A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China (27 page)

“The Chinese government opened the Yellow River dikes, causing the flood,” Glorious Dragon said with disgust. “Then they blamed the act on the Japanese.”

“Of course it’s the Chinese government,” Bright Crystal responded with an emphatic jab of her nail file. “The Japanese were already marching into the interior. Why would they send their advancing army into disarray?” She worked on her long-neglected nails. “Where were you during the flood, my Dragon?”

Glorious Dragon ate from a breakfast tray in Bright Crystal’s bed. He wolfed down a pork bun, and proceeded to slurp loudly on soft bean-curd soup, seasoned with chopped, spicy mustard roots, ground dried shrimps and seaweed.

“I went to Hangzhou after I left Shanghai. Knowing General Chin’s long arm of influence, I did not stay long. Lao Wang still had a close grip on our household affairs. He supplied me with money for my escape.”

Crystal perfumed herself and applied make-up.

“When the dikes broke and the flood came, I had already moved on toward my mother’s village, hoping to find something about her origin. Oh my Crystal.” He stopped eating. “You can’t imagine the misery! Thousands died. Many more thousands were reduced to gnawing on tree bark. Dysentery and cholera set in . . . oh, Crystal, you’ve never seen such hollow-eyed children, skeletal, emaciated men and women. The bastards who committed such deeds are the true traitors, whatever they call themselves!”

“So, you gave away your money and became one of them?”

“There was no food to buy! Within a week, I exchanged everything I owned. When I learned that the Japanese had occupied Shanghai, I walked all the way back.” He saw Crystal’s tear-stained eyes and beckoned her to join him. Reclining in shimmering silk sheets, they leisurely traced their fingertips over each other’s arms, legs, lips and nipples.

Bright Crystal whispered into Glorious Dragon’s ear: “I think Iris has a Japanese boyfriend. They met in Hangzhou, when Iris helped to nurse the wounded in Miss Tyler’s mission. There were so many poisoning cases among the soldiers that the
Kempetai
, the Japanese secret police, came. Iris’s boyfriend is a lieutenant, but strangely, he was born in the United States. He sounds terribly interesting. We must invite them here, and place ourselves under
Kempetai
protection, so we’ll never need to fear General Chin’s underworld connections.”

The mischievous glint returned to Glorious Dragon’s eyes. “Yes, yes, now you’ll be freely, openly mine!”

After several weeks, Iris brought Lieutenant Akiro Kamasaki to Avenue Joffre. Lieutenant Kamasaki, born in California, was most taken with the English-speaking Iris. To him, she was a radiant angel of mercy, nursing wounded Japanese soldiers as well as the Chinese.

Both Glorious Dragon and Bright Crystal had preconceived notions of what a Japanese looked like. They had expected a short, bow-legged man, with sly slits of eyes and an irascible temper that expressed itself in guttural grunts. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to meet Lt. Kamasaki, dressed in a gray three-piece suit. He was even taller than Glorious Dragon. His large, somewhat bulging eyes lent him the expression of a curious imp; his slightly protruding mouth was overshadowed by a handlebar moustache. When he changed into tennis shorts, he was noticeably more hairy than most Chinese. He was an excellent tennis player. Glorious Dragon noticed his forceful serves.

The game over, they lounged on the rattan couches in the sunroom and enjoyed a drink.

“You’re tall like an American,” Glorious Dragon said.

“My parents like to attribute my height and weight to the American milk and meat I was raised on. I think it is simply a case of the recessive gene, plus my muscle-building exercises,” Lt. Kamasaki replied.

“Perhaps your parents were correct. You said you stopped growing after you returned to Japan,” added Iris. Her thin cherry lips quivered as she glanced toward her lover.

“Oh yes, but by then I was already eighteen-years-old.” Kamasaki smiled. “I had stopped growing at sixteen.” He admired Iris’s quiet reserve and quick intelligence. He was also touched by the open gratitude she felt for her former masters.

“So, if you were born in America,” Glorious Dragon mused, “how did you get into the Japanese military?”

“It was not easy being Oriental in the United States. The Americans can’t tell one Asian from another.” He looked fondly into Iris’s glowing face. How calm and liquid were her eyes. “I was often called a ‘Chink.’” He continued, “a ’yellow bastard,’ a ‘sly-eyed scum’! We could live with the name-calling, but our neighbors did not want us around. Japanese immigrants were not allowed to own land, but since I was born in America, my family bought some land in my name. We worked hard and our farm prospered. Our neighbors did not do as well. First, our dog was poisoned; then our barn caught fire. One night, a tractor mysteriously crushed some of our crops. So it went, one disaster after another. We reported these incidents to the police, but they took no action. They said they could find no evidence of mischief. My parents began to fear for our lives. We sold the farm for a song and returned to Japan ten years ago.” The lieutenant shrugged.

“We in China thought the Americans were helping Japan.” Glorious Dragon wrinkled his brow. “They sell you all the scrap metal and gasoline you need.”

“It is our money they respect!”

“Trade benefits both parties,” Crystal said.

“Yes, the Westerners want to trade.” Lt. Kamasaki gave a bitter short laugh. “I still have some very good American friends on a personal level, but Europe and America are not ready for racial equality.”

Kamasaki stood and started to pace. “Do you know that during the Paris Peace Conference in 1918, Japan asked for ‘acceptance of the principle of the equality of nations and the just treatment of their nationals?’” His voice rose in anger. “This basic doctrine of human decency was rejected by our idealistic President Wilson — out of consideration for the feelings of our southern senators.” He looked on the puzzled faces of his Chinese friends and corrected himself. “Excuse me, I should say ‘their President, and their southern senators.’ We’re conversing so fluently in English, I thought I was back with my American-Chinese friends.”

“So you’re not totally used to being a Japanese,” Glorious Dragon spoke gruffly to conceal his pity for the young man’s confused identity. Kamasaki looked no older than twenty-six.

“I guess not.” Lt. Kamasaki sighed. “None of my compatriots know this, of course. My mind and heart are in America, which has rejected me. Japan is supposed to be a Confucian state, like China, but they have renounced the rule of ‘virtue’ and become seduced by the might of the sword.”

As they looked at him with undisguised sympathy, he stopped abruptly and shouted: “I said ‘they’ didn’t I? Well, I’ve been drafted into the army and I’m now a part of it all.”

“No Akiro,” Iris spoke in a hushed voice, “you’ve helped so many Chinese. You said you had grown up with many Chinese-Americans!”

“Yes, I have.” He had witnessed the destruction his army brought. It pained him to consider the victims — his racial brothers.

Bright Crystal kept still throughout the conversation, taking measure of this young man who had struggled so hard with his conscience while he participated in the crime against her country. “When a society discriminates against a person for his color or her sex, humanity is blighted!” She spoke with such force, everyone turned to look at her.

There was no need to elaborate. She had spoken for them all.

S
EVERAL WEEKS LATER, the villa on Avenue Joffre was again aglitter with lights. This time the finest Japanese sake was heated and served to accompany the twelve-course Chinese dinner. Iris came with Lieutenant Akiro Kamasaki and some of his colleagues.

Kamasaki had prepared his Chinese friends for a meeting with Lieutenant General Goto. Goto had come from peasant stock and had spent forty of his fifty-five years in the military. Hard work and clever war strategies brought him high rank and honor, but he never acquired cosmopolitan charm. He looked like the stereotypical dwarf bandit that most Chinese envisioned— short and bowlegged. He spoke very little English, so Kamasaki translated for his superior. Captain Fujii and two of his assistants spoke perfect Mandarin with a Manchurian accent. They had been stationed in Manchukuo for years and had acquired a taste for Chinese living. They much preferred the many complicated spices of Chinese food. Following Japanese custom, they removed their shoes at the front door. They admired Bright Crystal’s Western-style parlor — the piano and the comfortable sofas. The spacious Chinese dining room, the elegant, sturdy, but intricately carved rosewood tables and chairs all impressed them.

The Japanese had the same finger-guessing game for drinking wine, and the Chinese hosts soon learned to say: “
Ichi, ni, san, shi, go
” (Japanese for “one, two, three, four, five”).

“We have so much in common.” Glorious Dragon raised his cup for a toast: “In Chinese, we say ‘
yee, erh, san, sze, woo
.’ Otherwise, the throwing of fingers and fist is the same! Amazing!”

There followed an amiable enumeration of common elements in both cultures. Japan had adopted Confucian philosophy and literature during the third century. So the concepts of filial piety and loyalty to the emperor were shared experiences. In daily life, both countries used chopsticks and soy sauce, and everyone enjoyed the Chinese banquet. Whenever General Goto was fuzzy on the meaning of some phrase or sentence, they resorted to writing Chinese. The Japanese “Kanji” script had been adopted almost unaltered from Chinese ideograms, making the understanding between the Chinese and Japanese around the table complete.

“With so much in common, I wonder why the Chinese would not accept our doctrine of ‘
Wang Tao
’
?” General Goto smiled and asked Glorious Dragon.

“
Wang Tao
” literally translates to “Kings’ Way.” It is the ancient Chinese teaching of obedience and filial service to the king. In the Japanese interpretation, it was their design to restore China under the rule of the sometime Manchu child emperor P’u Yi, whom they had installed in the puppet state of Manchukuo. The Chinese outcry against this titular head was universal. General Goto had brought up the subject to gauge the political inclination of the Chinese at the table.

Glorious Dragon did not take the bait. He would not be drawn into an unpleasant discussion. Instead, he smiled and said: “Let’s not go into politics. Tonight, we’ll drink to our new friendship!” He proceeded to play the finger-throwing game with an aide.

General Goto soon joined in the raucous drinking. But his jovial spirits were soon disturbed by a call. The telephone was brought to him. He listened. Answering with grunts, and an occasional “
hai
,” he slammed down the phone with disgust. “They’re sending me some arrest warrants to sign.” The general drained his cup as he spoke. “Some Chinese are getting very bold. They’re shipping war materials to Hong Kong for transhipment to the Nationalists. Send the papers in to me when the messenger comes.”

Lt. Kamasaki translated for General Goto as Bright Crystal left the dining room to instruct the doorman. Iris excused herself and followed.

“Crystal.” Iris drew Bright Crystal aside in the hallway. “Mr. Chou’s brother-in-law, my employer, has been manufacturing and shipping uniforms and whatever war materials he could lay his hands on down to Hong Kong. I’m sure General Goto means to sign his arrest warrant!”

“Oh no,” Bright Crystal answered in hushed anxiety. “What are we to do?”

“We can’t call the Huangs,” Iris said urgently. “Such things are not to be trusted to the telephones. The Japanese have ways of listening in.”

“My Dragon will want to go and help Righteous Virtue escape.” Bright Crystal paced the hall like a cat. “Would Lt. Kamasaki be offended if we got all the Japanese drunk? We cannot afford to have your lieutenant upset.”

“It will be hard to get Akiro drunk, but I’ll find a way to tell him to pretend. He often complains that his colleagues get drunk and do irresponsible things. I’m sure he will be willing to help the Huangs, for my sake.”

“Go back to the banquet before they become suspicious. Leave everything to me.” Bright Crystal disappeared into the kitchen.

When the Japanese messenger arrived on his motorcycle, the doorman directed him to park it outside the front gate.

“The general was not pleased with the disturbance,” he was told. He was then led to a back parlor where a feast of food and sake waited for him on a small table. The soldier was sorely tempted, but following protocol, he asked to speak first to General Goto. He was told to wait.

The soldier had come from sentry duty, and the ride on the motorcycle had further chilled him. The scent of warm sake wafted up from the little table. He edged closer. Suddenly, he heard footsteps. He drew away and straightened himself in preparation for a salute.

The footsteps stopped near the door and a female voice trilled, “No, no, General Goto, you really must not.” A lady giggled. There was the hard breathy sound of an urgent male, entreating in unintelligible Japanese. The soldier smiled knowingly, while the doorman entered with his head lowered in mock embarrassment.