Chinese Cinderella and the Secret Dragon Society (20 page)

‘But why put yourselves out like this?’ Lawson persisted. ‘The Japanese might even kill you for helping us. We owe you so much. How can we repay you?’

‘What payment are you talking about? It is an
honour to help you,’ David cried. ‘What you’ve done is extraordinary. Our history books will be full of your daring deeds. Your story will be passed from generation to generation. You have struck a blow at the heart of the enemy. You have taken away their
qi
. You have shown the bully that he can be beaten. You are heroes in the eyes of every Chinese!’

‘Do all of you feel the same way?’ Lawson asked. ‘There seems to be something special between you…’

‘Maybe it’s because all of us have experienced discrimination in one form or another,’ Marat answered thoughtfully. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamt of fighting battles on behalf of the underdog and righting the wrongs of those unjustly accused. Now that I know kung fu, I can finally do something about the injustice I see all around me.’

‘Perhaps this quest for justice is the bond that binds us,’ Sam said. ‘I do believe that injustice anywhere is a threat to equality and justice everywhere. I’m here to fight injustice too, just like you, Marat!’

‘Isn’t that exactly what you Americans are doing by bombing Japan and helping China’s resistance fighters?’ I asked fervently. ‘You remind me of stories my aunt used to tell about the
you xia
(
),
wandering knights errant of old. The heroes risked their lives to help others also.’

‘I just hope the hatred ends,’ Thatcher said. ‘You know, kids, today is my birthday. I turned twenty-one today.’

‘You’re only nine years older than me?’ Marat was shocked. ‘I thought you were much, much older!’

‘Twenty-one years old,’ I said, remembering the zodiac that Big Aunt had taught me the day before she left. ‘That means you were born in 1921, the year of the chicken. People born in the year of the chicken tend to be pioneers. You are devoted to your work and thirst after knowledge.’

‘How do you know that?’ Thatcher asked with a smile. ‘Not that I’m contradicting you regarding my noble character, of course.’

‘According to our Chinese zodiac,’ I replied, ‘there are twelve years in a cycle. Each year is named after a different animal. The year 1921 was the year of the chicken. We Chinese believe that the year of a person’s birth determines his personality. Although I don’t know you very well, I have a chart which says that people born in the year of the chicken love to work and study.’

‘I was born in 1917,’ Lawson said. ‘What’s my animal sign?’

‘1917 was the year of the snake,’ Sam said quickly, before I could come up with the answer. ‘Snake people are wise and intense. We also tend to be temperamental. I said “we” because I myself was born in the year of the snake.’

‘That means I’m exactly twelve years older than you,’ Lawson said.

‘What’s your animal sign, Marat?’ Thatcher asked.

‘The horse.’

‘Born in 1930,’ I interrupted. ‘Just like me.’

‘I was born twelve years earlier in 1918,’ Davenport said. ‘Does that mean I am also a horse person? What are we like?’

‘Horse people are adventurous and loyal,’ said Sam, smiling at me.

We worked out that Clever was a tiger and McClure a dragon.

‘I’m a dragon too!’ David exclaimed. ‘We dragon people are supposed to be idealistic and responsible.’

‘Let’s sing Happy Birthday to Thatcher!’ Davenport said. ‘Singing will make Lawson forget the pain in his leg…’

We had just begun our song when the inner door flew open and Grandma Wu rushed in.

‘What are you
doing
?’ she demanded in an angry whisper. ‘Have all of you gone mad? Do you want
the Japanese to hear you singing American songs at the top of your lungs?’

We looked sheepishly at each other. At that moment, there was a loud knocking. We were terrified and convinced that the Japanese had come for us. Grandma Wu approached the door gingerly. Then we heard a familiar male voice saying the password,
Chu sui son hu
, twice. It was morning and Li Cha had returned.

15

The Japanese Paratrooper

Li Cha had brought long bamboo poles, sturdy ropes and ten young fishermen dressed in short pants, open shirts and sandals. The room was crowded with people.

‘Tell the airmen that my men will carry them to the boat,’ Li Cha told us. ‘I know they’re badly injured, but we need to get them off the island quickly. Unfortunately we have no stretchers, so these latticed leather straps will have to do.’

Under Li Cha’s direction, the men cleared a space in the room and began to work. They tied short ropes to the corners of a square piece of latticed leather and turned it into a crude sort of litter. After testing the knots and making sure they were secure, the men slipped a long bamboo pole through the ends of the ropes. In this way, they built four makeshift stretchers. One by one, the
injured airmen were lifted on to these contraptions, each swaying under a pole balanced on the shoulders of two Chinese fishermen.

Thatcher, who was the least injured, chose to walk with the rest of us behind the stretcher-bearers. Li Cha and Grandma Wu led the way in front. It was still dark when we started, but the faint light of dawn was slowly emerging. The weather cleared partially and red streaks of sunlight broke through from the east, as we threaded our way along rice paddies and climbed a steep rocky hill, heading for the mountains. Behind us, the bright blue sea sparkled in the early morning sunshine beyond a sandy beach. It was the first time I’d seen a seashore in daylight and I was thrilled at its serene splendour. I craned my neck to look, but couldn’t spot the crashed American plane.

We circled along a winding road and finally came out on the west side of the hill, which was called Niu Zhou Shan (
, Cow Continent Mountain). Below us was a beautiful green meadow, dotted with tall trees and brambly bushes. Between us and the meadow was a dense bamboo forest. As soon as Grandma Wu and Li Cha led the way into the forest, one of the stretcher-bearers asked to stop. He needed to pee.

Thatcher and we children waited in the warm,
patchy sunshine while the injured Americans and their stretcher-bearers hid in the forest.

‘Does your plane have a name?’ David asked Thatcher.

‘Yes. We called it
The Ruptured Duck
. Our friend Corporal Lovelace painted a Donald Duck, wearing a headset and earphones, in blue, yellow, white and red, on the fuselage. Below the duck he drew a pair of crutches. But our plane’s lost in the ocean now. I was in the back, but it stopped so suddenly that the four guys in front shot out like cannonballs. The plane was upside down, with water rushing in, and I escaped through an emergency exit. All I could think was that I didn’t want to drown on my twenty-first birthday.’

‘I’m scared of the water, too,’ I confided. ‘I can’t swim.’

‘I’ll teach you,’ David said. ‘The first thing to learn is to breathe through your mouth and not through your nose. That’s how dolphins breathe, through the blowholes on top of their heads.’

‘Dolphins!’ I protested. ‘How can you compare me to a fish? Besides, fish don’t breathe through lungs. In my science class I learned that fish have gills and get their oxygen directly from the water.’

‘A dolphin isn’t a fish,’ David said. ‘Dolphins are mammals, just like you and me. They breathe the same way we do, through their lungs.’

‘How come you know so much about dolphins?’ Thatcher asked.

‘Because I’m used to swimming and playing with them,’ David replied. ‘When my parents were still alive, my mother used to bring me here to Nan Tian in the summer. There are lots of wild dolphins in these waters and I…’

Suddenly we heard the drone of an aeroplane overhead. Quick as a flash, Thatcher hit the ground and motioned us to do the same.

‘Japanese naval patrol plane!’ he whispered. ‘I can spot them anywhere. Hope they haven’t seen us!’

The plane flew past our island, but made a wide loop and circled back. We crawled behind bushes, but kept our eyes fixed on the aircraft as it flew low over the coast. After a while, I saw the hatch of the plane open and a man jump out. He was so close I could see his parachute ballooning open as he drifted down towards us.

Thatcher and Sam crawled into the forest to warn Li Cha and Grandma Wu, while Marat, David and I kept our eyes on the Japanese paratrooper. A strong gust of wind blew the parachute sideways towards the ocean. I made a fervent wish that the wind would dump him right into the middle of the East China Sea.

Grandma Wu joined us and said, ‘I need to
help Li Cha get the Americans away at once!’ She had her binoculars fixed on the paratrooper. ‘Go into the forest, children. If you see the Japanese airman, you must divert his attention so the Americans can escape. Cover our tracks!’

‘What if we get lost, Grandma Wu?’ Sam sounded panicky.

‘Remember the compass button you sewed on to your warrior jacket? Let it guide you. Keep going in a south-westerly direction and you will emerge from the forest on the side facing the mainland.’

At first I felt scared, but I knew I mustn’t let fear get the better of me. The boys were with me, and they were unbeatable at kung fu. I remembered David’s dazzling moves during his fight with Johnny Chen. Besides, this could be my chance to use the skills I’d been practising day after day. I was good at light walking and disguising my footprints now. But I didn’t know whether I’d be able to keep up with the boys if we needed to climb a tree quickly or jump from branch to branch.

The forest was misty and damp. I felt as if we were enveloped in a big cloud. The ground was thick with layers of fallen bamboo leaves, dense undergrowth, broken twigs and moss-covered stones.
David, Marat, Sam and I used all our kung fu training to walk lightly and disguise the footprints left by the rest of our party. We raked the trodden leaves with our fingers, added fresh fronds, made false trails and created misleading paths.

It started to drizzle and the woods turned dark and forbidding. Nobody felt like talking. The only sound was that of our footsteps plopping against the squishy mud. I was seized by nameless fears; all the bad things I’d ever worried about rolled into one, and then some.

‘Halt!’ someone shouted. We jumped and spun round. At first we saw no one. Then a young man emerged from behind a clump of bamboos. He was neatly dressed in the uniform of a Japanese Air Force officer, and he held a revolver.

He was as startled as we were. Four children playing in the forest. Or were we?

‘An American plane crash-landed on your island yesterday,’ he said in broken Chinese with a heavy Japanese accent. ‘My captain and I saw the wreckage from the sky. Have you seen or heard anything?’

None of us dared to answer. Our prolonged silence became awkward and embarrassing. After a while, I began to sweat even though I was trembling from cold and fear. Then, unexpectedly, Marat stepped forwards and said in a clear voice,
‘We don’t know what you’re talking about. We can’t understand you.’

The Japanese paratrooper was obviously taken aback by Marat’s confident manner. He glanced at the revolver in his hand and started to point the gun at us, but then thought better of it and put it back in his holster.