Fortunately, the officer did not insist on searching the room containing the clothes first when Minnie offered to take the men directly to the attic, which sheltered two hundred women and children. The refugees up there seemed to have distracted the soldiers, since on their way down they forgot to go left and search the offices on the second floor.
As we came out of the building, one soldier grabbed hold of a water carrier we’d just hired. The poor man was too petrified to holler for help; his buckets were overturned and his shoulder pole smudged with mud. The soldier slapped him across the face and sneered in Mandarin, “Serviceman, huh?”
“No, no,” Minnie intervened. “He’s a coolie, our waterman. Damn it, he’s already over forty, how can he be a soldier?”
A junior officer ripped open the man’s collar to look at his left shoulder. Luckily no mark was on it, and they let him go. The fellow was so shaken that he tore away without a word, leaving behind the buckets, the carrying pole, and the two buttons from his jacket, all dropped in the wet mud.
Minnie and I followed the Japanese. As we were approaching the front entrance, a small group of soldiers appeared, pulling away a young boy, the repairman Tong’s nephew, who had often come to campus to do odd jobs. Minnie hurried over and blocked their way. “He’s our errand boy, not a soldier,” she cried, having hit upon the job title for him on the spur of the moment.
The interpreter, a soft-faced Chinese man in a trench coat, told the Japanese what she had said. One of them stepped over and shoved Minnie in the chest with his fist. The tall officer shouted something at him, and the man yelped “Hai!” and stood at attention. So the boy ran away to join his uncle. The officer scribbled a note and handed it to Minnie. The interpreter told her, “You can show this to other groups if they come in to search again.” She thanked the officer, then seemed to flinch suddenly. She turned and whispered to me, “There’re machine guns everywhere.” Her chin pointed at the front entrance.
I looked and caught sight of six of them propped on both sides of the front wall. I shivered as I realized that the Japanese had meant to shoot if a commotion took place here.
After the officer and his entourage had gone out the front gate, we saw a squad of soldiers passing by with four Chinese men strung together by iron wire around their upper arms. One of them wasn’t wearing pants, his legs spattered with blood. We went over to the entrance to take a closer look but weren’t able to tell if the captives were former soldiers, although the youngest of them couldn’t have been older than sixteen. The group proceeded in single file toward the hillside in the west, and ten minutes later came a volley of gunfire — all those men were executed.
“They shot people like that — without a trial or any evidence of crime?” Minnie said.
I realized that the Japanese felt justified in treating us in any way they wanted. A lot of people must have expected this would happen. That must be why they had scrambled away before the Japanese arrived.
More refugees had been let in. By now Jinling held more than four thousand. The newcomers recounted horrifying stories: Plundering, rape, bloodshed, and arson had taken place everywhere in the city and its suburbs in the past three days. Some girls who hadn’t reached their teens yet had been snatched away from their parents. In the east and south dark smoke kept rising — thousands of houses and stores had been torched to get rid of the evidence of pillage. Some soldiers would rob pedestrians of whatever they had on them: money, food, cigarettes, coats, fountain pens, even hats and gloves. An old woman told us, “A Jap yanked my brass thimble off my finger. He must’ve thought it was a ring or something. I showed him it was just for sewing, but he couldn’t understand. Such a half-wit, he almost broke my finger.” One of our janitors, a man with a catlike face named Jian Ding, sat on his heels and wouldn’t stop weeping, no matter how people tried to console him, because his fifteen-year-old son had been taken that morning.
That evening, on the way to the Safety Zone’s headquarters, Minnie and I saw a stake-bed truck with double tires rumbling by. It carried a dozen or so teenage girls, who called out, “Help us! Save our lives!” One of them wore an eyeshade. Some had blackened faces and cropped hair, which still hadn’t been able to disguise them from the soldiers.
We froze in our tracks, watching the vehicle until it disappeared. I closed my eyes, my eyeballs aching, while Minnie pressed the sides of her neck with both hands and groaned, “God, when will you show your anger?”
We went to see Rabe to find out if he’d heard about Ban. He had no news for us.
9
ON THE MORNING of December 17, small groups of Japanese soldiers popped up on different parts of the campus, grabbing women and girls. There’d been more than thirty rape cases in our camp. Emergencies had sprung up continually, forcing Minnie and me to run around together to confront the soldiers. By now we had admitted more than six thousand refugees. All the buildings were packed, and most classrooms brought to mind train stations crowded with stranded passengers, while the people in the open were noisy, especially the children, milling around like at a temple fair. We were worried about how to maintain sanitation and feed so many. The porridge plant was totally inadequate.
Minnie had persuaded Searle to open another dormitory at Nanjing University for newcomers and to ensure that a foreign man would stay there at night. Between four and six that afternoon, she and I led two large groups of women and children there; we also had a seventeen-year-old girl sent to Dr. Wilson — this young wife, five months pregnant, had been raped by a bunch of soldiers and had miscarried. A donkey cart shipped her to the hospital, followed by her shrieking mother-in-law.
When we returned from our second trip to Searle’s new camp, we found Holly chatting with Miss Lou at the door of the main dormitory. We joined them and entered the dining hall in that building. Supper was dough-drop soup with soybean sprouts in it. Most of the staff had not eaten anything since breakfast, as we often skipped meals during the day. On the table were cruets of soy sauce, rice vinegar, and oil thick with chili flakes. While we were eating, a boy rushed in and panted, “Principal Vautrin, lots of Japs are on campus, beating up people.”
“Where are they exactly?” Minnie asked.
“On their way to the dorms in the north.”
We all put down our bowls and went out. It was getting dark, and the air was smoky — some houses nearby must have been burning. A flock of rooks cawed lustily in treetops, while women’s and children’s shrieks were rising from the west and north. Bang, bang, bang, bang! Three Japanese were pounding the front door of the Central Building with their fists. Minnie went up to them, but before she could say a word, a bespectacled soldier said to us in broken Mandarin, “Open this.”
“I have no key,” Minnie told him.
“Soldiers in there, enemy of Japan.”
“No soldiers, only women and children.”
Minnie produced the note written by the officer the day before, but the man glanced at it, then tore it three times and dropped the pieces to the ground. He turned to speak to the other two men. One of them came up and slapped Minnie, Holly, and me while yelling something we couldn’t understand. He then shoved Miss Lou and nearly sent her to the ground. Holly muttered in English, “Bastard!” Her eyes were teary and her bulky nose twitched. A pink-fingered handprint surfaced on her left cheek.