第十六章 (Chapter Sixteen)

Ma Bole lived in a small alley in the French Concession of Shanghai, renting a windowless room that was perpetually dark, so he had to keep the electric light on even during the day. To save money, he cooked his own meals, having bought a charcoal stove and a small iron wok, with bottles and jars of oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar scattered all over the floor.

He went out onto the streets every day to see the wartime flight situation. But the streets were still bustling, with crowds gathered in front of shops selling aviation lottery tickets, showing no sign of panic. He fumed and cursed, "Damn China! the Japanese are about to attack, and you're still dreaming!"

His money was dwindling fast, nearly all spent from what he had brought from Qingdao. Mrs. Ma was still in Qingdao, and had not come to Shanghai. He waited anxiously, thinking of writing to urge her, but feared Mrs. Ma wouldn't believe him. At night, he couldn't sleep, tossing and turning as he pondered what to do.

Finally, he decided to write a letter, saying that he was gravely ill and urging Mrs. Ma to come to Shanghai immediately. After sending the letter, he waited every day for a reply.

Days passed, and rumors of war grew more intense. More people fled from the direction of North Sichuan Road. Ma Bole watched, his heart growing more panicked. His money was nearly gone. If Mrs. Ma didn't come soon, he would be left homeless. He thought, "wartime flightwartime flight, running out of money halfway is worse than staying at home."

Sometimes he stood at the entrance of the alley, watching the refugees with their children in tow, and felt a chill in his heart. He feared he might end up like them.

Returning to the dark room, he lit the charcoal stove to fry eggs and rice. The scent of scallions filled the air, but as he ate, he found it tasteless. He thought, "What kind of wartime flight is this? It's sheer torment." Yet he also thought, "One must always leave an escape. But where can I retreat to now?"

At night, hearing the distant rumble of cannons, he turned over and thought of his home in Qingdao. his father's cold face and Mrs. Ma's indifferent expression both weighed on his heart. He told himself, "Ma Bole, you must hold on. Fortune will turn one day." But after saying it, he didn't quite believe it.

And so, in this dark room in Shanghai, he endured day by day, waiting for Mrs. Ma, waiting for money, and waiting for a turnaround that might never come.