The Flowers of War

by Geling Yan

  It gets dark early in Nanking in December. By four o’clock it was night. Father Engelmann was taking a nap in his study; he had moved his bed there so as not to have to waste any firewood heating the rectory. It also meant he could hear Fabio Adornato going up and down the stairs and in and out of the building, which he found comforting. In this indirect way, Fabio was company and gave him courage, too.

  Fabio raced up the stairs, shouting, ‘Father!’

  He sounded terrified out of his wits.

  Father Engelmann gripped the arms of his chair and tried to raise himself to his feet. His knees buckled and he sat down again. Fabio was at the door.

  ‘There are two trucks outside! I saw them from the church tower!’ Fabio shouted.

  Father Engelmann stood up. As he did so, the long slash in his goose-down-padded coat gaped open, showing the lining, red like a wound. Fabio looked desperate, as if he had no idea what to do. Neither do I, thought Father Engelmann.

  ‘Go and tell everyone to prepare themselves. Tell them not to make any noise and not to come out under any circumstances.’ He put on his black cassock and picked up his crook.

  He went into the courtyard, and was greeted by a mass of khaki uniforms; the Japanese soldiers had scaled the wall and were perched on top in serried ranks, looking just like a flock of strange yellow birds blown in on a storm.

  The doorbell rang. This time, it was a timid sort of a sound, with a couple of seconds’ gap between each ring. Father Engelmann saw Fabio coming out of the kitchen; the women and girls must have received his instructions. He jerked his chin at the younger priest, as if to say: It’s down to you and me now.

  Side by side, they walked to the door and opened the spyhole. This time it was not a bayonet which came through but something bright red. Father Engelmann could see that the Japanese officer was holding up a pot of Christmas poinsettias in his dazzlingly white gloved hand, the petals an intense red.

  ‘What’s the point of ringing the bell?’ said Father Engelmann. ‘I thought you didn’t like coming in through the door.’

  ‘Please accept our apologies for the disturbance we caused you last night, Father,’ said the officer, clicking his booted heels together and making a deep bow.

  He even went to the trouble of delivering this little speech in English.

  ‘Did you really need to bring a group of heavily armed soldiers with you to apologise?’ said Father Engelmann.

  An interpreter came into view, a cultured-looking gentleman in his fifties wearing gold-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘It’s nearly Christmas, and the soldiers have come to bring you Christmas greetings,’ explained the interpreter. He seemed to have rehearsed his lines in advance, as his master only smiled without speaking.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Father Engelmann perfunctorily, ‘and now could you ask your soldiers to get back down off the wall?’

  ‘Father, open the door please.’ The request was relayed with unimpeachable courtesy.

  ‘What difference does it make whether I open it or not?’

  ‘You’re quite right, Father, it makes no difference at all. So why not show some good manners?’ said the interpreter.

  Father Engelmann shook his head and led Fabio away.

  ‘Father, it is not wise to offend guests like us,’ said the interpreter gently to their retreating backs.

  ‘I used to think that too,’ said the priest, looking back at the closed door. ‘But then I realised that, whether or not I offend you, it makes no difference to the result.’

  ‘Don’t make things worse than they already are,’ Fabio muttered.

  ‘Can things get any worse?’ said Father Engelmann. There was no way he was going to let these mad dogs in yellow uniforms through the door. To do that would be to elevate them to the status of human beings.

  He turned back, to see Japanese soldiers pouring over the wall and into the courtyard. Some of them grabbed an axe and smashed the lock on the entrance door. The officer marched in at the head of another dozen soldiers, who looked as if they were taking over the church.

  ‘Who are you looking for now?’ asked Father Engelmann.

  There was another bow from the officer. These Japanese certainly were punctiliously polite. ‘Father,’ the interpreter addressed them ceremoniously, ‘please believe that we are making this visit entirely in good faith.’ The slightly pained words in English were mimicked by a pained expression on the face of the officer. ‘We do so hope that it will make up for any past disagreements between us.’

  Father Engelmann gave a very slight smile. There was a glacial look in his deep-set, grey-blue eyes.

  ‘All right. I accept your apology, and your Christmas greetings. Now, let me remind you, that is the exit,’ and he turned to show his visitors out.

  ‘Stand still!’ shouted the officer. Up till now, he had played dumb and allowed the interpreter to relay his words, but now they burst from him in English.

  Father Engelmann stood still but did not turn round. His hunched shoulders expressed resignation.

  The officer said something in a fierce undertone to the interpreter, who turned to the priest and said ingratiatingly, ‘But we have not started our Christmas celebrations yet!’

  Father Engelmann looked at the officer and then around him at the dozens of torches which lit up the courtyard. Behind the torch beams, the outlines of dark figures could be seen.

  The officer spoke again. ‘Our HQ wants to hold a Christmas party and I have been ordered to invite a few honoured guests.’ He turned to a soldier carrying an attaché case and took from him a large envelope with ‘Invitation’ handsomely printed on it in Chinese.

  ‘This is very kind of you but I cannot accept any invitation,’ responded the priest. He made no move to take the proffered envelope, and it hung awkwardly between them.

  ‘You’ve misunderstood, Father,’ said the officer. ‘This invitation is not for you.’

  Father Engelmann looked up at the deferentially bowed head of the other. As he grabbed the envelope and opened it, a terrible premonition assailed him. The slight tremor which had started to afflict his hands turned into an uncontrollable shake. The officer told a soldier to shine his torch on the letter. It was addressed to the girls of the church choir.

  ‘We have no choir here,’ said Father Engelmann.

  ‘Do not forget, Father, that yesterday you told us there were no Chinese soldiers here either.’

  Fabio snatched the invitation from the older priest’s hand and ran his eyes over it. Then, ashen-faced, he turned to the officer. ‘Did we not tell you that the St Mary Magdalene schoolgirls had all been taken home by their parents?’

  ‘We have looked into the history of the famous St Mary Magdalene Missionary School. A small number of the girls are orphans.’ The interpreter civilly translated the officer’s words as if they were all having a perfectly rational discussion.

  ‘They were taken away by the teachers when they left,’ said Fabio.

  ‘No. We have accurate intelligence that they have been heard singing hymns. The Japanese Imperial Army has many good friends among the Chinese. Please don’t imagine that you can pull the wool over our eyes.’

  Father Engelmann was lost in thought, as if the wrangling between Fabio and the officer were of no interest to him and he had more important things to think about. Who had passed on this deadly intelligence? Maybe the informant really believed that the Japanese wanted to repent of their sins, and hear the girls sing hymns. There actually were some Christians, both Protestant and Catholic, among the Japanese troops. Perhaps whoever had betrayed the girls had no idea just how sunk in depravity the Japanese soldiers were. In the Safety Zone people had talked of how the Japanese soldiers believed that young virgins had restorative powers, and collected their pubic hair which they hung around their neck to ward off evil. They even thought that virgin girls could protect them from a hail of bullets in battle.

  Father Engelmann was lost in his musings. Then he pulled himself
together to see Fabio bodily trying to block the soldiers’ way.

  ‘You have no right to search here!’ Fabio shouted. ‘If you do, it’ll be over my dead body!’

  He sounded is if he were ready to be martyred.

  Behind the torches there was a slight sound, as a hundred soldiers drew their swords and guns and stood ready for battle.

  Father Engelmann sighed. He walked up to the Japanese officer. ‘They’re only just into their teens,’ he said. ‘They’ve led sheltered lives, and they’ve never had any contact with men, let alone soldiers…’

  In the darkness, a smile could be seen on the officer’s face.

  ‘Please don’t worry, Father,’ he said. ‘On the honour of the Japanese Imperial Army, I promise you that when they have finished singing, I will personally bring them back to the church.’

  ‘Father, how can you possibly believe this nonsense?’ said Fabio, lapsing into Yangzhou dialect in his agitation. ‘I won’t let them do those bestial things!’

  ‘… and they cannot accept your invitation,’ Father Engelmann went on.

  ‘This will be a very important event for them,’ said the officer. ‘There will be flowers and good food and music … I do not think they would be so foolish as to reject our kindness. That might lead to an unhappy outcome.’

  ‘Officer, this is all too sudden. The children have not had time to prepare themselves. At the very least, they need to have a wash and put on their choir robes. And I need time too, to explain to them what is going to happen and to reassure them there is no need to be afraid. You’re the enemy to them. They’ll be terrified at the idea of going away with enemy soldiers. In extreme cases, some of them may try to harm or even kill themselves, with terrible consequences.’

  Here Father Engelmann gave full rein to his famous eloquence.

  ‘Do you really think these animals want to listen to hymns?’ Fabio said to him.

  ‘Father, how long do you think the girls need to get ready?’ the officer asked through the interpreter.

  ‘Three hours should be enough.’

  ‘No, no, I can only allow them one hour.’

  ‘Two, at least!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Two hours is the absolute minimum. You don’t want to take a bunch of half-starved, bedraggled, terrified girls with you, do you? Don’t you want them to be clean and neat, and willing? I need time to persuade them that you will not harm them.’

  His earnestness made the officer pause for a few seconds. ‘You can have one hour twenty minutes,’ he said finally.

  ‘One hour forty minutes,’ pronounced the priest in tones so magisterial they left no room for doubt.

  He had won this round.

  ‘Now I want you to take your soldiers out of the church grounds. If the girls were to see you, I could not calm them down and settle their fears. Imagine the sheltered lives they have led. Their school is not much different from a convent. It’s been a cradle for their whole lives, they’ve never left it. So they’re exceptionally sensitive, shy and fearful. The sight of occupying forces armed to the teeth before I have properly reassured them might undermine all my efforts.’

  The officer barked out a single sentence, which was translated as: ‘I cannot agree to that.’

  Father Engelmann gave a thin smile. ‘Are you really afraid that a small group of young girls will escape your clutches? You have enough troops here to lay siege to a castle.’

  This was obviously true and, after a moment’s pause, the officer reluctantly gave the order to withdraw from the church compound.

  ‘Father, I can’t believe you’ve been taken in by such nonsense,’ said Fabio indignantly.

  ‘I haven’t been taken in by a single word of it.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you turn down their invitation?’

  ‘Because even if I did, they’d still find the girls.’

  ‘They might not! We could at least try our luck.’

  ‘That’s what we’re doing. We’ve gained one hour forty minutes, and we’ve got to use every minute to think of a way out of this.’

  ‘Think of a way to save your own skin, you mean?’ said Fabio rebelliously.

  Father Engelmann, far from reacting angrily, appeared not to have heard him. Fabio’s English deserted him when he became agitated; his accent and grammar became so hard to understand that Father Engelmann could easily choose not to understand what he was saying.

  ‘We’ve got a small amount of time. That’s better than nothing,’ he repeated.

  ‘I’d rather die than hand over those children…’

  ‘So would I.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you turn them down flat?’

  ‘Well, we can always play for time and then turn them down flat … Now, leave me to think.’

  Fabio walked towards the library. He looked round and saw the old priest go into the church and sink slowly to his knees before the crucified Christ. While Fabio and the officer were arguing, an idea had flitted across Father Engelmann’s mind. Now it was time to pursue that idea, examine it carefully, subject it to dispassionate analysis.

  Seventeen

  Shujuan and the other girls had overheard Father Engelmann telling the Japanese officer that they needed time to prepare themselves to leave the compound. Their eyes were like saucers. Had the Father lost his mind? They knew that terrible things were happening to women and girls outside the walls of the compound, and so did he. Did he want the Japanese to do the same terrible things to them? The vagueness of their ideas about what these terrible things might be only served to sharpen their terror.

  ‘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.