Escape from Shanghai (9 page)

These men ate together and worked together. They depended and relied on each other for their survival. Mealtimes became occasions for them to express their gratitude at the passing of another hard-work day. The evening meal was a way to relax and celebrate their victory over the turbulent waters.

These men lived their lives by the river. They were here to tow junks. This hard-core group of men devoted their lives to this work. During the wet season when the river was particularly violent, additional men came looking for work. They were local farmers and town folks eager to make some extra money. Under normal weather conditions, the work was predictable and steady, as steady as the economy would allow.

On this white-water encounter, our junk got stuck on a rock. A call went out and dozens of farmers
and laborers showed up to help. They did it with brute strength in numbers. Over fifty people worked in unison to help pull us off that stubborn point of granite.

And they didn’t work for free. Every man who worked got paid by the gang foreman, who in turn was reimbursed by Mr. Wu. This was a negotiated fee. As for Mr. Wu, he would have to factor in the additional cost to the price of his salt at his next port of call.

At that time, China was an agrarian economy. Over 95% of the people worked the land. While farming is labor intensive, crops did not require constant attention. Once planted, a farmer had time to do other things. Consequently, they were more than happy to get an occasional bit of extra income by working the nearby waterway. This extra work was a long-standing tradition and the custom was passed from generation to generation. Some farmers looked forward to getting this extra income. At the same time, Mr. Wu and the rest of the merchants who depended on river commerce welcomed this practical and useful custom.

But, before we could go on, Mr. Wu tied a rope around his waist. His crewmen held the other end. Wu dove under the junk to inspect the hull. After a minute or two, his crew pulled him out of the rushing
water. Wu took a few deep breaths and dove in once more. Finally, he came up for air and gave a thumbs-up sign. Mr. Wu declared that no damage had been done to the hull. And off we went.

As we got further inland, there was a section of the river where the water was so shallow that our cargo of salt had to be unloaded, then manually ported across this impassible section. As if out of nowhere, laborers would magically appear to do the work. Naturally, all of this had been pre-arranged. This was part of the rhythm of commerce along this waterway. Word had been passed from village to village. Peasants and day-laborers knew when we were coming and what work was available.

Being a supply-and-demand economy, the men’s pay depended on how many of them showed up. More men meant less pay because the gang foreman had more people to negotiate with. Individual payments depended on how desperately you needed the extra money and whether you were willing to walk home empty handed. During good economic times, a healthy strong worker had some negotiating power. But not during the war.

Most of the workers who showed looked thin and malnourished. They were willing to work for a measly meal. And that’s what they did.

Since there were more people than jobs, many went home with hungry stomachs and empty pockets. Much of business and commerce was conducted in this manner throughout China in those days.

Mr. Wu’s and his coolies worked so hard and so consistently hour after hour, day after day that they functioned like a well-oiled machine. They were the engines that drove the junk, while Mrs. Wu provided the fuel.

They did this until they couldn’t do it anymore. There was no such thing as retirement. If you didn’t work, you didn’t eat.

By the time we got to Governor-General Li’s capital city of Shaoguan in March of 1942, the battle lines between China and Japan had remained stable for almost four years. Japan controlled the coast and the shipping lanes, while China controlled the interior. The two enemies occasionally probed and punched at each other, but no major battles had been fought. Japan didn’t have the necessary incentives to go further inland, at least not for the time being. And China was too weak militarily and politically to make a move to throw the Japanese into the sea. The status quo worked just fine for both sides.

Japan had every reason to be confident. China’s steel-making abilities were practically non-existent. She couldn’t make any tanks, machine guns, airplanes or artillery. And she could not receive any military supplies from America by sea. In fact, the only means for resupplying China were via the torturous, twisting Burma Road and by the limited number of planes that flew over the sky-high Himalayas.

Japan had a choke hold on China.

Governor-General Li’s Army sat on a defensive battle line waiting and wondering where, when and how Japan would attack again. The attack on Pearl Harbor had everyone on edge. The people of Shaoguan knew that if an attack came, the Japanese would probably hit the provincial capital first.

Meanwhile, it was to Japan’s advantage to keep the region stable so that people like the Wu’s could do business almost as if no conflict existed between the two sides. When Mr. Wu met the salt merchant on the Shaoguan dock, the first question asked was about our trip: Were there any signs of an imminent attack?

“No way to tell,” Wu replied. “Their patrol boats did not stop us, not even once. Perhaps they are too busy making preparations,” he said with a shrug.

The tensions ashore were soon felt by all aboard the junk. The uncertainties were suddenly magnified. Adding to this tension was the fact that no one was absolutely certain where my paternal grandparents’ village was. While Wu had made a few inquiries on shore, the answers were far from certain. Nevertheless, armed with a few meager facts, he turned west and sailed up the Wu River. (Wujiang)

Meanwhile, Mom’s apprehensions grew. She couldn’t understand how we could possibly locate
a village without a map. She was tempted to get off at Shaoguan, but decided against disobeying orders. Not in the current tense atmosphere. It would be better for the Governor-General to find us. That way, he would know that we were not impostors.

“We are almost there,” Mr. Wu reassured us.

A day later, he stopped at a nondescript dock and tied up. He seemed to know the men sitting on their haunches smoking cigarettes. Wu hopped ashore. He spoke with them, nodding happily as he listened to each reply.

Mom and I couldn’t understand a word because they spoke a local dialect that we hadn’t heard before.

“I have taken you as close as I can to your father-in-laws house,” Wu told Mom. “His village is not far from here, but I cannot take you there. I’m very sorry. The water is too shallow. But this boatman knows the village. He will take you.”

Mom looked around. The farmland looked all the same to her. “Are you sure?” she asked with some trepidation.

“Yes. This man knows the village,” he said pointing at the boatman.

The boatman smiled and nodded confidently at us.

Mom looked uncomfortable and worried. The thought of being robbed, or worse, was ever present during these difficult times. Furthermore, she couldn’t speak the dialect, so how would she communicate with the boatman?

Wu saw the concern on her face. Graciously, he raised his hands to his chest and placed his right fist in the palm of his left hand, then he bowed respectfully, showing both respect and humility. “You can trust this boatman. He will take you there. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Uncle Wu,” Mom replied graciously. She felt much better by his sincere gesture. “You have been wonderful to me and my son. We appreciate all that you’ve done for us.” Then my mother started to reach for her purse.

Wu saw the motion and instantly raised both of his palms to stop her before she went any further. “No, no,” he said shaking his head. “I have already been paid.” He bowed respectfully once more. “Good luck to you and your son, Huang Tai tai,” he said. “I wish you well, and may the River Gods be kind to you. Both my wife and I have been honored by your presence,” Wu said and bowed once more.

The uneducated in China held the greatest respect and admiration for an educated person.
Especially someone who had studied in America. This fact alone inspired awe among Mr. Wu and his crew. Throughout our trip, they treated my mother with the utmost care and delicacy as if a special aura surrounded her that they could not or should not breach. They gave her privacy under circumstances where privacy was near impossible, yet they did it. I don’t think any one of them ever came near enough to touch her. Nor did they ignore her as if she didn’t exist. On the contrary, they respected her space and admired her position as if a princess were living among her beloved people.

Mom reached out to touch Wu on the arm, but didn’t. She admired him and his crew for their fearless perseverance in the face of the river’s raging powers. But more than that, she appreciated their ability to read and understand the nature of their surroundings without having to resort to books or maps. They knew things about the river that we would never be able to learn from anyone but those who lived and worked on these waters.

“Please Uncle Wu, you have been like a father to me and my son. You saved my son’s life and I will never forget that. I am forever indebted to you. I want to thank you with all my heart.”

Visibly moved, Uncle Wu bowed once again, then abruptly turned to address the boatman. Silently, as
if he were too emotional to speak, he led us to the waiting sampan.

We felt sadness as we sat in the small sampan and watched as the boatman stood and worked his long, single-scull oar to and fro propelling us up river. We watched the Wu’s junk move away until we couldn’t see it anymore.

We never saw the Wu’s again.

The boatman rowed us through a narrow tributary that connected the barge canal with the main body of the river. He pulled up to a well-made and maintained stone dock. Knowing that we didn’t speak his dialect, he pointed and motioned for us to go ashore. He unloaded our two small bags and held the boat steady as Mom and I got off. My mother paid him and away he rowed, leaving us standing forlornly at the dock.

There was no one in sight. A narrow one-lane dirt road ran by the public dock. We climbed the three steps up to the road to get a better idea of our location. Still no sight of a human being. To our right was a stone warehouse and next to that was a two-story merchant’s house. That was it. There was no town center or even a village. We hadn’t expected such a desolate and remote location. Concerned, Mom quickly turned to call to the boatman, but he was already beyond shouting distance.

Quickly, Mom reached into her purse and removed the letter. She unfolded it with nervous fingers, her eyes darting down the page looking for the directions. Relieved, she pointed to her left and said: “There!” she pointed. “The house should be over there,” she said with some uncertainty.

We walked down the road about a quarter of a mile. She glanced at the letter again. “This must be it,” she said as she pointed at the long windowless wall of a traditional compound. “Come on, this way,” she commanded as she took my hand. Her palm was wet.

We stopped in front of the main entrance and looked up at the sign over the arched doorway. “This is it,” she announced with a sigh of relief. “This is where your father was born.”

Again, Uncle Jin had done his job. Mom’s letter informing my grandparents of our imminent arrival had found its destination the old fashion way. All Jin needed was the Huang name and the name of the village and the message got through. It was miraculous.