Little Foreign Devil 2010 Chapter 21

8/3/2019 Little Foreign Devil 2010 Chapter 21

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When it came our turn to board a plane, two crewmenhelped Tai-tai up the metal steps, then ushered in Tony,then Betty, then me. We sat buckled into canvas drop

seats attached to the bare metal side of the aircraft.Buckled in opposite us were a man and a woman andtheir two boys. The man called out: I say, dont weget parachutes? And the passing crewman, taking itas a joke, gave him a big horse laugh. No parachutes!My breath froze. I exchanged sheepish grins with the

woman and the two boys.

One engine exploded into life, then the other. For ahalf-minute, maybe more, the fuselage shuddered vio-lently; then both engines slowed to a pulsating rumble.Something must have gone wrong. Through the small,


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oval window I could see a wingflap jerking up and downin a futile attempt to lift the plane off the ground.

Why dont we go, Daddy? Is the aeroplane broken,Daddy? Both boys and the mother stared wide-eyed atthe father. So did I. And all the father did was moutha silent prayer.

At last, at last, we lumbered forward, bumpety-

bump, on the corrugated mud surface. Suddenly theengines erupted madly. The fuselage drummed, myskull drummed, my teeth drummed, my every jointdrummed. Now the ground was zipping by, the forwardmovement digging the canvas strap hard into my side.It was when the deafening roars reduced to a steadyrhythmic drone that I experienced that same uneasyflutter I used to get in the pit of stomach each time theschools playground swing swung to its highest point.

When I finally convinced myself that shifting myweight wasnt going to dip the plane out of balance,I twisted around to peer through the window. It wastoy-land below, everything in miniature trees, windingcreeks, mud huts. And how tranquil it all looked. Hardto believe the country was engulfed in bitter conflict.

A thick mist cut off my view. We must have flowninto a cloud. If a cloud is only vapor (according to TGS


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science master Mr Foxlee), why then was the planebouncing so out of control? Youd think the crew wouldall be strapped in their places, saying their prayers. Butnot a bit of it. A baby-faced crewman wearing a base-ball cap came lurching through the cabin handing outboxes of K rations. A violent series of dips and yaws,and he shouted over the roar of the engines: Doncher

worry, folks, everythings normal. Is a condemned manconsoled by the warders last words? What might benormal to a flier was a nightmare to a landlubber. Andthere was still another hour of nightmare to endure.

On constant alert for the minutest change in thecrescendo of sounds reverberating through the cabin

each new sound spelling doom a sudden mournfulwhine from the engines froze my breath. Worse still,my insides seemed to be floating in defiance of the lawsof gravity. Through the pinging, drumming window Icould see mud roofs, a dirty brown river, junks withtattered sails, all looming larger by the second. Analmighty jolt, a moment of terror, then bewilderment,then heart-warming relief, as the engines gave one lasttriumphant roar, and we were rolling smoothly alongthe runway. Tai-tai stopped saying her rosary. Oppositeme the stony-faced man and his stony-faced wife werechattering away, happy as magpies.

The impish crewman swung open the cabin door. Allashore for Sing-Sing, he announced.

Tientsin, a woman corrected him, cheerfully.Ting-Sing, Sing-Sing, all-a-same-a-me, Maam.Bursts of hearty laughter from all sides.

On terrafirma, a chaos of trucks, jeeps, men in khaki.Where were we? It was nothing like the Tientsin I knew.

Trust the Yanks to land us in the wrong place! Then Ispotted Konsty Ovchinnikoff. I had to look twice. Lasttime I saw him he was in British Volunteer uniform.Now he was in a GI field jacket, GI cap, GI pants. Hiseyes caught mine. He rushed over. He embraced me.He kissed my cheeks la Russe. You made it, thank

God, you made it. He turned to Tai-tai. Welcome home,Mrs Lambert, what terrible privations you must havesuffered. It is wonderful to see you all again.

Thank you Konstantine. It feels good to be home,and even better to be met by dear friends.


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Schwartzberg, then Murat Apakaieff. Murat had a bottleof Tiger Brand Vodka with him. We swigged it from theneck. In minutes I was floating. Lets go eat, someonesaid. And half an hour later we were at our old haunt,the dumpling diner on Taku Road.

Too bad about Bobka Vladimiroff.What do you mean? I asked Slava.Disappeared, shot, so everyone believes.Also Igor, Mischa, Gorgor, Murat chipped in.Igor Kapoostin?Yes, Igor Kapoostin. Executed by the Japanese.A vicious stab cut through my haze of alcohol.Greg broke the silence. Did you hear Eric Lange

died of TB.TB? Impossible! He was an athlete, a champion

rower.Hard to believe, but its true.Also hard to believe about Roger. He went down with

his troopship.Roger Fleuriet?Yes, Roger Fleuriet. He was with the Free French.Is it true Aliosha Marinellis was killed in Weihsien?

Murat asked.Yes, its true, I said.How did it happen? Was he shot?No, he fell from a tree. As punishment for some mi-

nor offense he was sent up to cut branches. He slipped

and fell.I always liked Marinellis.Yes, a great guy.What about Walter Dello, Karl Detter, Charlie

Wolter?Don't know about those other Germans, but Charlie

is OK.If I had a bike, I'd ride out to his place.I'll lend you mine, said Slava.Tell us about Eric Liddell. We heard he was

killed.He wasnt killed. He died of a brain tumor.

Many were the times I saw him run at the TAAAtrack meets in the Min Yuan.

In camp he still raced, I said. I saw him race AubreyGrandon in the fifty yard dash. Aub won by a foot.


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How could that be? Aub is no Olympic runner.Aub is twenty-six, Mr Liddell was in his forties.We finished the meal in silence.

That afternoon I rode out to Charlie's place on Lon-don Road and found him cavorting with Brian Clarkeand Ura Shirokoff, both ex-Weihsien, and a US Marine

who'd taken over a pedicab. I joined in the fun.

Achmet who worked at a PX told me the Americanshad an office in the German Concession where returnedprisoners could get bedding and provisions. I rodeout to the place to check. Icily, the American officerexplained that the supplies were meant for Americansonly. I gulped with embarrassment. I bit my lip. Then

I heard him saying. What you waiting for, kid. Fill outthis form. For home address, you write: 242 NosuchStreet, Billings, Montana. He called out to a sergeantto help me load up a rickshaw with fluffy wool blankets,a sack offlour, cans of sugar, coffee, milk powder.

Too bad about your furniture, Karl Dietrich said.Couldnt have been more than two weeks ago John-nie Husisian told me he saw the Japanese family thatoccupied your house taking off in mule carts with all

your stuff. They must have been heading for the placenear the Chinese City where the Japanese military andcivilians are being concentrated before being shipped

home by the Yanks. Your Japanese might still be there.Why dont you go find out?

How am I ever going to identify them?The police will do that. Theyll have a list for sure.Which police?


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Theres only one police now, the Kuomintangpolice.Do you remember Jefferson Wu from school? Hes abig shot now in the mayors office. You should go andsee him.

Murat and I rode out on bikes to the Chinese City.On the way we were nearly finished off by crazy Yankscareering their trucks and jeeps down the wrong side,first on Davenport Road then on rue du Chaylard. Butno Yanks in the Japanese Concession, the place wasdeserted, shops boarded up, windows shuttered. It wasthere that I saw my first Nationalist regulars coal

scuttle helmets, German gray battledress. They jab-bered fiercely at us in Guangxi dialect. We retreated.We conferred. We decided to take the roundaboutroute via the Italian Concession and Austrian Bridge.Only once were we held up when a cheering throng onVia Roma thought we were American marines. In theChinese City, Nationalist flags everywhere, the largestover the administration building. Murat sweet-talkedthe sentries at the gate. Inside he greased palms, and

within seconds a policeman was escorting us past along line-up straight to Jefferson Wus office. I recog-nized him immediately slim, pasty-faced, wearing

that permanent half-smile you see on Chinese operamasks. He rose from his desk and came forward withoutstretched hand.

Desmond Power! Welcome back. Glad to see yousurvived. Your familys well, I trust?


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Theyre fine, Jefferson, thanks very much.Isnt it most gratifying, the defeat of Japan? Our

Generalissimo always said he would defeat them in theend. He deliberately let them win the earlier battles,drew them in, then he gave them the coup de grce. Ina month or two, there wont be one left on our soil.

They havent all gone yet?No, not yet.Thats what Ive come to see you about. Is there

any way you can help me locate the Japanese who oc-cupied our home while we were interned? They lootedthe place.

Sorry, not possible. We face a huge task of recon-struction. Factories, go-downs, machine shops, allstripped bare. Those places are more important to usthan residential property. Besides, yours is not the onlyone. Did you not see all those people in the hallway?

Theyre all in the same boat as you. And, to be candid,we must deal with Chinese losses before others. Also,it might surprise you to know that the Americans havelaid it down that the Japanese must not be molested,even those who committed atrocities. As for your pos-sessions, the Americans have given carte blanche to the

Japanese to take away with them whatever they like.So if you have a complaint, lay it with the Americans,not with us.

He shook my hand. He smiled his rueful half-smile.

Good-bye, Desmond. Peaceful journey to your nativecountry.

What native country? I pondered as we cycledaway.

At the OConnors I broke the news to Tai-tai abouther home being stripped bare. She had already heard.She amazed me with her coolness.

Mr Husisian told me about it, she said. I wept atfirst, all the treasures my mother left me, gone theivory inlaid eight-leaf screen, the beautiful blackwoodsideboard, the nests of tables, the carpets, the bronzebuddha, the ivories, the Qing porcelain. But at least

we have our lives. We must thank God for that. Wecan always make a fresh start. The OConnors, theMakaroffs, the da Silvas, the Von Brunows, theyve alllent us things to get us going. Ah Qin came to see me.


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He wants to come back to work for us.Yi-jie cant. Shes too old, poor thing.Shes gone totally blind . . .Yi-jie blind! I took a deep swallow tosmother my shock.. . . Ah Qin will be cook. Ive givenhim money to buy provisions. You goback and stay in the house. DoctorPertzel wants me in hospital for a fewdays, nothing serious, just a check up.

Tony and Betty will be living with theOConnors for the time being.

Ah Chin was all over me when I gothome, jabbering excitedly, smelling ofstrong drink. I waited for him to calm

down then I asked after Jie-jie his wife, our number-two-amah. His brow wrinkled in a frown. He stumbled overhis words: Shes changed. Shes become independent.She says she will never work again as a servant.

Mei you fazi, was all I could think of saying.Mei you fazi, he parroted as he reached for his bottle

ofmao taion the window sill.He held it out to me. I shook my head.Do you want me to cook you some food then? You

must be hungry.No thanks, Ive already eaten.Then Ill be going. Ill be back in the morning. What

time do you want breakfast?Dont really care. Eight oclock will be fine.By the way, he mumbled. Gui Xiang came looking

for you this afternoon.Gui Xiang? Is Gui back?Yes, he was here. While we were waiting for you he

helped me move in the furniture Tai-tais friends hadsent over. He couldnt stay. He said hed try to find youagain tomorrow.

Tomorrow! My heart leapt to my mouth.

At breakfast next morning, Gui Xiang stands sud-

denly before me. I jump to my feet. We clasp hands.You never got to India?No.What happened?


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Skullduggery by our own people.The dwarf devils got you?Yes.You survived in good health?Yes, thanks to your lucky charm.Lucky charm?Dont you remember? Here it is. I open my billfold

and show him the print of Chang Tian Shi, Master ofHeaven, riding a tiger, wielding a magic sword.

He nods gently. His luminous brown eyes searchmine. Did you have a hard time?

Not that hard, not the last eighteen months any-way. It was toughest in Pootung, the first camp. Howabout you? Did you manage to find work during theoccupation?

I scraped out a living. It wasnt easy. And I was indanger. Though I was not involved, I knew those whoshot dead six collaborationists.

The Kuomintanghas taken over. You will be safe.Not so. Several of the most blatant collaborators

now have high positions in the Kuomintang. But ourtime will come. The war of liberation is gathering mo-mentum. Much of Hopei, Shantung, and Shansi hasalready been freed. The large cities will take longer. In

Tientsin and Peking we have not only to oust the Kuo-mintang, we have the Americans to deal with. Thoughtheir present administration supports Chiang blindly,

we are aware that a significant segment of US publicopinion is against their intervening in our affairs. Andthat I believe will force their President to order theMarines to withdraw.

He grips me by the shoulder. Enough of politics. Icame only to see if you were all right, and to say good-bye. May your journey from here be peaceful.

Me? My journey from here? I cannot believe what Iam hearing. I am so flustered, tongue-tied, that all Ican do is beam an embarrassed smile. My friend andmentor is lumping me in with those long-time demonsof his, the blood-suckers, the opium traffickers, the

plunderers of Chinese souls, all of whom, as he has sooften declared, must be sent packing.

Before I can come up with a suitable response he isgone, slipping out with hardly a rustle, and I am leftgazing wistfully at the contents of the billfold. When I


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turn over the photo of him, the penciled inscription onthe back of it jumps out at me.

I can now read quite a bit of Chinese, even his hastypencilled script. This is what he said:

To Desmond, my dear friend, I shall never forget ourparting this 11th day of August, 1942.Xiu Gui Xiang.

Those sentiments he expressed in 1942 came straightfrom the heart. Now, nothing of the kind. He is toopreoccupied with the stirring events engulfing his land,

events in which I have no part to play. I might be Chinaborn, three generations of my family have lived here,

yet to him, indeed to every living Chinese, I am andalways shall be a Foreign Devil.

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Little Foreign Devil 2010 Chapter 21