trying to clean up. The room was a mess. Drawers on the side table were opened, and contents were thrown over the floor.
As soon as Auntie Boxin saw the empty drawers, she cried out, “My silver! My silver is gone! My husband brought it from Denmark. It was the finest Danish silver. And the silver tea set too! You let it all go! You fool!”
Auntie Boxin walked over and raised her hand to strike Amah.
Amah cowered as if dodging another blow and moaned like a hurt animal.
“It was not her fault!” I pleaded with Auntie Boxin. “It was a robber! It’s not Amah’s fault, please!”
“You stupid woman. You could have stopped him.” She lowered her hand. “Now you will have to pay for it.” Auntie Boxin started coughing. She coughed until her face turned red.
“Come, Auntie Boxin. I’ll take you to bed.”
The only way to protect Amah was to remove Auntie Boxin. I took her by the arm, and she did not resist.
On the way to her room, I tried to imagine why Auntie Boxin had been so cruel to Amah. Her own servant should have been at the door, not Amah. But her servant must have stayed downstairs, resenting that we stayed here, causing her more work. At any rate, A
untie Boxin had no need of silverware anymore. If it was so valuable, why hadn’t she sold it to buy food and fuel and things she needed? What good was her precious silver now!
After the robbery, everything felt different. Da told me robbers knew the Japanese would not punish them for stealing from foreigners. In fact, Japanese soldiers were doing it themselves.
That night I dreamed I was on an abandoned raft. Hands were reaching out as if they were rescuing me, but they were only grabbing at me, trying to take what little I had.
CHAPTER 9
Amah jerked my arm. “Come on,” she urged, pulling me along the narrow street. A rickshaw sloshed by, splashing muddy water across my legs. “Never mind,” said Amah. “Keep moving.”
Shops lined the street, little stalls and booths with melons and fruit, live chickens in cages, and fish swimming in pots. Kites, shoes, tea kettles, and incense burners spilled into the street. A merchant reached out for me. Silk cloths hanging from his arms slipped in front of my face, and I lost sight of Amah. A beggar beside a spittoon, one eye bandaged and the other swollen, pure white and blind, leaned forward to grab me, his scrawny brown hand stretching out for my shoulder until his bony finger touched my jacket. I felt a jerk and Amah pulled me forward.
A man passed in front of me carrying a pole across his shoulder with two straps holding a long bundle in bamboo matting. A tiny foot stuck out of the bundle. I jumped back in shock.
“Is that a baby?” I asked Amah.
“Hush,” she replied. “He’s taking the baby to be buried.”
“But I can hear him crying,” I insisted. “The baby is alive!”
Amah jerked my arm.
“Nini, wake up. Take Weilin.”
Amah was standing beside my bed, shaking my arm.
“Is he dead?” I stammered in my grogginess.
“Hush. You were having a bad dream,” Amah said, glaring into my eyes. “Don’t bother Tai-tai. She worried all night with Weilin coughing. Here, put him between you and Mei-mei,”
Amah insisted, speaking to me in Chinese as she usually did when Ma wasn’t around.
Weilin was wrapped in a bundle of blankets. Amah handed him to me, and I moved to make a place for him in the blankets without waking Mei-mei.
“Now don’t wake him. He’s finally resting. I’m going to wake Sun. I need his help to make some medicine.” Amah turned on the dim light beside the bed and left. I listened to her footsteps padding down the hall.
I seldom got to hold my brother because Amah always had him in tow. His eyes were closed but seemed too small and his ears too large for his head. His skin was pale and his cheeks red, and a little tuft of black hair stuck up over his forehead. His mouth was open, his breathing jerky and labored. He was trying to sleep and sniffle at the same time.
I lay there listening to my little brother breathe while I tried to figure out what route I would take to the hiding place. It was Saturday, and in my note, I’d told Chiyoko to meet me at the garden at 9:00. If she had gotten my message, she’d be there waiting for me. I didn’t want to be late.
But how will I go? We had moved into the British district after I left the note for Chiyoko. Japanese soldiers now blocked the streets into the French district. If I could only enter the French district, I was sure I could find my way to the hole in the wall. Da had told me a guard post had been erected at the end of the street near Auntie Boxin’s, but what about the other streets? Surely they couldn’t block them all.
I had to see Chiyoko. I couldn’t stand the thought of her waiting in the garden without me. Before I had my route fully planned, Amah came back and told me to get dressed and help Sun.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Never mind what time. Just do as I say!”
Weilin was crying and Amah’s full attention turned to him.
I got up and pushed the drapes back. The sky was heavy and gray and gave me no indication of time, only suggesting that night was passing into day. I got dressed quickly in padded pants and a jacket top and went down to the kitchen to help Sun.
Sun was not in a hurry and having trouble getting the stove lit. He told me to keep blowing on the coals while he worked on Amah’s medicinal broth. The ashes blew in my face and the smoke made me choke. When Sun had the broth ready, I still didn’t have a fire. Sun took over and laughed at me, but I was mad at Sun for being so slow and making me late with Chiyoko.
When Sun finally took the broth to Amah, I slipped out the servant entrance so no one would notice. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but it felt late, and I walked quickly.
Auntie Boxin’s house was near the boundary between the English and French districts. There never had been a wall dividing the two sides. The English and the French just had an agreement. The signs were in French on one side of the road and in English on the other, and people used to move freely between the two. Now all the foreigners had been forced into the British side, and roadblocks kept traffic from passing from one side to the other. But there must be many ways, I thought, for a person on foot, especially a child, to pass through.
I checked the intersection at the end of our street, and Da was right—a roadblock had been erected there. I headed to another street and hid behind shrubbery the British had planted to mark the boundary until I could figure out the situation. I stayed hidden until I was sure no one was watching, and then I passed through the bushes into the French district.
I walked quickly, reaching the water company compound. I was afraid someone would recognize me, so I started to turn in another direction. I noticed the gates were closed and no guard was in front. I breathed a sigh of relief and passed on by. I entered the French park and tried to avoid the open areas. The sandbox where the amahs used to bring the children of the foreign families was empty. I walked along the row of benches and fruit trees and was careful to stay hidden by the shrubs and rose bushes.
By the time I reached the shops with the green and white awnings, I was no longer afraid of being in the open. The bakery and the cafe were boarded up. No wonder, I thought, the families who traded there were gone, and so were the owners. Only a few Chinese were out, and no one seemed to take notice of me.
The tall wrought iron gates where the French ambassador had lived were wide open. Trucks were in the drive, and men were shouting orders to others who were lifting heavy furniture. They were busy with their work, and no one seemed to notice me.
The Rue de France had only a little traffic and no policemen or Japanese guards at the platform. There was no sweet potato man to follow this time. But still, I didn’t want to cross there, so I went further down.
I was relieved to reach the Cathedral of St. Georges. The three crosses, three domes, and three arches were just as they had always been, but I saw no one going in or out.
When I entered the path behind the cathedral and walked through the cemetery, it seemed to me it was much later than nine o’clock. I easily found the hole in the wall and squeezed through with a sigh of relief. At first the bushes blocked my view of the garden, but I slipped past them until I saw the fountain with the fish sculpture and the abandoned house. But I didn’t see Chiyoko. I’m too late! I missed her. I was mad at Amah and Sun for being so slow, and at the roadblocks for making me late. Chiyoko must have been disappointed not to find me here. Had she left me a note?
I found the pile of bricks and reached for the brick in the wall that stuck out a little. The brick came out easily and I looked in the hole. There was a piece of paper in the back. I pulled it out and opened it.
Nini,
I can’t come Saturday. I can’t leave mother. My father stays at the hospital most of the time now. Please don’t try to come again. It’s too dangerous.
Chiyoko
I fell against the wall and sighed. I was late getting here, but even if I had come on time, Chiyoko wouldn’t have been here. Her note made me want to see h
er even more. It would be so hard for me to come back again.
I pushed the brick back into the hole and kept the note. I don’t care what happens to me. I have to see Chiyoko! I turned toward the gate and pushed it open.
I had never been in the Chinese part of the city—except once when Da had taken me with him in the water company car with a driver. When I rode in the car with Da, I felt safe, even in the crowded streets, people yelling and selling things, bicycles and trucks and carts all overloaded with too many things. Sometimes the car couldn’t move because of the people in the way. A woman with a long pole over her shoulder carrying jugs turned to see who was in the car and her jugs nearly smashed into the window. Children and beggars pressed their faces against the car windows trying to see who was inside. Even with Da next to me, I sunk down in the back seat.
Just outside the gate, I walked past the alley where Chiyoko and I had run the day the soldiers stopped us. The street was quieter than I thought it would be. Most of the doors were closed, and crates and baskets were stacked by the doors. Some women were sweeping with large straw brooms and splashing water from a bucket on the street in front of a doorway. I turned at the first street, remembering what Chiyoko had said.
I knew that her parents’ clinic was not far, but I didn’t know if they still lived there. Chiyoko had told me the clinic had two entrances—one for the poor and one for everyone else. Her father wanted to serve the poor, she said, but in order to make enough money to do that, he also served those who could afford to pay.
I didn’t have to go far before I saw a building marked with a sign written in Chinese and English: Dr. Mori, Internal Medicine. The door was plastered with a poster bearing bold black characters that read, Closed by order of the Emperor of Japan.
Dragonfly Dreams Page 5
