9

The　foggy　season　ended　in　April,　but　fog　still　hung　over　Chungking　in　the　mornings.　It　was　pearly_white,　fluffy　and　chilly,　hanging　over　the　city　streets　like　a　shroud　until　the　sun　vanquished　it.　The　scarlet　ball　of　the　rising　sun　was　alarming.　It　was　sinister　and　bellicose;　it　also　meant　clear　weather,　which　signaled　the　renewal　of　air　raids.　Chungking　weather　was　divided　sharply　into　two　seasons:winter_cold,　with　fog;　summer_heat,　without　fog_and　danger.　Everyone　knew　that　as　soon　as　the　skies　cleared　the　Japanese　planes　would　come　roaring　overhead.

At　the　end　of　April　the　air_raid　sirens　were　heard　for　the　first　time　that　year.　The　planes　never　appeared,　but　everyone　was　sure　that　the　war　was　overhead　again.　The　protective　frontier　of　fog　had　vanished;　they　could　expect　the　worst.

Pao　Ching　was　seasoned　to　air　raids.　The　ones　he　had　been　through　were　horrible.　He　decided　to　send　Useless　Fang　to　South　Warm　Springs,　a　village　fifteen　miles　outside　the　city,　and　reasonably　safe　from　attack.　Useless　Fang　was　to　rent　two　rooms,　in　a　hotel　or　anywhere　he　could　find,　so　that　the　Fang　family　would　have　somewhere　to　go　if　Chungking　was　bombed.

Then　came　that　memorable　day　in　May.　Dusk　had　already　settled　over　the　hills,　the　sun　a　distant　ball　of　fire.　Someone　near　the　theater　cried　out　that　the　air_raid　warning　had　been　sounded.　Others　said　they　had　not　heard　it;　that　the　alarm　was　false.　But　the　refugees,　those　from　other　parts　of　China,　went　quickly　to　the　deep　shelters,　knowing　what　air　raids　could　do　to　a　city.　The　local　populace　went　about　its　business　and　continued　nonchalantly　strolling　in　the　streets.　How　nervous　these　“foreigners"　were！Air　raids？There　wasn't　plane　to　be　heard.

But　suddenly　the　airplanes　came.　They　came　with　a　sharp　shrill　double_toned　sound.　The　refugees　on　their　way　to　the　shelters　ran　faster.　They　knew　the　sound　in　the　skies　—　bombers.　But　the　Szechwan　people　stood　and　stared　at　the　sky.　Those　planes　up　there　were　probably　friendly,　coming　back　from　a　raid　on　the　enemy　line.　There　weren't　any　bombs.　What　was　the　worry？

Mrs.　Fang　had　been　sober　ever　since　the　fog　had　disappeared.　She　didn't　want　to　be　blown　to　pieces.　Life　was　too　much　pleasure　for　that.　She　was　ready　to　go　to　an　air_raid　shelter　any　hour　of　day　or　night,　her　money　and　jewels　packed　carefully　in　a　little　bag　which　she　never　left　out　of　her　sight.

This　afternoon　she　was　examining　the　contents　of　her　emergency　bag,　wondering　if　she　could　get　anything　else　in　it.　A　bottle　of　liquor　might　be　a　good　idea　if　she　felt　faint.　Lotus　Charm　was　looking　at　her　stamp　collection　and　Phoenix　Girl　was　sewing.

Suddenly　they　heard　the　noise　overhead,　like　a　giant　buzz　saw　cutting　the　heavens　in　two.　Lotus　Charm　sprang　up.

Pao　Ching　came　barefooted　from　the　bedroom.　“I　didn't　hear　the　warning,"　he　said.　Mrs.　Fang　was　trying　to　get　out　of　her　chair.　The　little　bag　was　clutched　tightly　in　her　hand.　Twice　she　tried　to　get　up,　but　her　legs　buckled　beneath　her.　Pao　Ching　went　over　to　help　her,　as　Lotus　Charm　went　to　the　window.

The　air　in　the　room　filled　with　an　eerie　ghostlike　whistle　that　rose　suddenly　to　a　shrill　crescendo　and　then　shut　off　sharply.　“Lie　flat,　everyone,"　Pao　Ching　ordered.　He　fell　down.

The　bombs　exploded　—　three　dull　thuds.　The　theater　shook.　In　the　room　a　vase　jumped　off　the　table　and　shattered　on　the　floor.　Lotus　Charm,　her　fingers　covering　her　ears,　scrambled　under　the　table　near　the　window.　From　the　street　outside　rose　a　cloud　of　dust.　Then　another　explosion,　short,　sharp,　and　staccato.　The　theater　shuddered　as　if　a　giant　fist　had　hit　it,　and　then　they　heard　the　melancholy　tinkle　of　broken　glass,　as　the　shattered　window　panes　fell　to　the　ground.

Pao　Ching　spoke　first.　“They've　gone,　I　think."　But　he　lay　still.　He　spoke　only　to　comfort　the　others.　No　one　answered.　He　looked　around,　hardly　daring　to　raise　his　head.　“Phoenix　Girl,　where　are　you？"　Phoenix　Girl　was　under　the　bed　in　the　next　room.　“Mama,　where　are　you？"　Mrs.　Fang　was　still　sitting　in　the　chair,　clutching　her　bag.　There　was　a　pool　of　water　at　her　feet.　She　had　wet　herself.

“It's　all　over,　dear,"　Pao　Ching　reassured　her.　She　made　no　reply.　He　went　over　and　touched　her　hand.　It　was　stone　cold.　He　saw　she　was　weeping.　He　called　to　Phoenix　Girl　to　come　and　comfort　her　mother.　She　scrambled　from　under　the　bed,　her　clothes　and　face　covered　with　dust　and　fluff,　tears　in　her　eyes.

Pao　Ching　put　on　his　socks　and　shoes.　He　was　at　the　door　when　Mrs.　Fang　revived.　“Where　are　you　going？"　she　cried.

“To　the　Tangs.　I　must　see　if　they're　all　right."

“And　what　about　me.　I　am　scared　to　death,　and　you　think　only　of　looking　after　other　people."

Pao　Ching　hesitated　for　a　moment.　Then　he　went　downstairs.　She　was　contrary　again,　so　she　was　all　right.　His　duty　was　to　see　if　the　Tangs　were　spared.　Jeweled　Lute　was　the　star　of　his　show,　and　Little　Liu　was　the　only　player　of　the　three_stringed　san_hsien　in　all　of　Chungking.　His　duty　was　to　them.　If　he　went　to　see　them　now　they　might　be　less　inclined　to　make　trouble.

The　streets　outside　were　as　orderly　as　ever.　He　had　expected　to　see　them　blasted.　The　bombs　had　sounded　so　near.　There　were　panes　of　broken　glass.　Here　and　there　firemen　and　police　were　running,　but　few　people　were　out.　The　sun　had　gone　down.　Over　the　roofs　of　the　stores　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　street　was　a　great　light　in　the　sky,　almost　like　a　rainbow.　But　it　was　no　celestial　phenomenon.　This　was　a　huge　fire.　Part　of　the　city　was　in　flame.　Pain　twisted　his　heart.

He　quickened　his　pace.　The　fire　was　in　the　part　of　the　city　where　the　Tangs　lived.　His　star　and　his　accompanist.　Finally　he　was　stopped　by　a　line　of　police.　He　pushed　his　way　through　the　crowd,　using　all　the　strength　he　had.　The　whole　street　was　in　flame.　To　his　nostrils　came　the　smell　of　burning　flesh.　He　felt　nauseated,　and　turned　away.

Later　he　climbed　the　hill　and　walked　in　the　direction　of　the　Tangs'hotel.　Perhaps　he　could　go　down　one　of　the　side　streets　and　find　them.　But　all　he　could　see　was　a　raging　inferno.　The　streets　on　the　hillside　were　burning　furiously,　and　a　great　pall　of　smoke　rolled　up　toward　him.　He　could　hear　the　crackling　of　the　flames,　the　shrieking　of　trapped　people,　the　ominous　clanging　of　fire　bells.　Here　and　there　new　fires　burst　out　like　buds　in　the　darkness　and　swelled　into　huge　tongues　of　flame.　The　sky　above　was　a　mirror　of　the　horror,　sometimes　yellow,　sometimes　red,　as　if　God　were　mocking　as　man　perished　in　the　furnace.

Pao　Ching　walked　home,　his　head　bent,　his　heart　heavy,　in　his　eyes　the　horrendous　glow　of　the　fire.

The　streets　were　full　now,　with　people　leaving　the　city,　every　rickshaw　overloaded,　whole　families　with　their　baggage　battling　to　escape.　Those　who　could　not　get　rickshaws　were　cursing　and　weeping.　Children　deserted　by　their　parents　were　wailing.　Some　people　were　even　carrying　squealing　pigs　and　clucking　chickens　with　them.

A　man　ran　almost　head_on　into　Pao　Ching.　Instead　of　apologizing,　he　cursed,　his　face　livid　with　rage.　“You　people　from　down　river,"　he　cried,　pointing　an　accusing　finger,　“you　brought　the　planes　with　you.　You　should　have　stayed　where　you　were　—　down　river."

Pao　Ching　was　in　no　mood　to　argue.　The　man　was　wrong.　How　could　the　refugees　have　brought　the　planes？He　stood　there　thinking,　oblivious　that　the　man　was　still　cursing　him.　Then　he　walked　on,　wrapt　in　his　thought.　Perhaps　he　could　write　a　ballad　to　tell　the　people　what　the　war　was　about,　why　China　was　figting.

Suddenly　he　found　himself　on　the　ground.　A　frenzied　man　running　wildly　in　the　street　had　knocked　him　down.　He　got　up,　and　brushed　off　his　clothes.　Then　he　saw　he　had　passed　the　theater.

Lotus　Charm　was　waiting　for　him.　She　looked　tiny　and　forlorn.　“Father,　everyone's　leaving　town,"　she　said,　“Why　don't　we　get　out　too？Let's　go　to　Uncle　Useless　Fang　in　South　Warm　Springs."

Pao　Ching　hesitated.　Then　he　said,　“How　can　we　go？There　isn't　a　rickshaw　in　town,　or　a　litter.　And　not　a　hope　of　getting　an　automobile.　We　can't　go　tonight.　We　might　try　tomorrow　when　the　city　has　quieted　down."

“I'd　like　to　go　now,　father.　I　don't　mind　being　killed,　but　I　am　afraid　of　that　noise."

He　shook　his　head.　“The　streets　alongside　the　river　are　all　on　fire.　We　can't　pass　there　—　the　road　is　closed　by　the　police.　I　saw　it　myself.　We　could　try　early　tomorrow."

She　looked　at　him　questioningly.　Then　she　said,　“How　were　the　Tangs？"

“I　don't　know."　His　jaw　trembled.　“I　couldn't　get　to　them.　Everything　was　on　fire.　It　was　horrible."

Her　dark　eyes　clouded.　She　looked　at　the　ceiling.　“Father,　do　you　think　there'll　be　another　air　raid　tomorrow？"

“Who　knows？"

“I　would　rather　nor　wait."　She　gave　a　little　laugh.　“I'd　walk　to　Uncle　Fang's　rather　than　wait　to　have　another　air　raid."

Mrs.　Fang　was　screaming　for　them.　She　was　still　deathly　white,　although　she　had　been　drinking.　“I　can't　stay　here　and　die,"　she　screeched.　“Do　something.　Think　of　a　way　out."

“We're　going　to　South　Warm　Springs　in　the　morning,"　Pao　Ching　said.　He　was　tired　and　nervous.　Seeing　her　that　way　hurt　him　inside.　There　seemed　to　be　tension　everywhere.

None　of　them　slept.　The　streets　were　full　of　people　all　night.　Everyone　seemed　afraid　to　go　to　bed.　And　rumors　flew　around　like　birds　of　ill　omen.　With　every　new　one　the　women　would　let　out　heart_rending　wails.　Four　thousand　people　had　been　killed.　That　was　official.　If　four　thousand　could　be　killed　in　such　a　short　time,　anything　could　happen.　Every　new　rumor　added　a　load　of　doubt　and　misery　to　the　milling　throngs.

At　two　o'clock　Pao　Ching　gave　up　trying　to　sleep.　He　dressed,　and　went　down　to　the　theater_his　beloved　venture,　the　scene　of　his　triumph,　where　actor-manager　Pao　Ching　had　staged　such　a　successful　show　and　built　up　a　regular　clientele.　But　he　was　numbed　by　the　sight.　The　banners　and　testimonial　scrolls　were　still　on　the　walls.　They　were　tributes　to　his　art.　The　ones　he　treasured　most　he　had　sent　to　South　Warm　Springs.　And　those　tables　and　chairs.　The　long　benches.　All　he　had　worked　to　pay　for.　What　did　they　mean　now？He　saw　the　two　hundred　new　tea　sets　laid　out　in　orderly　rows　on　the　large　table.　He　held　his　bald　pate　in　his　hands.　Those　teacups　were　his　blood　and　sweat.　And　he　could　not　take　them　with　him.　His　family　might　have　to　walk　all　the　way　to　their　new　home.　And　there　might　be　another　raid.　By　tomorrow　evening,　perhaps,　the　street　would　be　in　ashes,　and　not　a　single　teacup　would　remain.　Could　this　mean　punishment　on　his　good　fortune　of　securing　a　profitable　business　while　others　were　facing　danger　and　death　every　day？

His　brow　was　sweating.　Suddenly　he　tossed　up　his　broad　deeply_lined　face　and　laughed.　Why　worry　so　long　as　he　had　life？What　were　a　few　teacups？He　walked　backstage.　Into　a　blue　draw_string　bag　he　put　his　drum　and　stringed　instrument.　The　sight　of　these　treasures　revived　him.　So　long　as　he　had　them　he　need　never　be　afraid.　He　could　earn　his　living　anywhere.

He　found　a　sheet　of　red　paper　and　wrote　a　notice　in　bold　characters:“No　Performance　in　This　Theater　for　Three　Days."　He　went　to　the　front　of　the　theater　and　pasted　it　in　the　most　conspicuous　place.　Then　he　went　backstage　again.　This　time　he　knelt　down　and　prayed.　Prayed　to　the　benevolent　God　and　Father　of　show　people　the　whole　world　over　—“Bless　us,　oh　Great　God,　bless　us,　and　surely　I　will　burn　more　incense　for　you."

Then　he　went　to　wake　the　family.　It　was　three　o'clock.　Lotus　Charm　stirred　and　half　opened　her　eyes.　“An　air　raid？"　she　queried.　Pao　Ching　reassured　her,　and　said　it　was　time　to　start.　She　sprang　from　her　bed　like　a　little　rabbit.　Her　bag　was　already　packed.　It　contained　two　dresses　and　her　stamp　collection.　Mrs.　Fang　yawned,　and　picked　up　her　bag.　Phoenix　Girl　hid　behind　her　mother.　She　didn't　want　her　father　to　ask　her　to　carry　the　drum.　“Please,　daughter,"　he　pleaded,　“help　me　out.　The　stringed　instrument　is　heavy　enough　by　itself."　She　made　a　face　in　resentment,　but　she　put　the　drum　on　her　back.　Pao　Ching　locked　the　theater.　For　a　moment　he　stood　surveying　the　place,　sorrow　mounting　in　his　heart.　Then　he　turned　abruptly　and　set　out　with　the　family.

The　city　was　covered　with　thin　mist.　Thousands　of　people　were　still　in　the　streets,　their　faces　pale,　solemn,　scared.　Some　were　plodding　slowly,　others　merely　watching.　The　streets　along　which　Pao　Ching　and　his　family　walked　were　still　burning.　The　embers　of　the　blackened　buildings　showed　clearly,　here　and　there　a　tongue　of　flame　shooting　out.　They　walked　amid　masses　of　shattered　tiles　and　charred　wood,　with　everywhere　the　sickly　stale　smell　of　burning.　Occasionally　they　saw　a　corpse.　Here　and　there　a　solitary　pillar　stood　out.　Once　a　tall　pillar　crashed　as　they　passed,　and　threw　up　a　shower　of　glowing　ashes.　They　walked　faster　then,　with　their　hands　to　their　noses　to　shut　out　the　terrible　stench.

Mrs.　Fang　was　too　scared　even　to　be　temperamental.　They　couldn't　walk　too　fast　for　her,　although　usually　she　hated　hurrying.　Suddenly　she　stopped,　screamed　and　covered　her　face.　She　had　stepped　on　a　dead　baby.　Lotus　Charm　became　entangled　in　a　broken　electric　wire.　Pao　Ching　turned　to　unloose　her,　but　she　broke　away　in　panic,　ripping　a　piece　from　her　dress.　Phoenix　Girl　kept　falling　down,　but　she　clung　resolutely　to　the　drum.

They　walked　for　hours,　picking　their　way　through　the　tortuous　ruined　streets,　clambering　over　debris　and　piles　of　bodies;　and　finally　they　reached　the　riverbank.　Then　a　great　fright　came　upon　them.　They　crumpled　down　on　the　wet　bank　as　they　looked　back　at　the　danger　through　which　they　had　come.　Black　ruins　and　crashing　walls.　A　great　pall　of　smoke,　and　red　tongues　of　flame　leaping　to　the　sky.　Vast　ruin　that　was　like　a　huge　black　dragon　with　a　flaming　torch　for　tongue.　Hundreds　of　dragons　like　that.

Pao　Ching　went　looking　for　a　ferry.　They　had　to　cross　the　river.　He　heard　a　boat　whistle,　and　saw　that　the　steam　ferry　was　working.　That　was　good.　Lots　of　people　were　paying　huge　sums　to　cross　the　river　in　rowboats.　He　would　take　the　steam　ferry.　The　thought　of　crossing　the　wide　river　in　a　rowboat　scared　him.

There　was　hardly　any　room　on　the　ferry　boat.　When　they　reached　the　other　side,　he　left　Mrs.　Fang　and　the　two　girls　in　a　tea　house　and　set　about　finding　the　best　way　to　get　to　South　Warm　Springs.　The　bus　terminal　was　overcrowded.　Pao　Ching　decided　that　even　if　he　waited　a　week,　the　bus　would　not　have　taken　all　who　were　waiting.　He　thought　of　getting　a　litter.　The　litter　men　wanted　a　small　fortune.

Then　he　spotted　a　government　car.　Smiling,　he　approached　the　chauffeur.　Would　he　honor　him　by　taking　a　cup　of　tea？The　chauffeur　was　delighted.　Later,　he　accepted　readily　when　Pao　Ching　offered　him　a　handsome　bribe　to　drive　them　to　South　Warm　Springs.　For　such　a　fee　he　had　been　waiting;　his　master,　who　owned　the　car,　would　never　be　any　the　wiser.

Lotus　Charm　was　thrilled　to　ride　in　a　car.　It　was　like　something　from　a　storybook.

But　Mrs.　Fang　had　a　complaint.　“If　I　had　known　we　were　going　by　car　I　would　have　brought　more　things,"　she　grumbled.　Pao　Ching　didn't　reply.　He　was　happy.　The　Gods　had　been　good　to　him.

As　the　scenery　slipped　by,　Lotus　Charm　quickly　forgot　her　tiredness.　Everything　was　new　and　beautiful.　And　South　Warm　Springs　was　fascinating,　with　its　tiny　streets,　the　great　green　hills　stretching　out　behind.　There　was　much　to　see:a　rippling　brook,　pine　trees,　and　the　sun　—　so　kindly　and　restful,　different　from　the　Chungking　sun.　And　the　dark　purple　shadows　on　the　hills,　and　wide　green　patches.　She　had　never　seen　anything　more　beautiful.

Useless　Fang　greeted　them　with　tears　in　his　eyes.　He　thought　they　had　all　been　killed.　His　face　was　sallow　and　lined,　his　eyes　bloodshot.

“You　look　as　if　you　had　been　up　all　night,"　said　Pao　Ching.　“My　dear　brother,　why　don't　you　rest？"

“How　could　I　sleep　with　all　this　anxiety？"　protested　Useless　Fang.　He　laid　his　arm　on　Lotus　Charm's　shoulders　and　spoke　with　the　enthusiasm　of　a　boy,　“Go　to　sleep　now,　my　child,　and　sleep　well.　Tomorrow　when　you　wake　up,　go　out　and　take　a　bath　in　the　hot　springs.　They　are　wonderful."　He　looked　at　them　all,　resting　his　eyes　fondly　on　each.　“And　you're　all　alive.　Wonderful！Wonderful！And　you'll　take　the　baths.　Good！Wonderful！"　When　he　was　happy　he　never　knew　what　to　say　first.　He　just　talked　and　talked.　“And　you,　my　dear　brother,"　he　told　Pao　Ching,　“you　must　go　to　sleep."

Pao　Ching　looked　insulted.　“Not　yet.　I　have　business　to　attend　to."

“Business？"　Useless　Fang　looked　at　his　younger　brother　as　if　he　were　mad.　“What　have　you　to　do　here　in　this　place　of　beauty？"

Pao　Ching　handed　Useless　Fang　his　precious　three_stringed　instrument.　“I'm　going　to　walk　round　town　to　see　if　there's　any　chance　of　singing　here,"　he　said,　and　strode　buoyantly　away.