Mulberry and Peach (5 page)

‘We've seen people since we ran aground. The tow-line pullers, the people on the boats, the people on the paddlewheel, but none of them could save us.'

‘I've been sitting here all day. I haven't even seen the shadow of a ghost on the bank.'

Lao-shih shouts from the door. ‘There's another boat coming.'

The five of us rush to the bow.

The people on that boat wave at us and shout something, but the sound of the water breaking on the rocks is too loud and we can't understand what they're saying.

‘A lot of . . .?'

‘On the way?'

‘It must be that a lot of rescue boats are on the way.'

‘Yeah, a lot of rescue boats are coming!'

The boat glides away.

‘A lot of rescue boats are coming?' says the captain. ‘A lot of Japanese bombers are coming.'

We scurry back into the cabin.

In the distance we hear faint thunder.

‘That's not aircraft, that's thunder.'

‘Right, it's thunder. It's going to rain.'

‘When it rains the water will rise.'

The thunder approaches. Then we hear the anti-aircraft guns and machine guns. Bullets pock the water spitting spray in all directions. The Japanese bombers are overhead. Lao-shih hides under her quilt on the bunk and calls out to me. ‘Little Berry, Little Berry, hurry up and get under the covers.'

Suddenly Refugee Student shoves me to the floor and sprawls on top of me.

A minute ago, we were standing in the aisle. Now our bodies are pressing against each other. He is bare-chested and I can smell the odour of his armpits. Lao-shih's armpits smell the same way, that smell of flesh mixed with sweat, but smelling it on his body makes my heart pound. I can even feel the hair under his arms. No wonder Mother likes hairy men; I heard her say that once when I was walking by her door. The thick black hair (it must be black) under his arms tickles me. I'm not even scared of the Japanese bombers anymore.

The bombers pass into the distance.

We get up off the floor. Lao-shih sits on the bunk and glares at us.

‘The boat that just passed us has capsized at the bend in the river,' shouts the captain from the bow.

‘What about the people?' asks Refugee Student.

‘They're all dead! Some drowned, some were killed by the Japanese machine gun fire.'

‘I wish everybody in the world were dead,' says Lao-shih, still glaring at Refugee Student.

I go back to the ‘Girls' Dormitory'. Lao-shih strains to scratch her back.

‘I'll scratch it for you!' I stick my hand up under her blouse and scratch her back.

‘That's good, just a little bit higher, near the armpit.' I scratch the part between her armpit and her back. She giggles. ‘It tickles! Not so hard. It tickles.' She has only a wisp of hair under her arm.

Refugee Student is pacing up and down in the aisle. He raises his head. ‘Bombers overhead, the Gorge below. So many boats capsized. So many people dead. Nobody cares if the boats capsize, or if people die. They are playing a game with human lives!'

‘May I ask a question?' says the old man. ‘Who's playing a game with human lives?'

Refugee Student, taken aback, says, ‘Who? The government. Who else?'

‘These gorges have been dangerous for thousands of years. What can the government do about it?'

‘We're in the twentieth century now! Sir, have you heard of the invention of the helicopter? Just one helicopter could rescue the whole lot of us. A place like the Gorges should have a Gorges Rescue Station. As soon as we get to Chungking, we should all sign a petition of protest
and put it in the newspapers. We have a right to protest. We're victims of the Gorges!'

The Peach-flower Woman laughs on her bunk. ‘Sign our names to a petition? I can't even write my own name.'

‘I'll write it for you!' Lao-shih eyes me. I take my hand out of her blouse.

The old man sits on his bunk, rocking back and forth. ‘It's a great virtue for a woman to be without talent. A woman is ...' he is seized with a coughing fit and gasps for breath.

Lao-shih mutters. ‘Serves him right.'

Refugee Student looks at the old man and shakes his head. He turns to Peach-flower Woman. ‘I'll write your name down on a piece of paper. If you copy it every day, by the time we get to Chungking, you'll have learned how to write it.'

‘Forget it! Forget it! Too much trouble.' Peach-flower Woman waves her hand. ‘I'll just make a fingerprint and when we get to Chungking, my man can write my name for me!'

‘When we get to Chungking, I'm going to turn somersaults in the mud!' says Lao-shih.

‘When we get there, I'm going to walk around the city for three days and three nights,' I say.

‘When we get to Chungking, I'm going to go running in the mountains for three days and three nights!' says Refugee Student.

‘When we get to Chungking, I'm going to play mahjong for three days and three nights!' says the old man.

‘Hey, look at that big fish!' Peach-flower Woman points at a big fish which has just leapt out of the river onto the deck.

‘A good omen! A white fish leaps into the boat!' The old man shouts, ‘We'll get out of here OK.'

The five of us turn to look at the shrine on the bank.

The water still hasn't risen; the shrine is still dry.

‘There's a shrine but nobody offers incense. It would be better if we tore it down,' says Refugee Student.

‘You ought to be struck down by lightning for saying such a thing!' The old man's moustache twitches. ‘And the fish, where's the fish?'

‘The oarsmen just put it in a bucket. We can kill it tomorrow and have fresh fish to eat.'

‘It must not be eaten. It must not be eaten. That fish must not be eaten.' The old man walks to the bow of the boat, scoops up the fish with hands, kneels at the side of the boat and spreads his hands open like a mussel shell.

The fish slides into the river with a splash, flicks its tail and disappears.

The old man is still kneeling by the side, his two hands spread open like a mussel shell; palms uplifted as if in prayer.

‘Dinner time!' yells the captain. ‘I'm sorry, but from now on, we're going to have to ration the rice. Each person gets one bowl of rice per meal!'

The two rows of teeth in the river open wider. Even the rocks are hungry!

‘One bowl of rice will hardly fill the gaps between my teeth,' says Refugee Student, throwing down his chopsticks. ‘I escaped from the Japanese-occupied area, didn't get killed by the Japanese, didn't get hit by bullets or shrapnel, and now I have to starve to death, stranded on this pile of rocks? This is the biggest farce in the world.'

‘You can say that again,' I say to myself.

Lao-shih sits down beside me on the bunk. ‘Little Berry, I should have let you go back home.'

‘Even if I could go back now, I wouldn't do it. I want to go on to Chungking.'

‘Why?'

‘After going through all this, what is there to be afraid of? Now, I know what I did wrong. This disaster is my own doing. I've been thinking of all the bad things I did to people.'

‘I have, too,' says Lao-shih. ‘Once my father beat me. When he turned to leave, I clenched my teeth and said, I can't wait until you die.'

‘I cursed my father, mother, and brother that way, too. I can't wait until you die,' I say.

‘This is the biggest farce in the world,' says Refugee Student as he paces up and down the aisle. ‘The first thing I'm going to do when we get to Chungking is call a press conference and expose the serious problems of the Gorges. All of you, please leave your addresses so I can contact you.'

‘Leave it for whom?' asks the Peach-flower Woman. She is sitting on the bunk, one breast uncovered. The baby plays with her breast for a while, then grabs it to suck awhile.

We stare at each other. For the first time I ask myself: Will I make it alive to Chungking? If I live, I swear, I'll change my ways.

‘Maybe we're all going to die,' says Lao-shih softly.

‘Hah,' coughs the old man, turning his head aside, as if one cough could erase what Lao-shih has said. ‘Children talk nonsense. All right. Let's do exchange addresses. When we get to Chungking, I invite you
all to a banquet and we'll have the best shark fin money can buy.'

‘If you want my address, then you've really got me there!' laughs Peach-flower Woman. ‘When we get to Chungking, I won't have an address until I've found my man!'

‘Don't you have his address?'

‘No.'

‘Didn't he write you?'

‘He wrote his mother.'

‘Are you married to him?'

‘Yes, I'm his wife. When I went to his house, I was really young. He's seven years younger than I am. I raised him. He went to Chungking to study. I stayed at home taking care of his mother, raising his son, working in the fields, weaving, picking tea leaves, gathering firewood. I can take anything, even his mother's cursing, as long as he's around. But someone came back from Chungking and said he had another woman. I can't stand that. I told his mother I wanted to go to Chungking. She wouldn't allow me to go. She wouldn't even let me go out on the street. So I just picked up my baby, got together a few clothes, and took off. All I know is that he is studying at Chang-shou, Szechuan. When I get there I'm going to look for him. When I find him and if he's faithful, we're man and wife forever. But if he isn't, then he'll go his way, and I'll go mine.'

‘Is the boy his?' asks the old man.

‘Well, if he isn't my husband's, he certainly isn't yours, either.' She laughs, and lifts the baby up to the old man. ‘Baby, say grandpa, say grandpa.'

‘Grandpa!' The old man pulls at his greying beard with two fingers. ‘I'm not that old yet!' He coughs and turns to Refugee Student. ‘If it's an address you want, that's hard for me to produce as well. In June 1937, I left Peking, my home, and went to visit friends in Shanghai. July 7, 1937, the war broke out, and by the 28th, Peking had fallen. So these past few years, I've been fleeing east and west with my friends. When will this war end? I couldn't stay with my friends forever, so I left them. I intend to do a little business between Chungking and Pa-tung. I don't know where I'll live when I get to Chungking.'

‘My address is the air raid shelter in Chungking,' says Lao-shih coldly.

‘You're kidding!' says Refugee Student.

‘She's not kidding,' I interrupt. ‘Her mother died when she was young. She escaped with her father from the Japanese-occupied area. She went to En-shih to study at the National High School; he went to
Chungking on business. In 1941, the Japanese bombed Chungking and more than ten thousand people suffocated in the air raid shelter. Her father was one of them.'

‘That's right. The famous air raid shelter suffocation tragedy!' The old man talks as if Lao-shih's father became famous because of that.

Refugee Student looks at me.

‘I don't have an address either! My home is in En-shih. I ran away.'

‘No place like home.' The old man takes a gold pocket watch out of the pocket of his jacket and looks at the time. He replaces it in his pocket, and suddenly I remember the jade griffin on my father's watch chain and think of great-grandfather, clutching the jade in his hands as he lay in the coffin. The old man stares at me. ‘I have a daughter about your age. After I left Peking my wife died. Right now I don't even know if my own daughter is dead or alive. Everyone has roots. The past is part of your roots, and your family, and your parents. But in this war, all our roots have been yanked out of the ground. You are lucky you still have a home, and roots. You must go back! I'm going to inform your father, tell him to come get you and take you home.'

‘You don't know my family's address!' I sit on the bunk, one hand propping up my chin and smile at him.

The old man begins to cough again, and points his finger at me. ‘You young people nowadays. You young people.'

‘You sound like my father,' laughs Refugee Student. ‘My father had seven wives. My mother was his legal wife. Father treated his seven wives equally: all under martial law. He calls them Number Two, Number Three, Number Four, . . . according to whoever entered the household first. Number Two was once one of our maids. She is five years younger than Number Seven. They got thirty dollars spending money per month and, every spring, summer, fall and winter, some new clothes. Once a month they all went to a hotel to have a bath and play mahjong. The seven women plus himself made exactly two tables. He took turns spending the night in their seven bedrooms, each woman one night, which made exactly one week. They had more than forty children; he himself can't keep straight which child belongs to which woman. The seven women called each other Sister, in such a friendly way, never squabbling among themselves, because they were all united against that man. Their seven bedrooms were all next to one another, dark and gloomy, shaded by tall trees on all sides. When the Japanese bombed Nanking, a bomb fell right in the middle of the house, and blasted out a crater as big as a courtyard. When the bomb hit, it was the first time those rooms were exposed to sunlight. My
mother was killed in that bombing. The six women cried. My father didn't even shed a single tear. When the Japanese occupied the area my father collaborated. I called him a traitor and he cursed me as an ungrateful son. Actually, I don't have an address myself.'

We hear muffled thunder in the distance. It might rain. We look at each other, our faces brighten.