Dragonfly Dreams Read online

  I wanted to laugh, but just then the wind picked up in a sudden burst. Sand and dust swirled around. I pulled my coat tighter and squinted, covering my eyes with my hand. The crowd began to move in every direction as the wind blew harder and the dust grew thicker.

  “Nini!” I could barely hear him, although Da was yelling. “Let’s go! Where’s Isabella?”

  I looked around. She had been with me just a moment ago.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone—a tall man standing with his arms crossed. A feeling of dread passed through me. Where had I seen him before? At first, I was looking straight at him, then he turned around. I recognized him when his back was turned to me the way he was the day he was in our apartment taking our furniture—Mr. Yasemoto! Anger rose inside of me, and I wanted to run up and kick him. Just as suddenly, I could no longer see him. Then I saw Isabella. She was standing next to a man who had one hand on his cap and another holding his coat closed. Was this the man who’d been spying on Auntie Boxin’s house? Was he the robber? I wanted to pull her away.

  The dust kept stinging my eyes. For a moment I couldn’t see anyone. I heard the stage crash, and bamboo pieces scattered in the wind. The Chinese spectators from the buses, no longer following the flagmen in neat rows, were desperately scrambling back on the buses.

  Da called again, and Isabella appeared with her head and face covered in a scarf.

  I felt Da’s hand grab my shoulder. Isabella pushed closely against me. We lowered our heads, held our coats tight, and pushed our way against the wind.

  The stage, the banners, the flags all blew away. It seemed the wind blew the whole world away that day.

  CHAPTER 11

  Summer was as hot and miserable as the winter had been cold and miserable. Every day was hotter than the day before. When I tried to open a window to let in some air, Auntie Boxin fussed that I was letting in the heat. Amah opened the windows at night, but Auntie Boxin’s servant closed them again in the day.

  Throughout the long summer, I was not allowed to go out alone. I hated being stuck inside the stuffy house and longed to be outside where, if for nothing else, I could breathe and feel the wind on my face.

  I worried about Chiyoko. Was she stuck inside too? I went to my knapsack and pulled out the red box. The dragonfly lay still. I stroked its bulging eyes and let my fingers run down the long straight body and across the blue-green wings. Had Chiyoko been to the secret hiding place? Had she left me a note? I wanted to tell her what happened to me after I left her—seeing that old man pushed against the electric fence, kicking the Japanese soldier, and my narrow escape through the hole in the wall. But most of all, I wanted to know if she was all right.

  One day in the middle of August, I couldn’t stand being trapped inside any longer. I needed fresh air. I didn’t mean to go anywhere, just to sit on the steps. But the steps were in the hot sun. I opened the gate and moved across the street to the shade of the trees. There was no place to sit, so I walked a little ways farther. The little ways became a little more, and before I knew it, I was walking under the elms along Meadows Road.

  When I reached Victoria Park, I could hardly recognize it. The staging had been removed, and nothing had replaced it.

  As I stood there staring, a bus pulled up along Victoria Boulevard in front of the Empire Hotel. I quickly hid in the overgrown shrubs at the edge of the park and looked through the leaves. Another beat-up bus pulled up and parked behind the first. They looked like the same buses that had brought the Chinese people to the ceremony I had attended with Da and Isabella, but they were empty.

  Japanese soldiers came out of the hotel and began barking orders. I hunched down in the bushes. People followed the soldiers out of the hotel, moving toward the buses. Who are these people? At first, I thought they must be Chinese staying at the hotel, courtesy of the Emperor of Japan.

  Then I recognized Mrs. Powell. She was dragging a suitcase and wearing her fur coat, even in this horrible heat. The last time I saw Mrs. Powell, she had told Ma she was determined to stay in China and be buried there, like her husband, father, and grandfather. Was she leaving now? Where was she going? She looked pale and weak, but she shrugged off a helping hand from a man near her.

  My old pediatrician, Dr. Meyer, came out of the hotel. He looked like he needed help. He leaned against his wife unsteadily. I wondered if he wished he had gone back to Holland. The soldiers pushed him along toward the bus.

  Following behind them were the two British sisters from school, the ones who pushed Chiyoko and me off the sidewalk. They weren’t giggling and poking each other now. In fact, they looked quite stressed. One dropped her bag. It must not feel so good to be British now.

  Then I saw Paul Thompson come out of the hotel. I knew it was Paul Thompson because he was taller than all the others. This time, his son, Tommy, was alongside him. Tommy was taller than I remembered. He had a knapsack on his back and another bag over his shoulder. His mother was there too. I was glad the Thompson family had not been hurt after their radio was smashed. They moved to the side and waited while the others filled the bus.

  The soldiers shut the doors, shouted orders, and the first bus pulled off. The next bus pulled into its place, and the soldiers began moving more people into it.

  I was confused by what I was seeing. Then I heard an unmistakable voice. I wanted to burst out of the bushes, run across the street and up the hotel steps right into his big hairy arms. I wanted him to give my head a buzz and call me his Little Baboon. Tooner was considerably thinner than when I last saw him. His hair was longer and reddish-gray, and his always-trim beard was scruffy.

  A guard tried to push him toward the bus. Tooner pulled away from the guard, then he guffawed in his raucous laugh that I loved so much.

  Wham! A soldier struck him across the shoulder with a pole. Tooner dropped on one knee, and the soldier whopped him again. There was shouting and confusion. People gathered around and more soldiers rushed over. I saw Paul Thompson move toward them. He didn’t say anything and just stood there, hovering over them as if protecting Tooner.

  Tooner stood and dusted off his pants. The soldier’s pole was still.

  Then I heard another sound I knew well—weak at first, then it grew stronger. Tooner was whistling, and almost in Pied Piper style, the others lined up behind him as they moved to the bus.

  I had an urge to follow him too, but I pulled back and whispered to myself, “Keep whistling, Tooner. Keep whistling.”

  I didn’t wait to see if I knew anyone else. I was frightened by what I had seen and scared they’d find me and put me on the buses too. After the second bus pulled away and some of the soldiers went back into the hotel, I crawled out of the bushes.

  Once I got home, I sobbed out the scene to Da who asked for everyone to gather in the drawing room. Auntie Boxin sat by the stove with a shawl over her shoulders, even though it wasn’t cold, and a fire wasn’t lit. Sun stood in the back with Amah holding Weilin. Mei-mei sat on the floor next to Ma’s chair. Isabella, who had to be called from upstairs to join us, moved towards her mother.

  My father spoke, not in the stern tones I expected, not scolding me, but in a calm, steady voice.

  “I heard from the grapevine that the Japanese are rounding up the foreigners. Nini has confirmed what I heard. First, they herded all the foreigners and their families into the British concession. Then they made them register and wear armbands. Then they returned the treaty to China, and now they are rounding up the foreigners and taking them somewhere by bus.”

  “I was afraid of this,” Ma sighed. “Where are they taking them?” She leaned forward, her hand on Mei-mei’s shoulder. I noticed for the first time that Ma’s hair was turning gray and her face pale and thin, like Mrs. Powell’s.

  “I heard they were taking them outside the city to a place set up to keep foreigners. No one knows for sure.”

  Auntie
Boxin pulled her shawl closer around her. “But will they take me too?”

  “No. Koreans aren’t any concern to them. You will be all right.”

  “But why didn’t they take me?” asked Ma.

  “I don t know. I heard they were using the names on the relief lists. You haven’t applied for any relief, have you?”

  “No. We haven’t needed any relief. Auntie Boxin’s rations have been enough, plus what Sun can get for us.”

  “Well, you were overlooked for the moment. We don’t know if they will come looking for you later. You may be of no importance to them, but we can’t take any chances. We will have to keep you hidden.”

  Da turned to all of us. “Can you be ready tonight? Pack what you need. Sun and I will arrange for everything else.”

  “What about me? I don’t want to leave my house,” cried Auntie Boxin.

  “I don’t want to leave either,” Isabella said anxiously. “I mean—I want to stay with Mother.”

  “You have a choice. You can stay here alone, or you can come with us.”

  “Tonight?” Isabella asked anxiously.

  “Yes.”

  “But where can we go? They control the city and all the exits now.”

  Da looked at Isabella, then addressed all of us in a lowered voice.

  “I have found a place on the edge of town, in an area that is out near a marsh and open fields. I think we will be able to stay there until . . . until we know more. We’d better move while the soldiers are preoccupied with the foreigners on the buses. We can’t wait to see if they knock on the door. Now, move quickly to pack and be ready when Sun calls you. Nini, you help your sister. There’s no time to waste!”

  PART TWO

  MORE THAN A YEAR LATER

  CHAPTER 12

  October 1943

  The sun felt good on my face. I was crouching in the tall grasses of the open field, waiting. All I could hear was the whisper of the breeze, swaying white fluffy fronds in the sunlight.

  A glint of something bright—purple, gold, and green—caught my eye, and I reached out for it. Is it alive?

  Grasshoppers fed on the wild millet growing in the field. Mei-mei and I had watched them swarm and fly away in great numbers, but I had never held one in my hand. I didn’t know their wings were so beautiful. The grasshopper was dead and his middle had been torn open. Probably a snake or an insect had killed the grasshopper and been scared away before eating it. Even the littlest creatures were hungry these days.

  His insides were purple and green and shiny, the small grains in his stomach packed tight and undigested.

  At least somebody’s belly is full, I thought. Too bad you didn’t get to enjoy your meal.

  I was putting the grasshopper back in the grasses to be someone else’s meal when I heard them coming. Three boys were beating a path toward me through the tall grasses, laughing as they flattened a trail in their wake.

  For over a year, we had lived near this open field on the outskirts of the city. Here I could be outside all day. Mei-mei and I often played in this field. Twin brothers, Ying-wei and Ying-jun, who lived nearby, had played with us at first—playing hunters, building forts, and hiding to surprise each other—but then an older boy named Tai turned them against us.

  I jumped up and hollered, “Mei-mei, here they come!”

  Mei-mei knew how to use her small size to our advantage. When the boys came running and laughing, they didn’t see her hiding in the grass. One of the twins tripped over her, and then the other, and Tai fell on top of them. Mei-mei jumped up and ran as fast as she could. She caught up with me, stirring up a swarm of grasshoppers as we headed to the edge of the field.

  “That’ll teach ‘em!” I said, out of breath and delighted with outwitting them.

  We walked home along the road on the edge of the field. When we pushed open the gate and entered the courtyard to our house, we saw the price of our victory. While we had been hiding in the field, the boys had come and smashed the mud village we had built with Da.

  We moved to this house the night we left Auntie Boxin’s. It was plain—the color of mud itself. I wasn’t happy when I first saw it, but I liked the fact that Auntie Boxin and Isabella lived upstairs, and we lived downstairs. And most of all, I liked being next to the field and the fact that I could be outside.

  Ma, however, never went outside. She tried to stay out of sight and at first was afraid to even look out the window—afraid that someone might see her narrow face and brown hair and send her off with the other foreigners. But it had been over a year, and no one had come looking for her.

  Da kept a watch on things. He walked around and talked to people, as he had before. He always had news when he came home, and I listened when he talked to Ma. The Japanese were in full control in the city now. Those who collaborated with the Japanese were able to get food and things that the other people could not. Da was furious when he heard that Mr. Zhou was a big shot in the water company and lived in our former apartment.

  Inside our courtyard, we had created our own world. There was no garden, only dirt, and when it rained, rivulets formed in the mud. One day the previous summer, we had started to build little mud houses along the rivulets. The houses grew into a village.

  Mei-mei and I convinced Da to help us build our village. He had more time on his hands, and, besides, he knew how to build things. He helped us control the water flow by building a dike along one rivulet that we could open and close, depending on how much water we wanted to come through. We pretended to let in a lot of water and flood the village, or we could stop the water in time and save all the villagers.

  I made roads and built mud houses. Mei-mei rolled the mud into balls and made little people with sticks for arms and legs.

  What’s that?” Da asked her one day.

  “It’s ni-ren,” Mei-mei answered. “We need people for our village, don’t we?”

  “Ahh,” said Da. “Do you remember the ni-ren maker from the market?”

  Ni-ren meant mud men. We used to watch the Chinese artist, a ni-ren maker, at the marketplace in the French district, working his hands fast, mixing clay and water. People would gather around and watch until he had quite a crowd. He would make a figure that looked like someone in the crowd, like a French policeman. If the policeman bought it, everyone would clap and the ni-ren maker was happy.

  Mei-mei rolled balls into round shapes and put them in groups, like children playing together. She asked Da to help her. He made a man pushing a cart and another fishing. Mei-mei found a twig to use as a fishing pole. Da made a bridge to put the fisherman on with his fishing pole hanging over the water, and Mei-mei clapped with delight.

  When we pushed open the courtyard gate that day, it looked as if a typhoon had swept through our mud world. The houses were smashed, and the little people were stomped into the ground or scattered all over. The bridge with the fisherman was not to be seen. No force of nature had caused this destruction. I knew immediately it was the meanness of the boys, their big feet stomping, smashing, flattening our village. While we had been hiding in the field, no one had been watching out for our beautiful mud world.

  I wanted to run out to the field and knock their heads together, but instead, I stormed inside the house, snarling like a mad dog.

  “Da! Ma!” I yelled. “Our world is destroyed!”

  “The boys smashed our village!” Mei-mei joined me in denouncing the boys’ attack.

  “You can build it again,” Ma said.

  “But we can’t—not that one!”

  “You can build another one . . . and make it even better.”

  “Oh, Ma. You are always saying things like that. But we can’t make things better. Where is Da?”

  “He’s out. Go take those clothes off. You’ll make me sneeze.”

  Dust and pollen made Ma sick. It seemed to me, however, it wasn’t what
we brought in that made her sick but the fact that she couldn’t go out.

  “Mei-mei, you too,” Ma said urging us to the kitchen. She wore her padded jacket and pants even though it wasn’t cold. “Tell Amah to shake the dust off your clothes. You’ll be the death of me yet.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Amah, Amah, take my clothes off,” Mei-mei called out as we entered the kitchen. “Ma’s going to sneeze.”

  Amah didn’t answer. Her back was turned to us. Even from behind her I could tell something was wrong.

  “Are you crying?” I asked.

  “Not crying,” she mumbled. “Sun should do this work.”

  Da had let Sun go because he couldn’t afford to pay him. We all cried when Sun left, and Mei-mei clung to his legs, begging him to stay. He found another job as a cook for someone who could afford to pay him. He promised to come back and check on us, but we hadn’t seen him in more than a year. We all missed Sun terribly, but it was Amah who missed him the most.

  Amah had to take over the cooking, and she complained that she was a nanny, not a cook. At first Ma tried to help with the cooking, but the coal stove was hard to manage and the iron pot too heavy. And besides, Ma only knew how to cook with things we didn’t have, like eggs, milk, and butter. Amah couldn’t do what Sun used to do, but she could handle a coal stove and knew how to manage without things.

  “Oh, goodie! Dumplings!” Mei-mei squealed.

  “No, not dumplings!” Amah snapped. “No flour—no dumplings.”

  I remembered how Sun made the best dumplings. He’d roll the dough into thin circles, fold it over a little bit of meat stuffing, then pinch the edges into a half moon shape. But Amah’s dough didn’t look like Sun’s. When she pressed the sides, it fell apart.

  “Then what are you making?” Mei-mei asked.

  “Get out of kitchen now. Go take your clothes off,” she ordered us in English.