A Choice of Evils

by Meira Chand

  The table was laid with some antique silver napkin rings into which was stuck a sprig of leaves. Flora and Lily had hung some Christmas decorations upon a branch of pine. Martha had refused to let the girls out of the hospital compound to attend the service Reverend Moeran had held. Instead, they prayed and sang hymns early in the morning.

  Eventually, they sat down to the grim Christmas meal, unwilling to break tradition.

  Nadya came late into the room. Mr Metzger and Mr Strang of the International Committee had been invited to eat with them. She halted in shock at the door to see Kenjiro beside them. He looked at her without expression.

  ‘I have been sent by the Embassy. They wish me to convey to the International Committee our good wishes for your Christmas.’ He gave a small, curt bow.

  The words fell awkwardly from his mouth and sounded absurd. Martha had already offered him a glass of plum wine. He revolved the thin stem between his fingers, embarrassed. Nadya took a glass, and half raised it to the others. The sweet wine slipped down inside her.

  ‘In Japan we make something like this,’ Kenjiro said. ‘Each year in summer my mother packs green plums and sugar into large glass jars and covers them with sake. Greetings may sound inappropriate but we wish you to know that our respect is with you at this time.’ He faced them politely.

  ‘Then you must stay and have lunch with us,’ Martha insisted, her voice as level as always. It was Christmas and she was determined to be magnanimous. ‘Since Mr Metzger and Mr Strang are here, we can make it a working lunch. We needed to see you anyway.’ No one disliked Kenjiro. The Committee knew only too well the difficulties of the Embassy staff, who had helped them discreetly wherever possible with the military.

  ‘That is kind,’ Kenjiro replied. The pleasure was bright in his face.

  He liked this room with its green oasis of plants banked up before the window, and the blue curtains patterned with a trellis of bamboo. He was returned in this room, however faintly, to his memories. It contained the same essence as those rooms Jacqueline had conjured about him. Jacqueline too had liked piling up plants before windows. Through her he knew too of the customs of Christmas. Martha guided them to the table. Almost at once discussion began.

  ‘I must warn you that, unless corpses are cleared a little quicker, there will be epidemics. It is only because of the cold that disease has not yet broken out. Already the water supply is contaminated and has had to be drastically reduced,’ Mr Metzger announced to Kenjiro.

  ‘There will be plague before long. And you cannot imagine what that means,’ Martha added, refilling glasses with plum wine.

  ‘You know our position,’ Kenjiro protested, looking at the decorative table. He remembered Christmas with Jacqueline, although he had forgotten the food that was eaten. But there had been the same flash of antique silver on the table, a pine tree laden with baubles, the same aroma of succulence in the house. He thought of his bare room in the Embassy residence, so far from that time with his wife. His life had been boxed, just as Teng said. With an effort he returned his attention to the Westerners.

  ‘The Ambassador has cabled Tokyo, but as yet there has been no response. As you know, a report by Counsellor Hidaka has been sent to the Foreign Ministry. We hope with the New Year there will be some change.’ His words were platitudes and they knew it. Everyone at the Embassy knew Counsellor Hidaka’s report on the situation in Nanking was the talk of, not only the Foreign Ministry, but also the War Ministry and General Staff in Tokyo. It seemed not everyone in the Tokyo Ministries were as yet in collusion with the military. It was rumoured someone senior was already on his way to further investigate things in Nanking.

  ‘There seems nothing left to burn or loot.’ Martha looked at Kenjiro accusingly. ‘And more and more cases of rape are coming to the hospital. This aggression seems to have taken on new and extreme forms, girls as young as eight or nine, pregnant women, grandmothers of eighty. And terrible mutilations. Many do not live.’

  ‘I went myself to Ginling Women’s University as you know. The cries of the women could be heard in the Embassy. But we could do nothing. We are as powerless as you,’ Kenjiro replied.

  He knew he should not abandon official guidelines by saying these things but, in some way, across the hatred, he wished for a bridge. Even as he spoke he checked himself. He was here under sufferance; these people were waiting to hate him. And he could not blame them before the behaviour of the army. War submerged everything. Personalities faded. To these Westerners he was part of a machine, whatever his personal convictions. He was the Man from the Embassy, nothing more. Because he was civil, they were civil. No one was deluded. If choices must be made, he knew in what manner they would be decided.

  They stopped speaking as Lily and Flora entered the room, and slipped into their places at the table. Excitement brightened their faces, they had been helping in the kitchen. The cook carried in the goose, golden and steaming, filling the air with a well-basted aroma.

  ‘Where is Donald?’ asked Flora, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven.

  ‘He is in his room. I think he wishes to forget what day this is,’ Nadya replied. She was relieved to see a lightening in the girl’s expression. She exchanged a glance with Martha and knew, if it were not for Flora and Lily, Martha too might be inclined to forget the ritual of the day. It was primarily for them that she had made this effort. They must not know how bad things were beyond the hospital.

  Kenjiro sipped his wine. He chatted to Mr Metzger beside him, but his eyes remained upon Nadya. In spite of everything the Russian woman still obsessed him. Since the day she had come to his office, Kenjiro could not erase her from his mind. He still waited for some hammer to drop, as a result of her visit to Military Headquarters. And yet even this fear seemed nothing beside the desire to see her again. A mechanism was begun that could not be stopped, and must be seen through to its end. He could comprehend nothing beyond this fact.

  Across the table Nadya could not avoid his eyes. Something was laid bare, and spiralled already out of control. Why could she not reject the strange heat he filled her with? Why did she allow it, encourage it, unable to resist whatever lay coiled between them? Her body was alight.

  They had not finished with the meal when the disturbance came. The old Amah hurried in to announce the Military Police. Kenjiro went at once to them. They looked at him strangely.

  ‘I am here on behalf of the Embassy,’ he explained.

  ‘There is a Russian woman,’ they replied, as if he had not spoken. They were pinched-faced men, he knew the type. ‘We are to take her to Headquarters.’

  He returned to the room with their orders. Martha and the men rose to protest. ‘It is useless to argue with them,’ he explained.

  Already Mr Metzger was in the hallway, his voice loud with anger. The soldier threatened him with a gun.

  ‘I will go with her,’ Kenjiro told them, stepping hurriedly before Mr Metzger. He wished he felt the confidence he pushed into his voice.

  They rode in silence with the two men, to the building that only a few days before Nadya had entered so precociously. Kenjiro was silent beside her. He dared not tell her that on this Christmas Day, Prince Asaka had moved his Headquarters into the heart of Nanking, to better direct the terror. At first Kenjiro had hoped that a man of this status might, on seeing first hand the conditions in Nanking, be prepared to exert some control. But he had been told in the Embassy to expect no such thing. The terror was to continue. This was a war of punishment.

  The freezing building echoed as before. This time they descended to a lower level, to a corridor of small rooms. Nadya was thrust roughly through one of the doors and pushed towards a chair before a table. She drew her coat tightly about her in the icy room. Two men came in and ordered Kenjiro out. He explained his position at the Embassy.

  ‘She is a spy,’ they insisted. He shook his head.

  ‘There is a mistake. She is a member of the International Committee. It is my job to liaise betwee
n these people and our Embassy. On behalf of the Embassy I should be present. Besides, I can interpret, it will make the interrogation easier for you,’ he pleaded. Eventually he was sent to negotiate at a higher level. Nadya looked at him in terror.

  ‘They will only question you. They will not touch you,’ he promised her before closing the door and making his way upstairs. His pulse beat quickly with his own fear. His vulnerability before the Military stalked him too closely here.

  He was shown into a large, well-furnished room. Colonel Kato introduced himself. ‘We believe the woman is a spy,’ he announced to Kenjiro.

  ‘I have been assigned to the case,’ Kenjiro argued. ‘She is a member of the International Committee. Any excessive abuse could bring more pressure on Japan from international powers. After the Panay incident we cannot risk anything more. International Committee members are already on their way here to protest her being held. It is my belief she is innocent of the charges against her.’ Kenjiro faced Colonel Kato squarely.

  ‘We have no use for Embassy interference,’ Colonel Kato answered curtly. He lit a cigarette and did not offer one to Kenjiro. ‘We are not convinced at all of her innocence. She is familiar with Professor Teng, a Communist. He has recently escaped from detention here.’ Kato exhaled smoke lazily from his chair while assessing Kenjiro, who still stood tensely before him. ‘I believe you too are acquainted with this man. Miss Komosky herself informed me when she visited this very office the other day.’

  ‘I knew him long ago in France, when we were students. I met him here after many years. It is some time since I last saw him. I did not suspect then that he was a Communist. But these people can lie very low, of course.’ At last the garrotte was being turned. He met Colonel Kato’s eyes impassively. Bluff was the only chance. And Teng had already escaped.

  ‘You met with him and the Russian woman at his house, I believe?’ Colonel Kato looked at him, a slight smile on his face.

  ‘That was the time I last saw him. The Russian woman works at the university with him.’

  ‘She might also be one of those who is lying low, charmingly so, of course,’ Kato said. ‘Why were you visiting this Teng at all?’

  ‘I had some feeling he might be involved with the Communists. Even though he was a friend, I felt it my duty to determine if this was so.’ Kenjiro had already rehearsed many times just such a scene as this.

  ‘Ah, more detective work?’ Colonel Kato replied.

  ‘It was suspected at the Embassy that the Russian woman might be a spy. This was why I was ordered to enquire into the matter, why I had contact with her. I did not know her before this.’ He resented the interrogation.

  ‘Our own source has filed proof of her position.’

  ‘This same source, the Indian, Dayal, first alerted us also,’ Kenjiro argued. Kato showed no expression.

  ‘I believe your own sympathies are not so far from people such as these?’ Kato tested him. ‘I have heard disturbing rumours about your early life.’

  ‘In youth one often flirts dangerously with ideologies. I have seen the error of those ways. Nothing is more important than loyalty to the country. I think you can find ample proof of my sincerity in this regard.’ He would not be intimidated. He must trust that neither Fukutake nor Tilik Dayal would give him away. ‘I am lodged in the same house as Dayal. He would give you proof of my sincerity.’

  Kato nodded. ‘Your father is an eminent man.’

  ‘His life is dedicated to the progress of the country,’ Kenjiro said.

  Kato was silent, nodding to himself. ‘You may go. But do not forget we see everything here. Interpret for that Russian woman, certainly it will be of help. I can spare no one with proper English ability at the moment to go down there. Do not bother to investigate further yourself. We shall be keepng an eye on her.’ Kato turned to the papers on his desk, dismissing Kenjiro.

  He turned in relief out of the door and made his way back to the room where Nadya was being held.

  ‘How long is this to take?’ Nadya implored. Already three hours had passed. ‘Their questions are ridiculous. How many times must I go over and over my life in Russia, the flight with Sergei and his meetings with Shepenov of which I know nothing.’

  ‘It will take as long as it will take,’ Kenjiro answered.

  ‘Do not speak unless you are spoken to,’ admonished the interrogator, a burly man with gold teeth. ‘When did you last see this Shepenov?’

  ‘How many times must I tell you? I did not know him. My husband disappeared with him. I was deserted. My money was used to get him out of Russia and my jewellery stolen to further his journey. He had no other use for me. I knew nothing of anything.’ Her head hummed with frustration.

  ‘If you do not tell the truth there are many ways we can find to make you tell us.’ The burly man stood near her, his fist rested on the table.

  ‘But I have told you,’ she shouted, angry now. ‘I left Russia to get away from Communists. I had no idea Professor Teng was a Communist. Nobody I know at the university knew this. It has been a shock to me.’

  ‘Do not shout,’ the burly man yelled. He stepped forward and slapped her across the face.

  She turned in distress to Kenjiro, but he averted his eyes. If he attempted to intervene it might go worse for her, and he would be dismissed from the room. Nadya slumped forward on the table, her head buried in her arms and sobbed. The man pulled her head back by the hair.

  ‘Sit up. Answer the questions. When did you last see Shepenov? Who are your cell members here in Nanking, other than this Teng?’

  ‘I am not a Communist. I know nobody,’ she pleaded again. It went on and on.

  Already it was dark. A single light bulb now lit the small room. There was no glass in the window. Their breath froze about them.

  ‘Take her away,’ the burly man ordered Kenjiro at last. ‘It is enough for today. We will watch her. Let her think we are finished with her, that we think her innocent.’

  He guided her up the narrow flight of stairs, afraid she might collapse. Her body trembled. Outside the blackness was dense about them. Kenjiro shone a torch upon the road, anxious not to stumble over a corpse. In the distance were flares and the usual sounds of soldiers. They did not speak, hurrying along the road. The fabric of his life seemed suddenly transparent, disintegrating before him. One word from Dayal and he was finished. Except that Dayal too could be similarly destroyed by a word from Kenjiro. Such a double-bladed trust was now the only security. He had reckoned on it the day he spoke to the man. There was no safety but the fear they instilled in each other. ‘Let us stop,’ she said, out of breath and weak with relief. Now, a short distance away, she could already see the hospital, light streaming from its many windows.

  ‘Here.’ He turned into the ground of a ruined temple. A drizzle had started. The moon shone weakly through passing clouds, giving a partial light.

  ‘I never thought they would let me go,’ she admitted leaning back against a balustrade. The numbness in her began to dissolve. Her head ached violently.

  ‘They will watch you. They may call you again,’ Kenjiro informed her.

  ‘And you? Will they question you?’ she asked. They seemed locked inevitably together now.

  ‘They already tried, in a roundabout way; They will try again, more seriously. I must expect that,’ Kenjiro replied.

  He realised he still held her arm. He had never touched her before, and withdrew his hand abruptly. Swinging the beam of the torch about, he examined the remains of the building around them. It was dry under the deep eaves of the temple, but half the roof was smashed and rubble blocked the courtyard. All he was aware of was the woman beside him, and knew she watched him in the half light. Without a word he turned her to him then.

  ‘Come,’ he said.

  She made no reply but followed him.

  He had seen by the torch that deeper within the temple there was a small pavilion. Their footsteps echoed upon the stone floor as they entered. Pieces of broken fu
rniture lay about. The place had been looted of valuables, but not entirely destroyed. The silence fell about them, cutting them off in a separate world. They were sheltered here from the blast of the wind. It moaned weakly through cracks, or rattled at a window. There was the smell of dust and emptiness, and the fustiness of rodent droppings. Kenjiro flashed the torch around illuminating cobwebs, opulent as draperies, across a wooden screen. Great supporting columns, thick as trees, the red lacquer now splintered, rose up and vanished into blackness. Far above was the occasional rustle of wings. A rat ran across Kenjiro’s feet and Nadya drew back, gripping his arm.

  ‘It is all right,’ he said. ‘They will run from the light.’

  He placed the torch on a ledge, its beam speared the darkness, opening up a small space. He took her by the shoulders, pushing her against a wooden column. She made no move, but he felt her body tighten. Slowly then, she wound herself about him.

  At first he did not kiss her but pressed the weight of himself upon her, moving against her rhythmically. He began to unbutton her blouse and she felt his lips against her breasts and upon her nipples. There seemed no urgency in his movements, as if this was a journey of pleasure he needed to extend. His hand travelled over her until he reached the centre of her body. There was no violence in his caress, but she knew the intensity of his pleasure. His tongue explored her mouth insistently. A fire began in her belly. She had wanted this, she knew, with this man, as if from the beginning of time. She wanted him filling her until no space was left. She felt him rise against her and she began to loosen his clothes.

  ‘Slowly,’ he whispered, leading her now away from the support of the pillar. He laid their coats, one upon another, on the floor.