The Flowers of War (5 page)

‘Hah! Now we’re really going to become nuns!’ said Hongling with a laugh.

The allusion was obvious and the women chuckled. There was an edge in their laughter and even Fabio, who knew little of matters between men and women, was aware they
were being lewd. ‘Quiet! I haven’t finished speaking,’ he commanded harshly, although part of the harshness was directed at himself for no longer being sufficiently stern with them.

Yumo turned towards the women and quelled them with a glance.

‘How many meals do we get a day?’ asked Cardamom.

‘How many would you like, Miss?’ Fabio asked scornfully.

‘Well, we usually get four meals, with an extra one at night-time,’ Cardamom answered in all seriousness.

‘Something simple at night would be fine,’ Hongling hastily added, ‘a few snack dishes, a soup, a nice glass of wine …’ She knew Fabio was going to lose his temper. In fact, she thought he was very amusing when he was angry. In her experience, a fight between a man and a woman created instant intimacy and made everything more exciting.

‘Can we join the congregation?’ asked Nani.

Hongling clapped her hands in joy. ‘So we’ve got someone here who wants to be baptised and made into a new person, have we? What she’s actually asking is how many glasses of red wine can a person have when they go to Mass. Don’t be taken in! She can drink a barrel of wine dry!’

‘Bitch!’ Nani swore at her but without any real anger.

Yumo hastily attempted to distract Fabio from their bad language. Fixing her gaze on him again, she said, ‘Deacon Adornato, if it were not for your goodness in taking us in, we would all be facing calamity by now. We are deeply grateful that you are prepared to share a bowl of gruel with women like us in times of war. We would also like you to convey our thanks to the schoolgirls.’

Fabio felt drawn into the depths of those great eyes. Just for those few moments, he forgot that this woman was a whore, and imagined that she was someone he had come across in a park, or by the Xuanhu Lake, or in the shade of the French plane trees on Zhongshan Avenue; someone obviously from a good background. Perhaps she overdid the dignity a little, but her refinement and gentleness were genuine, and her words seemed honest, even if her accent was sometimes difficult to understand.

Fabio had planned to deal with the entire matter in a few brief sentences but he found himself leading Yumo round to the back of the church. Yumo was sharp-eyed and spotted the other women creeping after them. She stopped. ‘Be good girls and go back to the cellar now. Fabio asked me to go with him, not all of you.’

Behind the church, there was a rectangular cistern built of carved white marble. A layer of hickory leaves, rotted to a rusty red, covered the bottom. Fabio pointed to the tea-coloured water which half filled the pond and said, ‘I just wanted you to see this. Since you arrived, the water level has gone right down. Could I ask you to tell them not to pilfer the remaining water for washing clothes or faces?’

He felt ashamed of himself. Deep down he knew that he hadn’t needed to bring her here alone to admonish her. He had just wanted to spend more time in her company, to drown himself in her black eyes. In fact, her eyes seemed to present a more terrible danger to him than the war outside the church walls.

‘Of course, I’ll pass on your message, Father,’ Yumo said with a slight smile.

Her smile terrified him. She had divined thoughts in his head that he had scarcely divined himself. But it was also comforting. It said: It doesn’t matter, you’re a man, and you’ve shown you’re made of flesh and blood.

‘If the water supply stays cut off, within three days we’ll die of thirst. We’ll be as dry as this grass,’ said Fabio, putting his foot on the lawn, which was withered and yellow from
the winter drought. He sounded bitter, he thought, although he had not meant to.

‘Was there ever a well here?’ asked Yumo.

‘Yes, but there was such heavy snowfall one year that Father Engelmann’s pony missed its footing and slipped into the well. It broke its front leg. Father Engelmann made Ah Gu fill it in after that,’ said Fabio.

‘Can it be dug out again?’

‘I don’t know. It would be a lot of work. By the time we’ve used up the rest of the water in the cistern, maybe the water supply will be back on.’ As he spoke, he told himself that once he had finished this sentence their conversation must end there.

Yumo seemed to have heard even that unspoken warning to himself. Smiling, she made a slight bow and said, ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time.’

‘If the situation gets any worse, and there’s still no water, I really don’t know what we’ll do.’ Somehow Fabio found himself leaving Yumo with another sentence. He hoped Yumo would take it as a muttered exclamation which had burst out despite himself, and would say goodbye. But she took it as the beginning of another exchange between them.

‘It can’t get worse. If it does, we’ll go out and fetch
buckets of water. On our way here, we saw a pond,’ she said.

‘Strange that I don’t remember a pond,’ he said, telling himself this really was the very last thing he would say. Even if she said something more, he would not answer her.

‘I remember it.’ Another knowing smile. All men liked hanging around her, especially a lonely man like this one. The moment she set eyes on him, she had seen just how lonely Fabio was. No one accepted him as one of their own. He was alien both to the race into which he had been born and to the one in which he had grown up.

Fabio nodded, looking at her.

Yumo took a few steps, then stopped and turned round. ‘Last night, we took a bet,’ she said, ‘about which side you’d be on if the Chinese and foreigners had a fight.’

‘Which do you think?’ asked Fabio.

She looked at him, smiling, then turned to go.

Sorceress!
Fabio thought fiercely. As Yumo’s elegant back receded into the distance, he vowed that he would never allow her to enthral him with those great dark eyes, even for a second.

*     *     *

That night, an icy sleet made the temperature plunge. Father Engelmann was reading in his study but felt chilled to the marrow in spite of the fire that burned in the fireplace in the library next door. The damage to the church tower meant that the first-floor rooms were extremely draughty. George made frequent trips to add wood to the fire but it seemed to make no difference. The next time George came up, Father Engelmann said, ‘We’d better go easy on the wood. There isn’t enough to go round, and many old people in the Safety Zone have frozen to death.’

Around midnight, unable to sleep, he returned to the library to find something else to read. When he got to the foot of the stairs, he heard women’s voices. These women are like a virus, he thought. If you weren’t careful, they spread everywhere. When he got to the door, he saw Yumo, Nani and Hongling huddled around the embers which glowed in the fireplace, holding out a garish assortment of underwear to dry in the warmth and giggling in low voices.

Here! In this place full of sacred books and holy pictures!

Father Engelmann’s jaw muscles went into spasm. Convinced that these women would pay no attention when he rebuked them, he called Fabio from his bedroom.

‘Fabio! What are these creatures doing here?’

Fabio, who had been drinking heavily, had just nodded off. The alcohol fuelled his fury. ‘Blasphemers! How dare you come in here? Do you know what this place is?’ he yelled.

‘We’re so cold down there, we’ve got chilblains. Look!’ And Hongling pulled her bare feet with their painted toenails from her shoes and held them up before the two clergymen. Seeing Fabio jerk backwards as if she was contagious, Nani chortled in glee. Yumo elbowed her sharply; she knew they were in trouble now. This was the first time the distinguished old priest had really lost his composure.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, hiding away the brassiere she was holding. Her face was burning hot, her back icy cold.

‘I’m not going!’ said Hongling. ‘There’s a fire in here. Why go back and freeze to death?’

She turned her back on the clergymen and stretched her bare feet towards the fireplace. She wriggled her toes as if her feet were talking in sign language.

‘If you don’t get out of here this instant, I’ll make you all leave the church immediately!’ said Fabio.

‘And how will you make us do that?’ asked Hongling, her big toe managing to be both mischievous and provocative.

Yumo grabbed her arm. ‘Just stop that! Come on!’

‘You want us to leave? It’s easy! Give us a big brazier.’

‘George!’ Father Engelmann could see a shadow wavering at the bend of the staircase. George Chen had come over to see what was happening but, deciding it was best to stay out of trouble, was sneaking off down the stairs.

‘I saw you! George, come here!’

George came in reluctantly and took in the scene at a glance. ‘Father, have you not gone to bed yet?’ he asked innocently.

‘I asked you to put the fire out. Did you not understand?’ Father Engelmann said, pointing at the fireplace.

‘I was just about to,’ said George.

‘You’ve obviously added more wood!’ said Father Engelmann.

‘But George can’t bear to see a nice woman like me freeze,’ said Hongling with a twinkle in her eye.

Outside, in the dark and the cold, a Chinese soldier pulled his greatcoat tightly around him and tried, in vain, to sleep. For the past two days he had been hiding in the church’s graveyard, surviving on strips of dried yam that he had found hanging under the eaves of a bombed building, and on water from the cistern.

The soldier was twenty-nine-year-old Major Dai, of the Second Regiment of the 73rd Division of the Nationalist Army. On the night of December 12, while everyone in the compound slept, exhausted by their failed attempt to board the ferry, Dai had climbed over the wall into the church grounds in a desperate search for safety.

Major Dai’s unit was part of a crack division which Chiang Kai-shek had used against the Japanese in Shanghai. Chiang Kai-shek had three regiments of the calibre of the Seventy-Third, and they were the jewels in his crown. The military instructor for all three divisions was General von Falkenhausen, a German aristocrat with a German temperament to match. The troops that had almost succeeded in driving the Japanese Army into the Huangpu River in the space of a week were Major Dai’s.

On the evening of the twelfth, Major Dai was prepared to take half a battalion and defend Nanking’s Central Road to the death. As it got dark, they came across large numbers of soldiers running in the direction of the river. The soldiers spoke an almost incomprehensible dialect but Dai gathered that, according to them, his commanding officer, General Tang, had called a meeting of senior officers that afternoon and decided on a general retreat to the river. They said the order to retreat had been given an hour ago.

This could not be true, Dai thought. There had been no order to retreat received from his runner. If Major Dai’s crack troops had not received such orders, then what had made this rabble decide to throw away their weapons, bury their munitions and retreat?

Those in favour and those against retreat then got involved in discussions that became so acrimonious shots were fired. One of Dai’s company captains was pushed to the ground by a retreating soldier and, when he got to his feet, he shot the man. At that, those under orders to defend the city split into two. Most were swept along by the retreating forces. Twenty or thirty soldiers were left and, taking advantage of the fact that they were still armed and the retreating forces had laid down their weapons, launched an attack on them. After about five minutes of being fired on, the retreating officers and men took refuge in tanks and lorries. Major Dai and his men blockaded the vehicles. In those few moments of pandemonium, it dawned upon Major Dai with terrible clarity what the word ‘rout’ meant. For a military man such as he was, doomsday could not have been more tragic than this. He gave the order to cease fire.

By the time he and his junior officers arrived at the river, it was a desperate scene: bloodied bodies crammed the banks, hands emerged from the water to cling to the gunwales of every boat. Dai’s officers escorted him up and down, proclaiming his rank and number, but no one heeded them and they could not get near the few remaining boats which
could take them to safety. By one o’clock in the morning, those wanting to board outnumbered those on the boats by a hundred to one. Innumerable hands still clung to the gunwales, and even the decks, with inhuman persistence, until the captain threatened to hack them off.