The Flowers of War

more bitterly cold even than outside. The soldiers hesitated on the threshold. The beam of the officer’s torch illuminated the figure of Christ hanging from the cross above the altar then shifted to the unfathomable depths under the roof. Then he drew back, as if afraid of an ambush.

Father Engelmann said in low tones to Fabio, ‘As soon as they start to search the workshop, we must create a diversion and draw them off.’

‘What kind of a diversion?’

Father Engelmann pondered. Something less important would have to be sacrificed to protect the most important.

‘Go and tell George to start the car.’

Fabio understood instantly. If the Japanese soldiers could loot a car, they would be rewarded by their seniors and could barter the car with Chinese collaborators for food and valuables that were easier than a car to carry away, such as gold, silver and jewellery. They had been in occupation only a few days and already a thriving black market had grown up.

As soon as the soldiers opened the door to the workshop, a car engine was heard reverberating loudly through the courtyard. It purred smoothly and was clearly an engine of quality. The soldiers flashed their torches around the courtyard to see where the car was and spotted the garage. They also spotted the figure of George, lying underneath, apparently engaged in some repairs.

One soldier gave George a kick in the head. ‘Who’s that?’ he shouted in English.

George’s muffled voice came from beneath the car. ‘I’m fixing it!’ His English was even harder to understand than the officer’s.

‘Come out, George,’ Father Engelmann said.

Fabio had told George to stick to English and had rehearsed what he was to say. But when George slowly crawled out from under the old Ford, he had completely forgotten his lines. His oil-streaked face was filled with panic.

‘Who are you?’ asked the Japanese officer.

‘He’s the cook and handyman,’ said Father Engelmann, placing himself between George and the officer.

The officer turned to Father Engelmann. ‘We need to borrow the car.’

‘This is not my private property,’ the priest answered. ‘It’s not mine to lend you. It belongs to the mission.’ He was well aware that there was no point arguing: the car was lost. But he thought that if he prevaricated, he could persuade the Japanese that the church held nothing else of value. ‘So perhaps you could ask your commanding officer for a receipt for the loan which I can pass to the finance department of the church mission.’

The officer looked at him as if to say, And are you living on the moon? Don’t you know anything about war? But instead he said in English: ‘We’ll get you a receipt as soon as we get to the occupying forces HQ.’

As Father Engelmann and Fabio continued to protest that the car was not theirs to lend, the soldiers ignored them and pushed the Ford out of its garage. The officer sat in the driver’s seat and pumped the throttle a few times, pondered a moment, then started the engine. His men whooped with joy at having landed such valuable booty. Hollering like tribesmen, they ran after it out of the church compound.

Fabio and Father Engelmann breathed audible sighs of relief. George stared after them. He hardly dared believe that the war had really come to the church, brushed past him and left.

‘They think they’ve taken our most valuable possession,’ said Father Engelmann. ‘We should be safer now.’

Twelve

Shujuan and the other girls had no idea what had been going on. After the priest had shouted, ‘You’re not to make a sound or to come down,’ they had not let out a whisper. They had not even crowded around the windows as they had done on previous days. Where the blackout curtains joined, they could see torches flicking back and forth like small searchlights. But they lay motionless on their beds.

It was only when they heard the Ford start up that some of the bolder girls crept to the window and peered through the gaps in the curtains. They could not see much but they could hear a chorus of shouts. In Japanese.

Then there were cheers.

The Japanese Army had finally arrived, and then had driven away with the Ford which Father Engelmann had had for ten years. These were the only two facts that were clear to them.

The girls sat up, wrapped in their quilts, and debated what would happen next time the Japanese came, who they would shoot and what else they would do. Shujuan remembered what she had overheard when she was standing above the cellar holding the shovel, embers glinting in the hot ash.

‘They say that when the Japanese soldiers march into the Safety Zone, what they’re looking for are young girls,’ she said.

‘How do they know? They’re in hiding here!’ said Sophie.

‘The Japanese are on the hunt for any females—old women, little girls of seven or eight, anyone!’ Shujuan said.

‘You’re just spreading rumours!’ said Xiaoyu.

‘Ask Father Engelmann if you think I’m spreading rumours!’ retorted Shujuan. ‘He has seen it happen.’

‘Just rumours!’ shouted Xiaoyu. She had a way of shouting down news that she did not want to hear.

Shujuan said nothing. She knew her friendship with Xiaoyu was over. This was the final break. Nanking was filled with misery, the dead and the living were all miserable, but she was young enough to feel this widespread misery was vague and insubstantial. Losing her best friend, on the other hand, was real misery. Xiaoyu was heartless. All pretty girls were heartless, just like that pretty woman down in the cellar, Yumo.

The other girls went to sleep. Xiaoyu moved herself away from Shujuan and squeezed in next to Anna. Shujuan lay there for a while, then got up and dressed. But just as she was opening the trapdoor, she heard Xiaoyu say: ‘What are you doing, Shujuan?’

‘Nothing to do with you,’ said Shujuan. She had her pride, and she wanted the other girls to understand that what she was really saying was: If you don’t want to be my friend any more, Xiaoyu, then that’s fine. I couldn’t care less. I don’t want you for a friend either. You think you can buy our friendship with that rubbish about your father coming to rescue you? Well, where’s he been all this time then? Even if he’s as clever at rescuing people as you say, thanks, but I don’t care!

‘Don’t go down, Shujuan!’ a couple of the girls said.

‘Just ignore her!’ said Xiaoyu angrily.

The other two girls obediently ignored Shujuan.

Shujuan felt as if she had been exiled. But at least that left her free to do what she wanted. Down in the courtyard, she pottered around until she got to the kitchen door. Maybe she could find something to eat. Maybe the charcoal embers would still have some life in them and she could put them in a warming pan and warm up her frozen feet. They had not had any hot water to wash their feet for days. As she got to the kitchen door, she heard a man and a woman talking in low tones. The man was George, she could tell straight away.

‘I can’t, really I can’t. If I do some for you, Father Engelmann will kick me out.’

‘Just cook me a couple of potatoes! He won’t know…’ said the woman.

‘I’ll have to beg for a living if he kicks me out!’

‘I’ll keep you.’

It was Hongling, Shujuan could hear.

‘Just five…!’

‘No!’

‘Three!’