by Meira Chand
We twenty-three Westerners cannot feed 200,000 Chinese civilians and protect them day and night. That is the duty of the Japanese authorities. If you can give them protection, we can help feed them.
In the name of humanity we once more request you to please take steps to return Nanking to an orderly way of life. We assure you of our willingness to co-operate in every way for the welfare of the innocent civilians of the city.
Most respectfully submitted
The International Committee for Nanking Safety Zone
Kenjiro put down the letters, then reached across and placed them on top of a tray containing a further pile of such missives. Every day they came in from the Committee for the Safety Zone, hand-delivered by one or sometimes a delegation of the Westerners. He stared out of the window of his office. Ginling Women’s College was next door to the Embassy. Kenjiro had heard the screams of women the night before and gone himself, unable to bear it. Soldiers had surrounded the gate. They refused to let him through. He had returned to his office and Fukutake, who was also still in the building. They walked back together to the college. The hysteria inside was clearly audible. Once more the soldiers had refused to let them through, in spite of Fukutake’s threats. They had laughed in his face, liquor upon their breath.
‘We have no influence upon them at all,’ Kenjiro said. ‘We can do nothing.’ Distress filled his voice.
‘It is not our business,’ Fukutake replied grimly. ‘It does not do to forget we are civilians! We too are under command of the Military. The whole thing is sickening and shameful. If we make too much fuss, you know what our fate will be. The Kempeitai are already thick on the ground here. General Nakajima himself is in command in Nanking.’
Kenjiro was sure Fukutake, like himself, could not have slept that night. He tossed and turned and in the end got up as the first light broke and drank some brandy that he kept in reserve at the back of his cupboard.
The Embassy had already protested to the military high command at the behaviour of these soldiers. In the wake of the troops had come Japanese officials, including the diplomat, Counsellor Shunrokuro Hidaka, who had been aghast at what he saw. Kenjiro had gone in a delegation with Hidaka, to protest to General Matsui. Hidaka asked if the troops had not heard the orders of their superiors. Matsui had only muttered that it seemed the superiors themselves were to blame. Hidaka had also visited Prince Asaka to express his horror at the state of things. Little had come of the visit. Back at the Embassy Hidaka had fumed.
‘Nothing of what is happening in Nanking may ever come to light in the Japanese press, but you can be sure the world press will spread it over every newspaper page. With all these foreigners here, how can it be otherwise? The situation is intolerable. It is a disgrace to the name of Japan. How has any of this been allowed to happen?’ His disgust was palpable.
Hidaka had written a detailed report, and cabled it back to the Foreign Ministry in Tokyo. A copy was also sent to the War Minister. Tension pervaded the Embassy. If someone of the stature of Counsellor Hidaka had failed to halt the war of punishment, their helplessness was assured.
‘My report will cause some uproar in Tokyo, of that you can be assured,’ Hidaka predicted as he left.
The sky was blue behind the vermilion Bell Tower, but about its sweeping roof the city lay in rubble. Through the months of air raids life had been a continual race from desk to dugout and back again. At the end, exhausted and fatalistic, most people had no longer heeded the planes, but sat stoically at their desks. All that was now stopped.
Japanese troops had poured into the city with tanks, artillery, infantry and trucks. The population of Nanking had hesitantly welcomed the troops, sure peace would at last prevail with the occupation. Instead, it seemed they had entered hell. Kenjiro stared at the curling eaves of the Bell Tower. His head ached. Chaos instead of order, terror instead of calm was all the army had brought so far. A clerk entered to announce Mr Strang of the Safety Zone Committee. Kenjiro waited for Mr Strang and more letters of complaint.
‘Let us hope it does not snow.’ Kenjiro shook Mr Strang’s hand.
‘Too many already endure deprivation without deteriorating weather,’ Mr Strang agreed. ‘How long will this go on?’
As long as thought necessary, Kenjiro answered silently. He was under no delusion about the military; 20,000 more troops were due to stream into Nanking.
‘Things will be better soon, I hope,’ he replied aloud.
‘A few days of chaos were expected while Chinese forces withdrew and you Japanese began the occupation. After this we hoped normality would be restored and the refugees could return to their homes. The disorder has got to stop. We have as yet received no answer to our previous letters.’ Mr Strang spoke firmly. ‘It is not much to ask, just an answer to a letter.’
Kenjiro sighed. It was not pleasant to be the repository of antagonism between the Safety Committe and the Japanese Embassy. Because of his fluency in English and French he had been appointed to deal with the foreigners.
‘There are bound to be a few disorderly incidents in circumstances such as these.’ The words reverberated uncomfortably through Kenjiro. He had said the same thing to Teng at their last meeting.
‘There is a general terror of your army. There has already been more looting by your troops than by the retreating Chinese soldiers. Our trucks and cars are being stolen. These are essential to us for delivering rice and coal to camps in the Safety Zone.’ Mr Strang drew himself up to full height.
‘The army has also commandeered our Embassy cars. You must understand, we are not allowed to recognise your Committee or the Safety Zone,’ Kenjiro replied.
Some time before General Nakajima and Colonel Muto had entered the town, rolling in on a stream of armoured vehicles. With their divisions there would now be eight thousand Japanese soldiers in Nanking. Prince Asaka had put General Nakajima in charge of maintaining public peace but, as far as Kenjiro knew, no more than fourteen policemen had arrived with Nakajima to assist him in this order. He did not tell Mr Strang this.
Colonel Muto, responsible for the billeting of troops in the Nanking area, had already informed the Embassy that the camps outside the city walls were inadequate and the army would billet as they wished in town. Nakajima had been late in arriving. The news at the Embassy was that he had taken ten thousand captives outside the walls of Nanking. Through the night his men had exhausted themselves herding prisoners to the edge of the Yangtze. Their fingers grew sore from machine gunning, and the river ran red with blood. By morning bodies clogged the shore like wet sandbags. Kenjiro pushed this disturbing picture from his mind and listened again to Mr Strang.
‘The Safety Zone has received full recognition from the Chinese authorities. In Shanghai there was never a problem. General Matsui himself donated money to their Safety Zone. We have been hit many times in the southern part of the Zone, killing nine innocent people. Your soldiers stream through it and terrorise everyone.’
‘Nanking is not Shanghai. The Embassy will do what it can to help you, these conditions are not to our liking. Although we cannot officially recognise you, we will treat you as if we did recognise you. At the beginning of December the Ambassador made it clear to your Committee that this is all we can promise,’ Kenjiro replied.
‘These are our complaints and requests to you for today.’ Mr Strang placed several envelopes upon the desk.
The military had advised all foreign nationals to leave Nanking. It was not pleased that twenty-three Westerners remained in the city. Get them out, the military commander who visited the Embassy ordered. A ship is being sent from Shanghai; put them on it, he demanded. It was pointless to explain to him the uselessness of such imperatives with committed Westerners.
‘Posters have been put up all over town by your military, advising soldiers to give themselves up and trust to the mercy of the Imperial Army,’ Mr Strang continued. ‘At the Safety Zone Headquarters we are in the process of disarming those Chinese soldiers who have com
e to us in obedience to this announcement. We are doing what we can to persuade them they will be fairly treated, in accordance with the Geneva Convention.’
‘For every one that voluntarily surrenders himself there must be two who have already discarded their uniforms and merged with the civilians in your Zone,’ Kenjiro pointed out.
Mr Strang ignored this observation. ‘We would appreciate you coming to Headquarters, to report on the surrender. We wish it to be official.’
‘If you are not recognised, nothing can be official,’ Kenjiro argued. His headache was worsening. ‘I will come if it pleases you, but I can do nothing.’ Mr Strang nodded and soon left.
Within an hour Kenjiro left the Embassy for the Safety Zone Headquarters. A gust of wind hit him as he stepped outside. He tightened the scarf about his neck. There was dust in his mouth again. It blew on the breeze, swept up from the heaps of rubble littering the town, remnants of the recent blitz. Beyond the Embassy the city was in ruins. Outside the gate he climbed over a pile of bricks, once part of the Embassy wall. By the time he reached the road his trouser legs were ringed with chalky grime. People no longer hurried about between sirens, glancing anxiously at the sky. They walked with the vacant look of sleepwalkers, unable to take more stress.
In the distance Kenjiro saw the flicker of flames and watched a group of soldiers before a burning house. Carts, wheelbarrows and rickshaws trundled past, bearing the contents of Nanking’s prosperity. Soldiers carried away sewing machines, blackwood chairs, or embroidered quilts upon their backs, bent double under the weight of loot like a trail of loaded ants. An army truck passed bearing two grand pianos and a grandfather clock. All shop fronts were smashed. Smouldering debris was at every corner. Bodies lay by the roadside, some horribly bayoneted. Bands of soldiers appeared to roam about at will, without command, free to pillage. There was a wild look about these men, their faces reddened by the drink they found in the shops and homes they smashed. Fukutake had mumbled that he had some suspicion the army also issued them liquor, along with orders to terrorise. In the distance the sun flashed on the blades of bayonets. Kenjiro shivered and drew his coat closer. There was menace, sharp as acid in the air. Its essence pervaded everything. He was one of the victors, with no need to fear the conquering horde, and yet panic flickered through him. Stray dogs appeared suddenly fat, fed upon a deluge of corpses. He hurried on.
Soon he came upon the building where the Chinese soldiers were being disarmed. It had once been a grand place of courtyards and gardens. One wing was in ruins but the others remained, springing up from the dust like a phoenix, yellow-tiled roofs alive in the sun. For a moment, seeing the reflection of the sun and the past, Kenjiro’s heart lightened. Teng would also probably be here. He liaised between the International Committee and the Red Swastika Society, the Buddhist Red Cross with whom he now worked. Instead of leaving for the interior, Teng had stayed on in Nanking.
He trembled at the thought of Teng and laughed at himself. Teng was not a woman that his emotions must be tied in knots. They had not met since the day Teng worked himself into a rage, turning upon Kenjiro in front of the Russian woman and the English journalist. Perhaps it was an illusion to think their friendship could survive this war.
He reached the first courtyard through a side gate. It was packed with the remains of the ragged Chinese Army. They appeared an exhausted, undernourished, tubercular lot. There was the constant sound of hawking and spitting. Kenjiro wore the armband of a Japanese official and men parted before him, the scent of terror thick amongst them at the sight of him. He walked up the steps into the entrance hall.
The kerosene stoves barely eased the chill in the cavernous, stoneflagged chamber. The queue of men had filed through the room for hours, surrendering rifles and bayonets. Many were still in army attire but others, in panic, had already discarded their uniforms and joined the force of labourers in the Safety Zone. Now they surrendered themselves as the International Committee advised. They wore straw sandals that made no sound. It was the Westerners, with their thick, hard shoes whose footsteps echoed. Everywhere he looked he saw, standing out from the compact Asiatic bodies, the tall awkward foreigners with their bony faces.
‘I have no doubt your army will treat these men mercifully for their surrender. We have assured them of it,’ said Mr Strang, coming forward to greet him. They stood in a cold corridor, their breath clouding between them.
He followed Mr Strang to view the procedure of disarming and saw Teng in the compound where the soldiers were collecting. He was supervising the distribution of rice. As soon as possible Kenjiro made his way towards him. Teng looked up at Kenjiro’s voice, but continued with his work.
‘These men are terrified,’ Teng announced. It was as if they had met only yesterday. The bucket from which he ladled out cold rice had a broken handle. There were dark food stains down the skirt of his gown. He had not shaved for days, growth sprouted unevenly from his chin. His hair was uncombed, giving him the appearance of a wild hermit.
‘The Japanese Army needs these men for labour,’ Kenjiro replied, trying to sound in authority.
‘Can you tell me, as POWs, will they be treated according to the rights laid down by the Geneva Convention?’ Teng asked. He gripped the handle of the pail until his knuckles grew white. ‘All this trust of the Japanese military by the Safety Zone Committee is the naïve thought of Christian missionaries. Good people, but not realists,’ Teng growled. ‘They are prepared to risk their lives to save Nanking, but instead I fear their naïvety will cause the death of thousands. These foreigners have failed to assess the Japanese Army correctly, especially in its new role of conqueror.’
‘Why did you not leave Nanking?’ Kenjiro asked. He ignored Teng’s heated remarks.
‘There were things to finish up here. The gate closed almost literally in my face.’
‘I am glad you are here,’ Kenjiro admitted. He wanted to know their friendship remained beyond wars or the plans of unscrupulous men. Nothing seemed more important.
‘I have been busy, burying the innocent victims of your army. That seems our main work in the Red Swastika Society. There are many monks in the organisation.’ Teng ladled out the last portion of rice and made his way to a tap in the corner of the courtyard to wash out the bucket. Kenjiro followed, feeling a flicker of anger. He did not like Teng’s tone and this talk of ‘your army’, as if Kenjiro was part of a conspiracy.
‘I am nothing to do with the army,’ Kenjiro burst out. Teng looked up with a mild expression.
Near the tap a plum tree clung to a moss-covered rock, its bare roots gripping one side of the stone. A few early blossoms had opened. Large, craggy boulders and others worn to strange shapes by the erosion of river currents, were arranged about a pond.
‘This was once a beautiful place,’ Teng sighed looking about the garden that had formerly belonged to the Minister of the Interior. ‘Each of these boulders has been carefully chosen, and hauled from the beds of deep rivers. Nanking will never look like this again.’ He sat down on his upturned bucket. ‘What shall we be rid of if we want peace and happiness? What shall we do to be rid of sorrow? What is the poison that devours good thoughts?’
‘What are you chanting?’ Kenjiro asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
‘The Song of Enlightenment; you have forgotten. I remember a time, many years ago of course, when you were interested in Buddhist sutras.’
In Paris Kenjiro recalled they had studied the life of the Sixth Patriarch and the Buddhist sutras of the Ch’an school of Buddhism that in Japan had become institutionalised as Zen. They had both been drawn to this school of sudden conversion, free of ritual and idolatry. Much time had been spent in educating Jacqueline in this esoteric learning. That life seemed now another world away. He could not remember a single sutra whereas Teng still chanted them fluently. Teng kept the company of monks, as well as Communists, Kenjiro suspected. In the middle of the crowded, busy, depressing place, Kenjiro felt alone. Beside
him Teng sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow.
‘We have come a long way,’ Kenjiro said in a low voice.
‘Too far,’ Teng replied. ‘Look at these poor men. We are both, you know, in the midst of national tragedy. The fall of Nanking will do Japan no good. It is the beginning of the end for you. And as for China . . . ’ His voice trailed off before he continued.
‘Three hundred thousand soldiers were left to defend Nanking, you know. They were trapped in a triangle, with the city at its apex. Against all advice General Tang volunteered to defend the city, but later fled like a coward without leaving orders for defence. The army collapsed then, like a body without a head. Panic ensued. Some soldiers discarded their uniforms and arms and merged with the civilians in the Safety Zone. Some, half-mad with terror, tried to cross the river letting themselves down over the city walls with ropes, puttees and torn clothing. Thousands more drowned as overcrowded junks capsized and sank in the Yangtze. The river gates were jammed with stalled trucks and cars that overturned and burned, killing hundreds more. Trampled, stinking corpses piled higher and higher, blocking all traffic. I was there, I can tell you.’ Teng spoke without intonation. He sighed and then continued.
‘Has there ever been a war like this? Do you know since August millions have been forced to flee their homes in this Shanghai-Nanking area? They flee mass slaughter brought about by an incomprehensible invasion by an incomprehensible army. The countryside is depopulated and barren. The Japanese march on, hoping to catch up with wealth and the disintegrating Chinese Army. But they will find neither. The army has already withdrawn and will reorganise. And China’s wealth is in the industrious character of her people.’ Teng stopped and the strength seemed to fade from him. Kenjiro said nothing.