Ha Jin: Nanjing Requiem

Then Minnie hit upon an idea, and blinking her large brown eyes, she said to Big Liu, “Why don’t you work for us? Our secretary, Mr. Kong, went back to his home village and left hundreds of letters unanswered.”

“You want me to be on your staff?” Big Liu asked.

“Yes, to be our Chinese secretary.”

“For real?”

“She’s in charge now,” I told him.

“Yes, I just offered you the job.” As Minnie was speaking, I heard a thrill in her voice. Evidently she took great pride in her new role.

“Wonderful! I’m delighted, delighted.” Big Liu’s rugged face lit up.

Big Liu, who’d been looking for work in vain, had a teenage daughter and small son to support. He would start the following Monday, with a monthly salary of twenty-five yuan for the time being. That was plenty, compared to the other staffers, since we had all taken a sixty percent pay cut. Minnie now was making fifty yuan a month while I was making thirty. She suggested that Big Liu’s family live at East Court, a group of houses set around a courtyard in the southeast part of campus. It was Minnie, as a construction supervisor a decade ago, who had designed that servants’ residence, which had been built so well that later some Chinese faculty members complained that those quarters were superior to their own. My family was also living at East Court, so the Lius would be our neighbors.

As the three of us were talking, our business manager, Luhai Bai, appeared and waved at Minnie. Despite that impressive title, Luhai mainly handled external business dealings, because it was I who managed most of the logistics on campus. The young man, limping slightly, hurried up to us, a little out of breath. He said, “Madame Chiang has sent us her piano and Victrola.”

“Oh, as gifts?” Minnie asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?” I said.

“Some men are unloading them in front of the Music Hall.”

“Let’s go have a look,” said Minnie.

As the four of us headed to that building, which also housed the chapel, I realized that Madame Chiang must be evacuating. This upset me, because it confirmed the rumor about the Chiangs’ secret departure. I wondered if Dr. Wu had known all along about their plan to leave. Would the generalissimo’s withdrawal affect the defending troops? Wouldn’t the soldiers feel deserted? On second thought, I realized that it would be unreasonable to expect the generalissimo to remain on the battle line. If he were killed or captured, it would be catastrophic.

In front of the Music Hall stood a six-wheeled truck and five soldiers smoking self-rolled cigarettes, their overcoats piled on the ground. The piano, a Baldwin, had already been unloaded. Its finish was dull and it looked well used, but the Victrola was spanking new, in an oxhide case and accompanied by a gleaming brass horn and two boxes of records. Minnie lifted the piano’s keyboard cover and tickled out a couple of random notes. “Sounds powerful. This behemoth is what we need for the chapel service,” she said, then motioned to the men. “Please carry it in and put it next to the organ.”

We were glad about the gifts, but I couldn’t think of anyone on campus able to play the piano. Not a single person among us could do that. My friend Holly was a musician, but she was occupied with the radio station. Even Minnie couldn’t punch out a tune. She often said that all her life she had wished she could play an instrument, ideally the cello — as a child, how she had envied the children who could take art and music lessons after school. She seemed to still suffer from the privation in her girlhood (she’d lost her mother at six, and even before her teens had to keep house for her father, a blacksmith in Secor, Illinois), as though this were an illness she couldn’t get over. That’s why, whenever possible, she’d have the underprivileged children in the Jinling neighborhood learn something more than reading, arithmetic, and practical skills, even if it was just a song or a ball game. I admired her for that, for her large heart, which set her apart from the other foreign women on the faculty.

I told Luhai to give the five soldiers each a pack of Red Chamber, the Chinese brand name of Old Mill at the time. These young men might go to the front at any moment, so I wanted to make them happy.

“We’re just out of cigarettes,” Luhai said.

“Go to my home and ask Yaoping for five packs,” I told him.

Minnie said, “Yes, tell Mr. Gao that the boss needs them.”

They laughed, assuming that I ruled the roost at home, which was not true. I love and respect my husband and never impose my wishes on him. It was my job at the college that required me to stay on top of many things and gave others the impression of my being bossy. I told Luhai, “Let Yaoping know we’ll give them back to him as soon as we get a carton.”

Luhai was happy to fetch the cigarettes.

AS USUAL, Yaoping started his morning with a pipe, a cup of aster tea, and the local newspaper The Purple Mountain Evening News , which in early December was still full of wedding announcements — parents were anxious to marry off their daughters, assuming that the grooms, and their families, might be able to protect the brides when the Japanese came. Our daughter, Liya, had been up since six thirty and was busy cooking breakfast in the kitchen, while her son, Fanfan, was still sleeping in bed. She was four months pregnant, but her belly wasn’t showing yet and her movements were still nimble. Her father hoped she’d give us a granddaughter, while I preferred another boy. I liked girls, but they would suffer more than boys in this world and needed more protection. As a parent you would worry about them constantly. Yaoping, a quiet man, had been a history lecturer at Nanjing University, but he hadn’t left for Sichuan with the rest of his school, reluctant to be separated from us. In addition, he had low blood pressure, dizzy spells, and arthritis, and he needed to be taken care of, so he couldn’t make the long trek to the interior province. Besides, we felt that we would be safer together at Jinling College, an American school less likely to be attacked by the Japanese soldiers. But my son-in-law, Liya’s husband, had departed with the Nationalist army, in which he served as an intelligence officer.

As soon as I washed up, I went to see Dr. Wu, who was leaving today. She and I were both from Wuchang, Hubei Province, and I had been working for her ever since she became the college’s president.

The campus was deserted. In early September, when school was supposed to start, only two girls had returned, and a month later they both had left. Then some of our faculty members departed for Wuchang, where they resumed teaching a small group of students. Some of our foreign teachers were still in Shanghai after the summer. Dr. Wu was leaving to join another group of our staff and faculty, mainly Chinese, together with some twenty students, who were on their way to Sichuan, where the national government and many universities were to be relocated. At the sight of me, she said, “Anling, I’m leaving the college in your hands. Help Minnie take care of everything here.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Write to me as often as you can.” Her face puckered a little as she spoke, as if in a vain attempt to smile.

It was understood that I’d be her unofficial proxy here, because there’d be things that Minnie, as a foreigner, couldn’t handle. As we were speaking, Minnie showed up, panting slightly and her cheeks pinkish, glowing with health. She hugged Dr. Wu and Miss Fan, the petite accountant, saying we would see them again soon. The porters had already loaded the luggage. Without delay we set out for the front entrance of campus, where the truck was waiting.