Journey Across the Four Seas (9 page)

During the first days of occupation, all the women in Uncle’s building stayed behind locked doors. Only the men ventured out in twos and threes. They always returned buzzing with news. They told of Japanese troops rampaging in a hospital, bayoneting wounded soldiers, and even murdering doctors and nurses. They also said that the Japanese had rounded up all the British and herded them into Stanley Fort. Several of my professors at
Hong Kong
University
had been taken prisoner, including a Canadian, Dr. Gordon King. Although he was dean of medicine and had little to do with nonmedical students, everyone knew him. I’d seen him striding across campus, tall and dashing in his lab coat. Unlike the British, he was down-to-earth and treated his students like equals. My heart ached to think of him in a Japanese camp, subject to torture, humiliation, and diseases.

Uncle also brought home reports of looting and raping. Japanese soldiers were hungry for "flower girls," their term for young women. Those who resisted faced death, while those who didn’t resist would wish they were dead after the soldiers were through with them. I was a young woman of twenty-three, with a willowy figure, fair skin, and features that some had mistaken for Eurasian. Afraid that my uncommon looks would attract attention, Sam-Koo put herself to work to make me ugly. First, she forbade me to wear the tailored cheongsams that accented my contours. Then she got hold of a coolie’s black pajama suit, complete with dirt and patches, and pulled it like a paper bag over me. Finally, to make my face match my outfit, Sam-Koo marinated me in soy sauce. My light skin turned dark and wrinkly, and the itch was something awful. I had to keep my "cosmetic" on even at home because the soldiers could barge in at any time.

Law and order fell apart. Cut off from all sources of supply, our food shortage became more and more acute. Even respectable citizens took to stealing and robbing to keep their families alive. With the
Hong Kong
police disbanded, Japanese soldiers became the law officers, but the law they enforced was nothing like what we were used to. For looters, the punishment was beheading on the spot. Without asking you a question, a Japanese soldier could make you kneel and lower your head. In one swoop he would bring his sword down on your neck. This extreme penalty was supposed to stop people from stealing, but it didn’t. What choice did a hungry man have? If he didn’t break into the store and get that sack of rice, his whole family of old and young would die of starvation.

I was lucky that Uncle had filled his storeroom before the war started. But every time Ninth Aunt opened a can of food, I would think of the day when our supplies would run out. What would happen to us then? Uncle was an old man, and the rest of us were women. Dismal days lay ahead.

One night as I was sleeping in Uncle’s guestroom, a frantic clanging woke me. I’d heard it before, this banging of pots and pans. People often made such noise to scare away burglars. The commotion sounded only a building away. I got up and looked out. A truck rolled past me, its harsh rays blinding me for a second. Several Japanese military police jumped out of the vehicle. They pointed their rifles at a figure, and fired. My heart felt as if a bullet had blasted it open.

I stumbled back to bed and curled into a ball, shivering. Killing and dying seemed so easy. A soldier only had to wrap his finger around the trigger and pull. One minute I was a person with hopes and dreams, the next minute I was nothing more than worm meat. The cold truth gave me such a chill that my teeth couldn’t stop chattering. I hugged myself and pulled the blanket over my head, but nothing could warm me up.

A gentle voice brushed my ears. It was faint at first, but as I listened carefully, it became so clear that I felt that the speaker was standing over me. "Everyone who sees me and believes in me will have everlasting life; and I will raise him up on the last day," he said. I answered with, "W
hosoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life."
The Bible studies I’d labored over flooded my memory. I’d memorized them, got good grades in them, but I’d never understood them. Now that I was face-to- face with death, the words came to life. The everlasting life Jesus promised wasn’t fantasy or figure of speech; it was a real place waiting for me. A bullet could rob me of my temporal life, but the eternal life of my soul was mine to keep forever. A warm current flowed through my body, and I stopped shivering.

The next morning, ignoring Sam-Koo’s advice to stay home, I walked to my alma mater, Italian Convent. The sign on the gate now read "Sacred Heart." Because of the Japanese alliance with
Italy
, the mothers had disassociated themselves from their country by renaming their school. Even so, the occupiers must have known that the nuns were Italian. There wasn’t a soldier in sight in the vicinity. I was all too glad to have one less Japanese sentry to bow to.

Walking through the grounds, I realized that many Chinese had taken refuge at the convent. I didn’t dally to talk to acquaintances, but went straight to Mother Angelica. I told her I wanted to be baptized immediately. Given the dangerous times, I wanted to make sure that my soul went to heaven when I died. It took her a while to recognize me in my coolie disguise. Her weary eyes lit up, but dimmed again. She said, "I’m very happy that you believe in God, but you can’t be baptized without instructions. I’m afraid I can’t help you right now. As you can see…." Her sentence trailed off as her eyes wandered out the window at the fugitives camped in the courtyard.

Disappointed with Mother Angelica’s rejection, I walked out of the building and ran into Mother Mary. She’d been my French teacher and had recently recovered from TB. Even with the padding of the intricate habit, she looked as brittle as a dried twig. After asking about her health, I told her of my wish to be baptized. "I don’t see why not," she said, her voice unusually feisty for a TB victim. "You’ve been a student at the Convent many years. Surely you’ve learned something. Under the circumstances, I think you should be baptized as soon as possible. The rest we will leave to God."

She found me an Italian priest, and I was baptized the next day.

2

People were leaving in droves. The Japanese made little effort to stop them, as there would be that many less mouths to feed.
Hong Kong
had always imported most of its food. As long as the war went on—only God knew how long that would be—commerce would remain at a standstill. The choice was either to stay and starve or make a run for unoccupied territories in inland
China
.

Sam-Koo and I decided to join the exodus. There were several escape routes. One was via
Macau
, a neutral Portuguese enclave a few hours away by boat. Sam-Koo naturally picked this route since she was born in
Macau
and had relatives there. Depending on the situation there, she might even stay. My preference, however, was to go with my brother, Ngai. He was planning to travel by boat to
Vietnam
, cross over to
China
’s Guanxi province, and make his way to
Chungking
, the capital of Free China. Once he got there, he would have a number of colleges from which to select. Many of the faculty of the premier universities had fled Japanese occupation and relocated to the Nationalist stronghold of
Szechwan
. Ngai was eager to finish his studies, and so was I. But what did he say when I asked to go with him?

"This isn’t a journey for a woman. A refugee’s life is tough. You’ll only end up a burden to me. You should stay home and wait out the war."

The selfish pig! I was furious with him. We’d been the best of friends during our university years, going to dances together and studying side by side at the library. After Mother left for
Thailand
, he and I were the only family in
Hong Kong
. The least we could do was stick together. If he didn’t want to travel with me, very well then: I would find my own way to
Chungking
.

A few days later, I was on a ferry to
Macau
. Traveling with me were Sam-Koo and her roommate, Miss Chung. As
Hong Kong
receded behind us, several Japanese planes circled overhead. The captain shooed us into the cabin and told us to stay put. Just a few weeks ago, a classmate of mine who was a swimming champ had been traveling in the same boat. At the sight of Japanese fighters swooping down, he climbed over the rail and jumped into the sea. Confident of his swimming ability, he thought he could dodge Japanese bullets by abandoning the boat. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that the sea in January was cold. Even the strongest swimmer can’t survive the low temperature. My poor classmate never resurfaced. Meanwhile, the Japanese planes turned back without firing a shot.

In
Macau
, Sam-Koo’s cousin took us in, adding to the throng of refugees in her apartment. Food shortage was acute here too, and the mistress of the house rationed rice at one bowl per person per meal. The winter was especially cold that year. Frozen corpses of the homeless littered the streets. It was as if the heavens were mimicking the disaster we humans had created on earth. Life was hard for everyone, and not being a relative, I felt I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.

The solution arrived in a letter from my brother in
Thailand
. Since the Japanese takeover,
Hong Kong
had been cut off from the rest of the world. Services to Macau, however, continued because
Portugal
had managed to stay out of the war. I was very happy to hear from Brother Kin, even happier to see the enclosed money order for four hundred dollars. I decided to use the money to travel to
China
.

Miss Chung was of the same mind, and we agreed to make the trip together. Sam-Koo got me in touch with a friend of hers, a small, wrinkled man who looked like a piece of laundry that had shrunk in hot water. I called him "Eighth Brother," for he was the eighth son of the family with whom Sam-Koo and I had stayed while on holiday in
Canton
many years ago. He’d escaped to Macau when the Japanese invaded
Canton
and was now organizing a group to slip across into Free China. Miss Chung and I decided to join him.

A lorry took about thirty of us to the banks of a river.
China
lay on the other side. Our guide told us that the strip of land immediately across was bandit country. To guarantee our safe passage, he collected several hundred dollars of "toll" money from each traveler. I was dressed in coolie pajamas, my face smeared with soy sauce. Eighth Brother also taught me some mannerisms to go with the disguise, in addition to a few cusswords to use to insult the other person’s mother. I mustn’t have made a convincing study because I overheard several of my companions discussing me. "She’s got to be a fake," one of them said.

We were told that we couldn’t cross the river yet. A Japanese gunboat was patrolling the area, and it was known to shoot on sight. We had to wait till the gunboat sailed around the bend. The afternoon passed, but instead of moving away, the Japanese ship dropped anchor. We spent the night, and then another. The lorry driver, who was wasting time and money sitting around, gave us an ultimatum: he was leaving that morning. Either we went back with him or stayed at our own risk.

While people were debating what to do, I took out my rosary, closed my eyes, and prayed fervently to Mother Mary. Never had I prayed so hard, nor wanted something so much. Barely had I finished my beads when somebody shouted that the gunboat was moving upriver. "Hurry! Hurry!" the driver cried. "You have to cross before the gunboat returns!" We ran down to the rowboats that had been prepared for us. Eighth Brother, who was supposed to be my guardian, put Miss Chung and me in one boat.

"You women are too slow. I’m going with the men," he told us. You can see what kind of gentleman he was!

I forgot to mention that Miss Chung was a teacher of physical education at Yeung Jung. She was an athletic person and much stronger than I. You’d think that it was an advantage to be paired with a strong person. Well, I quickly discovered that it wasn’t. The imbalance made the boat go round and round in circles. Others had reached shore already and we were still chasing our tails in the middle of the river. If the gunboat returned, we’d be dead. Miss Chung yelled at me to row faster, but I was already rowing my fastest. Out of desperation, the experience of past boating trips with my brothers came back to me. Whenever I rowed with Ngai, we always counted out a rhythm.

"One, two, three! One, two three!" I chanted. Our oars began to pull in unison. The boat advanced, albeit in a crooked line. When we finally reached shore, Eighth Brother’s face was black as a thundercloud. "Why are you two so slow? You’re holding everyone up!" he barked at us. Can you imagine such a man!

From there on, the group dispersed. People were headed for different towns and villages. The destination of my party, consisting of Eighth Brother, Miss Chung, and myself, was Kukgong, the wartime capital of
Kwangtung
province. En route we planned to stop at a county called Seiwui, where Eighth Brother’s brother lived. The only transportation was our own two feet. For days we walked and walked on dirt paths, up mountains, along fields, and over ravines. I’d never been a great walker, much less when teetering on a rounded log over a gulch, or crossing a river on a plank several inches wide. Eighth Brother was constantly threatening to leave me behind.