Ha Jin - Nanjing Requiem

I could tell he was still troubled by the malicious rumors about his collaboration with the Japanese. He had worked so hard for the benefit of the needy and the weak that he deserved to be honored, not slandered. He had recently completed his survey of the damage to our city and its suburbs and secretly published the results in a booklet with the small Mercury Press in Shanghai.

The service ended with the hymn “I’m a Pilgrim.” Afterward Mrs. Dennison invited Lewis to a wonton dinner, which Minnie, I, and four others also attended.

That evening the middle-school girls got restless. A few wore black armbands, and some sang patriotic songs in the open. In the south, salvos rumbled while fireworks cascaded over ragged clouds, bringing to mind towering willow crowns and dangling bean sprouts. The racket of the official celebration outraged the girls. A group of them, led by Meiyan, began singing “The Big Sword March,” which had been a battle song popular among the troops defending Shanghai twenty months before. Arm in arm, the girls stood in rows, swaying from side to side while belting out: “Big swords chop off the devils’ heads. / All the patriotic compatriots, / Now’s the time to fight the Japanese invaders!” As they were chorusing, tears bathed their faces and their voices grew shrill. Meiyan was the loudest among them and even kept time with a tiny national flag. She was half a head taller than most of the other participants.

We observed them from the windows of the dining room. After the battle song, Meiyan shouted, “Topple the puppet municipality!”

The crowd, more than a hundred strong, repeated the slogan together, all thrusting their fists into the air. Luhai stood beyond them, massaging his nape with his hand, as if he couldn’t decide whether to join in. I could see that he was excited, but why did he just lurk around watching? Did he have a hand in this?

“Repay blood debts in blood!” Meiyan cried again.

All the voices shouted after her in unison.

“Drive the invaders out of China!” she went on.

Again the others followed her in one voice.

Mrs. Dennison said about Meiyan, “I like that girl. She’s full of fire and can become a fine leader.”

“She’s Big Liu’s daughter, very hot-blooded,” Minnie told her.

“Yes, I saw her and two other girls cursing a Japanese woman on the street the other day,” Mrs. Dennison continued. “I’ve always admired Chinese women more than Chinese men.”

“We should stop them,” Minnie said. Without waiting for the old woman to respond, she set out. Some of us followed her.

Minnie went up to the girls and said, “All right, enough for today. You all go back to your dorms.”

Meiyan, her face burning with passion, stepped forward and blasted, “Why are you so scared of the Eastern devils?”

Taken aback, Minnie said, “I have only your safety in mind. If the Japanese find out about this, they’ll start an investigation, and you all will get into trouble.”

“Let them come. Who cares?”

“Don’t boast like that,” Minnie warned.

“Stop it, Meiyan!” I said almost in a cry.

Mrs. Dennison came over and intervened. “Girls, don’t do anything rash. Listen to Dean Vautrin. It’s for your own good — she just wants to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“There’re no spies here,” another girl said.

“You never know,” Minnie went on.

The girls looked around to see whether some of the puppet officials’ daughters were still among them. None of those rich students was around, though a few had been here half an hour ago, clapping their hands while watching the gorgeous fireworks. One of them had even mocked the demonstrators by sliding her index finger across her throat. Now the girls seemed swayed by Minnie’s words; some even took off their black armbands, and some turned, leaving for the dormitories and the classroom buildings. Although the crowd was dwindling, Meiyan and about thirty others continued chanting patriotic songs.

I left with Minnie and Mrs. Dennison, and as we neared the front entrance, we saw a company of cavalry passing by on the street. We stopped to watch the tall horses galloping away and fading into the dark while their hooves clattered on the asphalt. Then we continued toward the south of campus, the two American women’s long shadows mingling on the ground bleached by the moonlight.

I NOTICED that the students liked Alice very much, not because of their fondness for English but because of the way she conducted her classes. Although thirty-seven, Alice was so youthful and vivacious that if viewed from the rear and with a kerchief over her corn-silk hair, you could easily take her for a student, especially when she was among the girls. She often taught them hymns and American folk songs, staged miniature scenes of American life — shopping, asking for directions, visiting the post office, canvassing — and even showed them how to make lemonade, cakes, and fruit pies. One evening in early May, Minnie, Alice, and I took a stroll through campus while talking about how to monitor the students, particularly the few firebrands, so that they wouldn’t run away again or endanger themselves. Alice agreed to often engage them in small talk to follow their concerns. As the three of us were approaching the south dormitory, we saw a crowd in front of the building.

“Yeah, smash her mug!” someone urged. I recognized Meiyan’s rasping voice.

We hurried over and saw two students rolling on the ground. One was a tall girl named Yuting, whose father had been among the six IRC men arrested by the Japanese and had died in prison recently. The other was the mousy girl who’d slid her forefinger across her throat on the night of the emperor’s birthday, mocking the singers of patriotic songs. “Damn you,” Yuting gasped, pulling the girl’s hair. “Tell your dad we’ll get rid of him sooner or later.”

The small girl kicked her assailant aside, rolled away, and scrambled to her feet. “He had nothing to do with your father’s death, all right? You’re going out of your mind.”

“Rip her tongue out of her trap!” Meiyan told Yuting.

The runty girl turned to the crowd. “My dad just designs boats. He only supervises twelve people in his institute. You’ve blamed the wrong man.”

“He builds patrol boats for the Japs,” someone said.

“Yeah, your dad is a stooge,” added another.

“But he has to work to support our family,” the girl wailed, her nose bleeding. “He has no direct contact with the Japs.”

“I’m gonna to finish you off right here!” Yuting yelled, and rushed toward her again.

All of a sudden, the cloudless night became darker, the moon fading away. The whitish boles of the ginkgos and aspens around us disappeared. A handful of yellowish stars blinked faintly, as if the invisible chains connecting them had all at once snapped, scattering them across the sky. Everybody turned silent, awestruck. It took me a while to realize that a full eclipse was under way. Dogs began barking, and a tremendous din rose from the neighborhood in the southwest. Then came the sounds of people beating pots, pans, and basins while firecrackers exploded and horns blared. Every household in the area seemed to be engaged in the great commotion, which threw the girls into a panic. They all stood there listening; some moved their heads this way and that, totally confused. I felt embarrassed by the racket, which showed how backward we Chinese were in understanding this natural phenomenon.

“What’s going on?” Alice asked in a guarded whisper.

“It’s an eclipse,” Minnie said.

“That I know.”

“People believe that some animal in the sky is swallowing the moon, so they’re making all that noise to scare it away.”