by Mai Jia
We went through every aspect of what had happened sixty-six years earlier. It was a story that I’d imagined I’d understood, but as the old lady made clear, I’d actually understood very little, and much had been carefully concealed from me. I decided then and there that I would rewrite my story. But now that I’ve done that, is someone else going to come forward, read the new version, and accuse me all over again of distorting the facts?
Sometimes I really do feel that I have no idea any more what’s true and what’s fiction.
Strictly speaking, everything that I’ve written in this chapter is simply an introduction to what comes next; perhaps it would be best to call it a preface…
TWO
1
Green creeper, dark bamboo, the sound of birdsong; an old lady, at the end of her life, living remote from the rest of the world…
These were my first impressions when I arrived, full of trepidation, at Madame Gu’s villa in the countryside.
It wasn’t a very big house, but it was quiet and elegant. You could smell the flowers and hear the birds singing, and the outside world didn’t intrude at all; it really did seem like paradise to me. The villa was three storeys high, with a roof of black tiles; its red-brick walls were covered in green creeper and it was encircled by clumps of dark bamboo – you couldn’t imagine a reinforced concrete building in such surroundings. The sitting room was furnished with a mixture of Chinese and Western pieces – she had a Louis XIV-style sofa, reclining chairs, oil paintings and bronze table lamps, but there was also a very Chinese household shrine, table and straw mats, and a rosewood armchair. A thread of incense rose from the shrine, which contained an image of Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy; in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, two overgrown taro vines lent a greenish tinge to the blazing sunlight.
Although Madame Gu’s face still bore traces of the anger I’d seen in it during our initial meeting the previous day, I noted that the delicate rattan table between us had already been laid with a traditional purple-clay tea set, so I realized that she had decided to go ahead with the interview. I was secretly thrilled, but I decided to make no reference to it. I understood very well that we were coming at this from quite different positions; no matter how deeply I went into this story, I would never be as closely involved as she was. She was a participant, a survivor, while I was merely an investigator, an observer. I needed to play down my own particular interest in the story and act like an ordinary visitor who’d come to talk to an important historical figure. But the reason I’d travelled all the way to Taiwan at very short notice was that I was determined to discover the secrets inside the riddle of what had happened more than half a century ago. I was looking forward to getting a new perspective and I quietly blessed the stubbornness in me that had brought me this far.
I got straight to the point. ‘Madame, you said that it was you who took the message out. I would like to know how.’
‘You ought to be asking me why!’ the old lady fired back. ‘Why I wanted to help Li Ningyu get the message out.’
‘Okay… why?’
‘Because I wasn’t working for the puppet regime.’
‘You were one of Li Ningyu’s comrades?’
‘Well, that depends. Insofar as we were both resisting the Japanese, we were certainly comrades-in-arms, but if it hadn’t been for the Japanese, we would have been enemies.’
A light bulb suddenly went on in my head. ‘You were sent by the Nationalists, by Chongqing?’
She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, very clever – you’ve guessed. Yes, I was a spy sent by the Nationalists’ Bureau of Military Statistics in Chongqing to infiltrate Wang Jingwei’s puppet regime.’
I immediately realized that her wealthy father must also have been a secret agent working for the Bureau of Military Statistics, as the Nationalists’ secret service was then known.
The old lady raised her head and looked at one of the framed photos on the wall; it showed a 1930s Japanese-made Zero fighter plane. ‘That was the aeroplane my father gave to Wang Jingwei – it was the ticket that got the two of us into the very highest echelons of Wang’s puppet government. The gift was actually arranged entirely by Dai Li, who was the head of the Nationalists’ secret service at that point. That part was all done covertly, of course. All my father had to do was be the public face, put his name to it.’
‘What year was that?’
The old lady stroked her blood-red bracelet with a gently trembling hand and then put her index finger slowly to her lips. Her gaze had drifted off into the distance, as if she were trying to catch at the last traces of events that she had remembered for more than half a century but that had almost been effaced by the passage of time.
2
It was the summer of 1939.
Gu Xiaomeng remembered quite clearly how she’d come home all excited the afternoon after her graduation ceremony from the Qingpu Police Academy. Her father was sitting cross-legged on a red cane chair under the vine-covered pergola out in the garden, smoking a fat cigar and talking to another middle-aged man. Her father didn’t normally smoke; he might occasionally take a few puffs, but that was just to make himself look like any other business tycoon. From the way he was blowing out huge clouds of smoke, Gu Xiaomeng could tell he wasn’t happy about whatever it was he was discussing with the other man. He might even be angry; she noted the glacial expression on his face, the way his eyebrows were knitted, the way his gaze was fixed on the other man. It was very rare indeed for her father to look like that when he was at home. A couple of months earlier, a shipment worth several millions had been sunk by enemy fire and he hadn’t been as angry as this.
He didn’t even acknowledge Gu Xiaomeng. As far as she could remember, this had only ever happened once before, two years earlier, the day her mother was killed by a bomb dropped by the Japanese devils. Gu Xiaomeng had come home humming a popular song, having no idea what had happened, and her father had looked right through her, then turned around and walked away. His sombre back view had been like a black screen between them, breaking the strong bond that normally connected them.
The visitor was wearing a Chinese-style black serge suit and a homburg hat from the famous Shengxifu Company of Tianjin; the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose gave him a mysterious, arrogant air. From the various official leather binders lying on the tea table, Gu Xiaomeng was able to pretty much guess who he might be – if he didn’t represent the army, then he was from the police. Most likely the police, since she’d just graduated from the police academy; perhaps he was discussing her future with her father. In which case, it would be better if she didn’t appear right away. So, after a brief hesitation, she slipped away quietly and went inside.
Mrs Wu, the housekeeper, greeted her warmly, and, seeing that her forehead was beaded with sweat, hurried off to get her a towel.
Gu Xiaomeng took the towel, patted her face dry and asked, ‘Who’s that man?’
Mrs Wu shook her head. ‘I don’t know… The master told me not to disturb them.’
‘Has he been here long?’ Gu Xiaomeng handed the towel back.
Mrs Wu checked the clock on the wall. ‘More than an hour.’
Just as she said that, the wall clock and the bell of the church across the way both rang out. ‘Ding… Ding… Ding…’ It made it sound like the whole of Shanghai was preparing to hoist anchor and sail away.
Two years earlier, not long after his wife had been killed, Gu Xiaomeng’s father had decided that in order to keep his daughter safe he would move the household out of Hangzhou, which was still being bombed by the Japanese, and up to Shanghai. Like many who could afford it, he chose the neighbourhood known as the French Concession, which, being under French control and home to many foreigners, was at that time largely immune from the Japanese. It was a comfortable and cosmopolitan place to live. Their house was opposite a Catholic church, and every time its bell tolled, a host of pigeons flew up from the roof with a noisy fluffing and rustling of feathers that you co
uld hear all the way down the road.
Summers in Shanghai are hot and sticky. Gu Xiaomeng was feeling sleepy, so she washed her face and went upstairs for a siesta. But once she’d got into bed, she didn’t feel like sleeping any more, so she lay there flicking idly through a film magazine, The Viewer. After a while, she got up and went to the window, just in time to see her father saying goodbye to his visitor. The man shook her father’s hand and with his other hand patted him lightly on the shoulder. Her father looked helpless, as if he were being comforted by his visitor.
Even more disturbing was that when her father came up to see her, he wasn’t wearing his usual cheerful smile. She asked who his visitor was, but he wouldn’t be drawn and quickly changed the subject. Further surprises followed: at dinner that evening, rather than talk to her as he normally did, her father kept helping her to the most delicious dishes on the table. It was almost as if this were a farewell banquet, as if he expected never to see her again.
After her mother passed away and her two brothers went to study abroad, Gu Xiaomeng was the only member of the family living at home with her father. This had only served to increase the devotion and indulgence he showed his daughter, which had made her very spoilt and tiresome. As far as Gu Xiaomeng was concerned, her father was much less strict than Mrs Wu. She was very unhappy about her father’s unusual behaviour and when he refused to give a straight answer to her questions, she was so furious she slammed her rice bowl down on the table and went back up to her room in a rage.
Later, her father came upstairs to find her. She was still furious. ‘Who was that man who looked like a funeral director?’ she shouted. ‘He’s made this place as lively as a morgue! Is he the God of Death or what?’
Although she was being very rude, her father wasn’t angry with her. His head hung even lower than before. He sat down heavily opposite her and said dejectedly, ‘I don’t know how to explain.’
‘Tell me what’s going on!’
He took hold of her hand, then shook his head as if he wanted to speak but hardly knew where to begin.
Gu Xiaomeng had by now realized that something was very wrong, so she gripped his hand tightly. ‘Daddy, what on earth has happened?’
He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘It’s the end of the world.’ His voice became very serious. ‘As you know, Xiaomeng, normally my money is enough to solve pretty much any problem we have. I’ve always assumed that if ever you happened to get into trouble, I’d be able to sort things out for you. But this time, your daddy… well, I can’t help you. We don’t have a choice – we’re going to have to do what he says.’
Gu Xiaomeng leapt to her feet. ‘You mean the man who came this afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He’s just a messenger. The important thing is who he represents.’
‘So who does he represent?’
‘Our country. Our wretched war-torn country.’
3
[Transcript from the interview with Gu Xiaomeng]
Well, my father told me that this man was called Song and was Deputy Chief of the Third Section of the Nationalists’ Bureau of Military Statistics. He wasn’t high up – he was only a colonel – but the documents he came armed with meant he had to be treated with the greatest respect. That’s what the Nationalists’ secret service was known as then: the Bureau of Military Statistics. Later on, when Dai Li really got into his stride as its top man, the Bureau became so powerful it could change day into night; it could raise you up, transform you into a dragon soaring high in the sky, or it could crush you, turn you into a worm consigned to boring through the earth.
As far as I know, my father had met Dai Li only once previously, before the war. The Nationalist Party was riven with divisions even then, and there was constant infighting, so the Bureau of Military Statistics was busily recruiting agents and placing people they trusted in positions of power. My father was in the armaments business and often had dealings with the military, and Dai Li wanted him to join the Bureau as an agent. Daddy was worried about that, he thought it could cause him serious problems, so he refused, though he had to pay a huge sum to the Bureau to get out of it. He was quite prepared to use his money for that, to buy his freedom, in a way.
As I said, the Bureau wasn’t as important then, and Dai Li wasn’t as powerful. Dai Li took the money and stayed on friendly terms with Daddy; if something important happened, he’d phone Daddy, but otherwise he didn’t bother him. It was Dai Li who’d sent Section Chief Song to see my father; he’d phoned ahead to say he had something important to discuss and was sending someone for a face-to-face meeting. So Section Chief Song was there as Dai Li’s representative.
My father thought he was probably coming to request either money or weapons. Because of the war, the treasury was now empty, but the Bureau had a very long arm and was able to extract a lot of private funds and material from ordinary people. What Daddy was not expecting was that Section Chief Song would bring a huge amount of money with him – that was most unusual.
Well, this gift came with some pretty hefty strings attached. To put it bluntly, this time Dai Li didn’t want money from Daddy, he wanted him to put his life on the line for the Bureau. He wanted him to use the Bureau’s money to buy an aeroplane, which he would then give to the traitor Wang Jingwei, in order to gain his trust. At that time, Wang Jingwei was in Wuhan, preparing to form his puppet government in collaboration with the Japanese, and the Bureau was trying to get one of their people into his inner circle. Dai Li decided that my father would be the perfect man for the job, so that’s what he was trying to set up.
My father was the son of a blacksmith; he’d been able to make his fortune because the times were so troubled – troubled times give birth to great heroes! He was exceptionally skilled at maintaining good relations with those in power while at the same time making every use of his opportunities. If businessmen in China don’t maintain good relations with officialdom, there’s a limit to how far they can go; that’s always been the case, and it’s as true on the Mainland as it is in Taiwan. But if the relationship develops too far, then you stop being a businessman and start becoming a government official – there’s no clear distinction between your activities. In the worst-case scenario, you end up failing in both arenas: your business interests collapse and you lose your government position, and it’s one almighty disaster!
From start to finish, my father was a businessman, plain and simple. He was friendly to the right people but not too friendly. It was his business philosophy to keep everyone as happy as possible, so he could work with all sides. Now Dai Li was demanding that he serve the country and the Nationalist Party by going undercover and infiltrating Wang Jingwei’s puppet regime, which was not something my father was ever going to be happy to do. But this time it was about his patriotic duty to resist the Japanese invasion; Daddy had to agree, there was no choice in the matter – money was not going to buy him a way out on this occasion.
My father had been through a lot over the years, and he was as good as anyone at working out which way the wind was blowing. The moment he realized that Dai Li had secretly prepared such a huge sum of money for him, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say no. That being the case, Daddy didn’t waste his time – he agreed to do what they wanted without the slightest hesitation.
The problem wasn’t Daddy, it was me. They had requested that I join the Bureau as well, to act as my father’s subagent. I too would be found a position within Wang Jingwei’s puppet regime. Of course, from a moral perspective, I was bound to accept their request – after all, they were spending an awful lot of money to put my father in place, so it made sense to get me in the door as well, at no extra cost. Two agents infiltrated for the price of one.
However, my father refused to agree to that. He didn’t want me involved because he knew – everybody knew – that this would not be as straightforward as they were trying to suggest. It would be very dangerous, and we could both be killed
at any point. I was my father’s only daughter, we’d been very close ever since I was tiny, and my two older brothers were both abroad… Daddy treated me like a pearl in the palm of his hand – he wasn’t going to let me do anything that dangerous! All that afternoon he’d been doing his best to persuade Section Chief Song to keep me out of it, but the Section Chief had insisted that they wanted me too, and that distressed my father a great deal.
He was torn between doing right by his country and doing right by his family. In reality, though, here was a huge secret organization pitted against a lone business tycoon – you can imagine the outcome. But Daddy didn’t give up. After he’d explained to me exactly what had happened, he told me his decision. He was going to get me out of there right away.
[Transcription ends]
Mr Gu could never have imagined that his decision would meet with his daughter’s refusal.
Having heard what her father had to say, Gu Xiaomeng wasn’t scared at all. In fact, she was smiling quite happily as she patted her father’s arm and tried to comfort him. ‘I don’t understand why you’re looking so miserable about this,’ she told him. ‘I thought something dreadful must have happened, whereas it’s actually a wonderful opportunity. At the very least I can do something to avenge Mummy’s death. To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to find someone to get me into the Bureau – did you not know that?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ her father warned her. ‘You have no idea; that place is like a bottomless pit – once you’re in, you’ll never get out again.’