Dreams of the Red Phoenix

by Virginia Pye

  Han handed him the green cap with the red star, and Charles bowed. “I’m the one who is honored.”

  “You are my friend,” Han said.

  Charles wanted to mention how much he’d missed Han and how he hoped they could talk things through like they always had. But instead, the two boys watched the birds as they milled about on the wall, pecking at the last of their food.

  After a few moments, Charles asked, “Can you tell me where you’ve been?”

  “For now, we are at a camp in the caves. I can’t say more.”

  “I see,” Charles said. “Up in the mountains.”

  Han stepped closer and asked, “But I wonder, do you know what you and your mother are going to do?”

  Charles let out a long breath. “I want to leave, but she’s gotten tangled up with that fellow Captain Hsu. I think he wants her to stay and keep running the medical clinic in our house. Seems like a crazy idea to me.”

  “Hsu is an excellent leader, and I heard about your mother. She is known in many provinces as a very brave woman.”

  “I suppose,” Charles said.

  “But you feel it is time for you to leave?” Han asked, his expression more serious than ever.

  He looked like a soldier, Charles realized. He looked like a man.

  “So, where will you go?” Han asked. “Peking?”

  “No,” Charles said. “It’s time for us to return to America.”

  Han nodded. “I am sure your father would want that.”

  Charles let out a relieved chuckle. “How did you know that I keep wondering what he would want? You’re such a good buddy to me, Han.”

  Han smiled, too. “I feel quite certain he would want you to leave China. Yes, I feel this is true.”

  Charles wondered for a moment why his friend seemed so convinced. He dug a hand deeper into his pocket and ran his fingers over his father’s marble chop, his confidence growing as he touched the familiar worn shape of the carved phoenix. “You’re right,” Charles said. “I’ll tell Mother. I’ll positively insist on it. Would you like to join us for supper?” he asked. “We haven’t much, but I bet it’s better than army food.”

  “Army food is not great, but I must be getting back. I came to see Hsia P’angtze. He knows me, you know?”

  “Sure, I know. I assumed he found you and that’s why you’re here. I sent him.”

  “You sent him?” Han asked.

  “Well, who else would have sent him?”

  Han looked quickly again at the birds. “It doesn’t matter. I am here. That’s what matters.”

  Charles wanted to ask more about Little Fat Boy and where Han had been and what he was going to do next, but he had to let it go. Han was a soldier, with all the knowledge and secrets that entailed. Han hustled the last of the pigeons back into the coop. He kept Hsia P’angtze out, took a small strip of paper from his jacket pocket, and attached it to the bird’s leg with a thin black thread. Then he raised the creature up into the air and, with a flourish, let him go.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, Han,” Charles said. “But I assume it’s for the good.”

  “Yes,” Han said, “it is.”

  He closed the door of the coop, turned back to Charles, and bowed. Charles bowed, too, and when he stood straight again, Han was striding toward the stairs. Charles rushed to look over the edge of the wall, but his friend was already gone, somehow blending in with the many other Chinese passing on foot and in carts. Charles put Han’s cap onto his head and looked out at the fields that burned red in the late day with the sun going down.

  Fourteen

  From all the way across the courtyard, Shirley could see Japanese soldiers standing at attention in front of her home: the young one who had swept her back steps and a second one who also looked familiar. Major Hattori paced the verandah, his hands clasped behind his back. During her afternoon expedition into town, she had been surprised to find few signs of the Japanese Imperial Army. Weeks before, they had swarmed in, worse than locusts descending on an already weak harvest, and attacked and ravaged the town before swiftly moving on, she hoped, to the next province. And yet, here were three of them in the mission compound. She wanted to stomp up her front steps and give the major a piece of her mind. But instead, she clenched her fists as she wove through the Chinese camps beneath the fruit trees. Their cooking smells soothed her now in a familiar way, but she was not to be calmed. She spat on the ground as the Chinese did to clear ill humors, knowing it was fury she must expel. She stepped through the moon gate, skimmed the steps, stopped before the stone-faced officer, and offered a crisp, perfunctory nod.

  “Good evening, Major Hattori. It’s awfully late in the day to be paying a visit.”

  He gave an abrupt bow. “I wait for you, Mrs. Carson.”

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but I’m not available at the moment. My head is spinning, and I haven’t eaten all day. My son has taken a wrong turn, and I have many mouths to feed. I must get on with my evening plans.”

  “We will meet now,” he said. “We know you have Chinese under roof. We suspect some are soldiers. You offer them not only food but medical help, too. Our general is aware of all this. You should be punished. But that is not why I am here.”

  “Oh, really?” she said nonchalantly, trying to hide her alarm.

  “Also, I am not surprised you lose your son. You are very bad mother.”

  Shirley let out a gasp. “You do seem to have theories on many topics, Major. And in addition to everything else I’ve been through today, you seem interested in chastising me. Are you a parent yourself? If not, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  The major’s grip tightened around the holster at his hip.

  “Please,” she tried again, “let’s speak tomorrow. I’ll be much more civilized then. Are you available to come for tea? Let’s say four o’clock. Now, good evening, Major Hattori.”

  Before he had a chance to reply, Shirley spun around, opened the heavy door, slipped across the threshold, and shut it behind her. As she pushed the iron bolt into place, her heart beat so loudly in her chest she worried he could hear it on the other side. She was certain he would start pounding at any moment, but as she stood with her ear to the carved rosewood, his boots retreated down the porch steps, leaving her surprised by her easy victory.

  Shirley took off her sunbonnet and headed to the coat rack. The nurses huddled together in the front hall had overheard her conversation with the Japanese major. They watched her in both awe and horror. One of them, a Chinese girl with close-cropped hair and the trousers worn by the Communist women, said, “Japanese dogs! Yellow Army dwarf bandit sons of whores. I say we invite them inside and kill them! If you offer tea,” she hissed at Shirley, “I poison his cup!”

  Several of the more sensible young ladies looked appropriately shocked at this idea, but at least as many appeared to seriously consider the suggestion. Who could blame them, Shirley thought, after what they had seen the Japanese inflict on their compatriots, soldiers and citizens alike?

  “The Japanese Army has been absolutely barbaric,” Shirley said, “but you must remember that our American compound remains neutral territory. We are safe here. There is no rule against us running a clinic to help Chinese citizens if we choose. We’ve done that for years, offering inoculations and various treatments. But we must behave in as civilized a manner as we can in this tense climate in order to remind them that America is not their enemy. Otherwise we will risk losing our clinic and will be unable to assist anyone. Now,” she said, as she handed the empty food basket to one of the women, “tell me, dear ladies, did any of our patients pass over to the other side while I was gone?”

  The young Communist woman said, “I say, fight them here and now and get it over with!”

  “My dear, you are far too young to instigate such action,” Shirley said. “You must leave the military strategizing to men like Captain Hsu.”

  The Communist woman put her finger up to her lips and squeeze
d Shirley’s arm. The other young ladies crowded closer, their faces wild with concern, their heads shaking from side to side. They all seemed to be trying to tell her something, but before she had a chance to inquire further, Kathryn rose from the piano bench. Shirley hadn’t noticed her there and was startled to see her but grateful for the familiar face on this most wretched of days.

  “Kathryn, my dear,” she said and reached out with open arms, “I have missed you so. How are you? I hope you’ve had a better day than I. I can’t crawl into bed fast enough.”

  Kathryn took a last drag on a cigarette and dropped it onto the polished wooden floorboards of the front hall. Shirley was shocked but tried not to show it. That Kathryn would smoke so openly wasn’t terribly surprising given the tense circumstances, or even that she would do so inside a missionary home. But Shirley did not appreciate that her friend now treated her house like a pool hall. However, when she saw her friend’s cool expression, she decided to let it go. She stepped closer and let her arms drift to her sides again. There would be no hugging.

  “I’m so sorry,” Shirley said, “I’ve been remiss and haven’t paid a call in I don’t know how long. I’ve hardly seen anyone for days.”

  “You seem to have seen many people,” Kathryn said, looking around at the medical helpers and the beds occupied by patients. “Just not the usual ones.”

  “That’s true, isn’t it?” Shirley said, offering a smile. “And I see you’ve taken up smoking publicly. Whatever will the other ladies think?” She let out a friendly titter, which Kathryn did not echo.

  “The other ladies are more understanding than we knew them to be. They have each risen to the situation in their own way and are not as petty as we once thought. I’ve come to like them quite a bit, actually.”

  Shirley found that hard to imagine but did not contradict her friend. “How nice,” she said.

  “I came by to tell you about the meeting last night.”

  “Oh, the meeting! I knew I forgot something. Yes, do tell.”

  “The entire congregation met. Reverend Wells did an excellent job. He has stepped up to the plate better than anyone could have expected.”

  “No longer the rumpled little bookworm that he used to be?” Shirley tried again with a smile.

  “No,” Kathryn said with an arched eyebrow and an accusing look in her eye. “No one is who they once were.”

  Shirley nodded. “I suppose not.”

  “A vote was taken, and plans have been made. We are all leaving.”

  Shirley went to the piano and settled on the bench, her elbows accidentally hitting several deep and discordant notes.

  “We will take the train to Peking and from there to Shanghai, where we will make passage.”

  “Passage?”

  “To America,” Kathryn said. “I assumed you knew that.”

  “No,” Shirley offered softly, “l didn’t know.”

  “Orders have come from the American legation in Peking. All American women and children must leave the country immediately,” Kathryn said. “Foreigners are being kicked out. It isn’t safe for us any longer.”

  Her stoniness was as jarring as the news itself. But then Kathryn surprised Shirley by kneeling down before her and taking her hands from her lap.

  “You’ve been wonderful and heroic, but you really must stop now. It’s time to go home.”

  Kathryn pressed her cheek into Shirley’s hands, and Shirley instinctively stroked her charming bobbed hair. She was such an enthusiastic, large-hearted girl. It was good she was returning to America. She would find a new life there. The man who had not materialized for her here in China would find her on the ship going back. Shirley could picture it: Kathryn would lean against the ship’s railing, the wind blowing her hair around her pretty face, when an impressive fellow with an eye for finer things and a mind expanded by his years in the Orient would step forward to light her cigarette, and together they would commence a new life. Just like that. Such things did happen. All the time. To other people.

  “Thank you, my dear, dear friend,” Shirley said. “You are so kind to have come to tell me this important news.”

  Kathryn raised her head. “So you will pack up and leave with us? We have a few days to prepare, but no more, perhaps less, depending on how the arrangements are fulfilled. As it turns out, Reverend Wells is excellent at this, too. Who would have guessed it?”

  Kathryn finally smiled as Shirley lifted her up and they stood. She held her friend’s hands in hers. “Yes, I will discuss it with Charles right away, and we will make a sound decision.”

  “But there is no decision to be made. You must simply do it,” Kathryn said. “This is not something to discuss with a teenaged boy. You are his mother. You must tell him what to do.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Shirley said and turned toward the young nurses. “I’ll be with you in a moment, good ladies,” she called to them.

  “I see,” Kathryn said and removed her hand. “Well, I can’t say that I didn’t try.”

  “No,” Shirley said, “you did more than that. You have convinced me.”

  “I have?” Kathryn asked.

  “There are just a few things that I must put in order first.”

  Kathryn appeared skeptical but said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Shirley adjusted her friend’s adorable pillbox hat. “Wherever do you find such perfect accessories?” Shirley asked as she escorted her to the door.

  Kathryn beamed, her good nature bringing color back into her cheeks. “You know how my mother loves to shop. When we get back home, she wants to take us both out for a rousing expedition to F. R. Lazarus. We really will be rising from the dead then, won’t we?”

  Shirley loved a good pun and laughed, then bade her friend good-night. She opened the door quickly for Kathryn, glanced around, and felt relieved to confirm that the major and his soldiers were gone. When the door shut again, Shirley made a beeline for the waiting helpers and was just reaching for a patient’s chart when she felt something tug at her linen skirt.

  Dao-Ming appeared before her, stranger than ever, her cheeks flushed, her eyes practically swollen shut, her socks mismatched, and her rotund body wrapped in several layers of dirty Chinese robes. Shirley noticed a new item that weighed her down: a thick, heavy belt with the Red Army star on it. But then Shirley spotted something even more peculiar: the girl appeared to be wearing Caleb’s driving cap.

  “Where did you get that?” Shirley asked, forgetting momentarily that the child could barely speak, or chose not to.

  “Did Charles give it to you?” she tried again.

  Dao-Ming shook her head.

  “You found it yourself downstairs?”

  Dao-Ming nodded.

  Shirley stepped away from the other ladies and took Dao-Ming by the hand. She hustled her over to the stairs that rose to the upstairs quarters. With some effort, she lifted the child onto the second step so that they might speak eye to eye.

  “Where is Lian?” she asked.

  Dao-Ming pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen dependency.

  “I see. Is she is helping to prepare food?”

  Dao-Ming nodded, and then, as if speaking had never been a problem, Dao-Ming whispered the words, “Hsu down.”

  “You mean Captain Hsu?”

  The girl nodded.

  “What do you mean by ‘down’?” Shirley asked.

  Several loud and insistent knocks sounded on the front door just then. Dao-Ming’s eyes widened.

  “It’s all right,” Shirley said.

  But the girl’s head shook frantically as she whispered, “Jap devils.”

  “Lian,” Shirley called down the hallway, “would you mind answering the door for me, please?”

  Lian came swiftly from the kitchen, followed by the young woman, Li-Juan, who had recently come to help. Behind them were the Japanese grandfather and his daughters. And after them hobbled Tupan Feng, body bent over his cane and sword swaying with each halting
step. What they were all doing in the kitchen with hardly any ingredients for supper was a mystery to Shirley.

  On her way to the door, Lian whispered harshly to Dao-Ming, “You took him?”

  Dao-Ming nodded, panic making her limbs stiff and more awkward than ever.

  “So,” Shirley asked, “Captain Hsu is hiding in our basement? Is that it?”

  Lian wheeled around and hissed at Shirley as Dao-Ming shook her head madly, tears starting to stream down her face. “Great man must be kept safe,” Lian whispered.

  “Absolutely,” Shirley said, standing straighter. “I will not let them touch a hair on his head. I promise.”

  She hurried to Lian’s side and reached the door just in time to open it herself. “What is it now?” she asked Major Hattori and his two soldiers. “I believe I said I wasn’t available this evening.”

  They stormed past her and into her home. Shirley leaned out and took a quick glance at the dark courtyard for her son. It wasn’t like him to stay out this late. “Charles is upset with me,” she whispered to Lian. “We need to keep an eye out for him.”

  Lian did not reply, but her expression only made Shirley more anxious. She turned to join the others in the front hall and asked, “Now, Major, what can I do for you?”

  As she spoke, she pulled back her shoulders and offered a calm, even serene visage. They had barged into her home, but she intended to behave like a lady of sound intelligence, a Vassar graduate with a good head on her shoulders, and not someone to be trifled with. She thought of her husband’s handy phrase, stiff upper lip.

  “Mrs. Carson,” Major Hattori said in English, “you, madam, are under arrest.”

  Shirley let out a high, alarmed laugh, which was quickly stifled by the two soldiers, who snatched her wrists in a firm grasp. Lian stepped forward and tried to wrench the soldiers off her.

  “That’s all right, Lian,” Shirley said. “You mustn’t upset your heart. I’m all right.”

  Li Juan began weeping, her arms wrapped around Dao-Ming, who positively wailed. Lian tried to stop the men for a second time by planting her considerable body in front of the open doorway. The soldiers simply pushed the older woman aside. She stumbled and sprawled on the wood floor.