by Helen Zia
Her latest treasure was Gone with the Wind, translated into Chinese. She had used some of her hong bao from New Year’s to buy this book that was an instant hit in China. Annuo felt a connection to the central character, a haughty young woman on the losing side of the American Civil War. China, too, was being ripped apart by civil war, right on the heels of the long struggle with Japan.
Thirteen-year-old Annuo (second from left) with her extended family at their Hangzhou home in 1948. Standing to her left are her mother and father; Charley is second from right. Sister Li-Ning is in front of her father and between both grandmothers, seated. An uncle and two cousins are also pictured.
For Annuo, life in Hangzhou was best when her father was away. Fortunately that was most of the time. When he came to Hangzhou every few months, he always brought an entourage to keep him company. He enjoyed nothing more than entertaining his big city friends with an impromptu feast. By the time they arrived after their four-hour train ride from Shanghai, they’d be in high spirits. The whole house would fly into a frenzy, with everyone rushing around to please her father and his retinue. Her mother, the gracious host, never failed to make the house hospitable, organizing the unplanned banquets with whatever food they could whip together.
Annuo, however, had realized for some time that she could not please her father. Though he had hardly seen her in the years since her birth, he never failed to find some fault with her. She was too sensitive—or not sensitive enough. She wasn’t giggly and cute like Li-Ning. She reminded her father of his homely younger sister, whom he disliked. Once, in Hangzhou, Annuo had played a silly prank on her brother and cousin. Her father had been home and had flown into a rage at her, shouting, “You’ll never have happiness in your life or amount to anything. No man will want you when you grow up! If you get married, your marriage will fail!”
Stung, Annuo couldn’t imagine what she had done to deserve such outsized anger. Her father hated her, she concluded, and she resolved to stay out of his way. She absorbed his harsh pronouncement that she would never find happiness. Already a quiet girl, she withdrew further into herself—not quite glum, but rarely happy.
Her father’s spontaneous parties presented her biggest challenge. She disliked having to sit, prim and proper, sometimes forced to speak to adults who had no interest in her or what she might have to say, all under her father’s critical eye. Not only was she afraid that she’d irritate him, but she also couldn’t fathom why some of the women, as educated as her mother, spoke in little-girl voices like her ten-year-old sister’s. Or why so many of the men puffed themselves up as though they had the answers to everything. Annuo envied her sixteen-year-old brother, a boarder at his middle school, who didn’t have to endure these dinners. She couldn’t wait to be dismissed and sent upstairs to bed, where she could retreat with her books to a fantasy world far away.
* * *
—
BUT THANKS TO A STRANGE new contraption, Annuo’s attitude toward the parties shifted. On one visit, her father brought home a gramophone. After the adults had finished eating and talking, someone mentioned having “itchy feet.” The servants pushed the furniture aside in the parlor, rolled up the carpet, and talced the floor. Her father cranked up the gramophone and put on some popular band music. Then everyone danced. As if possessed by spirits, the properly formal men and women jumped up and moved about while touching one another. The first time Annuo saw the adults dance, her jaw dropped. Opposite sexes touching in public? Stunned to see even her parents embrace as they danced, she found this utterly contrary to everything she had been taught about acceptable Chinese behavior.
To Annuo’s great surprise, her father decided that she and Li-Ning should learn to dance, since there were never enough female partners for his friends. Soon Annuo was dancing the fox-trot, tango, and swing to popular Shanghai band music. American tunes like “Tennessee Waltz” got everyone onto the dance floor. Annuo began looking forward to her father’s surprise visits, hoping for the music to start up after dinner. Her feet were itchy—and she was happier.
But lately, outside, the mood had begun to sour. The Americans were leaving Shanghai—a discouraging indication of the U.S. president’s flagging support for the Nationalists. Inflation and economic instability added to the broad chorus of discontent with the government—at marketplaces, on streetcars, even at school. Though Annuo’s father had traded his military uniform for a business suit, he was still loyal to Chiang Kai-shek. He despised the Communists not just for their politics but also because of his personal experience with their guerrilla attacks against his troops. He agreed with Chiang’s perspective that their treachery had undermined the Nationalist efforts against Japan.
As the weather turned cooler in the autumn of 1948, the exchanges at her father’s parties grew more heated and more urgent. Increasingly, his guests discussed the need to flee. The Communists, they said, had grown stronger in Manchuria and the northeast provinces after their important military victories against the Nationalists. Each victory brought the Communists important infusions of captured arms and soldiers—defectors absorbed from the demoralized Nationalist armies. The Communists would surely drive southward to Beijing, Nanjing, Suzhou, Hangzhou—and the grandest prize, Shanghai.
As Annuo sat at the top of the steps, beyond the view of the adults, she’d wait for the debates to end and the music to start. During one especially lively discussion, she heard one man say, “The situation in the north seems more dire every day. How much longer should we wait to see if the generalissimo’s troops can turn things around?”
“Running away undermines the Nationalist army when it still has a chance to win,” chastised another. “We have superior American weapons and training. The Americans will never let China fall into Stalin’s hands.”
Her father’s booming voice rose over the chatter. Eloquent and commanding, the former magistrate rendered his judgment. “Let’s face the facts: The generalissimo has lost three major campaigns, and the Red Bandits have seized control north of the Yangtze River. A stallion can’t outpace an ox if his leg is lame.” The room was quiet as her father continued. “As a loyal Nationalist, it pains me to say that our stallion seems to have three lame legs. Once the Red Bandits cross the Yangtze River and take Shanghai, all of China is lost.”
A sharp voice asked, “If that’s the case, should we all start packing now?”
Annuo fidgeted as the question hung uncomfortably in the tense air.
Suddenly everyone was talking at once, dropping the names of faraway places like hot mah-jongg tiles. Hong Kong. Taiwan. Singapore. Indonesia. The Philippines. Malaya. Indochina. Brazil. A woman’s voice rejected Europe, still in shambles from the war, and argued: “Going there would be worse than staying in Shanghai.”
The mere mention of Australia and America triggered a snort.“Wake up! No one can get a visa to Australia with their ‘whites-only’ policy. And America just takes Chinese who are as rich as the Big Four families or as famous as the writers Hu Shih or Lin Yutang.”
Every middle school student could recognize those names, Annuo included. The Big Four ruling families of China were the Chiangs, relatives of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek; the Soongs, relatives of Soong May-ling, the generalissimo’s wife; the Kungs, whose tycoon patriarch was a direct descendent of Confucius and married to a sister of Madame Chiang; and the Chens, loyal and superrich allies of Chiang. All had amassed unfathomable wealth and power in the war years. It was rumored that the glamorous American-educated wife of the generalissimo and her relatives had skimmed money from their country’s treasury and stashed it away in secret U.S. bank accounts. As General George Marshall had once reported, “A plane dispatched from [Chongqing] for Washington, D.C., with ‘important secret documents’ had to ditch in the river. When salvaged, what it proved to have was U.S. currency which the Soong family was sending to the U.S.”
Nationalists like Annuo’s fat
her and his dinner friends were part of Shanghai’s middle class and nowhere close to that elite stratosphere. But compared to proletarian workers, farmers, and foot soldiers of either army, they seemed rich, living well without fear of starvation. However, they were hardly wealthy. Even so, the accusations of the Chiangs’ nepotism and corruption couldn’t dampen her father’s support for the Nationalists. As far as he was concerned, it was all Communist propaganda against the generalissimo and Madame Chiang.
* * *
—
ONE EVENING TOWARD THE END of 1948, the dinner guests were especially somber, preoccupied by the latest Nationalist defeats. As Annuo sat on the staircase hoping the music would begin, she recognized two loud voices rising above the noisy chatter. They belonged to her father and her seventh uncle, her mother’s rich cousin. They were arguing about the island of Taiwan.
“You must take this threat more seriously, Cousin!”Annuo recognized the no-nonsense tone of her father’s voice. “I can get all of us safe passage to Taiwan—we can be settled in before the Nationalist government finishes moving there.”
“Taiwan? I’ve been to Taiwan. It’s a backwater!” Seventh Uncle countered. “People there still think they’re a Japanese colony. They speak Japanese, not Chinese. And they eat raw fish! They dress like Japanese and sleep on straw mats. No cars, no streetlights, no toilets! You have to squat over a hole in the ground. It’s impossible for Shanghai people to live in such an uncivilized place with a bunch of country bumpkins!”
Annuo stifled a giggle at the thought of her portly uncle squatting.
Her father answered with an urgency in his voice that she hadn’t heard before. “Cousin, I’m begging you to think of your family, your children. You know what the Communist bandits will do to a rich capitalist like you. You don’t stand a chance if the Red Bandits cross the Yangtze River!”
“I survived the war and occupation under the heel of Japan’s boot,” Seventh Uncle replied. “At least the Communists are fellow Chinese. What can the Reds do that’s worse than the Japanese? We’ll survive this crisis as well.”
“I hope you’ll change your mind. I’m making preparations to leave for Taiwan—you’re welcome to come with us,” she heard her father reply emphatically.
“You should save your effort to get tickets for yourselves instead of wasting it on me. From what I hear, it’s getting impossible to find tickets to Taiwan or Hong Kong. Better yet, buy all the tickets you can—you’ll get rich by selling them to other scared rabbits.”
Annuo’s head began to spin. Were they going to run away again? To this backward place full of pro-Japanese people? Annuo felt as though a heavy weight had landed on her. But then again, so many of her schoolmates were already gone. General Han Deqin, her father’s friend and superior, had already packed up his family for Taiwan, leaving his grand piano with her family for safekeeping. But Seventh Uncle made the place sound like some dreadful rice paddy stuck in the middle of the ocean. What would Scarlett O’Hara say if she had to give up her beloved Tara for some primitive island?
* * *
—
THE NEXT DAY HER FATHER and his entourage returned to Shanghai. Not long after, Annuo saw her mother sorting through clothing, photos, and other possessions. Ordinarily, Annuo would have said nothing, as it would have been impertinent to question her mother. But with such a big change on the horizon, Annuo broached the subject.
“When are we going to Taiwan?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“We will have to leave soon. It won’t be safe to stay here.”
“But how can we leave so many family members and friends behind?” Annuo blurted out, unable to stop herself.
Her mother didn’t look up from her task. Her voice calm, she replied, “You’re not a child anymore. In the new year, you’ll be fourteen, the same age as your grandmother when she got married. Sometimes you must do what must be done, no matter how distasteful. Besides, we will only be gone for six months—a year at most. Then we’ll be back.”
Only six months in Taiwan? Annuo immediately felt better.
* * *
—
BY EARLY 1949, AFTER the Lunar New Year, Annuo’s father had given up trying to persuade relatives to leave with them. As the panic to flee raged into a frenzy, he needed to focus on his own family. Securing a passage to Taiwan was becoming nearly impossible, even for a former Nationalist official. But with General Han’s influence, her father managed to get five plane tickets. The general clearly held her father in high regard, for he could have given those tickets to his own relatives. Going by airplane would be better than going by ship, her father said. A few overloaded passenger ships had already sunk en route to Taiwan, with thousands dying at sea.
The task of packing up the children and household once again fell upon Annuo’s mother. Their family had run from danger so many times that packing up to flee was almost routine. This time, Annuo’s mother said that each child would carry one small bag of essential items. To bring more clothing, they would have to wear extra layers on the day of the trip. They could each bring along one special object.
Annuo carefully examined the trinkets and charms she had saved. How could she choose just one? She decided to hide the treasures she couldn’t take so they’d be waiting for her when she came back. Her mother had said that their trusted amah, Zhongying, refused to come to Taiwan but would stay behind, watching the house and caring for their relatives. Although she had been through so much with the family, Zhongying said that Taiwan was just too far away. She added that a lowly amah would have nothing to fear from the Communists.
After days of mulling over her one special item to take to Taiwan, Annuo finally decided: She’d bring her favorite book, Gone with the Wind. Thinking of Scarlett made her feel better about fleeing. After all, she repeated to herself, tomorrow is another day.
* * *
—
THE MOMENT ARRIVED WHEN there could be no more worrying, bickering, discussing, or planning as Annuo clambered onto an overloaded train for Shanghai with her brother, sister, and mother. They would meet Annuo’s father there and take an airplane to Taiwan.
An airplane! That exciting prospect almost took her mind off the unbearable slowness of the train. They had left Hangzhou at such a turtle’s pace that they seemed to be moving backward. The crowded aisle was packed with people and their worldly goods. Annuo imagined them to be crabs in a pot ready to boil with everyone climbing over one another to escape.
She watched a corpulent man standing near her. Rivulets of sweat slid down his round cheeks to his chin. Periodically he lifted his fedora to wipe his damp head with a handkerchief. Like everyone else on the train, he was no doubt wearing extra clothing that couldn’t fit into his bag. Annuo, too, was warm from the layers of underwear and dresses under her winter coat.
Across the aisle, her mother sat with ten-year-old Li-Ning on her lap. Muma and Charley had rushed onto the train in Hangzhou to nab two seats, pulling Annuo, Li-Ning, and their bags along behind. The 110-mile trip that usually took four hours would take all day at the rate they were moving—assuming there were no problems that delayed them further. Annuo had squeezed into a single prized seat with Charley. She had never seen such an endless crush of people trying to jump onto a train, not even during the Japanese war.
As the cars somehow grew even more crowded during their slow journey, desperate people grabbed onto the outside shell of the train and hung on, cramming their bodies onto every available space. Some sat on the open window ledges, legs dangling inside while the rest of their bodies hugged the outside. It looked so uncomfortable and dangerous. Still, those window sitters were better off than the people who stood on outside footholds with only their arms reaching into the train cabin. Most precarious were the ones sitting on the roof. With every sudden lurch, low-hanging tree branch or cable, some hapless souls were swept off the train, plummet
ing to a chorus of horrified shrieks.
Annuo tried to shut out the thought of people clinging for their lives. It brought back the terrible memories of her own frightening efforts to keep from falling headlong down a sheer cliff during their wartime trek. Around her, anxious people eyed one another warily. Some snapped at anyone who accidentally touched their belongings, while others sniffled through tears of excitement or distress—Annuo couldn’t tell which. Unpleasant odors swirled through the car: the stink of sweat and adrenaline, fear and panic. And the cloying scent of mothballs from clothing stored away, too good to be left behind and now worn in heavy layers. To Annuo, these were the familiar sensations of a childhood spent running from war.
By 1949, Chinese, desperate to flee to anywhere, packed every train car, riding on the roofs, clinging to sides, even hanging on to the locomotives.
* * *
—
THE SKY WAS DARK when they pulled into Shanghai. It seemed that they had been aboard for days, not just the better part of one. The crowded cars came alive as people rushed toward the doors, everyone hoping to find passage out of China or at least to get somewhere safer than the place they had just left. Muma gathered the three children close to her and instructed them to hold tight to their bags, admonishing them,“Stay together, be quick, and look for your father.”
