The Flowers of War (21 page)

‘Maybe the Japanese really will bring us back again,’ said one girl.

No one paid any attention to her. The fool was in the
year below Shujuan and had come from the countryside near Anqing.

‘Didn’t you hear? There’ll be good food and flowers –’ the girl persisted.

‘Then
you
go!’ said Sophie, making these apparently inoffensive words sound thoroughly insulting. ‘
You
go!’ she shrieked. Here was a scapegoat on whom she could vent all her despair at the horrors that awaited them. ‘The Japanese have lovely food, lovely drink and lovely beds!’

The girl launched herself at Sophie in the gloom and punched her. It did not hurt. In fact, Sophie was grateful for the excuse to lash out at her victim with fists, nails and feet. The girl burst into tears. Then Sophie burst into tears. The other girls sobbed too, as they tried to pull the pair apart.

‘You bitch! You smelly bitch!’ Sophie shouted, punching and kicking. She did not care now whom she hit. Her need to vent her feelings was overwhelming, and that included her resentment against Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu had gone back on her word and played a cruel trick on her infatuated friend, at a moment when it was a matter of life and death. ‘Stinking bitch!’ The Anqing girl was a convenient punchbag, and blows and insults rained down on her.

‘Who are you swearing at?’ The curtain was pulled back and Hongling appeared, followed by Nani and Jade.

‘Let’s have no more calling people “bitches”,’ said Hongling. ‘A bitch is still a human being.’

‘You were such well-spoken girls. Where did you learn such dreadful language?’ asked Jade.

‘Did you learn it from us?’ asked Nani. ‘You shouldn’t go learning things from people like us!’

The scuffling stopped and the girls quieted down, wiped away their tears and smoothed their clothes and hair.

Only the little girl from Anqing still sobbed.

The curtain parted again and Yumo came out and stood, looking formidable, her arms akimbo.

‘What’s up with you then?’ she enquired in a rich Nanking street slang. ‘You can cry all you like, your mum and dad won’t hear, but the Japs will.’ She jerked a thumb at Hongling, Nani and Jade. ‘And less chat from you too.’

After a stern stare, she returned to the women’s side, wrenching the curtain back into place behind her.

The girls were startled into silence. Yumo’s words sounded so ordinary, like a young mother whose children were getting on her nerves, or a class monitor overseeing a bunch of mouthy younger girls who were supposed to be
tidying their rooms. It was just what the girls needed, a casual, rough-tongued scolding, which returned everything to normal.

*     *     *

Before the crucifix, Father Engelmann got to his feet. Suddenly all thoughts and feelings faded from his mind and he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Fatigue, hunger and despair had sapped his energy to such an extent that he might not have the reserves of strength to say and do what he had to. He was going to have to be cruel and sacrifice some lives in order to preserve others. They had to be sacrificed because they were not pure enough, because they were second-rate lives, because they were not worthy of his protection, of the church’s protection or of God’s.

But did he have the right to play God, and make these life-and-death choices? To separate the wheat from the chaff, good from evil, in God’s stead? He crossed the courtyard in the direction of the kitchen.

‘My children …’ he would begin, just as he had addressed the schoolgirls countless times before. After all, the others were ‘his children’ too, weren’t they? It struck him as strange
that the words did not feel forced, and came easily to his lips. When had it happened, that change in attitude to them? He still did not respect them but his revulsion had gone.

He would put it like this: ‘My children, sacrificing oneself for others takes you to a very sacred place. Through sacrificing yourselves, you will become pure and holy women.’ But even before he went into the kitchen, he realised that these words were utterly ridiculous, totally false, embarrassing even to himself.

So what should he say?

He almost hoped they would rebel, turn against him, begin to shout abuse. That would give him the strength to say: ‘I’m very sorry but you must go with the Japanese. Leave this church immediately.’

There was not a second to waste, yet Father Engelmann still dithered, overwhelmed by indecision.

‘Father!’ Fabio came running round from the back of the church. ‘The graveyard is full of Japanese soldiers. They came in over the wall and they’re hiding among the graves!’

Father Engelmann pushed open the kitchen door. There was only one thought in his head: Please let these women be good Chinese women and meekly accept their fate.

Then he stood rooted to the spot.

The women were sitting around the large chopping board, in the middle of which was a guttering candle, looking as if they were holding some sort of secret meeting.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Fabio in a low voice.

‘I brought them up here,’ said Yumo.

‘About a dozen of the Japanese soldiers didn’t leave with their officers. They’ve taken over the graveyard!’ said Fabio.

Yumo glanced at him, unconcerned. Then she turned to Father Engelmann.

‘We have all discussed it –’

‘I don’t remember you discussing it with us!’ exclaimed Jade.

‘We’ll go with the Japanese,’ Yumo went on. ‘The schoolgirls will stay behind.’

For a moment Father Engelmann was stunned. Then he realised what Yumo had said and felt relief wash over him, then guilt at his relief. He hated this ruthlessness in himself.

‘You don’t really think you’ll get wine to drink and meat to eat?’ interrupted Fabio urgently.

‘Even if there was, I wouldn’t go!’ said Nani.

‘I’m not forcing you,’ said Yumo. ‘But I can only take the place of one.’

Hongling got lazily to her feet. ‘Do you think you’re
nobler than Yumo?’ She looked at them all. ‘Your lives are muckier than pond sludge, and you’re all playing Little Miss Precious!’ She walked up to Yumo and put her arm around her waist. ‘I’m getting into your good books. I’m going with you.’

‘Mucky or precious, I’ve still got my life!’ Jade shouted.

‘We’ve still got parents and brothers and sisters to keep on our wages,’ some of the others chimed in.

‘I haven’t put my name down for this. What would I want to go for?’

‘Fine!’ said Yumo angrily. ‘You want to carry on hiding here, cadging off these people? You want to watch the Japs carrying those children off to their doom? You do that! Just who do you think you’re saving yourselves for? Is there anyone who gives a toss whether you live or you die?’ She was beginning to sound like a foul-mouthed countrywoman, every sentence a stream of curses. ‘You think you can hide yourselves away and you’ll be reborn as nice young schoolgirls, just like that? Face it, you were born to be whores, the scum of the earth! But if you do a good deed now, maybe you’ll have better karma in the next life.’

Father Engelmann did not really follow what Yumo was saying. It was not just the words she used, but the meaning
behind them. But Fabio understood. He had grown up in the countryside where life for women was harsh. It was common to hear them take any opportunity, including scolding their children, to bemoan the sadness of their lives. But so long as they felt that this was their karma, they would always, in the end, accept any injustice fatalistically. Yumo was talking to the women now in terms which they understood. They quieted down.

Suddenly Fabio could bear it no more. ‘You don’t have to take the schoolgirls’ places,’ he shouted.

Yumo was taken aback. Fabio felt Father Engelmann’s eyes boring into him as he repeated, ‘No one need go.’

‘Talk sense, Fabio!’ said Father Engelmann in English.

‘Keep them all hidden in the cellar. Maybe the Japanese won’t find them,’ said Fabio.

‘But the Japanese already know there are schoolgirls in hiding here –’

‘That was because you admitted it! You’d already decided to sacrifice these women.’ Fabio was so outraged he was scarcely comprehensible and, seeing the older priest was straining to understand, he repeated the accusation. For the first time in his life, he felt Chinese through and through. There was something almost feudal about this xenophobic
desire to protect ‘his’ womenfolk from being ill-treated by any foreign man.

‘Fabio Adornato, I’m not discussing this with you.’ Father Engelmann’s quiet voice quelled the younger man.

There was a ring at the doorbell and the candle flame flickered.

‘Get down to the cellar,’ Fabio ordered the women. ‘You’re not going to be dragged off like scapegoats, not while I’m alive to stop it.’

‘We’re not being dragged, we’re volunteering,’ said Yumo looking at Fabio. It was a look Fabio had been waiting for, a look that instantly bewitched him. And now the eyes which gave him that look would depart with her body …

‘I’ll go and talk to their officer and ask for another ten minutes,’ said Father Engelmann.

‘Twenty minutes. It’ll take at least twenty minutes for us to put on their clothes,’ said Yumo.

It was a clever idea. Father Engelmann was taken aback by Yumo’s intelligence and maturity.

‘Do you think you can look convincing?’ he asked.

Hongling spoke up. ‘Don’t worry, Father. We can pass ourselves off as anyone except for ourselves!’

‘Get the girls’ clothes, Fabio, please,’ said Yumo. ‘Not
the stuff they wear every day. We want what they wear for special occasions, quickly!’

Fabio sprinted to the workshop. Halfway up the ladder it suddenly struck him that Yumo had called him not ‘Deacon’ or ‘Father’ but ‘Fabio’. And she had made ‘Fabio’ sound like an authentic Chinese name.

*     *     *

The officer agreed to Father Engelmann’s request and his troops waited silently in the chilly night for another twenty minutes. Father Engelmann had explained why they required more time: the choir robes had not been worn for a while. Some needed buttons sewed on, others mending and ironing. The soldiers stood patiently in rows outside the church compound wall, bayonets at the ready. Good things were worth waiting for, and the Japanese were sticklers for ceremony.

Exactly twenty minutes later, the kitchen door opened and out came a group of young girls dressed in wide-sleeved black choir robes. They walked with their heads slightly bent, like girls trying to hide their budding breasts. Each girl carried a hymn book tucked under her arm.

Father Engelmann stood at the gate, making the sign of the cross over each of the women as they passed. It was difficult to tell which of the black-robed women was which. But he recognised Yumo from her height. She brought up the rear of the procession. When she reached him, she smiled shyly and performed a genuflection like a good Catholic schoolgirl.

‘You came here seeking protection,’ said the priest softly.

‘And thank you for taking us in, Father. If you had not, I don’t know what terrible things would have happened to us by now.’

Fabio had moved closer and was staring at Yumo.

‘Women like us can never escape ruin, or from ruining others,’ she added with a sly glance at the two clergymen.

Fabio pulled the heavy door open for the women to pass through. Outside, the torches illuminated a forest of bayonets. The Japanese officer stood to attention, his face in darkness, only the brightness of his eyes and teeth betraying a wolfish delight.

Fabio had never imagined that he would open the door and send these women on their last journey; send this woman, Yumo, on her last journey. Even though Yumo had been born luckless, he had assumed that there was still some shred
of hope for her. But not any more. He felt a surge of melancholy. He had first been infected by such feelings as a child when his Chinese adoptive mother took him to operas. She had sown so many seeds of melancholy in his heart. Yes, he thought, seeds grew, and could turn into something quite different.

Beside the burned-out tree, a truck was parked. Two soldiers stood by the tailgate and, as the first ‘schoolgirl’ approached, they each took hold of an arm and hoisted her up the step. It was no use refusing their help. They blocked any attempt to struggle with drawn bayonets.

Father Engelmann stood at the entrance to the compound. He watched as each woman stepped up and disappeared under the tarpaulin covering. He regretted that he had not asked them their real names, the ones their parents had given them. Eventually all the women were in the truck apart from Yumo. He saw the officer reach out to help her up, and he saw Yumo instinctively jerk away, then give the officer a faint smile. It was the genuine smile of a young girl, shy and modest. She could fool anyone with that smile.

The officer mounted his horse and ordered the truck to start.

‘Please wait!’

Father Engelmann ran towards the truck.

The officer on horseback turned to him.

‘I’ll go with my students,’ the priest said.

‘
Ii-e!
’ the officer replied.

Fabio didn’t need to speak Japanese to understand that this meant ‘no’.

‘I’ll go and make sure they sing properly. It has been ages since they last sang …’ Father Engelmann insisted, trying to climb into the truck.

The officer shouted an order for the truck to pull out. It lurched forward. With a hand clutching the wooden rail of the truck bed and a foot on the rear wheel, the priest was left suspended, his long, black cassock entangling his limbs.

‘Father Engelmann!’ Fabio called out.

The officer yelled something.

Yumo reached out her hand and placed it on Father Engelmann’s.

‘Father, you shouldn’t …’

‘Give me a hand, my child …’ the priest cried out.

All of a sudden the truck picked up speed. Rifles sounded. Yumo screamed as Father Engelmann fell off the truck.
Fabio saw her clutching her bleeding forearm as the priest thudded to the ground. He rushed to his side and called his name, but Father Engelmann could no longer hear.