Ha Jin - Nanjing Requiem

“Let go of my hands!” Yulan yelled, struggling to break loose. “You smell like a stinky fish shop. Damn it, let your grandma go. Help, help, help me!”

“Shut up, rotten cunt!” The officer slapped her across the face, and instantly she went quiet.

Minnie set off following them, but I clutched her arm and pulled her to a stop. “It’s no use, Minnie. We’d better go back now.”

The officer spun around, having sensed Minnie’s attempt, and spread his arms again. Struggling out of my grip, Minnie lunged at him with all her might. The man dodged and punched her on the jaw. She fell and gave a cry of pain but scrambled to her feet instantly. “I won’t let you take her away!” she shouted, and plunged forward again, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.

A middle-aged Chinese man held her by the waist from behind, saying, “Please, Principal Vautrin, don’t follow them!” Another few people stepped over to restrain her. A woman began wiping the blood off Minnie’s face with a silk handkerchief.

Minnie stamped her feet, tears flowing down her cheeks while her nose quivered. “Damn you! Damn you, bastards!” she screamed at the backs of the receding policemen.

FOR DAYS Minnie called various offices and visited her friends and acquaintances to find out Yulan’s whereabouts, but nobody could tell her.

Then Lewis, who’d been leading his students in surveying the damage and losses in Nanjing and its surrounding counties, telephoned one morning and said he’d heard that Yulan was in a stopgap hospital near Tianhua Orphanage. Minnie put aside the next semester’s academic calendar she’d been working on and set out for the hospital. She asked me to come along.

The hospital was a decrepit three-story building behind a cinderblock wall topped with four lines of barbwire. It was used by the Japanese military mainly for treating tuberculosis and venereal diseases among the soldiers and prostitutes. Some of the sex workers were so-called comfort women, taken from far away, mostly from Korea and a few from Southeast Asia. We were horrified that Yulan was confined in such a place.

A baby-faced Chinese guard stopped us and demanded, “Pass, please.”

“We want to see a student of Jinling Women’s College,” Minnie said.

“You can’t go in without a pass. This is an army hospital. If I let you in, I’ll be in big trouble.”

“Can I speak to your superior, then?”

“He’s not here right now.”

“Please, let us in,” I begged. “The girl was molested by the Japanese and lost her mind. We want to take her back.”

He shook his head no.

Then we caught sight of Dr. Chu stepping out of the building and heading toward a car. Minnie called to him, and he came over, delighted to see us. He was wearing a cashmere coat and a Homburg with a curled brim and was holding a copper-tipped walking stick. Today he looked more like a rich businessman than a doctor. Minnie explained why we were there.

Dr. Chu whispered to the sentry and slipped a single-yuan bill into his palm. The guard said to us with a fawning smile, “You can go in now.”

Without thanking him, Minnie turned to Dr. Chu and shouted, “Come see us! We owe you one.”

I waved at him too. He took off his felt hat. “Bye now,” he cried. He strolled away with a measured, flat-footed gait, the ends of the long muffler around his neck flapping.

The interior of the building reeked of Lysol and carrion. My breathing instinctively went shallow, but I forced myself to relax, inhaling and exhaling to get used to the foul air. A nurse in a white gown and cap was on her way upstairs; she led us to the second floor and pointed at a door, saying, “Yulan Tan is in there. I can’t let you in, but you can meet her at the small window. You have ten minutes.”

Minnie looked through the square opening on the door and called out, “Yulan, are you in there?”

There was no sound inside. I peered in but didn’t see anyone either. I closed my eyes to adjust to the gloom, then opened them. This time I saw the madwoman cowering in a corner, her knees tucked under her chin. She was alone in the room. I called to her.

Slowly Yulan rose and came over. “What’s this?” she grunted.

I stepped aside to let Minnie speak. “How are you, Yulan?” she asked.

“I’m hungry and cold. Give me a meat pie or a pork bun. I know you have chocolates. Don’t you?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring any. I’ll remember next time.”

“Get me out of here, please. If you don’t help get me out of prison I’ll die in a day or two.”

“We’ll try our best.” Minnie took off her light woolen coat with its gray fur collar. “Here, you have this for now, all right?” She rolled it up and pushed it through the opening.

I put my head closer to the window to observe the madwoman, who threw the coat around her shoulders. She kept staring at Minnie, her pupils contracting. She wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand. Then she grinned pathetically and said, “Get me out of here, please!”

“I will. But try to be patient for the time being, all right?” Minnie said.

“You don’t know how they torture me.”

“What do you mean?”

“They beat me if I don’t obey them.”

“Listen to them, then. Just don’t let them hurt you.”

“I don’t want to open my pants for every Jap. They burned my buttocks with cigarettes. D’you want to see it?”

“Sure.”

The madwoman dropped the coat on the cement floor, undid her belt, and turned around. On her behind were some twenty bloody burns; they looked like red beans and peanuts. Minnie closed her eyes, two big tears coursing down her right cheek.

“Beasts!” I said under my breath.

We left the hospital. Heading back to Jinling, we ran into two boys, seven or eight years old, whipping a top on the side of Canton Road. The toy jumped about while spinning and leaning sideways. As we were passing by, one of the boys lifted his scarred face and taunted Minnie, “Foreign devil! Foreign devil!”

We were surprised but didn’t respond. The other boy stopped driving the top and said to his pal, “Why call her that? She’s Miss Hua Chuan.”

“That’s right,” I spoke up. “Your mother ought to teach you some manners.”

Minnie was shivering a little from the chilly wind, holding the collar of her jacket with her hand. The scar-faced boy stared at her, then turned to his pal. “You mean she’s the American principal?”

“You bet.”

Then they both started chanting, “Principal Hua, the Goddess of Mercy! The Goddess of Mercy!”

“Shush, don’t call me that!” she told them.

But they went on shouting “The Goddess of Mercy!” as they scurried away with the top, slashing the air to make loud cracks with their leather-tipped hemp whips.

Minnie shook her head. Dried leaves were scuttling ahead of us like a swarm of mice, mixed with candy wrappers and banknotes no longer in circulation.

MINNIE SPOKE to Plumer Mills, the chairman of the semidisbanded International Relief Committee, to plead with him for help. But Yulan was just an individual; she did not belong to any organization, and her detention would not impair the relationship between Japan and any social or religious group, so Plumer couldn’t figure out a way to rescue her. Dr. Chu was the only person who might be able to help us. He didn’t work at the hospital but might have connections there.

Minnie invited Dr. Chu to dinner at Jinling, and gave me thirty yuan for the party — not much, but enough to make the occasion festive. I prepared the food in my home and had several Chinese over besides the two American teachers, Donna and Alice.

Minnie was amazed by the dinner, saying she’d never thought it would be so lavish. She wondered if I had spent some of my own money. I had, though just a few extra yuan. I joked that we Chinese were obsessed with food and face, so even in a time of distress like now, we’d still make the best use of the pleasure life could offer, turning a meal into a small feast. There was roast chicken, a large fried bass, smoked duck, and braised pork cubes. Yaoping took out his only bottle of Five Grain Sap and some apricot wine.