came up to us. The taller one pointed at a hen and rapped out some Japanese words none of us could comprehend. Then the shorter one said in Mandarin, “Eat … chicken … meat.”
“No, no,” I said, glad he knew some Chinese. “These are for experiments, not like the birds raised by your mothers. Don’t eat poison, all right? If you eat any of them, you will bleed from every orifice.”
“Poison?” the man asked, then mumbled something to his comrade. They both looked puzzled.
“Yes.” Rulian pointed at a line of brown bottles along the wall, containing herbs and medicines for poultry diseases.
The short man again spoke to his comrade, who then dropped the goose and kicked a terra-cotta water bowl. Together they strode out, blustering as if cursing their rotten luck.
The four of us smiled, because the fowls were all healthy. “My goodness, ‘you will bleed from every orifice,’ ” Holly said to me. “You must’ve scared the heck out of them.”
Rulian giggled. Without delay we went back to the camp, where rice porridge was being doled out to the refugees for the afternoon meal.
Ban hadn’t returned yet, and Minnie was worried. The headquarters of the Safety Zone was just a stone’s throw away, and he should have come back long ago. We couldn’t help but wonder if he had run into trouble. The boy was an orphan, whose keep in a nearby orphanage had been paid by our college for years before we hired him, so he was more than just an employee to us.
After the refugees had finished their meal, we went to the dining hall to have supper. Most of us hadn’t eaten anything since the morning. Minnie and Holly collapsed onto chairs, saying they preferred a nap to food. They closed their eyes, ready to drop off.
“Please, you ought to eat to keep going,” I said, placing a bowl of porridge in front of Minnie. I moved a plate of fried soybeans closer. As I was getting another bowl for Holly, Luhai rushed in.
“Minnie,” he said, “some Japanese broke into the house where we store our rations.”
“Did they take the rice?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“What did they tell you?” I said.
“They just punched me.” While speaking, he rubbed his bruised cheek.
The three of us went out with Luhai. The house in question was across the street from the front gate, and the rice was actually not ours. It was the Red Cross workers manning the porridge plant who’d left the ninety sacks in there, about twenty thousand pounds of rice. If the Japanese took the grain, the refugees here would starve. Approaching the house, we saw a lamp wavering at its entrance. A soldier barred our way, shouting in stiff Mandarin, “Stop! Stop there!”
“This is our college’s house!” Minnie cried back, and tried to push in. Then a young officer with a short beard came out of the room that held the rations. Minnie fluttered a small U.S. flag at him and said, “The rice is American property. You can’t have it! Get your men out of here. Are you in charge?”
The officer didn’t understand her; he turned around and said something to the men behind him. Two of them came up and shoved the four of us away. Then the officer pulled out his Yamato sword, cutting the air right and left while screaming as if he were performing onstage. The blade whirred and whistled. Frightened, none of us dared step closer again.
Without delay we went down Ninghai Road to the Safety Zone headquarters, which was just steps away. John Rabe was there alone, wearing a steel helmet like an officer. On his desk were some old issues of Ostasiatischer Lloyd , a small German-language newspaper published in Shanghai. Minnie asked him if Ban had come to inform him of a random arrest at our college. “I didn’t see him,” Rabe said, puzzled and wringing his plump fingers.
“Oh God, I hope he didn’t fall into Japanese hands!” Minnie said.
“He didn’t show up here at all?” I asked Rabe.
“No. I’ve been here since nine
“No, no,” I said, glad he knew some Chinese. “These are for experiments, not like the birds raised by your mothers. Don’t eat poison, all right? If you eat any of them, you will bleed from every orifice.”
“Poison?” the man asked, then mumbled something to his comrade. They both looked puzzled.
“Yes.” Rulian pointed at a line of brown bottles along the wall, containing herbs and medicines for poultry diseases.
The short man again spoke to his comrade, who then dropped the goose and kicked a terra-cotta water bowl. Together they strode out, blustering as if cursing their rotten luck.
The four of us smiled, because the fowls were all healthy. “My goodness, ‘you will bleed from every orifice,’ ” Holly said to me. “You must’ve scared the heck out of them.”
Rulian giggled. Without delay we went back to the camp, where rice porridge was being doled out to the refugees for the afternoon meal.
Ban hadn’t returned yet, and Minnie was worried. The headquarters of the Safety Zone was just a stone’s throw away, and he should have come back long ago. We couldn’t help but wonder if he had run into trouble. The boy was an orphan, whose keep in a nearby orphanage had been paid by our college for years before we hired him, so he was more than just an employee to us.
After the refugees had finished their meal, we went to the dining hall to have supper. Most of us hadn’t eaten anything since the morning. Minnie and Holly collapsed onto chairs, saying they preferred a nap to food. They closed their eyes, ready to drop off.
“Please, you ought to eat to keep going,” I said, placing a bowl of porridge in front of Minnie. I moved a plate of fried soybeans closer. As I was getting another bowl for Holly, Luhai rushed in.
“Minnie,” he said, “some Japanese broke into the house where we store our rations.”
“Did they take the rice?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“What did they tell you?” I said.
“They just punched me.” While speaking, he rubbed his bruised cheek.
The three of us went out with Luhai. The house in question was across the street from the front gate, and the rice was actually not ours. It was the Red Cross workers manning the porridge plant who’d left the ninety sacks in there, about twenty thousand pounds of rice. If the Japanese took the grain, the refugees here would starve. Approaching the house, we saw a lamp wavering at its entrance. A soldier barred our way, shouting in stiff Mandarin, “Stop! Stop there!”
“This is our college’s house!” Minnie cried back, and tried to push in. Then a young officer with a short beard came out of the room that held the rations. Minnie fluttered a small U.S. flag at him and said, “The rice is American property. You can’t have it! Get your men out of here. Are you in charge?”
The officer didn’t understand her; he turned around and said something to the men behind him. Two of them came up and shoved the four of us away. Then the officer pulled out his Yamato sword, cutting the air right and left while screaming as if he were performing onstage. The blade whirred and whistled. Frightened, none of us dared step closer again.
Without delay we went down Ninghai Road to the Safety Zone headquarters, which was just steps away. John Rabe was there alone, wearing a steel helmet like an officer. On his desk were some old issues of Ostasiatischer Lloyd , a small German-language newspaper published in Shanghai. Minnie asked him if Ban had come to inform him of a random arrest at our college. “I didn’t see him,” Rabe said, puzzled and wringing his plump fingers.
“Oh God, I hope he didn’t fall into Japanese hands!” Minnie said.
“He didn’t show up here at all?” I asked Rabe.
“No. I’ve been here since nine
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