Dreams of the Red Phoenix (27 page)

Shirley took a step back. “I must, sir?”

“Stop calling me ‘sir,'” he practically shouted. “Say ‘comrade.'
That is what we are. Comrades. Do you understand the differ
ence?”

For the first time, she felt frightened by the force of the man.

“You must go back to your people in America,” he said and
started to pace. “Visit your churches, and neighbors, and politi
cians. Tell them not to listen to the noninterventionists. Tell them
we need America here and on our side. Now! Do you under
stand?”

Shirley nodded.

“You can do much more there than here,” he said. “Now, go.”

Shirley tried to compose herself. Whenever she had pic
tured herself stateside, she saw her stultifying childhood home
in Cleveland, pointless lunches with her mother and her friends
at the country club, or shopping with Kathryn and her mother
at dull department stores. Going home meant a certain death of
spirit, she was sure. But this Red leader was offering an altogeth
er different vision of her future that seemed difficult to fathom.

“I'm not sure I understand,” she said.

“You are an upper-class lady,” he said. “You do not belong in
the midst of all this. A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing
an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery! It is work.”
His voice remained jarring and loud and commanding. “Those
superficial pastimes are all you know how to do, am I right?” he
asked. “Not this.”

She gathered up her courage and said, “Well, I am a trained
nurse, you know. And proud of it now.”

“All right, then, be a nurse. But in America, not here,” he said.
“First, though, go to your university president, your bank-owner
friends, your fat-cat acquaintances. Raise money, and send it to
us!” He rose onto the balls of his bare feet on the carpet. “Why
are you here when you could be doing so much more for us there?
Go!” he shouted. “Go back to America. You have a job to do!”

Her hand trembled as she brushed back hair from her brow.
“Yes, of course, you're right, sir. Awfully right,” she added, “I
mean comrade.”

He shook his head and said in a more measured tone, “Good
evening, Mrs. Carson. Now, off you go.” He waved her toward
the door, snatched another book from the table, and threw his
heavy frame down onto the cot.

She backed away but stumbled over a stack of books and then
another. “I'm so sorry,” she mumbled and knelt down to put
them back in order.

“Leave them,” he barked from the shadows. “I am finished
with those, anyway. I have read them already.”

Shirley stood and glanced around at the hundreds of volumes
in piles all around her. “You have read all of these?” she couldn't
help asking. “That's remarkable.”

He let out a pleased chuckle. “Yes, it has been a productive
summer. Earlier, we had skirmishes with the Japanese Imperial
Army and won over the people by fighting an enemy they de
spise.” His voice softened even more, as if they were old friends.
“But of course, Mrs. Carson, the many wounded and dead Red
Army soldiers seem a tragedy to you.” He sucked air between his
teeth and offered an apologetic sigh. “Yet it cannot be helped. We
have let the Nationalists take over the battle with the Japanese,
and they lose ten times more men than we do while we sit tight
here in the North. But soon enough, we will reengage accord
ing to a new policy.” He cleared his throat and raised the book
into the air as if it could light the way forward. “I will declare
that
Chinese do not fight Chinese!
We will act as a true United
Front, not just in name. Together we will rid our country of the
dwarf barbarians. Peasants and landlords must fight side by side
to throw off the imperialist yoke!”

He fanned himself with the book. “But in this miserable heat,
my men learn to read and write and train to be better soldiers.
An army without culture is a dull-witted army, and a dull-witted
army cannot defeat the enemy. So we farm a little. We raise goats.
And I read in order to become a more educated man. All in all, a
most satisfying summer.”

Shirley wished she could engage him further but bowed
quickly and said good-night.

“Good night, Nurse Carson,” he replied as she stepped out of
the tent. “Safe travels back to your home county.”

C
aptain Hsu stood alone—solitary and quiet for a moment, a
man usually surrounded by people. Shirley couldn't imagine
what went through his mind as he gazed into the embers. From
such different worlds, their paths had crossed and even joined for
a time, but she hardly knew him and never would. She allowed
herself to finally realize that she would be leaving soon.

“I hope you had a successful meeting,” he said as she stepped
closer.

“Did you know that he reads an extraordinary amount?”

“There is much to learn.”

“He had advice for me. Rather stern advice.”

“And you are actually willing to follow it?”

“I believe so,” she said with a smile. “He has instructed me to
go back to America right away and raise funds and awareness
for your cause. He thinks I will be of more use there than here.”

“That sounds correct,” he said and turned her way. “But I will
be sad to see you go, Nurse Carson. I will miss you.”

He had never spoken so openly before, and it made her blush.

“We are friends,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “and comrades.”

They would say their good-byes soon, and she would return
home to tell others about the worthy work of the Communists in
China. But in her mind, and perhaps even her heart, she would
be remembering this moment when Captain Hsu had confirmed
their friendship and then gracefully let her go.

“I will take you back to the mission first thing in the morn
ing,” he said. “It is too late tonight to travel. You can sleep a few
hours, and we'll depart at dawn.”

“But I told Charles I'd be home tonight. I'd like to go now,
please.”

“I'm sorry, but I must attend a meeting. Our leader accom
plishes a great deal in the dead of night. I will escort you to the
women's tent. Comrade Li is in charge there, and she will give
you a change of clothing. You can rest for a while.”

She followed him through the camp, passing the injured
soldiers and groups of men who sat chatting on their bedrolls
and playing cards at makeshift tables. Many of them bowed
their heads deferentially as Captain Hsu passed. She wanted
to ask him about his role at the camp and the workings of the
Eighth Route Army. If she was going to tell people about it
back home, she needed to learn more. She would press Cap
tain Hsu to fill her in as they rode back to the mission together
in the morning.

But for now, she noticed that the men appeared content, de
spite their poor nutrition and lack of proper weapons, uniforms,
and supplies. Shirley could tell she was being converted to the
Communist cause, precisely what Reverend Wells and Kathryn
had warned her against. And yet, she thought, if only they could
see these soldiers, who did not swagger or misbehave. The rural
Chinese boys seemed the opposite of the Japanese soldiers, who
had been trained to lose their humanity in war. These young
men, reading by candlelight and carrying on discussions in seri
ous tones, appeared to be gaining theirs.

“Comrade Li is expecting you,” said Captain Hsu. “She's a bit
gruff, but I think you'll be fine. I will collect you at dawn.”

He offered a quick bow and departed. Shirley stepped inside
the long, open-sided building, where a sea of women soldiers lay
asleep on straw mats. At the near end, several sat whispering in
conversation by a flickering oil lamp. Shirley went to them and
bowed to the oldest of the group, a matron with a waist as thick
around as her chest.

“Good evening, Comrade Li,” Shirley said in the local dialect
and bowed again.

The younger women giggled, apparently amused by the sight
of her. She looked down at her disheveled appearance. Her lace
skirt was covered in yellow dust, and the linen of her riding coat
appeared wrinkled and stained. Her untucked blouse was open
low, exposing a gold necklace bearing the phoenix charm that
Caleb had given to her. Shirley wasn't dressed formally, or par
ticularly well, but these women in pale-blue uniforms and gray
caps with thick belts to hold up their pants might never have seen
a white woman before, or a woman dressed for anything but dif
ficult work. The younger ones had narrow hips and hardly any
breasts, and Shirley assumed they were underfed, even starving,
farm girls who, like their brothers, had joined up when the army
passed through their desolate provinces and felt lucky to be here.

“Captain Hsu brought me,” she said with another bow.

“I know who you are.” Comrade Li studied Shirley from
the toes of her riding boots up past the hem of her skirt and the
length of her long coat, then let out a disapproving grunt. “Uni
form there.” She pointed to a pile of folded clothing at the foot
of a cot.

A strong body odor emanated from the older woman when
she lifted her arm, and Shirley told herself not to be prissy and
particular. She thanked the matron and went to retrieve the
clothing she had been assigned. When she looked about for a
private place to change, Comrade Li gave a sharp look and Shir
ley understood she was meant to disrobe right there. The young
women followed her with great curiosity and watched as she be
gan to undress. When she removed her riding coat and placed it
on the straw mat, the boldest of the girls reached over and ran a
finger down the lapel.

Shirley said, “Try it on if you like.”

The girl's eyes brightened as she snatched it up. She was about
to slip her arm into the sleeve when Comrade Li sauntered over
and reached out a hand. The girl gave it to her, and Comrade
Li tried to fit it over her substantial frame, but the seams pulled
across her broad back. The older woman took it off in disgust.
Shirley gathered it and swung it over the matron's shoulders like
a cape. The girls seemed to like that, and Comrade Li gave an
approving nod.

Shirley pulled on a pair of light-blue cotton pants and a
matching tunic. She cinched the belt at her waist. Finally she
slipped into a pair of thin canvas shoes that were too small, so she
wore them as sandals with the heels flattened. The other women
watched as she set a green army cap with the red star upon her
head. Although there was no mirror with which to check, Shirley
could tell from their abundant smiles that it looked fine.

“If you stay long enough, we will cut off your fancy curls!”
Comrade Li let loose a guttural laugh and tugged on a handful of
Shirley's thick, wavy hair. “Western women wear hair every which
way. Very decadent hair! But now we sleep,” Comrade Li said.
“You lie next to me, and I make sure you do not wander off.”

Captain Hsu would have been proud of the restraint Shirley
showed. “That is very kind of you, Comrade Li, but I would like
to get some air before I sleep. I want to walk around. I ask your
permission to go,” Shirley said and bowed. Comrade Li looked
repulsed by the strange habits of American women but dismissed
her.

Outdoors again, Shirley was plunged into country darkness.
The bonfire had gone out. Across the vast sky, the stars seemed
to have only multiplied since earlier in the evening, a pale wash
strung from horizon to horizon. Three swift shooting stars passed
overhead in a period of minutes, each a small, startling miracle.
They left behind tails that hung in the blackness long enough to
become etched into Shirley's memory. She was in an army camp
halfway around the world from where she had been born, in a
danger zone, and yet she felt strangely at ease and even energized
by the autumn air that rolled across from the distant mountains.
So much seemed possible.