Ha Jin - Nanjing Requiem

The next morning, many girls wore black armbands. Both Donna and Alice reported that their students did the same. To Minnie’s dismay, Shanna also had on a crape. “You shouldn’t be such a leader,” Minnie reproached her.

“I might wear this even if they didn’t,” Shanna said, touching the black cloth safety-pinned to her sleeve.

Surprised, Minnie went on, “I understand your feelings, but it’s too risky to do this. Some turncoats might snitch on us.”

“I’m also Chinese.”

At that moment I loved the girl for saying those words, though I didn’t wear a black armband mainly because I wouldn’t create more trouble for Minnie. I was worried about the students’ safety besides. Fortunately, Luhai and the gatemen did a good job of preventing the girls from going out — however loudly they chorused patriotic songs and whatever slogans they chanted, they were kept on campus. We felt somewhat relieved. If the officials demanded an explanation, we could say that the school had taken measures to discourage hostility toward Japan, but many students had lost family members and mourned their losses spontaneously.

Some girls also fasted that day, and Meiyan fought with another student whose father served in the puppet municipality.

Miss Lou came early that afternoon and said that Yulan had disappeared. For several days the madwoman had wanted to go downtown, saying she must protest the Japanese occupation on the first anniversary of the city’s fall. Massaging her forehead with her claw-like fingers, Miss Lou said, “I stopped her a couple of times, but she slipped out this morning.”

“Any idea where she might be?” Minnie asked.

“She must’ve gone downtown. When she heard about the martial law, she couldn’t stop spouting curses. She said she would run away to join the guerrillas, but I didn’t take that seriously and thought she couldn’t possibly figure out where the Reds were. It was my fault — I should’ve been more vigilant and shouldn’t have let her visit my neighbors.”

Minnie had a number of people called in and asked everyone to go out and look for Yulan. I said, “That mad girl is our curse. We should’ve washed our hands of her long ago.”

“Anling, that’s rubbish,” Miss Lou said. “Now’s not the time to speak like that.” I glowered at the evangelical worker but couldn’t find a word to counter her.

Big Liu said, “I hope the girl won’t fall into Japanese hands again.”

In spite of her insanity, Yulan was somewhat good-looking, so we feared she might get hurt. We set out to look for her.

Minnie and I walked east along Zhujiang Road. The minute we passed the half-burned building that had housed the Justice Ministry a year before, we saw that most houses had disappeared, and where they’d stood were piles of bricks and stones. The Japanese had been tearing down homes to get the materials for building roads. For each house they paid two yuan as compensation; whether the owner accepted it or not, he had to move out and surrender the property. We’d heard about that operation but hadn’t expected to see such large-scale demolition.

It was a sullen wintry day, the gray clouds threatening snow. The sycamore and oak trees along the street were swaying and whistling as gusts of wind swept through them. A rusty sheet of corrugated iron tumbled across the street and fell into a roadside ditch. Here and there scummy puddles, like giant festering sores, were encrusted with ice on the edges. In the distance firecrackers were exploding while drums rolled, suona horns blared, and an array of Japanese flags flitted across the thoroughfare — a celebration of the occupation was in full swing. About a thousand Chinese, including some school pupils, were waving tiny flags and shouting slogans in support of the Japanese rule. Some even chanted “Banzai, banzai!” while a procession of men and women was performing a dance on stilts, wearing green and vermilion gowns and waving fans. The cacophonous music jarred the ears like shrieks and screams. On the sidewalk ahead stood a truck, from which a photographer pointed a bulky camera at the celebrators, the black cloth over his head and shoulders. I panted, “I hope those traitors will be rounded up and sentenced to death when our army takes this city back.”

The second I said that, I remembered my son, Haowen. A piercing pang gripped my heart and made me speechless.

Minnie shook her head in silence. As we turned a corner near the former Central Hospital, a crowd gathered ahead of us. We caught sight of Yulan and hastened our steps.

The madwoman stood in the middle of a semicircle of people, holding a small triangular flag that bore these words: WIPE OUT JAPANESE DEVILS! She was addressing the crowd, some of whom cheered her on.

Minnie and I jostled through the spectators and reached her. “Give me the flag,” Minnie said.

Yulan stared at her for a moment, then snorted, “No. Don’t you see I’m using it?”

“Come, let’s go home.” I reached out for her arm.

The madwoman stepped aside and said, “You’re just a lackey of the foreigners. You go with her, but leave me alone.” She jerked her thumb at Minnie.

“Please, Yulan. It’s dangerous here,” Minnie begged. “Come home with us.”

“I have no home anymore. Everything was burned by the Japs.”

“Don’t you respect Miss Lou? She was very upset when she found out you were gone.”

“I don’t want to live with that Bible freak anymore. She’s obsessed with Jesus Christ and says we’re all his slaves. Every day she made me memorize poems from the Old Testament. I’m sick of it. I want to be a free woman.”

“All right, you can stay with us,” Minnie offered, “and take any class you want to. We won’t force anything on you, I promise.”

“Go chase yourself, evil American!”

I grabbed Yulan’s wrist to wrench the flag from her hand, but the madwoman shoved me and cursed me loudly.

People whooped and guffawed, and some egged her on. Minnie said to them, “Don’t you feel ashamed to mislead a sick woman? She was molested by the Japanese and lost her mind. You all know what kind of risk she’s running to stand here raving aloud. If you care about your compatriots, you should go away or help us bring her back.”

Some people dropped their eyes and a few started away. Minnie tugged at Yulan’s sleeve and begged, “Please, let’s go home.”

“No! Where’s my home? You sold my parents to the Japs. I hate those Eastern devils. I’ll settle up with them one of these days.”

As if on cue, three Japanese policemen arrived, each wearing a peaked cap with a tiny rising-sun flag printed on the right side. Their appearance scattered the crowd. Even Yulan clammed up in terror.

“You come with us,” one of the police, a glassy-eyed man, ordered her in stiff Mandarin.

The madwoman let out a groan and turned to Minnie and me. “Officer,” Minnie explained, “she’s out of her mind. We’re taking her back to our school and won’t let her out again.”

“No, she attempted to incite a riot and must come with us. She’s an activist against Japan, and we shall question her before we decide what to do about her.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“That’s our business.”

“Can we come with you?”

“No, you cannot.”

“You have no right to detain her.”

“Don’t poke your nose into our work.”

By now the other two policemen had caught hold of Yulan, who was screaming helplessly, her legs bent to hold her ground. Minnie glanced sideways at me, and I felt my left cheek twitching. She rushed forward and reached out for Yulan, but the officer stretched out his arms and blocked her. Then he waved for the other policemen to drag the madwoman away. He turned to follow them.