by Li, Veronica
I stumbled back to bed and curled into a ball, shivering. Killing and dying seemed so easy. A soldier only had to wrap his finger around the trigger and pull. One minute I was a person with hopes and dreams, the next minute I was nothing more than worm meat. The cold truth gave me such a chill that my teeth couldn’t stop chattering. I hugged myself and pulled the blanket over my head, but nothing could warm me up.
A gentle voice brushed my ears. It was faint at first, but as I listened carefully, it became so clear that I felt that the speaker was standing over me. "Everyone who sees me and believes in me will have everlasting life; and I will raise him up on the last day," he said. I answered with, "Whosoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." The Bible studies I’d labored over flooded my memory. I’d memorized them, got good grades in them, but I’d never understood them. Now that I was face-to- face with death, the words came to life. The everlasting life Jesus promised wasn’t fantasy or figure of speech; it was a real place waiting for me. A bullet could rob me of my temporal life, but the eternal life of my soul was mine to keep forever. A warm current flowed through my body, and I stopped shivering.
The next morning, ignoring Sam-Koo’s advice to stay home, I walked to my alma mater, Italian Convent. The sign on the gate now read "Sacred Heart." Because of the Japanese alliance with Italy, the mothers had disassociated themselves from their country by renaming their school. Even so, the occupiers must have known that the nuns were Italian. There wasn’t a soldier in sight in the vicinity. I was all too glad to have one less Japanese sentry to bow to.
Walking through the grounds, I realized that many Chinese had taken refuge at the convent. I didn’t dally to talk to acquaintances, but went straight to Mother Angelica. I told her I wanted to be baptized immediately. Given the dangerous times, I wanted to make sure that my soul went to heaven when I died. It took her a while to recognize me in my coolie disguise. Her weary eyes lit up, but dimmed again. She said, "I’m very happy that you believe in God, but you can’t be baptized without instructions. I’m afraid I can’t help you right now. As you can see…." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes wandered out the window at the fugitives camped in the courtyard.
Disappointed with Mother Angelica’s rejection, I walked out of the building and ran into Mother Mary. She’d been my French teacher and had recently recovered from TB. Even with the padding of the intricate habit, she looked as brittle as a dried twig. After asking about her health, I told her of my wish to be baptized. "I don’t see why not," she said, her voice unusually feisty for a TB victim. "You’ve been a student at the Convent many years. Surely you’ve learned something. Under the circumstances, I think you should be baptized as soon as possible. The rest we will leave to God."
She found me an Italian priest, and I was baptized the next day.
2
People were leaving in droves. The Japanese made little effort to stop them, as there would be that many less mouths to feed. Hong Kong had always imported most of its food. As long as the war went on—only God knew how long that would be—commerce would remain at a standstill. The choice was either to stay and starve or make a run for unoccupied territories in inland China.
Sam-Koo and I decided to join the exodus. There were several escape routes. One was via Macau, a neutral Portuguese enclave a few hours away by boat. Sam-Koo naturally picked this route since she was born in Macau and had relatives there. Depending on the situation there, she might even stay. My preference, however, was to go with my brother, Ngai. He was planning to travel by boat to Vietnam, cross over to China’s Guanxi province, and make his way to Chungking, the capital of Free China. Once he got there, he would have a number of colleges from which to select. Many of the faculty of the premier universities had fled Japanese occupation and relocated to the Nationalist stronghold of Szechwan. Ngai was eager to finish his studies, and so was I. But what did he say when I asked to go with him?
"This isn’t a journey for a woman. A refugee’s life is tough. You’ll only end up a burden to me. You should stay home and wait out the war."
The selfish pig! I was furious with him. We’d been the best of friends during our university years, going to dances together and studying side by side at the library. After Mother left for Thailand, he and I were the only family in Hong Kong. The least we could do was stick together. If he didn’t want to travel with me, very well then: I would find my own way to Chungking.
A few days later, I was on a ferry to Macau. Traveling with me were Sam-Koo and her roommate, Miss Chung. As Hong Kong receded behind us, several Japanese planes circled overhead. The captain shooed us into the cabin and told us to stay put. Just a few weeks ago, a classmate of mine who was a swimming champ had been traveling in the same boat. At the sight of Japanese fighters swooping down, he climbed over the rail and jumped into the sea. Confident of his swimming ability, he thought he could dodge Japanese bullets by abandoning the boat. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that the sea in January was cold. Even the strongest swimmer can’t survive the low temperature. My poor classmate never resurfaced. Meanwhile, the Japanese planes turned back without firing a shot.
In Macau, Sam-Koo’s cousin took us in, adding to the throng of refugees in her apartment. Food shortage was acute here too, and the mistress of the house rationed rice at one bowl per person per meal. The winter was especially cold that year. Frozen corpses of the homeless littered the streets. It was as if the heavens were mimicking the disaster we humans had created on earth. Life was hard for everyone, and not being a relative, I felt I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.
The solution arrived in a letter from my brother in Thailand. Since the Japanese takeover, Hong Kong had been cut off from the rest of the world. Services to Macau, however, continued because Portugal had managed to stay out of the war. I was very happy to hear from Brother Kin, even happier to see the enclosed money order for four hundred dollars. I decided to use the money to travel to China.
Miss Chung was of the same mind, and we agreed to make the trip together. Sam-Koo got me in touch with a friend of hers, a small, wrinkled man who looked like a piece of laundry that had shrunk in hot water. I called him "Eighth Brother," for he was the eighth son of the family with whom Sam-Koo and I had stayed while on holiday in Canton many years ago. He’d escaped to Macau when the Japanese invaded Canton and was now organizing a group to slip across into Free China. Miss Chung and I decided to join him.
A lorry took about thirty of us to the banks of a river. China lay on the other side. Our guide told us that the strip of land immediately across was bandit country. To guarantee our safe passage, he collected several hundred dollars of "toll" money from each traveler. I was dressed in coolie pajamas, my face smeared with soy sauce. Eighth Brother also taught me some mannerisms to go with the disguise, in addition to a few cusswords to use to insult the other person’s mother. I mustn’t have made a convincing study because I overheard several of my companions discussing me. "She’s got to be a fake," one of them said.
We were told that we couldn’t cross the river yet. A Japanese gunboat was patrolling the area, and it was known to shoot on sight. We had to wait till the gunboat sailed around the bend. The afternoon passed, but instead of moving away, the Japanese ship dropped anchor. We spent the night, and then another. The lorry driver, who was wasting time and money sitting around, gave us an ultimatum: he was leaving that morning. Either we went back with him or stayed at our own risk.
While people were debating what to do, I took out my rosary, closed my eyes, and prayed fervently to Mother Mary. Never had I prayed so hard, nor wanted something so much. Barely had I finished my beads when somebody shouted that the gunboat was moving upriver. "Hurry! Hurry!" the driver cried. "You have to cross before the gunboat returns!" We ran down to the rowboats that had been prepared for us. Eighth Brother, who was supposed to be my guardian, put Miss Chung and me in one bo
at.
"You women are too slow. I’m going with the men," he told us. You can see what kind of gentleman he was!
I forgot to mention that Miss Chung was a teacher of physical education at Yeung Jung. She was an athletic person and much stronger than I. You’d think that it was an advantage to be paired with a strong person. Well, I quickly discovered that it wasn’t. The imbalance made the boat go round and round in circles. Others had reached shore already and we were still chasing our tails in the middle of the river. If the gunboat returned, we’d be dead. Miss Chung yelled at me to row faster, but I was already rowing my fastest. Out of desperation, the experience of past boating trips with my brothers came back to me. Whenever I rowed with Ngai, we always counted out a rhythm.
"One, two, three! One, two three!" I chanted. Our oars began to pull in unison. The boat advanced, albeit in a crooked line. When we finally reached shore, Eighth Brother’s face was black as a thundercloud. "Why are you two so slow? You’re holding everyone up!" he barked at us. Can you imagine such a man!
From there on, the group dispersed. People were headed for different towns and villages. The destination of my party, consisting of Eighth Brother, Miss Chung, and myself, was Kukgong, the wartime capital of Kwangtung province. En route we planned to stop at a county called Seiwui, where Eighth Brother’s brother lived. The only transportation was our own two feet. For days we walked and walked on dirt paths, up mountains, along fields, and over ravines. I’d never been a great walker, much less when teetering on a rounded log over a gulch, or crossing a river on a plank several inches wide. Eighth Brother was constantly threatening to leave me behind.
"Faster! Faster!" he yelled at me. "Who do you think you are, Miss Hong Kong?"
At night, we stayed at village inns. Kwangtung, the rice bowl of China, offered plenty of fine dining. After a day’s trek, we would stuff ourselves with the chicken and duck casseroles cooked in a hearty peasant style. The accommodations, however, were another story. The mattress was inevitably dirty and full of crawly creatures that fed on me all night, in addition to the myriad of bugs gnawing at the mosquito net in hope of sharing the feast. At some point my scalp began to itch like nobody’s business. Although I couldn’t see the cause of my irritation, I knew that some creatures had built a nice, warm home in my hair. I’d heard about lice, but this was the first time I made their acquaintance.
I was very happy to get to Seiwui, where Eighth Brother’s third brother had settled after fleeing Canton. Seiwui was a wealthy area fed by rivers and a steady flow of money from overseas. Many of its sons had gone to America, the GoldMountain, to seek their fortunes. They left behind wives, often referred to as widows of the living, because some of them never saw their husbands again. But unlike other widows, they were well provided for. Their homes were made of brick, and their children attended schools housed in handsome buildings. After the long trek, this was a fine place to rest my feet.
My host and hostess treated me with great kindness. They had two daughters my age, Wun-Mui and Wun-Lan. They, too, were extremely nice—so nice that Eighth Brother decided to stay. Why not? The women did everything for him. He never had to lift a finger. The local brew was also cheap and strong, and he had his fill of it every day. Miss Chung also decided to stay. She’d found a job in the local school and become friendly with a male colleague.
What was to happen to me? My intention had been to go to Kukgong, get a job, and save up money to meet up with Ngai in Chungking. Whenever I talked about my plan, Eighth Brother would sneer and say, "You find a job? What on earth can you do?"
An incident drove home the fact that I couldn’t stay. While I was walking on the street, I felt a reflux in my windpipe. A glob of blood spewed out of me and landed in the gutter. Wun-Mui saw it and exclaimed, "Are you all right?" I told her what Fei-Chi had told me, "It’s just blood from my gums." Pretending to be unconcerned, I continued with them to the market. But inside, my heart weighed like a stone. I’d been ignoring the recurring headaches and fever, convincing myself that they were just symptoms of fatigue. But now the blood forced me to face reality. Because of the war, the pneumothorax treatment that could have cured me had been cut short. Now my TB was flaring up, and I could infect the people around me.
That night I lay in my cot, facing the wall. I didn’t want to be exhaling at the two sisters, who were sleeping in the same room. As I listened to their soft breathing, I was overwhelmed with guilt. They’d been treating me as one of their own. If I stayed any longer, they could get the disease from me. My mind was set. I must leave.
The next day I told Wun-Mui of my decision. The reason I gave was that Ngai, who had probably arrived in Chungking, must be looking for me. I also asked her if she knew how I could get to Kukgong. Being the kind soul that she was, she sought help from her fiancé, a military officer. He introduced me to a friend of his. This man was a company commander, and he was about to travel with two of his soldiers to the provincial capital. He agreed to take me with him. That was how I got to spend three days and nights on a sampan with three young men.
The commander turned out to be a fanatic of Dream of the Red Chamber. We discussed our common passion throughout our trip. Thank goodness there was something to distract me from the urgency of my needs. The sampan had no toilet. While the men could relieve themselves over the side of the boat, I had to hold mine in until mealtime, when the boatman would row to shore and dock. The first thing I would look for was a toilet.
We arrived at Kukgong in the late afternoon. Walking with the commander into town, I could see that the clusters of low houses were a far cry from the prosperity of Canton. However, the place had its own charm. Waterways crisscrossed the town, giving rise to its name, Kukgong, which means "meandering rivers."
The commander dropped me at an inn, which he said was reasonably priced. From then on, I was on my own. There was a liaison for Hong KongUniversity students in the city, but I had no idea where it was, or how I was going to find it. Yet it didn’t occur to me to worry. Perhaps what people say is true—if you’ve never seen a ghost, you’re not afraid of the dark. Up till then, I’d never met a wicked person. Hong Kong had been a safe and simple place. Since an early age, I’d been running around on my own. Nobody had warned me of criminals. Well, let me tell you this. I learned very fast during my first twenty-four hours in Kukgong.
That night, while I was struggling to catch some sleep, I realized what kind of inn it was. The din of men and women carousing penetrated the thin walls. I was so scared that I pushed my two canvas bags against the door. I sat up in bed, dressed in my cheongsam, ready to make a run if somebody broke in. Toward dawn there came a frantic banging and someone was shouting, "Get out! Get out!" I opened the door and saw people running out of their rooms. "Japanese planes are coming!" a man shouted at me. "You have to evacuate."
"Where do I go?" I said. The man bleated a mouthful of Ma Ba, Wong Tin Ba, and a slew of other Bas. I later learned that each "Ba" was the name of a nearby county, but on my first morning in the city, the man’s baa-ing made no sense. I only knew to run into the street like everybody else. Standing at a corner, a furry drizzle scratching my face, I was at a loss as to where to turn, whom to follow. People were rushing around in every direction. In the midst of the chaos, I saw a woman who was holding up a black umbrella walk toward me, slowly and steadily.
"You’re from Hong Kong, aren’t you?" she said to me.
Her question surprised me, but it was a most pleasant surprise. The mention of Hong Kong warmed my heart. "Yes, how did you know?" I said.
She only smiled. She was an attractive woman, quite young, but experienced enough to see through my skin after one look. "You probably don’t know where to go," she said. "Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you where you’re supposed to go." She put her umbrella over my head and guided me along. After a few blocks she ran into an acquaintance, a man in military uniform. They chatted for a while, then the man looked at me and suggested going to a teahouse fo
r dim sum. The prospect of food cheered me up. I hadn’t had breakfast yet and my stomach was growling. They walked me to one of the Ba-counties, and there we had a satisfying meal of buns and dumplings.
"Where are you staying?" the man in uniform asked me. I told him the name of my inn. "Oh no," he said. "That’s an awful place. I know of a much better one. Let me take you there."
When we got back to the city, he and the woman moved my luggage to the hotel he recommended. The moment we got into my room, the man sprawled out on my bed. That was the first time I realized something was wrong. I hardly knew him, yet here he was, lying on my bed as though he were an old family friend. I was dying to get away, so when the woman suggested going out again, I readily agreed. The three of us went out together. By that time I knew I had to give them the shake, but with the two of them clinging to me on each side, I couldn’t see how.
On the street we met another acquaintance of theirs. This man was dressed in Chinese silk pajamas, which in Hong Kong was the dress code of gangsters. This put me on my guard at once. While I was being introduced, somebody else waved to us from across the street. My two "friends" went over to talk to yet another acquaintance. They seemed to know everybody in town.
I was left alone with the man in the silk pajamas. "What relation are you to them?" he said to me.
"No relation. I just met them this morning."
"He said you were his cousin." By that time, he’d sized up my origin. "You should find your own people from Hong Kong."
"I have no idea where they are."
"They’re staying at the Youth Hostel." He quickly gave me directions and told me to disappear.
While the other two were busy talking, I slipped out of sight. Come to think of it, the man in the silk pajamas must have been either a secret agent or a guardian angel. If he hadn’t warned me, I hate to think what my fate would have been at the hands of the other two.