“Here you are, Caroline,” she said, returning to her place in line, as the rest of the group cheered her on.
Mrs. Finch felt a hot sting across her cheek, her stomach churning at the thought of how many times she’d seen a Japanese soldier slap a prisoner in just the same way.
On other days, a numbness would set in among the prisoners, an awful awareness that this was not a game. Electricity and water were turned on and off without warning, and during the winter of 1942–43 the cold winds from the bay kept them awake all night with icy feet and chilblains. Rumors circulated among the women, whispers of the torture and beating of men accused of espionage or of trying to escape. Dysentery and malaria began to take lives in their cramped quarters. By the beginning of 1943, Mrs. Finch saw the rows of makeshift gravestones multiply in the cemetery overlooking Stanley Bay.
One October morning, shouting abruptly awakened them. Heart pounding and feet numb, Mrs. Finch rose from her cot and peered out the window. In the pale light, she could just make out a group of Japanese soldiers dragging several men out the camp gate in the direction of the beach.
“What is going on?” Mrs. Tate whispered.
“They’re taking some men down to the beach.” Mrs. Finch massaged her feet, trying to get the circulation flowing again, then hurried to dress.
“Where are you going?”
“I want to see what’s going on. Don’t worry, go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”
“Over my dead body. I’m going with you.” Mrs. Tate rose quietly from her cot and quickly dressed.
Groans came from the other cots as the door creaked open and they stepped out into the morning air. They closed the door quietly behind them, then caught the quick movement of a guard making his rounds and froze. When the guard disappeared and it was safe again, Mrs. Finch sighed with relief.
“This way,” Mrs. Finch said, stealing behind their building and across to the next. From her favorite spot, they had a clear view of the beach.
“Look!” Mrs. Tate pointed down to the open beach.
The soldiers pushed the six internees out onto the sand. All of the prisoners had their hands bound behind their backs. They stumbled forward and were made to kneel on the sand with their heads bowed. A soldier stood straight beside each prisoner like a dark guardian, hand poised on the shaft of his sword.
Mrs. Finch pressed closer to the barbed wire, noting how the prisoners were evenly spaced three feet apart. Seagulls squawked and circled overhead. “What are they doing?” she whispered.
An answer came before either woman said another word. As the sky brightened into morning, a glint of sunlight caught the swords as they swung down and beheaded one prisoner after the other. Mrs. Finch thought she heard a man cry out, “Wait!” before the sharp edge of the sword silenced his voice forever.
Mrs. Finch stood stunned, her thumb pressing into the sharp point of the barbed wire, drawing blood. A quick sting followed by a dull throb. For months after, every time Mrs. Finch closed her eyes she saw again the perfect arc of the sword as it rose up and swung down, cleanly separating each head from its body. The thick silence suddenly broken by the shrieking seagulls and her own voice crying out, “Wait!”
Another Life
The room Pei and Ji Shen had rented at the boardinghouse in Wan Chai in February 1942 reminded Pei of the one she’d shared with Lin at the sisters’ house in Yung Kee. It was just as plain and bare, with two beds, a dresser, and walls the color of pale sand. Pei imagined the walls must have been white at one time, yellowed over the years. Sometimes Pei would turn around in the small room expecting to see Lin standing there, as if they had met only yesterday instead of a lifetime ago. The Lin she saw in her mind was still young and beautiful, though at thirty-two, Pei was almost the same age as Lin had been when she died.
Pei smiled to herself, thinking how life sometimes brought you right back to the same place. Here she was living again in a house with other silk sisters. Since the silk work had diminished and the Japanese had sent most of her sisters fleeing to Hong Kong and elsewhere, their lives were constantly in flux. And here they were once more, needing to find a structure for their everyday lives, despite all the difficulties of the Japanese occupation.
But now, instead of the silk work or domestic work, Pei and Ji Shen had to take whatever employment they could find to pay the rent. She hid Mrs. Finch’s jewelry behind the dresser, still determined not to sell a single piece. While her other sisters washed clothes or did light housework, Pei made most of her money by sewing and mending for anyone who came to her, a skill she’d learned from her mother. There had been so few luxuries in her childhood; her mother, Yu-sung, had spent endless hours at night mending her daughters’ two sets of clothing, hoping to make them last another season before they were outgrown or worn through. There had never been enough time for rich, colorful embroideries like those Pei had seen hanging in the Chen household. As little girls, she and her sister Li had been taught by their mother to read, write, and sew. “To read and write will help you understand life,” she’d said. “To sew and mend will help you to survive it.”
Pei had quickly gained a reputation as an expert invisible mender, unraveling precious silk thread from a seam or hem and using it to repair a rip or hole. Sometimes she’d close her eyes and once again see the long silk filaments of the cocoons disentangle in the hot water, then wind tightly up onto a spool. As in the silk work, she’d take the hidden threads and let them perform their magic. She could repair a motheaten hole or a tear so well that the garment looked new again. While others marveled at her handiwork, Pei thought it only natural to follow the tight weave of the material.
Thanks to word of mouth, her business grew with each day. Since the occupation had brought all overseas commerce to a standstill, many of the Hong Kong Tai tais her silk sisters had once worked for now brought their treasured cheongsams to Pei to be mended or altered.
Ji Shen ran errands and took whatever small cleaning jobs she could find, mysteriously returning once or twice a week with cans of potted meat and even a few fresh vegetables. Pei knew that, like Quan, Ji Shen was dealing on the black market.
Just the other evening, Luling, one of her sisters also living at the boardinghouse, had said, “If it’s not the Japanese, then it’s the Triads you have to be afraid of on the streets. I’ve heard the Triads will cut off a person’s arm or leg if they catch him stealing from them.”
Daily the fear grew in Pei, growling louder than the emptiness in her stomach. But every time she tried to talk with her, Ji Shen shrugged and said, “There’s nothing to worry about; I know what I’m doing.”
With the severe rice rationing imposed by the Japanese, people had to scramble to keep their stomachs full. Since the beginning of the occupation, waiting in line had become a way of life in Hong Kong. From sunrise to sunset, everyone lined up for a multitude of reasons—to obtain a small ration of rice, to exchange Hong Kong dollars into Hong Kong yen, to barter for a few wilted vegetables. But at the end of the day, most would still go home without enough to fill their family’s stomachs.
Despite her fears about Ji Shen’s involvement, Pei also knew that the black market was essential in keeping people in Hong Kong alive. Even the scarcest fruits and vegetables could be readily had, although at astronomical prices. Men, women, and even children produced goods to sell and trade, cautiously bartering and bargaining in the streets, or through peddlers who set up their rickety stalls in the marketplace.
From the time they had lived on the sampan, Pei suspected Quan kept a hand in the black market. While Uncle Wei fished off the boat, Quan disappeared for hours each morning and returned with canned food and biscuits. Once, he even brought home a chicken.
“Where did you get this?” Auntie Lu had asked. Pei watched her squat low and begin to clean the bird; brown feathers fluttered gently through the air.
“Why does it matter as long as our stomachs are full tonight?” He grinned triumphantly.
&n
bsp; “Guilt lies heavy in the stomach,” she had said, and then hurried to pull the rest of the feathers from the bird. “Just be careful,” she said in a softer voice.
They had quickly cooked and eaten the chicken before their neighbors on the other boats realized they had something other than watery rice jook for dinner.
Since their move to Wan Chai, Ji Shen, now eighteen, had grown even further away from Pei. Pei understood all the horror, the ups and downs of Ji Shen’s years in Yung Kee and then Hong Kong. Her heart ached for all the losses Ji Shen had suffered in her young life—robbed of her family and childhood, fleeing from place to place.
But even in their most difficult times, Pei recalled the thirteen-year-old girl who had held her hand after Lin’s death. She heard again the soothing words that came from Ji Shen’s lips when all she wanted to do was close her eyes and die along with Lin. “You must live. For me,” Ji Shen had whispered, as if she’d known just what Pei was thinking. The words floated to Pei on the smoky breeze.
When classes began again after the first few months of the occupation, Ji Shen had adamantly refused to return to school. Pei tried to encourage her, but had not wanted to force her. Each school meant another difficult change for her—Spring Valley, St. Cecilia’s, and now a new one in Wan Chai.
“But what will you do instead?” Pei asked. “Your education is the most important thing.”
“It’s more important that we survive,” Ji Shen quickly answered. “I’ll go back later, after the war. Right now I can wash or clean or even sell things like everyone else, until I find something better.”
“What do you have to sell?” Pei argued. “The Triads”—the gangs that ran the black market—“are dangerous.” And what about the Japanese soldiers lurking everywhere? It’s not safe for you.”
“The Triads are only one part of the black market. Quan deals in it, and he’s not involved with the Triads. He’ll show me what to do. He has kept his family well fed. The Triads won’t even notice me.”
“Quan’s a young man, and the streets are dangerous.” Pei shook her head. “You’re a young woman.”
Pei stepped back and saw the truth of her statement. Ji Shen had grown into a pretty young woman. She stood half a head shorter than Pei and was delicate and small-boned, with fair, smooth skin and mischievous dark brown eyes.
“I’ll stick close to Quan. I promise.” Ji Shen wrapped her arms around Pei and kissed her on the cheek. “Everyone is out there trying to survive. Just let me try until I can find something else to do. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go back to school.”
At the time, with their day-to-day living conditions so uncertain, Pei couldn’t argue further. By the time they were safely settled into the boardinghouse, Ji Shen seemed to have plans of her own.
Pei’s only solace was that Quan was also on the streets.
“Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,” he reassured Pei. She studied the young man she had chosen over the other sha pullers. What a lucky choice she had made.
“What does she do all day?” Pei asked.
Quan smiled shyly. “What we all do, just try to get through another day buying and selling what we can.”
“But what do you and Ji Shen have to sell?”
“You’d be surprised how easy it is.” Quan explained: “You wait in line for a couple of cups of rice, then barter the rice for a few cans of meat, a can of meat for powdered milk, and so on. Throw in a couple of mangoes snatched from a tree and you may even get a chicken.” He stood up quickly and stretched his long, muscular limbs, toughened by the years of pulling a rickshaw.
Pei knew this was a simplified explanation of something much more complicated. How fast could a tree grow fruit? What if there was no more rice to be distributed? Even the term “black market” signified something dark and dangerous. Through Luling, Pei had learned more about the Triads, a large organization of secret societies that ran almost all of the black market, supplying the goods for huge profits, while those who worked for them received a small cut. That would leave those not involved with the Triads in a real minority.
“Is that all?” she asked.
Quan shrugged. “Just about.”
Pei eyed him closely. “I see.”
The next morning, after Pei was sure Ji Shen had gone off with Quan, she found herself walking down the Wan Chai streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black market at work. The morning air was still relatively fresh, not yet thick with the oily odors of a long day of hot sun. Instead of hurrying down the street trying to avoid Japanese soldiers, Pei closely watched all the movements around her. As if she’d been blind, she saw life anew. Men and women, who appeared harmless, lingered in the streets or in doorways. They made swift deals—goods and money were exchanged and slipped into pockets as the flow of life continued. Sometimes children were even used as lookouts for Japanese soldiers coming down the street. Pei watched the dizzy display of commerce and couldn’t imagine Quan and Ji Shen being part of it all. She started back toward the boardinghouse with more questions than answers, though she was surprised at how efficient and organized the buying and selling appeared from afar.
For now Pei had no choice but to keep quiet and watch for any signs of trouble. Although the very idea of the black market left a bitter taste in her mouth, she would have to trust Quan to take care of Ji Shen.
Her thoughts were broken by clamorous voices down the street and the sudden scattering of boys, chased closely by Japanese soldiers. Heart pounding, Pei slipped down a narrow street to be out of their way. She leaned against a wall and drew in a deep, biting breath. The boys would surely disappear into Wan Chai’s myriad streets and alleys before the soldiers knew where they’d gone. Would Ji Shen have to run down the same alleys? Would she be able to find her way out again?
“Perhaps you’ve come for more dream tea?” a voice suddenly inquired.
Pei turned quickly around, pursuing the familiar voice. Even before she saw him tucked away in the shadows of a doorway, she knew it was the old herbalist.
Chapter Eight
1943
Pei
Pei hurried down a narrow Wan Chai street, with Ji Shen rushing to keep up. Ever since Pei had told her they were going to visit Mrs. Finch at Stanley Camp, Ji Shen had regained her spirit. All night, questions floated through the air of their small room at the boardinghouse. Ji Shen was filled with a joy and innocence Pei hadn’t heard in a long time. “Do you think we’ll be able to find her?” Ji Shen asked. And “Do you think she’ll look the same?”
As if good fortune were smiling down on Pei, first she’d discovered the old herbalist alive and living with his nephew a few blocks from them in Wan Chai, then she discovered a way to visit Mrs. Finch. While she was standing in line for rice distribution at the Central Market, she’d overheard a large, boisterous woman say that her husband drove the Red Cross medical van to Stanley Camp. Pei stepped closer and smiled. Her mind raced: How could she make a deal that would take her and Ji Shen out to Stanley to see Mrs. Finch?
“How often does he go?” Pei asked.
The woman eyed Pei up and down. “He goes once a month and brings supplies to the prisoners at St. Stephen’s College hospital there. Why?”
“I was just wondering if he might take a passenger or two out to Stanley.”
“To the village?”
Pei nodded, thinking it might be safer.
The woman smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past my husband’s good nature to help someone out.” Her foot tapped lightly against the pavement. “Of course, it is a great risk to take. . . .”
“He would be greatly compensated,” Pei quickly added. “Would fifty Hong Kong yen make it worth his while?” Her mending business was doing well, and she’d put a little money away. Fifty yen seemed a reasonable sum; it would buy some fruit and vegetables or other necessities.
The woman looked down at the ground in thought, then back at Pei. “Let’s say one hundred would.”
Pei had finally
bargained her down to eighty Hong Kong yen, promising to give the woman’s husband half on the arranged morning and the other half after they’d returned to Hong Kong. They set a date and time to meet. All the way back to the boardinghouse, Pei was floating on air.
Early the next afternoon, the summer air warm and humid, Pei and Ji Shen dashed down the street. The Wan Chai streets were bustling with people searching for food and bargaining in doorways for black-market goods. Pei and Ji Shen walked past one beer hall after another: the dark, dingy entrances were filled with Japanese soldiers in the company of Chinese, Russian, and Eurasian prostitutes. Filipino musicians played “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love, Baby” in every bar. Pei was glad the Japanese soldiers had something to do instead of loitering in the streets and harassing innocent Chinese.
Pei slowed down when she glimpsed a group of Japanese soldiers down the street. “Be careful,” she said, pulling Ji Shen into a doorway. Avoiding contact with the Japanese patrols had become a daring game she and Ji Shen played as the occupation dragged on. They’d weave in and out of doorways to keep from having to stop and bow.
By the time they reached Central, it was nearly one o’clock. When a large, shiny car came screeching down a narrow street, the crowds fanned out and disappeared, or turned and bowed low to the passing vehicle. The flag of the Rising Sun fluttered from the car, as it did on all the cars left in Hong Kong. Other flags denoted the rank and title of the officer inside.
Pei turned her back so as not to have to bow at the passing car. “I think the medical van is supposed to be waiting over there.” She pointed to the corner.
Ji Shen nodded, adjusting the cloth bag she carried over her shoulder. It held some items Mrs. Finch might need most—soap, powdered milk, a box of crackers, and a can of sardines Pei had saved from her Conduit Road supply. “I can’t wait to see Mrs. Finch again.”
The Language of Threads Page 14