Wings of a Flying Tiger

by Iris Yang

  “That’s why I have to go. I won’t let Mom and Dad—”

  “Don’t go!”

  “Thanks for your concern, Peter. But I’ve made up my mind.”

  Peter shook his head. With a sigh of frustration, he got out, walked around the car, and opened the door for Jasmine. They parted politely without even holding hands—that was the proper way.

  He bowed and gave her a longing glance. The night was dark. A chilly wind whipped down the street. Pulling his coat collar up around his ears, he walked slowly back to his car. The light from the streetlamp silhouetted his lanky and slightly drooped figure. He seemed lost.

  Standing by the gate guarded by two stone lions, Jasmine watched him and felt a twinge of guilt. I bet Mom and Dad will like him. Mr. Peterson is a scholar and a gentleman. She tossed a wave to him as he drove away. Perhaps I should reconsider? Hey, I’ll tell Mom and Dad about Mr. Peterson. Maybe they’ll be curious to come here to meet him. Maybe they will persuade me to accept him.

  When his car disappeared from sight, she walked through the curved archway and into the house. I’d better leave a letter. Sorry, Uncle and Auntie! I’ll apologize in person when I come back. This letter will do for now.

  Chapter 2

  Professor Bai sat in his usual spot after dinner. An evening newspaper lay open in his lap, but he couldn’t concentrate. Headlines like “Japanese Troops Besiege Nanking” and “The Capital Faces Imminent Threat” disturbed him greatly.

  An invasion was no surprise. The war between Japan and the Republic of China was the direct result of a Japanese imperialist policy to expand its influence and obtain raw materials, food, and cheap labor. The period after World War I and the Depression brought about a large slowdown in exports and economic stress on Japanese society, which culminated in the rise to power of a militarist fascist regime. In 1931, Japan launched an undeclared war on China and conquered the North-east territory. For six years, small localized conflicts between the two nations never ceased. Finally in July 1937, Japan launched a full-scale invasion. After attacking Peking and Shanghai, Nanking, the capital of the Republic of China, was clearly Japan’s next target. The city of one million inhabitants had endured dozens of air raids in the past four months, forcing its citizens to hide in basements, trenches, and wells.

  Professor Bai and his wife could have left the city. His brother had urged him many times. Most of his colleagues and students had fled. Half the residents had escaped. As the head of the Art Department at Nanking University, he refused to leave. A graduate of the University of Tokyo, he was determined to act as liaison to negotiate with the Japanese so that his university would not end up in ruins.

  “You’re so naïve,” his brother had shouted over the phone.

  “I know their language,” Professor Bai argued. “I can help.”

  “You’re such a fool. Have you forgotten the saying? ‘A scholar is always wrong when he confronts a gunman.’ Don’t be so stupid. Get out of there now. For God’s sake, don’t keep Suying in a war zone.”

  At age forty-five, Professor Bai should have known better. Even from his comfortable home near the campus, he’d heard gunshots and explosions rumbling in the distance. And the frequency of bombardment increased by the hour. How long will the Army hold the fort, he wondered?

  Four days earlier, Chiang Kai-shek, the leader of the Nationalists, and his government had fled the city, shifting the burden of defense onto his subordinate. General Tang, the Defense Commander, had vowed to live or die with Nanking. His ninety thousand troops had transformed the face of the capital. They had dug trenches in the streets, strung barbed wire over intersections, and set up machine-guns along the city wall. This charming, ancient town now resembled a battlefield.

  What will the Japanese troops do once they capture the city? Professor Bai thought as he checked the date on the newspaper to remember this particular day—December 13, 1937.

  I should’ve sent Suying away. Too bad she’s as stubborn as I am.

  He looked up. His wife sat on a sofa between two live-in housemaids, a book in her hand. She wore a white cheongsam, her face relaxed, her voice calm. As a professor at Ginling Women’s Arts & Science College, she loved teaching the illiterate servant girls who were just a couple of years younger than their daughter Jasmine.

  At least Jasmine is safe. Professor Bai sighed with relief. Chungking is over nine hundred miles away. He took off his wire-rim glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to stem a headache that was developing behind his eyes. Moments later he put the glasses back on and walked to the window where heavy drapes were drawn to hide the lit room from the Japanese bombers. Lifting an edge, he peeked outside.

  Daylight had taken its last breath and dusk had settled in. In the twilight, gunfire flashed like lightning over Purple Mountain to the east of the city, and the sky to the south glowed with flames. Nearby shadows slanted across the ground that was covered with patches of graying snow.

  Professor Bai stared into the gloominess then pulled the drapes closed as if to shut out the danger.

  “Anything wrong?” asked Mrs. Bai.

  The housemaids also lifted their heads. Nowadays everyone was on edge. Chen Hong, a lanky girl with freckles, took a nervous breath. Xiao Mei chewed her lip. Two waist-length pigtails hung at each side of her heart-shaped face, and she looked younger than her sixteen years.

  “No,” said Professor Bai. “Just checking.”

  Mrs. Bai nodded and went back to her reading.

  The living room was lit by porcelain lamps with white silk shades. A three-panel floor screen with bamboo stalks and birds painted on black lacquer stood at one corner. Oil paintings of landscapes and flowers, all done by Jasmine, decorated the walls. Years ago, it had been Professor Bai’s ink-and-brush paintings that hung on the walls.

  He stopped scanning. His gaze lingered on an image of a peony the color of pink and magenta with a center of bright yellow stamens. A proud smile flickered across his face as it had every time he looked at her artwork. Relaxed, he slid back onto the love seat, closed his eyes, and listened to his wife’s voice.

  She started a new story.

  “There was a boy named Yue Fei in Southern Song Dynasty. His mother asked him when the northern Jin people invaded the country, ‘Our homeland is under attack from the barbaric foreigners. What are you going to do?’ The boy replied, ‘Jing zhong bao guo.’ ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Serve the country with the utmost loyalty is exactly what you should do. I’d like to tattoo these four words on your back so that you’ll always remember.’ Without the slightest hesitation, the boy lifted his shirt. ‘It’ll hurt, Son. Aren’t you afraid?’ ‘Of course not. If I’m afraid of a little needle, how can I fight the enemy?’ The boy dropped to his knees and bowed to the heaven, the earth, and his ancestors. His mother wrote the characters with a brush on his back. She pricked his skin with an embroidery needle and smeared ink on his back so that the words would stay. It was the year 1120. Yue Fei was only sixteen. Years later he would become a military commander and a national hero.”

  Mrs. Bai finished the story by saying, “We’ll keep reading tomorrow. His story is fascinating. The four characters—jing zhong bao guo—inspired countless young men to fight for our homeland.” She picked up two notebooks from a coffee table and handed them to the girls. “Write the phrases related to guo—country. Can you think of any?”

  “Protect our homes and defend our country,” said Chen Hong, punching her fist in the air.

  “Every man is responsible for the rise and fall of his homeland,” Xiao Mei answered.

  “Anything else?” Mrs. Bai asked.

  Xiao Mei added, “Guo po jia wang—when one’s country falls, one’s home is ruined—”

  “That’s what the Japanese troops are doing to us,” Professor Bai opened his eyes and said through clenched teeth.

  Just then loud bangs at the front door broke the peace.

  Professor Bai jerked his head up. His gaze flew to his wife w
ho turned to him in stunned disbelief. “Father John?” he asked. The American priest had tried to convince them to move into the International Safety Zone.

  She shook her head.

  He shot to his feet. “Wait here,” he said, signaling the women not to move.

  Thwack!

  The sound of the door being slammed open took the professor aback. A sense of foreboding tightened his chest, and he picked up the pace. Several steps later, he came face to face with four Japanese soldiers. They marched into the living room, bayonet blades shining upon the barrels of their rifles.

  Professor Bai’s shock mixed with fear and anger. He’d studied in Japan for four years, and the Japanese people he’d met were polite almost to a fault. It took him a few seconds to bring himself back under control. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, he opened his mouth.

  The soldiers showed no interest in listening. One shoved him so hard that he spun, tumbled, and crashed into the wall. His vision blurred. His ears rang. A livid bruise blossomed on the left side of his forehead, and he grunted in pain. His eyeglasses were smashed.

  The soldiers kept advancing, treading upon the oil painting of peony that had fallen from the wall. They grabbed the women by their arms, hauled them to their feet, and tried to drag them out of the house.

  Screams filled the room.

  “Suying!” Professor Bai cried out. He stepped in front of the group with open arms. His bruised face twisted. Blood dripped from his forehead. Controlling a roar of rage, he was ready to argue with the invaders.

  But he didn’t get the chance. Without a word, one soldier stuck a knife into his chest.

  Everyone gasped.

  Professor Bai’s eyes widened. His hands flew to his chest. Blood surged out, staining his blue shirt red. An exclamation of horror broke from his lips as he stumbled backward.

  “Bai Wen!” Mrs. Bai uttered a sharp cry. She stretched her arms, trying to catch her husband. But hands held her back. Kicking and thrashing, she fought to extricate herself from the grasp of the soldiers.

  It was too late. The genteel professor fell on his back with a thud. His body convulsed twice, then stilled. His unseeing eyes gazed into nothingness.

  Screams and cries split the air.

  The soldiers wasted no time. Disregarding the women’s wails and protests, they pulled them again. Their hands groped their bodies as they grinned and exchanged obscenities.

  Mrs. Bai paled. Panic flashed in her eyes as she understood what the men were saying. Fear and sorrow ripped her usual graceful composure. She yelled in flawless Japanese, “Take your hands off me.”

  No one listened.

  A hand snaked under her torn cheongsam.

  She shivered involuntarily. “I’ll go with you. Just let me close his eyes. Please,” she pleaded, louder and with even more urgency, “I beg you!”

  For a split second the young soldier dragging her hesitated, seemingly wondering why the woman could speak their native tongue. As he loosened his grip, Mrs. Bai wrenched her arms free and leaned down to her husband. Instead of closing his eyes, though, she yanked the knife out of his chest.

  She straightened her body, facing the enemy and the maids. An array of emotions swept across her colorless face: grief, anger, contempt, sympathy.

  The soldiers let go of the girls and backed away several steps. The one who had held her slid his rifle up in a practiced motion, aiming at her.

  He didn’t have to fire.

  Lifting her hands, Mrs. Bai thrust the dagger deeply into her own chest. Blood soaked through her clothes. Red droplets trickled along the knife handle and across her fingers, dripping down to the hardwood floor. She collapsed on top of her husband. Her eyes were open, but the film of death had settled over them.

  The soldiers gaped at the two bodies. The fact that this fine-looking woman had spoken their language fluently seemed to trouble them. Was she Japanese? Had they killed one of their own? Doubtful glances flew between them before they staggered out of the house, leaving the two shaken housemaids behind.

  For a moment Xiao Mei and Chen Hong stood frozen, staring at the bodies. Then, as if the earth had crumbled under her feet, the lanky girl swayed and slumped to the floor.

  “Chen Hong!” Xiao Mei cried and grabbed her companion by the elbow. Barely four feet, ten inches, she slipped an arm around the taller girl’s waist, steadying her. “Chen Hong, we have to go.” Despite the warmth inside the house, she trembled. Worried that the soldiers would come back, she gathered her strength and urged again, “Now!”

  Arm-in-arm, they fled the house. It was dark. No one was in sight. The rising moon cast eerie shadows over the empty streets. An icy wind blasted through every crevice in their thin clothing and made their teeth chatter. In the distance, heavy artillery pounded away.

  “Where can we go?” asked Chen Hong. Her voice carried a trace of hysteria.

  Xiao Mei shook her head and looked up. The lanky girl’s eyes mirrored her own: sheer terror. The house was unsafe, but the outside hid impending danger too. “Go back.” She retreated, pulling Chen Hong along. “Wait until daybreak.”

  They hurried back to the house. Xiao Mei dragged a few chairs to barricade the front door with the broken lock. She switched off the lights. In darkness, they scurried through the living room, trying not to look at the bodies.

  Once in their bedroom, Xiao Mei closed the curtains. “Let’s block the door,” she said. Not knowing if it would be of any use, they moved a bed against the door.

  They huddled together. A whisper of light slinked under the drapes. Periodically, screams, shouts, and gunfire sliced through the darkness, sneaking into the house, terrorizing the young women. Around midnight, the electricity went out, taking away the faint light from the streetlamps and plunging the room into total blackness.

  The night was long.

  They cringed, cried, and held each other for comfort. Whenever they heard a noise outside the house, they jammed their fists into their mouths to prevent themselves from crying out, but their bodies quivered uncontrollably.

  Chapter 3

  Am I really foolish by coming back to Nanking? Jasmine wondered. They’d just passed the last train station. No one got on, and only a half dozen passengers remained in coach class, which was usually overcrowded.

  It was still more than an hour to their destination. The outside looked as black as death. Leaning against her seat, Jasmine winced and turned her gaze to the inside. Most of the fellow travelers were sleeping. She could see the back of their heads nodding with the movement of the train. An old man slumped against the window, his bald head bumping onto the glass, waking him up. He dozed again in no time. One stocky young man, whom she’d seen earlier, disappeared behind his seat, only his feet in black canvas shoes sticking out. A middle-aged woman paced back and forth from one end of the cabin to the other. She was wrapped in a thick brown twill jacket. On her fourth pass, she slid onto a seat across the aisle. “Are you going to Nanking by yourself?” she asked.

  Jasmine nodded. She was exhausted, but anxiety made it impossible for her to sleep.

  “Why? It’s dangerous there!”

  “I’m worried about my parents,” replied Jasmine, pulling her coat collar a little higher. “I’m going there to convince them to leave.”

  “Good girl.” The pleasant woman patted her on the hand. “If we don’t live too far away, we should share a rickshaw. It’ll be safer.”

  “My parents live near Nanking University.”

  “We’re close. Only three or four blocks away. I can send you home first.”

  Jasmine tipped her head in appreciation. “What about you? Why are you going to the city?” she asked. The nine hundred-mile, and nearly twenty-hour train ride had been long and lonely. She was glad to have someone to talk to. Their conversation broke the rhythmic, clickety-clackety sound and diluted an air of melancholy that surrounded them.

  “My daughter-in-law is due to give birth in a few days. It’s too late for her to lea
ve and there is no one to help her.”

  Jasmine arched an eyebrow.

  “My son is a lieutenant in the Nationalist Army. He’s fighting on the front line. He took part in the battle in Shanghai. I’m not sure where he is now. Maybe he’s close to Nanking.” Concern made the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced. “Their maid left. Who can blame her? No one wants to be there nowadays.”

  Jasmine felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew how worried her aunt had been about Birch, her much-loved cousin. Being a fighter pilot was dangerous, especially since he had to face the more powerful enemy. Thoughts of Birch tugged at her heart. She prayed for his safety for the umpteenth time.

  “Maybe the Army can hold the fort for a while,” Jasmine said. “My uncle is a colonel in the Air Force. He said that the Japanese leaders boasted that they could conquer us in three months, but it took them more than three months to capture Shanghai—one city. Our Army is far less advanced, but our soldiers are brave. Maybe it’ll take the Japs even longer to defeat Nanking. You’ll have time to take your daughter-in-law and grandchild away with you.”

  “Hopefully you’re right. What’s your name, girl?”

  “Bai Moli. Call me Jasmine.”

  “That’s a sweet name.”

  “Thanks. What’s yours?”

  “Li Suying.”

  Jasmine’s face relaxed into a smile for the first time on the trip. “My mom’s name is Bai Suying.” She took a paper sack of roasted chestnuts from her book pack and shared with her new friend, who reminded her of her mother. She’d bought two bags of roasted chestnuts which were her mother’s favorite. I’ll buy more, once I’m in Nanking. She also had peanuts for her father in her pack. Those were all she had. She’d left home as if she were going to school. Uncle and Auntie should have found the letter by now. I hope they’re not too angry with me.

  A pale light appeared on the eastern horizon as the train pulled into Nanking. The platform was crammed with people. Even though the train was still moving, Jasmine could see anxiety on their faces. What had happened here?