Ha Jin - Nanjing Requiem

It had rained heavily the night before; the air was washed clean and shimmering a little. A few gnats were flickering around. Rulian had not invited Mrs. Dennison. Minnie enjoyed socializing with the young faculty. If Mrs. Dennison were here, Minnie wouldn’t have had a peaceful meal. These days, whenever the two of them ran into each other, the old woman would smirk, probably relishing her small victory in chasing Minnie out of the bungalow. I also noticed that Mrs. Dennison would speak louder, with forced cheerfulness, whenever Minnie happened to be within hearing, as if everybody were her friend. I knew the crone meant to provoke her.

THE WEEK AFTER Minnie left, I again heard from Holly. To my surprise, she was in the Zhenjiang area now, working at a refugee relief center. She invited me to visit, saying she lived outside Gaozi, a suburban town that had a train station. Not having seen her for more than a year, I was eager to visit, so I set out a few days later, taking the train early in the morning. It was just a thirty-mile trip to the east, and I brought two pounds of barley taffy along with an umbrella, as it was cloudy.

The refugee relief center was easy to find, in a village outside the town of Gaozi. Holly was ecstatic to see me. She hugged me for half a minute, as if afraid I might disappear the instant she released me. She took me to a ramshackle cottage, into a room she shared with a young woman named Siuchin, whom Holly had mentioned in her letters as her friend. Siuchin turned up a moment later, fetched a thermos of boiled water, and began brewing tea in a porcelain pot. She was tall and had a squarish face, in her mid-twenties. Untying the thin paper string, Holly opened the package I’d brought and poured some of the barley taffy, each piece covered with sesame seeds, onto an enamel plate. I observed her closely and found her aged a bit but in full health, her eyes brighter and her broad face more vivid, though it showed more wrinkles when she smiled. Siuchin had to leave to finish wrapping some iodine tablets, so after telling Holly she would arrange lunch, she went out with a fistful of the taffy.

It was already past midmorning, and Holly and I were reminiscing about people we both knew while munching the sticky candy. I usually don’t like sweets that much, but, affected by my friend’s great relish, I kept chewing one piece after another. Holly remembered Minnie fondly for her big kind heart and straightforwardness, and she also praised Rulian as a fine young woman, mild and gracious. I saw Holly’s violin in its sky-blue case hanging on the wall; a Bible sat below the instrument on her bed, which was just a sheet spread over a blanket and a straw mattress on some boards supported by three small trestles. The Bible, bound in morocco, was the only book in the room. It was the American Standard Version, which I hadn’t read yet, since I always used the King James version. Amazed, I asked, “You belong to a denomination now?”

“No, I’m still on my own.” Holly smiled, the same old nonchalance on her heavy-boned face. “So far I’ve always attached myself to a mission group for protection.”

“But you dip into the Scriptures.”

“Sometimes I enjoy reading them.”

“Then why not join the church?”

“Do I need an institution to communicate with God?”

I closed my eyes and announced: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” I paused and opened my eyes to look at her.

“Gosh, you sound like a priest.”

“For the nonce I am a bishop.” I chuckled, then went on, “Even if you don’t need the church, you still need Christ, don’t you?”

“That’s why I’ve been looking for him.”

“So you’ve been wandering around in search of the Lord?”

“I also look for him in my heart.”

“You’re a strange woman, Holly.”

“That I won’t deny. It was an irony that the Japanese burned my house and set me free.”

“How do you mean?”

“Without my old home anymore, I can go anywhere I want to and live a different life.”

I’d heard her say that before, so I shifted the subject a little. “I admire your devotion to our people. You’ve become one of us.”

“Not really. I belong to myself only.”

“But you’re a Chinese citizen, aren’t you?”

“Citizenship is just a piece of paper. I belong neither to China nor to America. Like I said, I’m on my own.”

“Still, you’ve been helping us in our cause.”

“That’s because I believe it’s the right thing to do. I’ve followed only my heart.”

“Come on, Holly, you’re living a hard life, and so is your friend Siuchin. You cannot say you two haven’t made sacrifices for this country.”

“We’ve been doing the work only because we believe it’s worth our effort. One doesn’t have to love a country to do what’s right.”

“So you like this kind of life and will live as a widow forever?”

She laughed. “I know what it was like to live with a man I loved. It’s enough to love once in a lifetime.”

“You still miss your husband?”

“Yes, I do. My husband, Harry, was a poet, although he didn’t publish many poems. He was a good man and we enjoyed each other so much that we’d like to be a couple again if we meet after this life.”

I chuckled, amused by that quaint notion, as if she were a Buddhist. “So after he died you never found a better man?”

“No. I dated a few, but they were nothing compared to Harry. So my heart gradually shut itself to men.”

“How about your friend Siuchin? Doesn’t she want to marry and have a family? She’s still so young.”

“Her late fiancé must’ve been a splendid fellow or she wouldn’t live this way.”

“You told me about her loss.” I knew Siuchin’s fiancé had been an officer, killed in battle by the Japanese.

“She’s often said she would’ve been happy to die for him. She loved him that much. I urged her to settle down somewhere, but she likes wandering around and doing mission work. She feels safer this way.”

Siuchin stepped in and announced that it was time for lunch. She had asked the cook to prepare a pork dish, which we should eat before lunchtime; otherwise we might make others crave meat and cause trouble for the kitchen. I followed them out to the shed that served as a dining room.

A small basin of rice and two dishes — one of sautéed tofu mixed with scallions and baby bok choy and the other of pork cubes stewed with pole beans — sat on a makeshift table constructed of two naked boards nailed onto the tops of six short wooden poles. The pork tasted so-so, but I liked the tofu dish and put some of it on my rice and mixed it with chopsticks. Holly used a spoon instead, chewing the meat with relish. I could see that this was a treat for her and Siuchin.

The air smelled of cow dung and freshly sickled grass. In the distance a pond spread beyond rice paddies, dotted with a couple of white geese. As we were eating and chatting, a knot of children appeared, all skin and bones, watching us with hunger-sharpened eyes. Yet none of the kids made a peep or stepped closer. A girl, six or seven years old, with one bare foot on top of the other, opened her mouth halfway, saliva dripping from its corner. As I wondered if I should give them some food, Holly and Siuchin glanced at each other. Then the young woman stood and turned to the five children, saying, “You all go get bowls and chopsticks, and come back in a few minutes. We’ll leave you some. But everybody must promise that you won’t fight over the food, all right?”

They nodded and raced away. Hurriedly we finished the rice in our bowls and left the benches. Siuchin covered the rest of the rice with a towel and the dishes with a bamboo basket to shield them from the bluebottles droning around. A few of the flies, stripped of their wings, were crawling about on the table. Holly told the cook to keep an eye on the food for the children. “Fine,” the man said. “What can I say if you mean to spoil them again?”