When We Were Orphans

  “I say . . . Look, if we have to wait a few minutes, let me just go and do something.”

  “Do something? What exactly?”

  “Just . . . just something. Look really, I won’t be gone long, just a few minutes. You see, I just have to ask someone something.”

  “Who? Christopher, I don’t think we should talk to anyone at this point.”

  “That’s not what I mean, exactly. I fully realise the need for caution and so on. No, no, don’t worry. It’s just that young man. The one who you sent, the one who drove me here. I just need to ask him something.”

  “But surely he’s gone.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s still out there. Look, I’ll be straight back.”

  I hurried out through the curtain back into the shop, where the spindly man with the beard looked up at me in surprise.

  “You appreciated Mimi Johnson?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes. Wonderful. I just have to pop out for a second.”

  “May I make it clear, sir, that I am Swiss. There is no impending hostility between your country and mine.”

  “Ah yes. Splendid. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I hurried across the road towards the car. The young man, who had seen me, rolled down his window and smiled politely; there seemed no trace of his earlier temper. Stooping down to him, I said quietly:

  “Look here. This Yeh Chen. Do you have any idea where I might find him?”

  “Yeh Chen? He lives very near here.”

  “Yeh Chen. I’m talking about the blind Yeh Chen.”

  “Yes. Just over there.”

  “His house is over there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Look here, you don’t seem to understand. Are you saying Yeh Chen, the blind Yeh Chen, that his house is just over there?”

  “Yes, sir. You may walk there, but if you wish, I take in car.”

  “Listen to me, this is very important. Do you know how long Yeh Chen has lived in his present house?”

  The young man thought, then said: “He always live there, sir. When I was boy, he live there.”

  “Are you sure? Now look, this is most important. Are you sure this is the blind Yeh Chen, and that he’s been living there for a long time?”

  “I told you, sir. He there when I was small boy. My guess, he live there many, many years.”

  I straightened, took a deep breath and thought about the full implications of what I had just heard. Then I leant down again and said: “I think you should take me there. In the car, I mean. We have to approach this carefully. I’d like you to take me there, but to stop the car a little way away. Somewhere where we can see clearly the house opposite Yeh Chen’s house. Do you understand?”

  I got into the car and the young man started the engine. He turned the vehicle a full circle, then we took another narrow side-street. As we did so, many thoughts crowded into my mind at once. I wondered if I should tell the young man the significance of the journey we were making, and even considered asking if he was carrying a gun in the car—though in the end I decided such an enquiry might only panic him.

  We turned a corner into an alley even narrower than the one before. Then we turned again and came to a halt. I thought for a second we had reached our destination, but then realised what had made us stop. In the alleyway before us was a crowd of young boys trying to control a bewildered water-buffalo. There was some sort of altercation going on between the boys, and as I watched, one of them gave the buffalo a clout on the nose with his stick. I felt a wave of alarm, remembering my mother’s warnings throughout my childhood that these animals were as dangerous as any bull when riled. The creature did nothing, however, and the boys continued to argue. The young man sounded the horn several times to no avail, and finally, with a sigh, he began to reverse the vehicle back the way we had come.

  We took another alley nearby, but this diversion appeared to confuse my driver, for after a few more turns, he stopped and reversed again, though this time there was no obstruction. At one point, we came out on to a broader rutted mud track with dilapidated wooden shacks all along one side.

  “Please hurry,” I said. “I have very little time.”

  Just then a huge crashing sound shook the ground we were travelling along. The young man continued to drive steadily, but looked nervously into the distance.

  “Fighting,” he said. “Fighting started again.”

  “It sounded awfully close,” I said.

  For the next few minutes, we steered around more narrow corners and little wooden houses, blasting the horn to scatter children and dogs. Then the car came to another abrupt halt, and I heard the young man let out an exasperated sound. Looking past him, I saw the way ahead was blocked by a barricade of sandbags and barbed wire.

  “We must go all the way round,” he said. “No other way.”

  “But look, we must be very close now.”

  “Very close, yes. But road blocked, so we must go all the way round. Be patient, sir. We get there soon.”

  But a distinct change had entered the young man’s manner. His earlier assurance had faded, and now he struck me as ridiculously young to be driving a car, perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen. For some time, we travelled through muddy, stinking streets, down more alleys where I thought we would at any moment plunge into the open gutters—but somehow the young man always managed to keep our wheels just clear of the edges. All the while, we could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance, and see people hurrying back to the safety of their houses and shelters. But there were still the children and dogs, seemingly belonging to no one, running everywhere before us, oblivious to any sense of danger. At one point, as we bumped our way across the yard of some small factory, I said:

  “Now look, why don’t you just stop and ask the way?”

  “Be patient, sir.”

  “Be patient? But you’ve no more idea where we’re going than I have.”

  “We get there soon, sir.”

  “What nonsense. Why do you persist in this charade? It’s typical of you Chinese. You’re lost, but you won’t admit it. We’ve been driving now for . . . well, it seems like an eternity.”

  He said nothing, and brought us out on to a mud road that climbed steeply between large heaps of factory refuse. Then came another thunderous crash somewhere alarmingly near, and the young man dropped his speed to a crawl.

  “Sir. I think we go back now.”

  “Go back? Go back where?”

  “Fighting very near. Not safe here.”

  “What do you mean, the fighting’s near?” Then an idea dawned on me. “Are we anywhere near Chapei?”

  “Sir. We in Chapei. We in Chapei some time.”

  “What? You mean we’ve left the Settlement?”

  “We in Chapei now.”

  “But . . . Good God! We’re actually outside the Settlement? In Chapei? Look here, you’re a fool, you know that? A fool! You told me the house was very near. Now we’re lost. We’re possibly dangerously close to the war zone. And we’ve left the Settlement! You’re what I call a proper fool. Do you know why? I’ll tell you. You pretend to know far more than you do. You’re too proud to admit to your shortcomings. That’s my definition of a fool exactly. A right fool! Do you hear me? A right and proper fool!”

  He stopped the car. Then he opened his door and without glancing back, walked off.

  It took me a moment to calm myself and assess the situation. We were most of the way up a hill, and the car was now in an isolated spot on a mud track surrounded by mounds of broken masonry, twisted wire and what looked like the mangled remains of old bicycle wheels. I could see the young man’s figure marching up a footpath over the rim of the hill.

  I got out and ran after him. He must have heard me coming, but he neither quickened his pace nor looked back. I caught up and stopped him by grasping his shoulder.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said, panting a little. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I apologise, I really do. No excuse for i
t. But you see, you’ve no idea what all this means. Now please”—I indicated back to the car—“let’s continue.”

  The young man would not look at me. “No more driving,” he said.

  “But look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Now please, be reasonable.”

  “No more driving. Too dangerous here. Fighting very near.”

  “But listen, it’s very important I get to this house. Very important indeed. Now tell me truthfully, please. Are you lost or do you really know where the house is?”

  “I know. I know house. But too dangerous now. Fighting very near.”

  As though to support his point, machine-gun fire suddenly echoed around us. It felt reasonably distant, but it was impossible to tell from which direction it was coming, and we both looked about us, feeling suddenly exposed on the hill.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said, and took from my pocket my notebook and pencil. “I can see you want no further part in all this, and I can understand your viewpoint. And I’m sorry again I was rude to you earlier. But I’d like you to do two more things for me before you go home. First, I’d like you please to write down here the address of Yeh Chen’s house.”

  “No address, sir. There is no address.”

  “Very well, then draw a map. Write down directions. Whatever. Please do it for me. Then after that, I’d like you to drive me to the nearest police station. Of course, that’s what I should have done from the start. I’ll need trained, armed men. Please.”

  I gave him the notebook and pencil. Several pages were covered with notes from my enquiries earlier in the day. He turned the tiny pages until he came to a blank one. Then he said:

  “No English. Cannot write English, sir.”

  “Then write in whatever you can. Draw a map. Whatever. Please hurry.”

  He appeared now to grasp the importance of what I was asking him to do. He thought carefully for a few seconds, then began to write rapidly. He filled one page, then another. After four or five pages he slotted the pencil back into the spine of the notebook and handed it to me. I glanced through what he had done, but could make no sense of the Chinese script. Nevertheless I said:

  “Thank you. Thank you very much indeed. Now please. Take me to a police station. Then you can go home.”

  “Police station this way, sir.” He took several further steps in the direction he had been walking. Then from the crest of the hill, he pointed down to the bottom of the slope where, perhaps two hundred yards away, a mass of grey buildings began.

  “Police station there, sir.”

  “There? Which building?”

  “There. With flag.”

  “I see, yes. You’re sure that’s a police station?”

  “Sure, sir. Police station.”

  From where we were standing, it certainly looked like a police station. I could see, moreover, that there was little point in trying to drive to it; the car had been left on the other side of the hill, and the track we had just come up was not wide enough for the vehicle; I could see we might easily get lost again trying to find a way around the hill. I put the notebook back into my pocket, and thought about presenting him with some banknotes, before remembering how offended he had been earlier. I therefore said simply:

  “Thank you. You’ve been of great help. I’ll manage by myself from here.”

  The young man gave a quick nod of the head—he seemed still to be angry with me—then, turning, went off back down the slope in the direction of the car.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE POLICE STATION LOOKED to be abandoned. As I came down the slope, I could see broken windows and one of the entrance doors hanging off its hinges. But when I picked my way through the broken glass and went inside into the station’s reception area, I was met by three Chinese men, two of whom pointed rifles at me, while the third brandished a garden spade. One of them—who was wearing a Chinese Army uniform—asked in halting English what I wanted. When I managed to convey who I was, and that I wished to speak with whomever was in charge, the men began to argue among themselves. Eventually the one holding the spade disappeared through into a back room, and the others kept their guns on me while we waited for his return. I took the opportunity to glance about me, and concluded it was unlikely there were any policemen left in the station. Although a few posters and notices remained up, the place looked to have been abandoned some time ago. Cables were dangling off one wall and the back section of the room had been gutted by fire.

  After perhaps five minutes, the man with the spade came back. A few more exchanges followed in what I guessed was Shanghai dialect, before finally the soldier gestured that I should go with the man with the spade.

  I followed the latter through into a back room, which turned out also to be guarded by armed men. But these stood aside for us, and soon I was going down some rickety stairs into the cellars of the police station.

  My recollection is a little hazy now as to how we got down to the bunker. There were perhaps a few more rooms; I remember we walked along a kind of tunnel, stooping to avoid low beams; here too were sentries, and each time we encountered one of their looming black shapes, I was obliged to press myself right into the rough wall in order to squeeze past.

  Eventually I was shown inside a windowless room that had been turned into some sort of makeshift military headquarters. It was lit by two bulbs dangling side by side from a central beam. The walls were of exposed brick, and in the wall to my right, there was gouged out a hole large enough for a man to climb through. There was a battered wireless set mounted in the opposite corner, while in the middle of the floor sat a big office desk—which I could see at a glance had been sawn in half, then crudely put back together again with rope and nails. Several upturned wooden boxes constituted the available seating, the only actual chair being occupied by an unconscious man who was tied up to it. He was in a Japanese marines’ uniform, and one side of his face was a mass of bruising.

  The only other people present were two Chinese Army officers, both on their feet, bent over some chart spread across the desk. They looked up as I entered, then one of them came forward and offered his hand.

  “I am Lieutenant Chow. This is Captain Ma. We are both very honoured to have you visit us like this, Mr. Banks. Have you come to lend us your moral support?”

  “Well, in actual fact, Lieutenant, I came here with a specific request. However, I would hope that once my task is completed, morale will be boosted no end. Yours and everyone else’s. But I’ll need a little assistance, and this is why I’ve come to you.”

  The lieutenant said something to the captain, who evidently did not understand English; then they both looked at me. Suddenly the unconscious Japanese in the chair vomited down the front of his uniform. We all turned to stare at him; then the lieutenant said:

  “You say you need assistance, Mr. Banks. In what form exactly?”

  “I have here some directions, directions to a particular house. It’s imperative I reach this house without any further delay. The directions are written in Chinese, which I’m unable to read. But you see, even if I could read them, I’d need a guide, someone familiar with this locality.”

  “So you wish for a guide.”

  “Not only that, Lieutenant. I will need four or five good men, more if possible. They will need to be trained and experienced, since this will be a delicate task.”

  The lieutenant gave a little laugh; then making his features solemn once more, said: “Sir, we are at this moment very short of such men. This base is a crucial part of our defence force. And yet you saw for yourself how thinly it is guarded. In fact, the men you saw on the way in are either wounded, sick or inexperienced volunteers. Every man capable of sustained fighting we have pushed to the front.”

  “I appreciate, Lieutenant, that you’re in a demanding situation. But you have to understand, I’m not talking about just some casual enquiry I wish to make. When I say it’s imperative I reach this house . . . Well, Lieutenant, I’ll tell you, there’s no need to keep it a secret. You
and Captain Ma here can be the first to know. The house I wish to find, which I know is very near us now, is none other than the one in which my parents are being held. That’s right, Lieutenant! I’m talking about nothing less than the solving of this case after all these years. You see now why I felt my request, even at this busy moment for you, quite warranted.”

  The lieutenant’s face remained fixed on mine. The captain asked him something in Mandarin, but the lieutenant did not reply. Then he said to me:

  “We are waiting for some men to return from a mission. Seven went out. We do not know if they will all return. It was my intention that they be sent to another location immediately. But now . . . In this instance, I shall take personal responsibility. These men, however many of them may return, will accompany you on your mission.”

  I sighed impatiently. “I thank you, Lieutenant. But how long will we have to wait for these men? Isn’t it possible for me to take a few of the men standing out there, just for several minutes? After all, the house is somewhere very near here. And you see, I have someone waiting . . .” I suddenly remembered Sarah, and a kind of panic seized me. I took another step forward and said: “In fact, Lieutenant, I wonder if I may use your telephone. I really should speak to her.”

  “I’m afraid there is no telephone here, Mr. Banks. That is a radio, connected only with our headquarters and our other bases.”

  “Well then, it’s all the more imperative I clear this matter up without delay! You see, sir, there is a lady waiting, even as we speak! May I suggest I take three or four of the men out there guarding this base . . .”

  “Mr. Banks, please calm yourself. We will do all we can to assist you. But as I have said already, the men outside are not fit for such a mission. They will only jeopardise it. I understand you have waited many years to solve this case. I would counsel you not to act hastily at this juncture.”

  There was good sense in the lieutenant’s words. With a sigh, I sat down on one of the upturned tea-chests.