by Alexa Kang
He wanted to believe her. He believed she believed. Her personal aspirations aside, the conviction in her voice was real.
While he thought over what she’d said, Soong Mei-Ling opened the photo album on the coffee table. “I think you’re not giving our soldiers enough credit. Sometimes it is hard for us to see them as sympathetic people. They’re crude. They’re uneducated. They use force to intimidate people to get what they want. But their families suffer too.” She pushed the album before him. In one picture, she stood with a group of children in front of what looked like a school. Other pictures showed children splashing each other with water in a swimming pool, scooping rice into their bowls in a cafeteria, and working on a math problem in a classroom.
“These are orphans of soldiers who died fighting for our causes. Warphans, I call them.” She ran her fingers over the photo of a girl with long hair and a wide grin. “This one, we rescued her just in time. She was only eight. Her grandparents were about to sell her to a brothel. They were too poor to keep her.”
Clark took a closer look. His hands froze.
“I set up two orphanages for them in Nanking. Right at the bottom of the Purple Mountain. One for boys, one for girls. I handpicked all the teachers myself.” She moved back and let Clark take in what he saw. “It’s easy for us city folks to look at soldiers as rough savages. But when you think about it, they’re only doing what they can with the cards life has dealt them. You worry we might be beholden to them. You’re afraid they will gain much influence and pull the rest of the world into their realm. Well, I say, we can turn it around and pull them into our realm, if we show them the way.” She glanced at the open page of the album.
He followed her gaze. Had he been unfairly prejudicial in his views toward soldiers? What else was he to think of idlers and thieves who followed ruthless military commanders with no regards for ordinary people?
Still, he looked at the photo of the little girl. Her innocent smile gave him a pang of guilt. Soong Mei-Ling thought way too highly of him, telling him he reminded her of her youthful self. He looked at those who exploited the world and his immediate thought was to wash his own hands of them. When she looked at them, she took actions to turn them and change their hearts.
His earlier desire to leave the government waned. He couldn’t walk away. If he did, there would be no counterbalance to the state of affairs that he so deplored.
“Anyway,” said Soong Mei-Ling, closing the album, “I agree with you. We can’t depend solely only on soldiers and criminal syndicates. That’s why I wanted to meet with you alone. I have a special assignment for you.”
“Me?” Yes. Sītu had mentioned this. “What can I do?”
She stood up and walked over to the desk. From the drawer, she pulled out a document and handed it to him. He recognized right away the names listed on the document. Merchants, bankers, business owners. All belonged to the wealthiest class of people in Shanghai. All had had business dealings with his family for years.
Confused, he gave her a quizzical look.
“First and foremost above anything else, our government needs funding. If those who have the means won’t share, how will we go forward?” She opened her hands.
Clark clutched the edge of the document. A haunting realization began to dawn on him.
“Who better than you, nephew of the business community elders, to make them understand?” Soong’s smile deepened.
He read the list from top to bottom, this time with more scrutiny.
Inside, he laughed. Laughed at himself. Of course. What a fool he’d been to not see this coming. His overseas education, his English speaking skills, his ability to mingle with the Americans. These were assets all right, but his real value to the KMT was something else.
His family connections.
“Some of these men like to play the stock market,” Soong said. “You ought to advise them to invest in government bonds. They’ll thank you later.”
Clark wrinkled his forehead. He marveled at the casual way she spoke, as if this was merely a chat about business opportunities and not an outright demand.
“If anyone thinks investing is too risky, they can always contribute. The Generalissimo will not forget anyone who gives him their utmost loyalty and support.” She pointed to the list at the amount recorded next to each name.
Was she serious? These sums were outrageous even to him.
Could he shoulder this burden?
Remaining at his job to recruit American aid was one thing. Even overlooking the rot of corruption for the sake of pushing the country forward, he could handle. But this? This was beyond what he’d signed up for.
“I’ve always admired your father. Such an upstanding citizen.” She picked up a copy of the newspaper on the coffee table. A newspaper that no one had paid any attention to until now. She flipped to the business section to a page with a headline announcing a new joint venture between the Yuan Enterprises and another company named Da Lian Distribution Corporation. “Sometimes, even when one has made all efforts to avoid mistakes, errors are still unavoidable. What a shame it would be if a scandal breaks out and the world finds out Da Lian had been substituting their deliveries with low-grade stock to their buyers for years?”
“What?” Clark took the newspaper from her. Da Lian? Running an underhanded scheme?
How could this be? The Yuan Enterprises was an old, reliable brand. His father prided himself on running a business their customers could trust. He would never enter into a partnership with anyone whose standard fell below his own.
Clark scanned the article and the photo of Da Lian’s owner next to it. The man’s round, sincere face stared back at him.
A man’s face could be deceiving. Was this a person who ran a dishonest business? Had his father fallen into a trap?
Or, maybe, Da Lian did nothing wrong at all. What if the man was being set up and framed?
Why was Soong Mei-Ling telling him about this?
He turned away from the article. Soong Mei-Ling had been observing him the entire time. “How awful would it be if your father’s name was tainted by what someone else did?”
Her voice sent a chill up his spine.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She looked intently into his eyes. “What do you think?”
He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. The truth was not the point. Whether Da Lian did or did not cheat, the answer rested with whether he would do the KMT’s bidding to demand payments from his family’s friends and business associates.
“My sources told me the Yuan-Da Lian joint venture is looking to build a new distribution center in Nanking. In Nanking, it’s all about who you know. Of course, we’ll see to it your father’s plans will go as smoothly as possible. We’ll make sure nothing gets in his way.”
No. This wasn’t anything he’d ever wanted. He had never meant to drag his father or his family into this.
The worst thing was, he already had. There was no turning back. If he wanted to shield his family, he’d have to do what Soong Mei-Ling asked.
He held up the list of names again. The paper felt like a ton of weight in his hands. How would he approach these people? What would he say to convince them to part with their money?
What if they refused?
Except, they could not refuse. Or rather, he had to make sure they turned the money over. By any means possible.
“I can count on you, can I?” Soong Mei-Ling asked.
The heat of conflict flared in his chest. “Yes. Of course.”
He folded the list and placed it in his jacket’s inside pocket. It was all for the greater good, he told himself. Financial support from businesses meant less reliance on dirty money from criminal gangs.
The end would justify the means.
“One more thing,” Soong said. “At tonight’s banquet, you’ll see some of the most influential people in our party, as well as their friends in the upper echelon of Shanghai. It’ll be a good opportunity. Use it
wisely.”
Sage advice? Or a directive couched in what seemed to be caring words of wisdom?
Someone knocked. Soong’s personal assistant opened the door. A man, about six feet in height with broad shoulders, friendly eyes, and an easy swagger, entered the room.
“Greg Dawson!” Soong broke into a huge smile.
Greg took off his cap. “Madam Chiang. You look well.”
“So do you. Greg, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Soong Mei-Ling brought him over to the sitting area. Unsure what was happening, Clark stood up. “Greg,” Soong said, “this is Clark Yuan, officer at our Foreign Affairs Bureau. He’s our primary liaison with the American consulate in Shanghai.”
Greg Dawson held out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Same.” Clark shook his hand.
“This is Greg Dawson. He’s a pilot from America,” Soong Mei-Ling explained to Clark. “I don’t know if you’re aware, the Generalissimo appointed me as the Secretary General of the Chinese Aeronautical Affairs Commission. It’s one of my jobs to direct the formation of the Chinese Air Force.”
Clark had heard about that. Now that he’d met Soong Mei-Ling in person, the appointment seemed odd, to say the least. Any way he looked at her, she didn’t impress him as someone who knew best how to set up a military division.
Then again, was there any doubt what this woman could do?
“Greg served in the U.S. Army Air Corps. He still has contacts there. He came to China as a commercial pilot. I recruited him and his friends to join the Chinese Air Force to train our pilots.”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am, my boys and I.” Greg winked. Clark almost laughed. He’d met Americans like him before. Jolly, uncomplicated. Probably grew up in a small town. What you saw was what you got. This man was no match for the conniving Madam Chiang.
But unlike Clark, Greg Dawson had nothing at stake to lose in her game.
“Clark lived overseas in America for more than six years,” Soong said.
“Is that right?” Greg’s eyes brightened. “Where?”
“Connecticut,” Clark replied. “I went to college there.”
“Hmm. Never been there myself.” Greg scratched his head. “I’m from Kansas. My ma and pop run a farm there.”
A farm? “What brought you to China?”
“Money!” Greg grinned. “Can’t turn down the salary of nine hundred dollars a month, thanks to Madam Chiang. Things back home ain’t going so well. Everyone I know is out of work. The Army Air Corps relieved me and cut me loose because of budget. When a buddy of mine told me the Chinese needed people to train their pilots, I jumped onto the next ship. Anyway, a guy ought to get out and see the world. I love it here. Everything is so cheap.”
Amused, Clark watched the American. After the intense conversation he’d just had with Soong Mei-Ling, Greg Dawson was a breath of fresh air.
“We appreciate everything you’re doing for us.” Soong rested her hand on Greg’s arm. “If you ever need anything while I’m not here, you can call on Clark. He’ll make sure you have everything you need.” She gave Clark a meaningful glance.
“I sure am glad to hear that,” Greg said. “Say, what I always need is a glass of good beer. What’s that German beer they make here called? Tsingtao or something? That’s the best stuff I’ve ever had. Back home, we can legally buy alcohol now, but our beers are awful. It’s like we’ve all forgotten how to brew beer anymore. Hey Clark, you and I ought to meet up sometime. You can tell me all about what you were doing in Connecticut over a few glasses of beer.”
Before Clark could respond, Soong said, “That sounds wonderful. I’m sure Clark would enjoy that, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Clark smiled.
Of course he had to say of course. In the realm of rivers and lakes, a person’s actions could not follow his will.
On the other hand, of everything else the Party was asking of him, keeping Greg Dawson pleased was the one thing he could do freely with a clear conscience.
18
A Banquet for the Wicked
From the endless servings of gourmet dishes, one could not have guessed the KMT had any money trouble. Every course contained the rarest of delicacies. Shark fin soup, ducks’ gizzards, roasted pigeons, stewed fish, crabs topped with caviar, chicken stewed in ginseng, seedling pea-vines, even pineapples imported from Singapore. Whoever organized the banquet had spared no effort.
At his table, Clark absentmindedly picked at his food as he watched Soong Mei-Ling dazzle her guest of honor, General Zhang Zhi-zhong. Tonight, there was nothing Western about her. In front of the military commanders who would go to battle for her, she had changed out of her cloak of worldly persona. When she raised her glass of Chinese yellow wine to rouse the guests sitting with her, no one could mistake her for anything other than the symbol of the Great China to come.
The sumptuous feast coming to an end, many of the guests began wandering from their seats. They scattered around the room, seeking out friends for another toast. Unacquainted with most of the attendees, Clark was content to remain at his table.
Beside him, Tang Wei finished his last bite and laid down his chopsticks. “That was quite a coup for you this afternoon. To this day, I still haven’t had the pleasure of meeting with Soong Mei-Ling one-on-one. Whatever price you paid to Sītu with that little drug bust fiasco, you got your payback more than tenfold.”
“Are you drunk?” Clark asked. “Or are you jealous?”
“Drunk? Maybe. Jealous? No way.” Tang picked up his glass of yellow wine. “What’s good for you is good for me. If you do well, it’ll only make me look good. I hope whatever she asked you to do isn’t something you can’t handle.”
Clark frowned, not wanting to be reminded of the difficult task the First Lady had imposed upon him. Taking away all the niceties of guanxi and talk of support for the country, what she’d asked him to do was in fact extortion.
“Look at her, carrying herself like a queen.” Tang downed his drink. “She better be careful, or she won’t be sitting on the throne for very long.”
“Why would you say something like that?” Clark grabbed Tang’s glass and put it farther away on the table. “Don’t drink anymore. You’re rambling.”
“My mind is fully awake.” Tang tapped his temple. The alcohol might have lowered his guard, but his eyes were as sharp as always. “To be honest with you, I’m not entirely reassured Chiang Kai-shek’s judgment is correct anymore. I used to believe the Communists were our biggest threat. Now, I’m not so sure. The Japanese are getting bolder day by day.”
Clark gave him a stern look of warning. He checked his left and right, making sure no one was listening. “You heard what Madam Chiang said today. She’s not a simple-minded woman. What you’re saying, she must’ve observed it too. She has the situation under control.”
“Does she? Don’t get me wrong. I admire her. Between her and her husband, she’s the tough one. The smarter one too. Still, a Japanese invasion is only a matter of when. Can one woman alone stand guard and defend the country?”
“She has powerful allies overseas. They’ll come to her aid.”
“You mean the Americans?” Tang sneered. “Don’t count on it.” He lit a cigarette. “There’s nothing in it for them.”
“You have any better solution?”
“The solution is obvious. Stop suppressing the Communists. Work with them.”
“Work with them? Chiang Kai-shek would never agree to it.”
“He’s a fool then. Me? I see reality for what it is. Look at what the Japanese are doing. The aerial military drills, the combat troops training. How many training sessions do they need? Anyone can see they’re mobilizing on Chinese land.”
Clark watched him flick the ashes from his cigarette. At the head table, Soong Mei-Ling continued to impress General Zhang. With a huge smile on his face, the General nodded at everything she said.
Was the situation as dire as Tang described? Even if it
was, and even knowing Soong Mei-Ling would not hesitate to use strong-arm tactics against anyone including him, he’d like to believe in her. He needed to believe in her. This chameleon of a woman who could shift in and out of the East and the West was their best hope to drive China into the modern world. Yes, her. Not her husband, whose luster dimmed when she wasn’t by his side. Not Mao, whose idea of elevating China was to turn it into a nation of farmers.
You and I have a lot in common, Soong had told him earlier today.
“You know the reason why Chiang Kai-shek doesn’t want to face the Japanese?” Tang said, taking another drag. “It’s because he knows he can’t win against them. So he chooses to avoid the truth. The better way is to call a truce with the Communists. Bring them into our wing under our control. Mao Ze Dong is amassing power out west. I’m not kidding. He commands more than fifteen thousand soldiers. We’ll need them if we’re to have any hope of defeating the Japanese. Or, we can exhaust our troops fighting the Red Army. Battle it out until we’re both destroyed and wounded, and the Japanese can be the fisherman, just sit and wait to reap the ultimate reward.”
“Could you really work with the Communists? What about your beliefs? What about our causes? Our principles?”
“Principles are good in theory. When the situation is right, I’m all for principles and beliefs. But I’m a realist. If Chiang Kai-shek and his group go down, I won’t go down with them.”
Clark shook his head. Tang was exaggerating. The KMT wouldn’t go down so easily. His friend was just frustrated, that was all. Let him vent. He knew Tang. Tang supported freedom and progress. He would never collaborate with the Communists. There was no way he would deviate from his beliefs.
Anyway, it was almost a relief to see that Tang, too, had his own grievances with work. He reached out and poured them both a shot of baijiu, the Chinese white wine which had an alcohol content so strong, some compared it to petroleum. “All the problems notwithstanding, we are making progress. The provinces under KMT control are stabilizing. You can see the improvements. The banks, the railways, the post offices, the phone lines. If you didn’t think we’re succeeding, you wouldn’t be a part of this.”