by Eileen Chang
Julie sat down on the chair. With tall windows on both sides, the tiny room felt like a glass bauble dangling high above the sea. Of course, the ground floor would be safest, but the atmosphere in the refectory was suffocating.
The glass bauble suspended over the sea awaited bombs from the planes to blow it to pieces.
Julie didn’t like modern history, but now modern history was pounding on the door.
Bebe struggled with the sleeping bag beneath her. The brushed-cotton lining exuded the distinctive smell of India. “What are you reading?” asked Bebe.
“My history notes.”
Bebe laughed mockingly at Julie for trying to repair the pen after the sheep are out.
Julie thought her good luck was too good to be true—it couldn’t last. If classes soon resumed, then the final exams would proceed.
Suddenly at noon, a klaxon emitted a long, screeching blast, belatedly rescinding the air-raid warning.
Bebe received a telephone call after lunch. “A boy wants to take me to the movies,” she furtively reported upon returning upstairs. “The cinemas are open for business as usual.”
“Which film?”
“Don’t know. But whatever it is, it will be worth the trek.”
“Yes, to see what’s going on in town.”
“Would you like to come?” asked Bebe, as if suddenly struck by a pang of guilt.
“No, no,” answered Julie quickly with a smile. “I don’t want to go.”
Bebe never disclosed the names of her suitors. It was always simply “a boy.”
“Some boys visit brothels after they go out with their girlfriends,” Bebe once told Julie with annoyed amusement. “Have you ever heard anything like that before?”
Julie never ever allowed herself to appear surprised. “It’s entirely possible,” she chuckled.
“Malayan boys are the worst,” said Bebe on another occasion. “They all go out whoring.”
“Indian boys are the worst. No matter how close they are to their girlfriends, they always go back to India to get married.”
One day Bebe stormed in furiously. “Audrey says there’s no such thing as love. Marriage is just about becoming accustomed to a man.”
From the sound of it, Audrey did not love her Mr. Lee.
“What do you say?” asked Bebe. “Does love exist?”
“Yes, it does.” Julie giggled.
“I just don’t know,” said Bebe loudly, as if to wash her hands of the matter. She turned around and sullenly tidied her desk.
On summer nights, groups of boys strolled up the mountain, stopping near the women’s dormitory to parade around arm in arm, singing popular songs in unison. Occasionally they shouted the name of a girl in the dormitory, followed by a torrent of laughter. They mostly called out the names of the few local girls who had studied in English colleges, and Sally was the most frequent target, though sometimes they called out Bebe. Perhaps they emulated the Malayan boys’ penchant for wooing with songs, but as a group activity it took on a jocular flavor, since they would be too embarrassed to undertake it alone.
“Those boys are singing again,” smirked a girl in her room upstairs.
There was no musical accompaniment or vocal harmonies, but the singing in the distance at night sounded quite pleasant. Whenever Julie heard it, she felt sad.
Bebe went off to the movies the day war was declared. When she returned that night, the citywide blackout had been ordered and only a solitary white candle glowed in the refectory. But the nuns were particularly animated that day. They prepared deep-fried calf brains with deep-fried mashed-potato balls, and that afternoon two nuns took the bus down to the city to buy fresh baguettes. On their outings, the nuns traveled in pairs to protect and watch over each other, like police officers walking the beat.
“Who did you go to the movies with?” asked Audrey. “Was it Chan? It was, wasn’t it? Ha! Groping his way to take you back up the mountain in the dark.” She cackled, clapped her hands, and repeated herself in Mandarin, emphasizing groping to insinuate that something else took place in the dark.
Few people in the room understood Mandarin, and although Bebe maybe understood a little, she was more interested in gobbling down the food that Sister Thérèse had saved for her.
“You know, it was eerie with the blue lantern at the box office lighting up the dreadful darkness,” said Bebe in a low voice to Julie. “And halfway through the movie, the air-raid siren went off but the show continued regardless. It was like something extra added to spice up the movie.”
After supper both Audrey’s Mr. Lee and Jenny’s Mr. Wei turned up. To avoid suspicion, Jenny and Mr. Wei stood by a cluster of evergreens outside the back door, whispering to each other in the dim light emanating from the refectory.
Audrey and Mr. Lee stood silently next to each other in a corridor outside the refectory, leaning against a cement wall, arms crossed. Mr. Lee was a Malayan Chinese student. Fair-skinned with small eyes pointing up at the corners, he seemed underage, like a child actor in a Chinese opera. Mr. Lee’s family was rich; they owned a rubber plantation.
People came and went, but Audrey just greeted them with a sad smile.
“Why don’t you come sit in the lounge?” hollered Sister Mark, the elderly acting dormitory proctor. “Come on up, come on up!” she commanded, bending over the balustrade to peer down, and then ask, “And where is Jenny?”
Audrey just smiled, cheekbones protruding from her small pointy face. Her cheeks were flushed.
Bebe softly sang a tune from an Arthur Sullivan opera:
A witch, a witch! Beware, beware!
Or on a broomstick she may fly
Up and up through the air!
That night, Julie learned from Bebe that the boys were clamoring to join the armed forces. Mr. Lee also wanted to sign up, but Audrey wouldn’t let him go. The two of them quarreled.
All the medical students were to be dispatched to an emergency first-aid station outside the city, each group consisting of two male students and one female. The two Penang girls teased each other about which males they would like to be allocated, as if they were choosing who they’d want to be alone with on a desert island after a shipwreck.
It’s like tying a lamb to a tree as bait for a tiger. And that thought must have occurred to Bebe, too. But they had to go or risk expulsion from the university.
Bebe had been a prefect at the English girls’ school in Shanghai, making her an ideal choice for wartime volunteer work. At any time, she could be called upon to pack her things into a small bundle and head off, just like that. However, her thin little voice grew fearful, as timid as the morning she had prepared for final exams.
Only two liberal-arts students—Julie and Jenny—stayed behind. Julie didn’t expect the dormitory to stay open just for them. She had heard that many students were going to Happy Valley that afternoon to report for duty as air-raid protection volunteers, for which they would be issued rations. “Are you going?” she asked Jenny. “Let’s go together.”
Jenny paused, then raised her eyebrows and broke into a smile. “All right, let’s go together.”
After lunch, Julie went to call Jenny but no one was there. She must have left first. Julie had never imagined Jenny disliked her so much.
Several hundred students marched off to report for duty, but Julie did not recognize a single one and did not bother to look for Jenny in the crowd. The procession was attacked from the air just as they were passing the Catholic cemetery at Happy Valley.
The cemetery lawn was as green as ever this winter. It sloped up to a lush hill speckled with ivory-colored tombstones rolling out to the horizon. Two yellow boards hung on either side of the simple cemetery gate and on each of them a line from a couplet was inscribed in green. The couplet read:
THIS DAY MY MORTAL REMAINS TO NATIVE SOIL RETURN JUST AS ONE DAY YOU TOO WILL FOLLOW IN AN URN
That tone evoked the style of an overseas Chinese, with a hint of eerie humor in the face of death.
On the return journey, one of the boys lugged a burlap sack full of black bread issued by the Air Raid Defense Headquarters, one slice per person. Julie had never before tasted such delicious bread.
“I almost died in an air raid. A bomb landed across the street from us,” Julie could hear an imaginary conversation of herself telling someone. But who was there to tell? Auntie Han? Judy was always indifferent and would not think much of it. Rachel didn’t even come to mind. Bebe was always happy, and Julie’s death would make no difference to her.
Almost blown up and there was no one she could tell. Julie felt a sense of desolation.
It was dark by the time Julie had made her way back to the dormitory. Sister Henri surreptitiously signaled to Julie, as though she had a lollipop just for her. “Mr. Wei came to pick up Jenny,” she said to Julie as she neared. “We have to return to the convent because this dormitory is closing down. You may go to the American Methodist Episcopal Mission; they will take you in. It’s very close to University Hall. Ask for Miss Donaldson.”
The Episcopal Mission had a women’s dormitory for female employees. Julie felt that it was unconscionable for the convent to shunt her off to a strange place just like that, though she was fully aware that the convent was bursting at the seams with very important refugees, who were, after all, co-religionists. Besides, she still felt pangs of guilt for boarding in the convent for free the previous summer, while her mother stayed at the Repulse Bay Hotel. That evening Julie went to see Miss Donaldson, the English spinster, who agreed to take Julie in, though meals would not be provided.
The building was an old run-down bungalow but there were plenty of vacant rooms. No doubt those who could find shelter with relatives had already left. Julie had a room of her own. It was very dark.
To her surprise, Julie encountered the Belle of Penang—Rose arrived at Julie’s door to say hello. Her demeanor was a little awkward, perhaps worried that Julie would ask why she hadn’t reported to the first-aid station. No doubt Rose’s brother wouldn’t allow it. He must have sent her here and arranged for Miss Chang, who was from the same town, to keep an eye on her. Miss Chang was forty or fifty years old and extremely cold toward Julie. At first Julie didn’t know why but after a few days she discovered that everyone living there behaved secretively. Unless they met at the common bathroom, Julie rarely saw anyone. And when she did encounter people, they rushed past, heads lowered, and disappeared in an instant. In the gloomy light, they all appeared to be withered Cantonese women.
Some female missionaries were also staying with Miss Donaldson. They had hired a maid but the downstairs kitchen was always deserted and never appeared to be used. The thermos flask on the chest of drawers in the hallway, however, was always full.
A steady stream of high-sounding verbiage emanated from the Air Raid Defense Headquarters but no rations were ever issued. After Julie finished the few tinned biscuits she had brought with her, she turned to the boiled water. She had to be careful not to drink it all because she was afraid her host would be annoyed and cut off the supply if she used it up.
It soon became clear why everyone was being so secretive. They didn’t know one another well and feared the awkwardness of refusing to assist when others ran out of food. Especially in a Christian mission it would not be right to turn people down.
Miss Chang must have warned Rose, which was why she had been avoiding Julie.
One evening after Julie had returned from her duties at the Air Raid Defense station and was busy fetching water to wash her clothes (at the time, strict water rationing was being enforced), a huge explosion went off, followed by a cacophony of voices. The seemingly empty building suddenly filled with people who gathered at the bottom of the staircase by the entrance to the hallway. Julie also went down to see what was going on.
“Shrapnel destroyed a corner of the roof,” explained Rose with a startled smile. “They say it’s dangerous upstairs.”
Julie sat with the other people on the stairs, which were covered with a floral-patterned canvas.
“Rose, your elder brother is here,” a voice called out. “Dr. Lin is here.” The graduating class of medical students were addressed as “doctor” before actually qualifying to use the title.
“Goodness, brother, how did you manage to get here? We were just hit by shrapnel.”
“It’s dangerous here. I came to pick you up. Come, quick.” Seeing Julie, a classmate who used to live in the same dormitory with Rose, he added, “Does your friend want to come with us?”
Julie immediately acquiesced. As she stood up, Julie saw Rose was about to speak but then hesitated—she couldn’t really tell her brother that she had been trying to avoid Julie.
The three of them departed together. “Bonner Hall is safer,” said Dr. Lin. That was the male dormitory.
They walked along a cross street to the main road that circled the mountain. Flaming-red poinsettia bracts blossomed on the large trees in the dusk. Suddenly, they heard the shrill screeching of flying shrapnel.
“Quick!” yelled Dr. Lin. “Run!”
The three of them held hands and bolted.
Eee-eee-o eee-aaa eee-aaa … The ear-piercing noise seemed to go on for a very long time. Julie felt terribly exposed, as if she were a net of flesh sailing in the sky to catch every single shard of shrapnel.
Dr. Lin, running between the two girls, dragged them along for all he was worth. Julie ran as fast as she could to keep up. I mustn’t endanger them.
Eee-eee-o eee-aaa eee-aaa!
The shrieking sounds seemed to intensify.
They ran uphill. The road wasn’t steep but it was a long stretch and Julie couldn’t catch her breath. She felt as if a metal plate were pressing down on her chest.
Once they turned onto a small path on a grass slope, they were out of danger. After arriving at the men’s dormitory, they sat down in the refectory and heard the sound of explosions far off in the distance. The dull thuds actually made Julie feel safe. Dr. Lin gave the girls a few copies of Life magazine to read. Later in the evening, after the bombardment ended, he accompanied them back to the mission.
The Air Raid Defense station was located in a library. The person in charge, a lecturer from the Engineering Department, was a skinny Cantonese man who had studied in England. He knew Julie’s mother and third aunt, who had asked him to take care of Julie, so he requested that Julie be his secretary, a desirable indoor job.
“Can you type?” he asked, as he sat in front of a typewriter.
“No.”
He frowned and continued to type a report with one hand.
He gave Julie an exercise book and an alarm clock, and instructed her to record the time of each air raid.
Julie didn’t understand why that was necessary. Surely the Japanese aren’t so stupid as to make their next attack at the same time, as if reporting for duty.
“Did you record the time?” he constantly asked her.
“Oh, no!” she replied, smiling sheepishly. “I forgot.” She then glanced at her watch and estimated that five or ten minutes had passed.
Julie hid the novels from the library she was reading underneath the exercise book.
Eventually, Julie’s negligence in recording the times of the air raids roused him to ask sternly, “Would you prefer to work outdoors?” His eyes betrayed a hint of teasing.
Julie knew that anti-air-raid personnel were also responsible for putting out fires. Poking around in bombed-out buildings where there might be unexploded ordnance carried the risk of having a limb blown off. “Yes,” she replied, smiling ruefully.
Knowing, however, that Julie neither knew her way around Hong Kong nor spoke Cantonese, he didn’t pursue the idea.
Feeeeeewwwwww! Another bombing raid. This time the explosion was rather distant. It sounded like the resonant, raspy thump of a small, open-ended iron barrel.
Feeeeeewwwwww! That was closer.
One day you escape alive from a firefight and the next day you get blown up,
just like that.
Feeeeeewwwwww! As if all around the city large metal barrels were being knocked over and half buried under rubble.
FEEEEEEWWWWWW!
That one was very close. The floorboards shuddered and she heard the sound of glass shattering onto the ground.
“Machine guns will work, they can shoot ’em down!” Julie overheard two boys talking about the two machine guns on the roof terrace above the library. She then realized it was the machine guns that attracted the planes circling overhead like flies to honey.
“You may go downstairs,” said the anti-air-raid station chief. “I can man the telephone.”
Julie smiled but shook her head to indicate she would not leave, even though she was only there reading novels. Now the station chief himself had to record the air-raid times.
Julie hoped the battle would end soon. If it continued, the library would be bombed sooner or later, or else she would be hit by shrapnel on her way to or from work. As the saying goes, the water jug next to the well will be broken one day.
Did she hope for a surrender or for the Japanese troops to fight their way in?
It’s not our war. Is it worth sacrificing one’s life for the colony of the British Crown?
Of course, that’s just an excuse. It’s our war if they’re fighting the Japanese.
Nationalism is a common twentieth-century religion. Julie was not a believer.
Nationalism is just a process. We went through it in the Han and T’ang dynasties centuries ago.
That sounds like a cover for weakness. In international relations, talking about three or five thousand years of civilization means nothing—only power and a willingness to fight can win respect.
But what’s there to say if you’re dead? You have to be alive to achieve anything.
Julie couldn’t come to any conclusions, but fortunately her greatest skill was the ability to leave such things unresolved. Perhaps she would have an epiphany in old age. She believed that was the only reliable theory, based on her own experience, not parroting what others say.
Just put it to one side. If chaos results, so be it. A theory based on reason may not always be reliable.