China to Me (65 page)

Where, you will ask, was the International Red Cross all this time? Well, there wasn't any. It took almost a year to get one set up. The Japanese even then maintained that they had not recognized it officially; the Red Cross was permitted to keep an office in town, and the Swiss in charge was permitted to make representations to the camp commandants, but nobody promised ever to listen to him or to take action on his suggestions. Officially, the Japanese said, they did not hold themselves bound by any rules laid down at Geneva as to international law in regard to prisoners of war. They made all decisions. They were the judges of what was humane and what unnecessary. They kept control of everything, and usually forgot all about it. “We do not recognize Geneva” was a common saying. I don't know how many times Oda said it to me. Yet in his cynical way he did try to help, because Oda was a confirmed capitalist and he had been severely shocked at the sight of many Hong Kong millionaires he had known, brought low at Stanley. Even enemy rich men are still rich men, and Oda felt sympathetic toward them. His orderly instincts were horrified at sight of Bagram, a local taipan, wearing an apron at Stanley and peeling onions. Oda's eyes were full of tears when he told me about it. I don't think he was sorry for ordinary Chinese coolies, but British bank directors were different. Oda obviously felt that his country was going too far.

A subtle change had taken place in the population. Most Chinese, even when they are very hungry, try to keep some wealth hidden away, and as the months went by a few brave greedy souls began to dig their money out and speculate with it, and put out feelers to see if business could be resumed. There was an odd little boom in brokerage. People sold medicine and tinned food at huge prices. People juggled with currency, betting on the Japanese treatment of the Hong Kong dollar against the yen. (Japanese did that too, and usually made a lot of money out of it.) We were rationed on rice, oil, and sugar. Each person, baby or full-grown man or whatever, was entitled to 6 .4 teels of rice a day — roughly, a third of a catty, the Chinese pound. That is not nearly enough rice for a Cantoness to live on, because the average coolie, who can't afford much soong, the other food he puts with his rice, makes up for the deficiency by eating more of the rice itself, and he needs at least a catty a day if he wants to do any work on it. So they bought rice in the black market, and venal Japs smuggled rice from the stores and sold it to the Chinese. The ration rice, besides, was seldom edible. It was dust for the most part, or a kind of broken grain that Chinese had always used for pigs. Broken rice had almost no nutritional value at all. We had to depend on the black market for food. As for oil and sugar, the crowd waiting for the ration was always so big that you had to stand in line for three or four days before you could get your supply, and then it was completely insufficient and usually adulterated. Rationing in general was a huge bad joke. Soon we lived on the black market completely. Once in a while the Food Control authorities would “investigate” the situation and a few Japanese and Chinese heads would be cut off, and in the end we, the public, suffered more deprivation than ever. As for fuel for cooking — but I can't even begin to talk about that racket. There is no time.

How were we managing? Well, as speculation increased, so did our chances of getting money. The first thing I did, as soon as I could, was to grab the chance offered me by Selwyn to buy two twenty-eight-pound tins of powdered milk. It was an Australian brand made on Trubee King's formula, called “Trufood.” I paid a hundred and ten dollars for the two tins, and gave six pounds of milk back to the man who sold it, as a bribe. That about cleaned out the Hahn purse, but I never stopped blessing the day I bought that milk, for it saw Carola through the whole show. Later powdered-milk prices reached an incredible height.

So now I was broke and needed money. But money was looser in town, and I had jewels. Reeny did too. I sold my diamond ring, and that kept us going a long time. Then gold began to go up in value; we agonized as to what would be the best time to sell our gold jewels, and usually we guessed wrong. But with the help of Reeny's family, who knew all about pawnshops, I turned my gold chain into money, and then my bracelet, and then some watches from a collection of French watches I had once made. I kept a jump ahead of destitution. The time was coming when any commodity would be worth more than money, and I had lots of stuff in the house. I sold a fur coat, and some books, and all sorts of things. I know now what to take with me the next time I'm going to be caught in an occupation. I will sell whatever I have in advance and buy gold instead, just lump gold, and in that gold I will put diamonds, like currents in a bun. When people get afraid of paper money they rush for gold and diamonds, and now I do too. It may look like gold and diamonds to you, but it means powdered milk to me, milk and baby shoes. I developed an obsession for powdered milk and shoes. I couldn't see baby shoes anywhere in town without haggling for them and buying them; I was buying bigger and bigger ones, shoes that Carola couldn't have worn until she was five years old, against the time when there would be none to buy. Carola was trying to walk, but she hadn't succeeded as yet. Reeny's Auntie May made shoes for her out of our old felt hats, and those were good enough at first.

The new old house was big and rambling, and full of leaks and shell holes. We welcomed the discovery of every shell hole, because we hoped that the house was ramshackle and ancient enough not to tempt the Japanese. It was a vain hope, because the Japs were suddenly taken with a passion for grabbing all the houses they saw, even ancient ones. First the Army, then the Navy, then the government employees tried to kick us out. All over town this was happening, and the air resounded with shrill cries of civilian protest, usually unavailing, as households were booted out with four hours' warning, or at the best a week's notice. Theoretically only “enemy property” was liable to confiscation, but if a Japanese had enough power he didn't worry about such little refinements. And if a gendarme wanted anything you just didn't quote the law at all if you knew what was good for you. The rent situation was a mess. Nobody could pay rent, but the house owners naturally kept after everybody for rent until the government made some kind of law giving them retroactive powers of collection. On the other hand, the government said cautiously, if the tenant couldn't pay — well, he couldn't pay, and the landlord ought to be nice. The pronouncement changed nothing.

Following on this, that same government told me to pay my rent or else. Until then I had managed to get rid of all comers by rushing straight downtown to Oda whenever somebody ordered us to move out. Oda would then telephone a Major Nakano, who arranged it. There came an awkward time when Major Nakano himself wanted the house … but Oda fixed that. As for the rent, it wasn't due until September and I put the worry off. I was learning how to think properly under occupation conditions, and how to wait for trouble until it arrived.

In many ways our new house wasn't so good. It was surrounded, for one thing, by Japanese tenants; ours was one of a row of houses and every other one had Japs living there. It was across the street from St. Joan's Court, a modern apartment building which had been taken over by one Japanese admiral, not as a residence but as a kind of week-end cottage. At the time, when there was a severe housing shortage due partly to the Japanese passion for commandeering buildings and partly to the fact that a lot of houses had been bombed, the public felt indignant at this lavish use of St. Joan's Court. It was a big place with twelve apartments, and we were irritated when we saw two little Chinese tarts lolling about, now on one veranda and now on another. Nobody else ever came there but the admiral and a few select pals. Our house was also next door to a big building, formerly the property of the Ho family but now the swankiest geisha house in town. At night you could hear sounds of revelry in the Japanese tradition.

Worst of all, there was a tree on the slope above us which the soldiers often used for their own amusements. They tied Chinese malefactors to this tree and flogged them. They took turns at this, because they enjoyed themselves at it and each one wanted his share of the fun. And when the soldiers weren't indulging in this pastime Indian watchmen were. The tarts leaned out from their apartment house, from the window nearest the flogging tree, and called shrill encouragement to the executioners or scolded the Chinese victim, until one day Ah King could bear it no longer. In his choicest Cantonese dialect he talked to the ladies, reminding them of the day of judgment in the future. After that they stayed indoors quietly when people were being flogged.

I've seen a soldier leading a peasant woman on a string, like a dog. She must have been caught stealing dry leaves or branches for fuel; it was a common misdemeanor, punishable by death if the Japanese gendarme happened to feel that way. The woman was yelling and then at intervals getting down on her knees, bumping her head on the ground. The soldier was highly amused. I think he was in such a good temper that he may possibly have let the woman go, but if so I didn't see that part of it. I wish I had.

When she was six months old Carola sat up, and two weeks later her first tooth appeared. I asked the sentry at the hospital to tell Charles about the tooth. Charles had disappeared from the veranda. For months I didn't see him when I brought the parcels, and I couldn't find out why. The officer in charge, an amiable little fellow named Sieno, just opened his eyes at me when I asked, and said, smiling:

“Oh, Boxer very well.”

I heard afterward why it was. The imprisoned officers had all been told to sign paroles, promising they would not try to escape. Such a promise should have been merely an academic matter to Charles, because his arm was helpless and he wouldn't have had the strength to make such an attempt anyway, but he maintained that as a regular officer he must not sign a parole. The duty of an officer, he insisted, was to escape if he possibly could, and he would not sign.

Tony Dawson-Grove wouldn't either. So Tony and Charles were put into a ward in back of the building and weren't allowed to walk on our side of the hospital on parcel day. It was planned as a punishment for Charles; he couldn't look at me or the baby until he signed. We got around that, afterward; I walked along another lower road at the back of the hospital at a certain time on a certain day each week, and though there was a tremendous distance between Charles's beat and mine, I could still make him out, with his white sling, and he could still see me with the baby. When Carola learned to walk, at ten months, I took her along that road and then she walked with me, hand in hand, up and down. I heard Charles laugh. Then an Indian watchman came and chased us away.

I have come to a ticklish part of the book. It is so ticklish that I am not going to write anything about it. I have been thinking it over and this is the safest way. The war isn't over yet.

I will say this much: I never did any spy work during my stay in Hong Kong, and to the best of my knowledge Selwyn never did either. If we were dealing with any enemy but the Japanese my secret would not be a secret at all. We did nothing wrong even from their point of view, but they wouldn't believe that. As it is, I am still full of a guilty feeling, and I don't dare write about our activities. Anyway, I can say that they were entirely to do with relief work. Selwyn was getting money from friendly natives in town, and we used this money in certain ways, to provide food and medicine and clothes for people who needed it. We took risks. Some of us were caught. The work was the whole meaning and aim of our existence, for months. I will not say any more. You can't go through months of discretion without feeling the effect of it.

I have spent hours in bed, there in Hong Kong, thinking of ways and means to manage different things. Charles used to call me the original sucker, but I learned then how to be disingenuous. I planned my day as an actress plans her part. I tried over to myself this inflection, that phrase; I thought of some man I was to interview, and decided hours in advance on the best thing to say to him, considering his character. It got so that I was on guard no matter who was talking with me; without thinking of it, I learned how to act with this type of person and that. I didn't sleep very much, but I did learn many lessons.

Chapter 52

We had all forgotten that repatriation rumor, out and about town. In Stanley they hadn't, but then in Stanley they had little to live on but hope, and they kept the wildest rumors going, rather than settle down to despair. I thought of the exchange as just that: a rumor. Then all of a sudden in May it materialized, swiftly, like a blow. This time, however, it wasn't just a selected group who were to go; diplomats, newspapermen, and common ordinary mortals were included, as long as they were American. The banks downtown, where our bank boys were still coming to work every day under guard, marched from their brothel by the bay, were full of happiness and excitement. I was not happy but I was excited, because I had already heard about it direct.

Oda sent me a rush message, by hand, to come down to the office that very minute, no matter how late it was when I received the summons. This happened the day before the news broke. I turned pale, as I always did when I had any kind of official order, and I howled for Reeny, equally as usual. Together we jog-trotted down the hill, wondering what the hell it could be this time. In the office were Oda and Gibson, the American representative at large in town.

“Repatriation, Mickey,” said Gibby. “Want to go home?”

I looked at Oda, and he nodded gravely. “Do I have to go to Stanley first?” I asked in what must have sounded strangely like a bargaining tone.

“No,” said Oda hastily. He had learned a lesson. “No, never mind Stanley. It is not necessary this time.”

“We have had a discussion about your case,” said Gibby. “Mr. Southard (our consul general) has been in the office today, brought in from Stanley to go over the list, and Mr. Oda has kindly made it possible to include you in the exchange. Anyway, you're included already.” He added that swiftly, as Oda got up and left us to talk alone. “He asked Southard if the American Government was still willing to claim you as a citizen, and Southard duly said yes, and there you are. So!”