Finding Iris Chang (2 of 4 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Finding Iris Chang by Paula Kamen. Copyright 2007 by Paula Kamen.
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INTRODUCTION: THE QUESTIONS (CONT'D)

The last time I saw Iris Chang was in the spring of 2003, in Chicago, when I went to see her lecture promoting her third book, The Chinese in America. She seemed to be in good spirits, and we had a good time afterward going out for pizza in a small group and hearing about her latest adventures. She was already working on her next project, on the Bataan Death March. I knew the stories she was gathering were intense, like those she had covered from that same World War II period for The Rape of Nanking.

The months passed, and I got involved in my own, much lower-key deadlines. In the first week of November 2004, a mutual friend e-mailed me that Iris was trying to reach me, and that she had been sick for the past few months. I had assumed it was some kind of protracted cold, the kind I had over the winter. Coincidentally, I had just been thinking that I hadn't talked to Iris in a very long time, since the summer, when she seemed okay, although the conversations then were uncharacteristically abrupt.

On November 3, she called while I was getting a haircut, but I didn't pick up. The wary look in the eye of the hairstylist, who was running late, cautioned me not to get it. Besides, I was relieved to let it ring into voice mail, knowing that if I picked up the phone, the conversation may take hours, and I no doubt would be late for a birthday party that evening.

In her short voice-mail message, which I ended up saving for more than a year, she said:

Hey Paula, it's Iris calling. Iris Chang. Hope you're doing
well. It's been a long time since we talked, and I want to
touch base with you. When you get this call give me a call
back at 408 . You take care now, bye-bye.

Her tone was upbeat, as usual. I left her an e-mail message late that night, telling her to call me the next day. Then, three days later, she tried to reach me on my cell phone while I was away visiting friends--a couple and their baby--in Kentucky. When I picked up the phone and simultaneously realized it was Iris via the caller ID, I thought of my friends waiting for me to start dinner in the next room and Iris' typically epic conversations. I immediately cautioned, "Iris, I'm visiting someone out of town and can't talk long. Can I call you when I get back home?"

She cut off my words with: "Paula, I have something to tell you. I have been very, very sick for the past six months."

When I heard the tone of Iris' voice, I wandered outside into my friends' yard for privacy, not bothering to get a coat despite the chill in the air. The bounce in her voice, the one that I had even heard in the voice-mail message from days before, was totally gone. Instead, it was sad and totally drained, as if she were making a huge effort just to talk to me--as if she were a different person. I remembered the comment from a friend that she recently had been sick.

"And I just wanted to let you know that in case something should happen to me, you should always know that you've been a good friend."

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