The Flowers of War (9 page)

Slowly, Major Dai clicked on the pistol’s safety catch. Then he turned the muzzle towards himself and gave the pistol, butt-end first, to Father Engelmann.

To maintain propriety, the cellar was divided in two with the aid of an old curtain from the library. The three men had one side, the women the other. As Fabio came down the ladder to inspect the arrangements, his nostrils were assaulted by an extraordinary medley of smells: foodstuffs stored for long years, pickles, cheese, wine … their substance may have disappeared but their essence remained. It was as if the smells had continued to ripen until they filled the air with a pungent, almost tangible odour. Fabio felt faint as he got to the bottom of the ladder. New smells had been added to the mixture since this had become a makeshift living space: the body odour of fourteen women and three men, the
contents of two toilet buckets, as well as perfume, face cream, hair oil, talcum powder and tobacco …

The sergeant major’s name was Li Quanyou and the boy soldier was Wang Pusheng. Fabio learned that the boy had only been conscripted a month before, having been dragged from the sweet-potato patch in front of his house and handed a uniform. The day he put it on, he was given a rifle and a munitions belt and taken off to the village threshing circle to learn how to use his bayonet and take aim, before being sent to Nanking. He had not even had one chance to shoot his gun because his superior said bullets were worth their weight in gold and had to be kept until they got to the battlefield. Once there, he had fired only a few shots when he was wounded.

Sergeant Major Li’s left leg was badly injured. He had been stabbed four times and the tendons behind the knee had been severed so that the limb looked dead as he dragged it uselessly behind him.

It took some probing for Major Dai to extract the story of what had happened to them. At first when he asked, Li just said: ‘Don’t want to talk about it. They’re motherfuckers, I’ve never been in such a hellish situation!’ Or: ‘I just don’t remember!’ It was only after he’d had some wine that he
started to tell the story. The wine, of course, belonged to the church and had been smuggled to the soldiers by the women. By that time, adversity had drawn the soldiers and the prostitutes into a close alliance.

Major Dai told the story to Fabio, who relayed it to Father Engelmann.

The day after Li Quanyou and Wang Pusheng’s unit had sworn that they would defend the city to the last man, they had lost contact with their GHQ. As a result, their officers had no idea where to go or how to fight. They also did not know which direction the enemy was attacking from. It was only when the Japanese breached their lines and marched into Nanking that Li and his men realised they were defeated pawns in a chess game.

It was getting dark and Chinese and enemy troops became hopelessly mixed up. During the night, they were sold out by their own senior officers who, from the rank of captain upwards, simply ran away under cover of darkness. At dawn, a Chinese collaborator armed with a loud-hailer, speaking from a Japanese helicopter, announced: ‘Chinese soldiers! The great Japanese Imperial Army treats its prisoners of war well! You only have to put down your arms, and rice, hot tea and Japanese Army tinned rations await you!’ None
of the Chinese soldiers had had so much as a sniff of rice for a very long time. As the Japanese helicopter circled around the mountains, the soldiers sheltering on its wooded slopes craned their necks to watch. When the helicopter returned, the collaborator had turned into a Japanese girl, singing a Chinese song in a Japanese accent. The helicopter circled again and the sky filled with white, yellow and pink leaflets fluttering to the ground. A soldier who could read a bit said: ‘These are from the Japanese! They want us to surrender.’ Others who were more literate read the rest of the text: ‘It says there’ll be no violence, and it guarantees us food and shelter. And it says any resistance will meet with total annihilation. All the Chinese troops inside Nanking have surrendered and are being treated well!’ There was another leaflet whose wording was less polite: ‘The patience of the Imperial Army is not inexhaustible. If you have not surrendered by dawn tomorrow, it will be too late.’

During the night the soldiers discussed their options. Sergeant Major Li suggested to one of his platoon commanders that they break ranks and escape under cover of darkness. They might be lucky and get away. But the platoon commander said: ‘If you’ve thought of that idea, then the Japanese will have too.’ Another sergeant said: ‘If
we take these leaflets with us, then if the Japanese don’t keep their word, we can argue with them, because it’s all down here in black and white! It’s even got their senior officer’s name written here. Would he dare go back on his word?’

The terms of surrender were printed on other leaflets: 1) they were to collect all their weapons into a pile; 2) they were to form up in their squads, platoons and companies and the head of each was to raise a white flag – a white sheet or a white shirt would do; 3) every officer and every man was to raise their hands above their heads and come out into the open. The Japanese Army wanted orderly behaviour. Any disorderly behaviour would be severely punished.

Li had no food on him at all but he did have tobacco. He filled pipe after pipe, trying to weigh up the odds and make up his mind: to surrender with the rest of the troops or attempt to sneak quietly away on his own. If he had a mouthful of food there was no way he would surrender. His comrades all got out their remaining tobacco and pooled it. The damp, cold night air seeped from the dense stands of pine and oak and chilled the many thousands of hungry Chinese soldiers to the bone. Only their tobacco brought them a little comfort.

At this very moment, although they did not know it, Japanese troops were watching the mass of dots of light from countless pipes in some trepidation. The Chinese looked like a mighty force and the Japanese were only a fraction of their number. If the leaflets ploy should fail, it would be hard for the Japanese to do battle with the Chinese.

Li finally abandoned the idea of fleeing and going into hiding. If he surrendered, at least he had a vague idea what would happen from the Japanese leaflets. If he made a run for it, he had no way of knowing what awaited him. Besides, when it came to trusting to fate, Li like most of his comrades preferred to stick with the others. Their courage was multiplied when they were together and a deadly threat was much easier to face together than alone.

At five o’clock in the morning, the first white flag – a bed sheet held aloft by a bugler – was raised on the Chinese side. The sheet had been left behind by a regimental commander. They tore it into four and shared it between four regiments. It was only when the mist lifted and the surrendering troops got to the Japanese lines that they realised just how heavily they outnumbered the enemy. If only they had known, they could have broken through and got away the night before, but the lack of any wireless
equipment left them in complete ignorance, a situation which the Japanese were quick to take advantage of.

A group of walking wounded was approaching along another track. One of them was a youth with his head wrapped in a bandage. Li’s company was ordered to halt at the fork in the track. The Japanese seemed to be very considerate of their prisoners of war, allowing the wounded to get to food and shelter first. Sergeant Major Li and Wang Pusheng had not met at that stage.

Led by a forest of white flags, the Chinese troops silently walked along the road. They were escorted at ten-metre intervals by a Japanese soldier toting a rifle. Occasionally Chinese interpreters would appear, to shout: ‘Hurry up! Quick as you can!’ Every now and then they would be asked by the surrendering soldiers: ‘Where are the Japanese taking us?’

The answer was always ‘Don’t know’. The expressions of the collaborators were as bland as those of the Japanese soldiers escorting them.

‘Will there be food and water?’ came another question.

‘Of course!’

‘They won’t kill us or beat us?’

‘No! Get a move on now!’

There really were some soldiers who had carefully kept a leaflet on them. Every time they saw a collaborator, they would take it out and show it to him. These words were the evidence. Now they wanted these Japanese to honour their promises.

When one of the soldiers exchanged a few words with a collaborator, he was quickly surrounded by his comrades. ‘They’re really not going to kill us?’ ‘That’s what he said …’ ‘They’re going to feed us?’ ‘That’s what he said …’

The rumours were embellished with much repeating. ‘Down the road there’s food! we’re nearly there! The Japanese never kill their prisoners!’

They walked on and on but food and shelter still did not materialise. The prisoners’ firmness of spirit began to waver. ‘Who did you hear say there was food?’ ‘It was you!’ ‘Did I? I said probably there was …’ ‘Then let’s find another interpreter to ask!’

It was after ten in the morning and the mist was dispersing when they came to a burned-out factory. A Japanese officer exchanged a few words with the interpreter who took a loud-hailer and bellowed at the prisoners: ‘Officers and men! Take a rest here for a bit while we wait for our orders.’

One of the Chinese, bolder than the rest, shouted back: ‘Is this where we’re going to eat?’

The Japanese officer bent his steely gaze on him and the Chinese soldiers felt a chill of fear. There was obviously no food and shelter to be had here.

The place was completely uninhabited. It was a ghost town.

Under instruction from the Japanese officer, the interpreter addressed the prisoners again. ‘There’ll be food when you get to the river. Then you’ll be put in boats and taken to an island in midstream to clear the land for planting. The Japanese Army needs food and you’re going to supply it …’

The men were reassured when this message was relayed to them. It sounded believable. They could see the prospects in front of them. They might have been starving but they cheered up. The interpreter went on. ‘During this rest period, we’re asking everyone to show restraint and cooperate with the Japanese. Allow them to tie your hands –’

The loud-hailer was still rapping out its message when there were confused shouts of: ‘Why? What do they want to tie our hands for?’

‘They’ve got guns and we’re weaponless. What’s the point in tying us up?’

‘I won’t let them!’

The officer shouted an order and all the Japanese soldiers stood with bayonets at the ready.

The Chinese quieted down and huddled closer together.

The loud-hailer transmitted the Japanese officer’s explanation. ‘Tying your hands is to keep you in order. If we lose control and disorder breaks out when you’re crossing the river, then it could be very dangerous. The Imperial Army is only concerned with your safety.’

The collaborator shouted himself hoarse through the loud-hailer but the soldiers were sceptical.

One shouted back: ‘If they tie our hands, then how will we eat when we get to the river?’

The collaborator had no answer to that. But the question alerted the other soldiers: Hadn’t the Japanese said they would be fed when they got to the river? So why were they saying now that tying their hands was to maintain order on the boats? How could they hold a bowl and pick up a steamed bun with their hands tied? And there were only a few Japanese – were there enough to get food to all the Chinese? Which bit were they to believe?

The Japanese officer moved over to the interpreter. ‘What’s all the noise about?’ he asked. The interpreter smiled
and explained to him that the things he had said contradicted each other.

The officer thought for a moment and had a muttered exchange with the interpreter. The latter turned back to the prisoners and raised his loud-hailer again. ‘Chinese soldiers, the commanding officer acknowledges that you are right and his plan was ill-considered. So this is what we’ll do: all of you will make camp here and when the food supplies department tells us they are ready, then you will be informed.’

Sergeant Major Li and his comrades were escorted into the empty factory. It was a tight squeeze for five thousand soldiers, and there was not an inch of extra space for anyone to stretch out and take a nap. But the prisoners were so exhausted and hungry that they simply fell asleep sitting bolt upright. As it got dark, they began to wake up but not a single man had the strength to stand.