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- The Drum Singers
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.