A Choice of Evils

by Meira Chand

  The hall was already filling up. Kenjiro took a seat next to Fukutake. The Ambassador was to give an opening address. At first there had been hesitancy; nobody knew how far Japan should be seen to support the conference in these difficult times. But from Hsinking came orders from one of the Generals to do whatever was needed to give the conference a boost. It appeared one of the main organisers was an Indian, with connections in Manchukuo. Kenjiro had not yet met the man. He had arrived from Hsinking the night before and others had taken care of him.

  At last people settled and the Ambassador stood up to give his address, speaking obliquely of Asian brotherhood in a world of new perspectives. He trod a fine line of diplomacy, although he was a supporter of the military. After the Ambassador came the Indian. His eyes protruded slightly behind a sharp nose, filling his face with an earnest, fanatical expression. He was at home on the platform, surveying his audience, waiting until he had their attention. He spoke with a practised fluency, as if reciting well-worn words.

  ‘Why has China united against Japan, a nation that wishes only to see her advancement, and to protect her from the threat of Russia, which is even now massed on the borders of Manchukuo? In the event of a fight with Japan, where will Nanking turn for help but to Britain and America. And will these nations not later demand their pound of flesh in return for the help they give China? Do you think a China, armed and aided by Britain and America, if it defeats Japan, will then become the dominant power in Asia? Do not deceive yourself. If Japan were ever defeated, then China would pass under American or British control. That would be a tragedy for China and for the whole of Asia. White domination is what we must co-operate to rid ourselves of. It is Russia with her encroaching ambitions we must prepare to fight, not each other.’

  It was the same old propaganda, but people listened. The man had the power to project himself. Kenjiro wondered at the zeal that could emanate from unassuming individuals once a missionary chord was struck. The Indian’s face was transfigured by an uncontrollable energy. A voice that had begun persuasively now harangued the crowd. There was also something familiar about him. Kenjiio realised, with a start of recognition, that he had once arranged special papers for Tilik Dayal during his posting to New Delhi. He remembered a bombing and the need for the man to seek asylum in Japan. He looked at Tilik in amazement, and walked forward to introduce himself after the meeting was over. Tilik recognised Kenjiro immediately. As they stood talking, a tall Englishman pushed his way through the crowd. He slapped a hand upon Tilik’s shoulder.

  ‘So, you too have come to hear me speak,’ Tilik smiled broadly at Donald Addison. ‘Will you report my speech in your English paper? I know I can trust you to be fair,’ Tilik turned to introduce Kenjiro to Donald.

  ‘We journeyed across Manchuria together on camels. Donald saved my life after I was bitten by a snake.’

  ‘I might even do an article on the further growth of anti-British sentiment in south-east Asia,’ Donald laughed.

  ‘You could interview Mr Nozaki also for his views upon this subject,’ Tilik enthused. Kenjiro protested in alarm; he wanted no further prominence after his talk with Fukutake. He tried to take his leave. Tilik Dayal placed a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘I have had two surprise meetings, and both with people who have saved my life. We must celebrate.’ Tilik insisted they go to a restaurant known for its Peking cuisine. Eventually, they left in an Embassy car for the restaurant.

  ‘Now what will you say about the conference?’ Tilik turned to Donald as soon as they settled at a table.

  ‘You will see,’ Donald teased. ‘How is the wool trade?’

  ‘Captain Nakamura is dead,’ Tilik replied. His voice took on a new edge. A sullen look filled his face for a moment. Things had not gone as he wanted.

  A new Japanese Army High Command, in spite of Hasegawa’s intervention, had not liked Tilik’s idea of paying the wool traders the same price they would get from the British in Tientsin. It ordered prices dropped to levels that exploited the traders. As a result there was a new explosion of discontent against the Japanese amongst the Chinese traders.

  ‘All the units in that area, including the one to which Captain Nakamura was attached, were massacred by Chinese guerrillas,’ Tilik announced.

  ‘I liked Captain Nakamura,’ said Donald. It unsettled him to think the rational, friendly Nakamura was dead.

  Kenjiro sipped a beer and listened to the conversation with a slight frown. He did not know what to make of Tilik Dayal. ‘You have come a long way since we last met,’ he remarked. Tilik nodded, anxious to give proof of the distance travelled.

  ‘I have been given great support in Japan for the Indian cause. Both Shumei Okawa and Mitsuru Toyama are my benefactors. Toyama arranged my marriage for me,’ Tilik boasted, happy to drop these powerful names. Something in Nozaki’s restrained manner made him feel he must defend himself.

  Kenjiro put down the beer to suppress the sudden wave of alarm flooding him at the mention of Okawa. He did not miss the look of satisfaction on the Indian’s face at the impression these names had made on him. Kenjiro picked up his chopsticks and assessed Tilik Dayal anew. What a useful tool he must be to the militarists. Obviously, they paid him well to further their propaganda. There were things he was tempted to say, but swallowed them down with a mouthful of pork and cashew nuts. He should not put himself in further danger. Nowadays trust was a scarce commodity. He picked up a fresh mouthful of meat.

  Donald sat back, his eyes alert. ‘What are you doing in Hsinking?’ he asked Tilik. He sensed an undercurrent between the two men before him. If he could get him alone, he had a feeling the Japanese could tell him a thing or two.

  ‘In working for India I am working for Japan, and vice versa. I have been given the opportunity to publicise the Indian Freedom Movement over a wide area.’

  ‘Hence of course the Lama disguise when we last met,’ Donald interrupted and turned to explain the desert journey to Kenjiro. A look of annoyance passed across Tilik’s face. It was not necessary for the Japanese to know these details.

  ‘The defence of Manchukuo is increasingly important,’ Tilik announced, seeing the intensity with which Kenjiro was now listening. He remembered the terror that had filled him the last time he had met this man in Delhi, when the police had been after him. He must have appeared then an abject sight. The desolation of those days welled up before him. A sudden panic overcame him.

  ‘I had not realised the time. Forgive me,’ he rose hurriedly as they neared the end of the meal, ‘I am supposed to see a group of the conference delegates.’ After promises to meet again soon, he left Donald and Kenjiro to finish their meal together.

  ‘Who are Toyama and Okawa?’ Donald asked as they watched Tilik depart. He observed Kenjiro in a leisurely way. The man seemed more approachable than many of the Japanese he had met. He remembered Nakamura again and felt a wave of regret.

  ‘Toyama and Okawa are men who are not to be taken lightly,’ Kenjiro replied. To speak these names aloud unnerved him. Donald looked at him enquiringly, but Kenjiro did not elaborate.

  ‘How did you find Manchukuo?’ Kenjiro changed the subject. He realised Tilik had left him to pay the bill from the Embassy’s conference expenses. Although this was in order, he felt another spurt of impatience.

  ‘Manchukuo was interesting,’ Donald was careful not to give vent to his criticisms. He gave Kenjiro a penetrating look and then decided to chance a little more. ‘I thought when I came here I might investigate the Reds, but now I find someone else has got there first.’ He was surprised he had suddenly, inadvertently, decided to risk such a slippery admission. But as he suspected, Kenjiro reacted without censure when told about Edgar Snow.

  ‘China and Communism are bigger than the scope of one man,’ Kenjiro replied after Donald had explained the situation. He saw Donald’s eyes were bloodshot. It seemed the Englishman was carrying great disappointment with him over this Edgar Snow. In different circumstances he might hav
e thought to introduce the man to Teng. But in these uncertain times, such fantasy could not be sustained. There seemed suddenly so much to hide since he arrived in Nanking. The posting he had been delighted to take as a step to better things seemed now like a minefield before him.

  ‘Do you know what is happening up in the north?’ Donald had lowered his voice. ‘It is rumoured there has been some trouble that could ignite further. Can you confirm there has been an incident near Peking?’

  For a moment Kenjiro hesitated. He looked about guardedly before he spoke. ‘There has been an incident near Peking at the Marco Polo Bridge. We are doing what we can to contain it. We have, I assure you, no wish to provoke the Chinese into expanding the conflict for reasons of their own.’ Kenjiro was murmuring the information. Donald leaned near him to catch the words.

  Kenjiro looked furtively about him again. He had said nothing that would not soon be known. Guilt was driving him paranoid. He took a deep breath to control himself. ‘If you are finished, perhaps we should go,’ he said, taking his wallet from his pocket and putting down several notes on a plate with the bill.

  Outside, he left the Englishman and walked quickly away in the direction of the Embassy. The car had gone with Tilik Dayal and he was glad of the chance to walk. The evening was warm and above him the sky was star-filled. He observed Orion the Hunter arched above Nanking. Up north, over the Marco Polo Bridge and in the sky above Peking, Orion must be as visible. Or were the clouds of battle already blotting out with smoke and death the three stars of Orion’s sword? He returned his gaze to the road and looked quickly back over his shoulder. Behind him the street was dark and quiet.

  Donald Addison hurried towards the Nanking office of the North China Daily News who, by arrangement with The Times, allowed him use of their facilities. The article was already formed in his mind. He had a scoop, he was sure, with the incident at the Marco Polo Bridge. No one had as yet reported the news and the Japanese had now confirmed it.

  7

  War

  August 1937

  It was the suddenness of the event that shocked. The summer was stifling, the heat packed densely about them. The war had rolled on, unseen, a thousand miles or more beyond the horizon. Then, like a dark cloud blown invisibly southwards, it burst upon them. Peking and Tientsin had already fallen. Now it was heard that a Japanese force had landed in Shanghai.

  Nadya walked quickly through the ward behind Martha. The August heat was in hiatus, cooled abruptly by an approaching typhoon. Rain beat down and wind whistled in the hospital windows. Adrenaline quickened her heartbeat, making her movements jumpy. She tried to ignore the fear somersaulting through her. Martha’s back was calm and straight before her.

  ‘Osteomalacia,’ Martha announced, watching a woman totter forward upon tiny feet. ‘In its advanced stages it makes normal childbirth impossible. There are countless still births and tortured deaths during agonising labour.’ She walked on up the ward between the rows of beds.

  ‘Osteomalacia comes from calcium deficiency and is aggravated by bound feet. It produces a mincing walk throwing the pelvis out of pivot until it is grotesquely malformed. A Caesarean section is the only way these women survive childbirth. That is why we do so many,’ Martha continued.

  Nadya nodded, reassured by Martha’s even tone of voice and unflappable manner. It was the first time Nadya had been on a ward round with her. For some weeks she had been doing auxiliary work in the hospital in her spare time. She had also been given a course in First Aid by the matron of the hospital. It had been Martha’s idea that Nadya should prepare for the uncertain future.

  ‘We did a Caesarean on this one last week,’ Martha smiled at a young woman breastfeeding her baby. ‘The child had prenatal rickets. Look at its legs. This is her third child. With each confinement the osteomalacia gets worse. All food goes first to the men here, the women get only leftovers. A pregnant woman is further deprived by the new life within her. A calcium deficient girl baby begins life on the calcium deficient milk of her mother. It’s a vicious woman-wasting cycle that seems destined to sustain itself forever. What will they do now, these living we try to help live better, if there is war? There will be time only to tend the dying.’

  ‘The buses have already been camouflaged green. But houses are painted black,’ Nadya said. Fear rushed through her again. War seemed to follow her, like a shadow.

  ‘Black is to prevent glare during attacks.’ Martha’s tone remained practical. ‘It is said they will bomb us from the air, my dear, even though international agreement demands civilians should not be targeted. War tactics are increasingly unscrupulous these days. I am not painting this place black. Who would dare bomb a hospital? We’ll paint American Hospital in Chinese and English on the roof. I put my faith in Chiang Kai-shek. He’ll drive them back,’ Martha decided. ‘Now let me see you change that dressing. If there is war we shall need a good nurse more than a good proofreader.’

  ‘At the moment the proofreader is still needed,’ Nadya protested, bending to change the bandages on the infected foot of an old woman. ‘Bradley is going mad. With all this sudden talk of war, there is chaos at the university. We’re in the middle of printing the last chapters of TECSAT. I’ll have to go to Shanghai to supervise things. The department at Nanking University is being packed up and carted inland for safety, as are all the other departments. In Shanghai they say even factories are being dismantled and taken inland.’

  ‘We must save what we can by whatever means possible. The Japanese will be out to smash everything. There is no doubt of the panic. Everyone is leaving. Even the Chinese have begun an exodus inland,’ Martha frowned. ‘I’m afraid that’s always a bad sign.’

  She continued to the next bed. ‘This young girl swallowed a needle and is lucky to be alive.’ Martha examined the stitches on the woman’s abdomen and remembered another case of needles.

  He had been her father’s patient and she then only eight years old. He was a tailor who inadvertently swallowed a needle. It went down headfirst with the knotted silk still attached to it. Many attempts were made to recover it by pulling on the thread. The man was half-dead when at last brought to the mission. Martha knew her father was perplexed because he turned to prayer. Eventually, he found his answer in a rubber tube. More thread was tied to the remains in the man’s mouth, the tube was slid over it and down the tailor’s throat. The rubber dislodged the needle, passing it into the stomach from where it was drawn out through the tube. She had never forgotten the tailor’s amazement. Such creative medicine, conjured up by her father when his back was to the wall, further spread his reputation. If he were still alive, what advice would he give her now as they faced a war like none he had known?

  Come,’ Martha said as they reached the end of the ward. ‘Let us go back to the house. The girls must be waiting for lunch.’

  Rain whipped their skirts as they left the hospital and ran across the compound to Martha’s house. ‘The girls are supposed to leave tomorrow, but now I don’t know what to do,’ Martha confided as they reached the front door. Lily was returning to school in Shanghai, but Flora was departing for college in America. ‘I was going to Shanghai with them, to put Flora on the boat.’

  ‘Well, you can’t do that now. No one knows what will happen, especially if there is fighting in Shanghai,’ replied Nadya. The comforting smell of roast chicken greeted them as they opened the door of the house and folded their umbrellas. Flora and Lily already sat at the table, listening to the English language radio station from Shanghai.

  ‘It’s Friday the thirteenth. Imagine, a war starting on this of all days!’ said Flora.

  ‘I doubt the date means anything to the Japanese,’ Martha answered as she sat down. She made an effort to sound unconcerned. The cook brought in the chicken and Martha folded her hands in grace. The radio droned on behind them. A fan swept the ceiling, stirring the tablecloth and their hair. Rain beat against the window. The voice of the radio announcer intruded, detached yet intimate.<
br />
  ‘The first shooting has occurred between Japanese and Chinese troops today. Shanghai has been preparing for war without let-up. Ten thousand Chinese soldiers have piled up sandbags around North Station. It is clear Chiang Kai-shek is determined to hold Shanghai even as twenty-one Japanese warships move up the Whangpoo and anchor off the Bund. Tension continues to mount in Shanghai. Rainy weather preceding the approaching typhoon adds further gloom to the spirit. Today, after the shooting, the city is on alert and mobilisation orders for the Shanghai Volunteer Corps were flashed on cinema screens across the city. People in the audience applauded as young men stood up and left the cinema. War now seems certain. Banks are expected to temporarily close. Mail and communication with the city are likely to be cut. All passenger ships bound for Shanghai are expected to be diverted to Hong Kong, Yokohama or Manila in the interests of safety.’

  ‘There is no ship to sail on to America, Mama.’ Flora was unable to keep the relief from her voice.

  ‘So it would seem,’ Martha replied. She got up to adjust the volume on the radio. ‘This is not the time for you to leave.’ The decision was immediate now she knew there would be war. Should she not send the girls inland? She pushed the thought away. The Japanese might never reach Nanking if defeated in Shanghai.

  ‘Will school open if there’s war?’ Lily asked.

  ‘Of course not, silly,’ Flora replied.

  ‘Let us wait and see,’ said Martha. ‘Situations change overnight in China.’

  We may not win, but we can ultimately exhaust the enemy, Chiang Kai-shek had said. Like most Chinese, he saw in years, not in days and cast his mind forward to essentials. As far as Martha knew, the Chinese had absorbed all their past conquerors. Perhaps it would be the same again. lf the Japanese were victorious in Shanghai, Chiang Kaishek would be forced to surrender and Nanking would be occupied peacefully. There was time yet to decide about the girls.