‘That’s what we’re doing. We’ve gained one hour forty minutes, and we’ve got to use every minute to think of a way out of this.’
‘Think of a way to save your own skin, you mean?’ said Fabio rebelliously.
Father Engelmann, far from reacting angrily, appeared not to have heard him. Fabio’s English deserted him when he became agitated; his accent and grammar became so hard to understand that Father Engelmann could easily choose not to understand what he was saying.
‘We’ve got a small amount of time. That’s better than nothing,’ he repeated.
‘I’d rather die than hand over those children…’
‘So would I.’
‘Then why didn’t you turn them down flat?’
‘Well, we can always play for time and then turn them down flat … Now, leave me to think.’
Fabio walked towards the library. He looked round and saw the old priest go into the church and sink slowly to his knees before the crucified Christ. While Fabio and the officer were arguing, an idea had flitted across Father Engelmann’s mind. Now it was time to pursue that idea, examine it carefully, subject it to dispassionate analysis.
Seventeen
Shujuan and the other girls had overheard Father Engelmann telling the Japanese officer that they needed time to prepare themselves to leave the compound. Their eyes were like saucers. Had the Father lost his mind? They knew that terrible things were happening to women and girls outside the walls of the compound, and so did he. Did he want the Japanese to do the same terrible things to them? The vagueness of their ideas about what these terrible things might be only served to sharpen their terror.
‘Maybe the Japanese really will bring us back again,’ said one girl.
No one paid any attention to her. The fool was in the year below Shujuan and had come from the countryside near Anqing.
‘Didn’t you hear? There’ll be good food and flowers –’ the girl persisted.
‘Then you go!’ said Sophie, making these apparently inoffensive words sound thoroughly insulting. ‘You go!’ she shrieked. Here was a scapegoat on whom she could vent all her despair at the horrors that awaited them. ‘The Japanese have lovely food, lovely drink and lovely beds!’
The girl launched herself at Sophie in the gloom and punched her. It did not hurt. In fact, Sophie was grateful for the excuse to lash out at her victim with fists, nails and feet. The girl burst into tears. Then Sophie burst into tears. The other girls sobbed too, as they tried to pull the pair apart.
‘You bitch! You smelly bitch!’ Sophie shouted, punching and kicking. She did not care now whom she hit. Her need to vent her feelings was overwhelming, and that included her resentment against Xiaoyu. Xiaoyu had gone back on her word and played a cruel trick on her infatuated friend, at a moment when it was a matter of life and death. ‘Stinking bitch!’ The Anqing girl was a convenient punchbag, and blows and insults rained down on her.
‘Who are you swearing at?’ The curtain was pulled back and Hongling appeared, followed by Nani and Jade.
‘Let’s have no more calling people “bitches”,’ said Hongling. ‘A bitch is still a human being.’
‘You were such well-spoken girls. Where did you learn such dreadful language?’ asked Jade.
‘Did you learn it from us?’ asked Nani. ‘You shouldn’t go learning things from people like us!’
The scuffling stopped and the girls quieted down, wiped away their tears and smoothed their clothes and hair.
Only the little girl from Anqing still sobbed.
The curtain parted again and Yumo came out and stood, looking formidable, her arms akimbo.
‘What’s up with you then?’ she enquired in a rich Nanking street slang. ‘You can cry all you like, your mum and dad won’t hear, but the Japs will.’ She jerked a thumb at Hongling, Nani and Jade. ‘And less chat from you too.’
After a stern stare, she returned to the women’s side, wrenching the curtain back into place behind her.
The girls were startled into silence. Yumo’s words sounded so ordinary, like a young mother whose children were getting on her nerves, or a class monitor overseeing a bunch of mouthy younger girls who were supposed to be tidying their rooms. It was just what the girls needed, a casual, rough-tongued scolding, which returned everything to normal.
Before the crucifix, Father Engelmann got to his feet. Suddenly all thoughts and feelings faded from his mind and he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Fatigue, hunger and despair had sapped his energy to such an extent that he might not have the reserves of strength to say and do what he had to. He was going to have to be cruel and sacrifice some lives in order to preserve others. They had to be sacrificed because they were not pure enough, because they were second-rate lives, because they were not worthy of his protection, of the church’s protection or of God’s.
But did he have the right to play God, and make these life-and-death choices? To separate the wheat from the chaff, good from evil, in God’s stead? He crossed the courtyard in the direction of the kitchen.
‘My children…’ he would begin, just as he had addressed the schoolgirls countless times before. After all, the others were ‘his children’ too, weren’t they? It struck him as strange that the words did not feel forced, and came easily to his lips. When had it happened, that change in attitude to them? He still did not respect them but his revulsion had gone.
He would put it like this: ‘My children, sacrificing oneself for others takes you to a very sacred place. Through sacrificing yourselves, you will become pure and holy women.’ But even before he went into the kitchen, he realised that these words were utterly ridiculous, totally false, embarrassing even to himself.
So what should he say?
He almost hoped they would rebel, turn against him, begin to shout abuse. That would give him the strength to say: ‘I’m very sorry but you must go with the Japanese. Leave this church immediately.’
There was not a second to waste, yet Father Engelmann still dithered, overwhelmed by indecision.
‘Father!’ Fabio came running round from the back of the church. ‘The graveyard is full of Japanese soldiers. They came in over the wall and they’re hiding among the graves!’
Father Engelmann pushed open the kitchen door. There was only one thought in his head: Please let these women be good Chinese women and meekly accept their fate.
Then he stood rooted to the spot.
The women were sitting around the large chopping board, in the middle of which was a guttering candle, looking as if they were holding some sort of secret meeting.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Fabio in a low voice.
‘I brought them up here,’ said Yumo.
‘About a dozen of the Japanese soldiers didn’t leave with their officers. They’ve taken over the graveyard!’ said Fabio.
Yumo glanced at him, unconcerned. Then she turned to Father Engelmann.
‘We have all discussed it –’
‘I don’t remember you discussing it with us!’ exclaimed Jade.
‘We’ll go with the Japanese,’ Yumo went on. ‘The schoolgirls will stay behind.’
For a moment Father Engelmann was stunned. Then he realised what Yumo had said and felt relief wash over him, then guilt at his relief. He hated this ruthlessness in himself.
‘You don’t really think you’ll get wine to drink and meat to eat?’ interrupted Fabio urgently.
‘Even if there was, I wouldn’t go!’ said Nani.
‘I’m not forcing you,’ said Yumo. ‘But I can only take the place of one.’
Hongling got lazily to her feet. ‘Do you think you’re nobler than Yumo?’ She looked at them all. ‘Your lives are muckier than pond sludge, and you’re all playing Little Miss Precious!’ She walked up to Yumo and put her arm around her waist. ‘I’m getting into your good books. I’m going with you.’