Yonghui was suddenly overcome with the desire to hug Mingji, but at the same time he felt like giving him a thrashing. Quickly he put these wild thoughts from his mind. He wondered if a woman would be able to resist such feelings. He thought of Azhen, her round and soft breasts. He hadn’t touched her in months, and it had only been a month since she had given birth. Soon he would be leaving for the South Pacific, and there would be no chance after that. He shook his head.

  “Did you hear that?” Yonghui stood up.

  “What is it?”

  “The sound of weeping. I heard it just now, shrill and faint, floating on the air.”

  “Soon you’ll be seeing ghosts in broad daylight. It’s not even dusk or a moonlit night.”

  Mingji said nothing more, and both men stood up. They started off at a good clip, both intent on the climb they were to make. After they crossed a level area, the ground began to rise again. They climbed the steep slope until they hit another level, grassy area where a hut had been built facing west.

  The sun seemed to be at eye level, and all they needed to do was reach out to touch it. Where had such weather come from? Both men felt as though they had been wrung dry. They decided to sit down and have lunch.

  “This potato really hits the spot.”

  “Mmm…. They don’t seem as bad as usual today.”

  At last, they arrived at their destination; the huge rock formation rose before them. They looked up and could see the perpendicular formation of the hawk’s beak thrusting out into the air. The hawk’s body seemed to form a huge column attached to the sky.

  “Let’s climb to the top. The sun is going to set soon.”

  “We’ll never be able to climb that steep, slippery face.”

  “Let’s climb up to those trees by the hawk’s wings.”

  The crag rose above all the other peaks; they only had to go a few steps before they felt themselves to be halfway up in the sky. The sun was going down and the air was starting to feel cool.

  The wind picked up and they risked being swept off the crag at any moment. But what had appeared to be barren rock was actually covered with small plants with tough leaves that provided them with handholds. Upon reaching the trees, the crag leveled off slightly to form a shelf of sorts. The whole scene seemed to change as they were confronted by a dense pine wood. The soil was rich and, except for a few clumps of ginger, the undergrowth was sparse. There were also some purple flowers, which they did not recognize, shaking in the wind. They suddenly felt a cold draft. After they caught their breath, their senses seemed sharper; it was a new sensation for Mingji.

  Looking down, he saw himself surrounded by the small purple flowers. He could feel the earth under his two bare feet; he could feel the beat of his heart in his feet. He felt connected to the land—his blood seemed to flow into the earth, from which it flowed back into his four limbs. Feeling at one with the world, he saw himself standing on the earth, connecting the earth with heaven, providing nature with consciousness. Mingji’s mind achieved an unusual clarity and detachment, but this enlightenment brought him a pained rapture.

  The trees went partway up the slope, where they were replaced by creepers that produced a dense shade. There were jagged rocks and monstrously shaped boulders overgrown with moss. It was becoming increasingly cold.

  “What a place! I’d like to live here forever!” shouted Yonghui.

  “I hope you have that kind of luck.”

  Yonghui grunted unenthusiatically in reply. Just then, Mingji lost his footing and fell head over heels down the slope.

  “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?” said Yonghui, sliding down to him.

  Before them stood a big cave that opened to the south. Inside it was quite dry and there was a large, flat stone the size of a table. Farther inside was a heap of dry straw apparently piled there by someone. The two men stood close together at the entrance, reluctant to leave but not daring to enter.

  “Someone—man or demon—must have lived here.”

  “Maybe it was an escaped convict like Uncle Amei.”

  Mingji recalled that his mother had told him that Uncle Amei and his father, who were in the same resistance group, had hidden deep in the mountains for a fortnight evading the police. And what about Mingji’s own missing brother?

  Mingji tried to climb up, but a clump of bamboo obstructed his path. As he reached out, he looked to the left of the cave, where he saw something white between the stones. He lost his grip and slid down the rocks, landing at the mouth of the cave again. He had glimpsed a complete human skeleton. The skeleton was covered with a piece of wood that protected it from the rain.

  Yonghui too had seen it, from above, and motioned to Mingji. Mingji climbed quickly up the slope, and the two of them set off in haste and in silence through the pine trees.

  “There was a huge rusty knife, like those used by martial artists,” whispered Mingji.

  “I saw it,” said Yonghui, his voice quavering. “There must be someone else around here.”

  “They must have died a long time ago,” said Mingji.

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “Must be one of us.”

  “You think it was someone who ran away from the Japanese?”

  “Probably, huh?”

  “My father told me that Ahan, your father, was also …”

  “Let’s get back.” Their enthusiasm and curiosity had been completely dampened.

  “But the sound of weeping …” said Yonghui. “I really want to find out for sure.”

  “I’m not interested anymore, and that’s that.”

  The sun was a dull yellow disk standing above the hills to the west of Great Lake. The wind was cold and blowing strong. Autumn seemed to have arrived.

  Before leaving Hawk’s Beak, Mingji suddenly raised his machete and brought it down on the purplish-gray stone. Sparks flew as the end of the machete bent from the force.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  Mingji took no notice of his friend and struck again. This time he chopped off a few small pieces of stone. He picked up two small slivers and stuffed them in his trouser pocket. He picked up two other pieces and handed them to Yonghui.

  “What’s this for?”

  “One piece is to take to the South Pacific, and one piece is for Ahzen to keep.”

  “Then I’m still short one piece,” said Yonghui, smiling innocently. The two men gazed at each other. Neither would be the first to look away, but finally Yonghui blinked. Turning, he strode off in silence.

  It was already dark and getting colder. Mingji seemed to see a faint image of his father in the red sky to the west. Then he saw his missing brother, good friends, and Ahua, the girl he loved. But there was still his mother, the mainstay of his soul and the light of his life.

  He remembered his father’s final words, as relayed by his brother: “If it wasn’t for your mother, the family wouldn’t exist; you’d have no brothers and sisters.” He had long kept those words in his heart along with the vague impression of his father’s voice. The following day he was to leave his homeland and his family.

  “Good-bye, but I shall return,” said Mingji to himself, full of confidence and determination.

  The return trip was faster than the trip out, but they found themselves in complete darkness before the moon had risen. They had to feel their way as they went down the slope. They slipped and slid at every other step, but their progress was quick. The moon rose over Hawk’s Beak behind them; their long shadows flew before them, sliding down the mountainside. They found themselves engulfed in the forest, the trees and grass swaying in the wind. Everything had taken on a grayish-white softness in the moonlight.

  The King of Hell’s Ridge looked like a straight snake in the moonlight; the greenish black of the ridge was covered over with a layer of frost, the color of dreams.

  Then they heard it: the sound of weeping. The sad and bitter weeping came softly from afar. The sound poured over them, flowing from Hawk’s Beak down over the King of Hell’s Ridge, over the dense forest, over the hollows below, and in every direction. Everything seemed to respond to the weeping; it was soft and loud by turns, then shrill and deep, as if it floated down from the moon. When they listened carefully, it seemed to vanish. The weeping seemed to have entered their ears, permeating their minds and their hearts.

  “I’m going to find out about this,” said Yonghui.

  Mingji shook his head and sat down, muttering to himself, “Don’t bother, you’ll never find out.”

  Mingji sat up, thrust his legs forward, and abruptly slid down the path on his bottom. Yonghui looked around him and then slid down too. The sound of weeping, the low, sad weeping, like weeping in a dream, covered everything.

  TWO

  •

  Good-bye

  December 18, 1943, the eighteenth year of the Showa period. The cock crowed twice; it was four o’clock. The clock on the wall struck four times. The entire Liu family, except for Mingsen, had gotten up as early as their mother, and they were standing or sitting in the living room.

  When Mingji had returned home the night before, he had bathed, but his mother would not allow him to speak and told him to go to bed. Though he was unhappy about the situation, he intended to cast all worries aside and have a sound sleep. Yet he had to give up and instead gave free rein to his thoughts, letting them run wild.

  Saying good-bye was no longer something to be anticipated with fear, something painful left to the realm of the imagination; it had now assumed a form that was gradually pressing toward him. Saying good-bye was inevitable. He had to accept it and experience it. He finally drifted off to sleep just as the cock crowed.

  He got up and quickly washed, doing his best to pretend that it was his normal routine. Then he went to see his mother, who was sitting in the living room. The two tables that stood together to form their dining table had been moved. One of them now stood against the wall. In the middle of the table was placed a small basket containing the ancestors’ spirit tablets, dark with age. Normally the tablets were hung in a corner of his mother’s room, where they were covered with several stalks of dried mugwort.

  His mother was standing before the makeshift altar with three sticks of incense in her hands. Behind her stood Mingji and his brothers, and behind them their wives and children. Mingji was in the middle, right behind his mother. He bowed three times with all his heart. His mother indicated that he should kneel, and she knelt beside him, her hands folded, muttering a prayer.

  Mingji knelt for a long time, his eyes closed and his mind focused. He wasn’t praying; he breathed in the light scent of his mother’s body and remembered when he was small. In those days, when she chopped firewood on the mountain or worked the soil, a sour smell emanated from her body, but he found that smell comforting. For years now his mother had not labored hard in the mountains, and her smell had become barely perceptible. Yet regardless of how faint it might be, he found it very special.

  His mother stood up. “That will do; your ancestors will protect you.”

  He also stood up. His mother held his hand tightly in hers. Her hands were trembling.

  “I’ll be careful, Mother.” He gently pressed his face against his mother’s shoulder.

  “When you go overseas, you must take care of yourself.” She was still telling him what to do.

  “I will.” He wondered when his mother had become so thin.

  Suddenly Dengmei raised her voice. “Mingji, you must come back in one piece.”

  “I will, Mother. Don’t worry.”

  His mother fumbled around in her sash for a while, then thrust something into the palm of his hand. It was a silver ring. “It’s not worth much, but I want you to take it with you. It’ll be like having me at your side.” His mother, who had always been so strong, suddenly broke down crying.

  “Mother …”

  “Remember, bring the ring back with you and give it to me.” Dengmei suddenly smiled. “That ring was given to me by your poor father the day we were married. It was the only thing he gave me.”

  “I’ll bring it back safe and sound for sure.”

  His eldest brother, Mingqing, patted him on the shoulder, telling him it was time to go. His brother insisted that his mother sit down.

  By then the sky was growing light. In Fanzai Wood that day, four families had sons who were being conscripted, and people were already moving about outside. His eldest brother’s wife handed him his backpack, which contained a change of underwear, his favorite songbook, a leather flask that held a pint of water, and some dried chicken wrapped in cooked rice flour—food that would keep for a long time.

  “It’s getting late; you’d best get going.”

  “Where are you going so early?” asked Mingsen, coming out of his bedroom yawning, with his hands on his hips. The scene before him startled him awake.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It is of no concern of yours, Mingsen.”

  “No! I don’t want to go! I don’t want to!”

  His sister-in-law tried to console him. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  His brothers and his sister-in-law pushed Mingsen back into his bedroom. They could hear him sobbing, sobbing without stopping.

  The conscripts and their families who had come to see them off had gathered outside the temple of the Earth God. When the young men met, they talked and their hearts began to feel a little lighter. The group set off. By the time the sun had risen in the sky, everyone had arrived at the square in front of the Office of Rural Affairs. To the right of the office was the police station, which was avoided like the plague by one and all.

  The conscripts and their families had all gathered in the square; they milled about, heads moving, children crying, men and women cursing and complaining. Several large banyan trees stood opposite the office, and a number of people had gathered there. Ahua was also present, standing in the doorway of a shop. Although she was a bold girl, she dared not approach Mingji; instead, she just watched him take care of the formalities incumbent upon new conscripts. She saw him squeeze his way through the crowd and enter the office where he completed his registration, emerging ten minutes later wearing a red sash on which was written BEST WISHES TO THE VOLUNTEER LIU MINGJI.

  His brother Mingqing was already waiting for him outside the office. He led him to one of the banyan trees where the people from Fanzai Wood had congregated. After a while, Ahua walked over to join them, and Mingji quickly took off the sash. Yonghui and Azhen were standing at the back, talking earnestly, their heads close together.

  “Ahua …” Mingji started to speak when he saw her. He wanted to tell her to go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.

  “It’s okay,” said Ahua, who understood completely what Mingji was trying to say.

  It was almost ten o’clock, but still there had been no call to assemble.

  “I heard that there are some naval technicians here,” said a middle-aged man.

  “Naval technicians?” asked Mingqing and Jiansheng simultaneously.

  “What’s so strange about that? Some of them have been sent out four or five times.”

  Jiansheng’s face suddenly went white. Blinking, Mingqing looked at his son. Both had been keeping quiet about the fact that Jiansheng, just graduated from a technical school, had been volunteered to compete for the chance to become a naval technician. He had been selected and just three days before had received notice that he was to report to the garrison at Kaohsiung on January 15. Like all other “volunteers,” he was to be sent straight to the South Pacific. They didn’t want to tell Dengmei about it; nor did they want to add to Mingji’s worries. Fearing that Jiansheng’s mother would let the cat out of the bag, they had even refrained from telling her. Thus, Jiansheng, a young man of eighteen, had to bear the burden alone. Every time Mingqing thought of it, he wanted to cry.

  A man with a shaved head who was wearing a yellow armband used a megaphone to order all the conscripts to assemble. The people in the square said their hasty good-byes as the volunteers fell in. Within five minutes they had assembled. The volunteers, their heads shaved, were divided into four groups facing the office. On the left were twenty men already in uniform; next to them was a column of forty teenage boys. Mingji was in the third group, which numbered about one hundred, and Yonghui was in the fourth group—the Taiwan Youth Labor Corps, which numbered close to two hundred men, all a little older than the other soldiers.

  All the families had left the shade of the banyan trees and stood near the volunteers. An inspector, sword at his side, was yelling for them to maintain order. He struck out with fist and boot at anyone who pressed too close to the columns, but in a matter of moments, they had edged back again. The sun was high overhead, the air was still and muggy; everyone was sweltering, but no one complained.

  Azhen and Ahua found themselves standing next to each other. They were intent solely on finding their men. They had a hard time keeping track of them in the sea of red sashes. Mingji was standing there at ease—he would look down at his arms, then turn to look in their direction. Yonghui stood at attention, but did take advantage of the chaos to look longingly in their direction.

  Several swaggering fellows emerged from the office, one of whom wore a khaki uniform and carried a sword. He was no doubt the commanding officer. The order was then given for the volunteers to march before the officer and his shaved-pate assistants.

  The family members who had come to see off the recruits were ordered out of the way, to take their place on the other side of the square behind the grade school students, the Agricultural Brigade members, the Youth Corps, and the union representatives. It was total chaos as everyone ran to get a good place.

  Azhen pulled Ahua behind her as she struggled along that wall of people. Ahua was a little shy about pushing and shoving and had decided to stay put. But as soon as a chance to be near Mingji presented itself, she forgot everything else.