Tokyo (40 page)

I opened my eyes. Through the opened shutter, snow was blizzarding in the garden, frosting and glittering as far as I could see, making a white topiary of the haphazard shapes. The plastic bag hanging in the branches was frosted almost solid. I backed up

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a little in my thoughts and came at it again. Jason had stood at the window, holding what he’d stolen and …

I saw him clearly now - opening the window, reaching his hand back and throwing a plastic bag into the stormy night. It flew out above the branches, spinning and pirouetting in the wind, and landed where it hung now, twisted and frozen. Oh, Jason, I thought, tipping forward on to my knees, staring up at the bag. Of course. I know where it is. It’s in that bag.

I got to my feet and stepped to the window, putting my numb hands against the pane, my skin pricking up in wonder, just as, from the staircase, came the discreet but distinctive popping sound of the front door being forced open.

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|t”| Nanking, 21 December 1937 (the nineteenth day of

^^C^a the eleventh month)

In Nanking nothing is moving except the snowclouds - everything, every stream, every mountain, every tree, is exhausted by this Japanese winter and lies limp and uncomprehending. Even the coiled dragon Yangtze river is stalled, stagnant and motionless, clogged behind a hundred thousand bodies. And yet here it is, the entry I thought I would never make. Made on a bright afternoon in the peace of my house, when everything is over. Really it is a miracle to see it being made, my hand brown and strong, the thin line of paling ink flowing from the ends of my fingers. It is a miracle to put my hand inside my jacket and find that my heart is still beating.

In our cargo Shujin included a folded cloth that she had packed with cutlery: chopsticks, a few spoons, one or two knives. She placed it in a small sandalwood money chest and added a black baby’s bracelet, with an image of Buddha dangling on it. I had to dissuade her from putting in the red-painted eggs. ‘Shujin,’ I told her, trying to be gentle, ‘there won’t be zuoyuezi or man yue.’

She didn’t answer. But she did take the eggs out of the bags and into our bedroom, where she arranged the quilts round them, so they lay in a little nest on the bed, waiting for the day when we would come home.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked, looking anxiously at her white face when she came downstairs. ‘Do you feel well?’

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She nodded silently, and pulled on a pair of gloves. She was wearing several layers of clothing: two ordinary cheongsams, a pair of my woollen pants underneath and fur-lined boots. Our faces were blackened, our refugee certificates pinned to our clothing. At the door we stopped and stared at each other. We looked like strangers. At length I took a deep breath and said, ‘Come on, then. It’s time.’

‘Yes,’ she replied soberly. ‘It’s time.’

Outside a light snow was falling, but the moon was bright, shining through the flakes so that they appeared to dance merrily. We got as far as Zhongyang Road and stopped. Without Liu Runde, the old horse who knew its way, I was unsure. About a hundred yards away I could see a dog, lying on its back in the snow, bloated so that its four legs were forced open as wide as could be, like an overturned stool. One or two of the houses had been burned since I was last here, but there were no tracks in the snow and the street was deserted. I had no idea how Liu had planned to break through the Taiping gate, no instinctive compass or intuition of what had been in his head. The lock of his hair was inside my glove. It lay against the burn on my palm and I tightened my hand on it. ‘Yes,’ I said steadily, pulling the collar of my jacket up round my ears to keep out the whirling snow. ‘Yes, this way. This is the right way.’

We walked in silence, Purple Mountain rising ahead of us, terrible and beautiful against the stars. The streets were deserted, nevertheless every new corner deserved our suspicion. We went slowly, keeping near the walls, ready to abandon the cart and shrink into the gaps between the buildings. Shujin was absolutely silent, and for a long time all I could hear were our footsteps and my heart pounding. Once in the distance I heard the rumble of a truck going past on Zhongshan Road, but it wasn’t until we had passed the Xuanwu area that we saw our first human being: a bent old man, struggling towards us out of the snow, carrying two heavy baskets on a bamboo yoke. He seemed to be headed in the direction we’d come, and in each of his baskets was a child, asleep, arms collapsed and dangling out of the basket, snow settling on their sleeping heads. He didn’t appear to register us at

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all, he didn’t blink or nod or focus on us, he only kept coming towards us. When he got very near we saw he was crying.

Shujin stopped in her tracks as he approached.

‘Hello, sir,’ she whispered, as he drew parallel with us. ‘Are you well?’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down or look at her.

‘Hello?’ she repeated. ‘Are your children well?’

It was as if she hadn’t spoken. The old man continued limping down the street, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance.

‘Hello!’ she said loudly. ‘Did you hear me? Are the children well?’

‘Sssssh!’ I touched her arm and pulled her to the side of the road, afraid that she had spoken too loudly. ‘Come away.’

The old man was shuffling away into the snow flurries. We stood, pressed into a doorway, watching him stagger along under his cargo, a spectre in an old coat.

‘I wanted to know if the little ones were well,’ she murmured.

The know, I know.’

We both stood in silence then, not meeting each other’s eyes, because from behind, the answer to the question was clear. One of the children was asleep, but the other, a boy, slumped in the right-hand basket, was not asleep at all. He had been dead for some time. You could tell that from just one look.

Midnight found us creeping through the alleys near the military academy. I knew the area well. I used to go through it as a student on my way to view the Xuanwu lakes and I knew how close to the wall we were. In an abandoned house I discovered a scorched rosewood clothes trunk, and found that if I climbed up on it and peered through the gaps in the burned houses, I could just glimpse the Taiping gate.

I put my finger to my lips and leaned forward a little further, until I could see a two-hundred-yard stretch of the wall. Liu had been right. The wall had been shelled and broken in several places and in both directions I could see piles of bricks and rubble stretching off into the night. Where the gate had been, two

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sentries in khaki caps stood erect, lit only by army lamps balanced on piled-up sandbags. Beyond them, outside the wall, a Japanese tank was parked among the rubble, its flag dirty with ash.

I slid off the chest. ‘We’re going north.’ I brushed off my gloves and pointed out beyond the houses. ‘That way. We’re going to find a breach further up the wall.’

And so we crept up a side-street, moving parallel to the wall. This was the most dangerous part of our journey. If we could get through the wall we’d have achieved the greatest hurdle. If we could just get through the wall…

‘Here. This is the place.’ A hundred yards up from the gate I happened to peer through a fence and saw, beyond a burned and devastated patch of land, a valley-shaped notch in the wall, stones tumbling into a scree below it. I took Shujin’s arm. This is it.’

We slid between the houses on to the main road and pushed our heads out from the gap, peering up and down the length of the wall. Nothing moved. We could see the dim glow of the sentries’ lanterns to the south. To the north the snow fell in darkness, only the moonlight illuminating it.

They’ll be on the other side,’ Shujin whispered. Her hands were fluttering unconsciously round her stomach. ‘What happens if they’re waiting on the other side?’

‘No,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep my eyes on hers and not look down at her hands. Did she sense an urgency that she wasn’t communicating to me? The make you this promise. They are not. We must get through here.’

Half bent to the ground we hurried across the open patch of land, the handcart skidding in the churned-up snow and earth, causing us both to slip and almost lose our balance several times. When we got to the wall we instinctively dropped to a crouch behind the cart, breathing hard and peering out into the silent snow. Nothing moved. The snow swirled and shifted, but no one shouted to us or came running.

I put my hand on her arm and pointed up the slope of rubble. It was a small climb, and I covered it easily, turning back and reaching down for the handle of the cart. She did her best, trying

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to lift it, trying to push it up the scree to me, but it was almost impossible for her, and I had to double back and drag it up with all my strength, my feet sliding hopelessly on the rubble, the stones avalanching down and making a noise I was sure would wake every Japanese soldier in Nanking.

Eventually I reached the top of the scree. There, I let the cart roll as far down the other side as possible, until I couldn’t lean any further and had to let it topple away, bouncing down the stones and falling on its side, all our belongings tumbling out into the snow. I held out a hand to Shujin, hauling her up, her ponderous weight coming slowly, so slowly, her eyes all the time on mine. We half scrambled, half slid down the other side of the wall, where we fell on to our belongings, grabbing them up in armfuls, throwing what we could into the cart, then racing blindly into a group of maple trees, me bumping the cart wildly behind me, Shujin doubled over as she ran, a bundle of clothing clasped to her chest.

‘We’ve done it,’ I panted. We huddled in the shadows under the trees. ‘I think we’ve done it.’ I squinted out into the darkness. On our right I could just make out a few slum dwellings, unlit and probably uninhabited. A track ran in the shadow of the wall and about twenty yards along it, in the direction of Taiping gate, a goat was tethered under a tree. Apart from that there was not a soul to be seen. I put my head back against the tree and breathed out, ‘Yes, we have. We have.’

Shujin didn’t answer. Her face seemed not sullen, but unnaturally tight and drawn. It wasn’t the fear alone. She had hardly spoken in the last few hours.

‘Shujin? Are you well?’

She nodded, but I noted she would not meet my eyes. My sense of unease increased. It was clear to me that we couldn’t rest here - that we needed to get to the salt dealer’s house as soon as possible. ‘Come along,’ I said, offering her my hand. ‘We must keep going.’

We loaded up the cart, stepped out of the clump of trees and began to walk, looking around ourselves in disbelief, astonished to be here, as if we were children stepping through a magic world. The streets grew narrower, the houses more sparse, the road

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underfoot giving way to a dirt track. Purple Mountain rose up silently on our right, blotting out the stars, while on the left the land fell away, leading back down to the blackened ruins of our city. The relief was exhilarating: it drove me along, intoxicated. We were free of Nanking!

We walked rapidly, stopping every now and then to listen to the silence. Beyond the five islets on the Xuanwu lakes a fire was glowing in the trees. We took it for a Japanese camp and decided to cut off the path and head across the foot of the mountain, moving along one of the many storm gullies. From time to time I would leave Shujin and slither down the small embankment to check that we were keeping parallel with the road. If we stuck to this course we would reach Chalukou eventually.

We saw no one - not a man, not an animal - but now something else was on my mind. Increasingly I was concerned for Shujin. She looked more tense than ever. From time to time she would allow a hand to float down to her stomach.

‘Listen,’ I said, slowing to whisper to her. ‘The next time the snow clears for a moment, look to where the road bends.’

‘What is it?’

‘There. Do you see? The trees?’

She squinted into the snow. In the torched remains of a wild sugar-cane field stood a ghostly snow-covered windlass, spidery above a well. Next to it was a border - a row of bushes.

‘A mulberry orchard. If we reach that we’ll be able to see the outskirts of Chalukou. We’re nearly there. That’s all you have to do, these few last yards …’

I broke off.

‘Chongming?’

I held my finger to my lips, looking down at the land sloping into the darkness. ‘Did you hear anything?’

She frowned, bending forward and concentrating on the silence. After a while she looked back up at me. ‘What? What did you think you heard?’

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell her that I thought I had heard the sound of the devil touching down in the dark countryside nearby.

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‘What is it?’

From out of the trees to the left of the track came a sweep of headlights, and an ear-shattering roar. About two hundred yards away a motorcycle leaped up over the lip of a bank, found its balance on the higher land, and pivoted round, sending up a plume of snow. It stopped, seeming to come to a rest facing us directly.

‘Run!’ I grabbed Shujin’s arm and threw her bodily into the trees above the track. I grabbed the handcart and stumbled up the slope behind her. ‘Run! Run!’

Behind me the rider throttled the engine, making it roar. I didn’t know if he’d seen us, but he seemed to aim the motorcycle at the track we were on. ‘Keep going. Keep going.’ I stumbled through the thick snow, the cart twisting behind me, threatening to shed its load.

‘Which way?’ Shujin hissed from above. ‘Which way?’

‘Up! Keep going up the mountain.’

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When the footsteps began their stealthy progress up the metal stairs, I could have kept quiet. I could have gone silently to my room, crawled out of the window, disappeared into the muffling snow and never found out what was in the plastic bag. But I didn’t. Instead I hammered on Jason’s door, yelling at the top of my voice: ‘Jason! JASON, GOT As the Nurse’s horrible shadow appeared out of the gloom of the staircase, I launched myself away, skidding, still shouting, bounding down the corridor in a way that was so frantic it must have looked like exuberance, not fear, all the way to the garden staircase - ‘JASON!’ - throwing myself down the steps, half sliding, half falling, slamming into the screen at the bottom, diving out into the snowy night.