Upon arrival, the regiment was disbanded and the men of the four detachments found themselves reassigned to different work units. Masuda’s detachment still served as the ground crew. They were quartered in low buildings behind the first parking apron. Their first task that morning was to turn in what was left of their salt and rice marching rations. In the three days and four nights of their forced march, they never once stopped to cook. So when they felt hungry, they would pull a fistful of rice from their packs and chew on the dry grain. At noon that day, they enjoyed their first cooked meal in days: potato soup seasoned with ginger.

  Potatoes had always been a regular part of Mingji’s diet. Since being conscripted, each man had been issued five spoonfuls of rice every other day—hardly enough for a child. Potatoes became highly prized, and now they were eating potatoes from Taiwan. Mingji felt he could detect the aroma of Fanzai Wood in his potato. As he ate, Mingji became more animated.

  “Today you may eat your fill and rest in the barracks,” announced Masuda.

  Bamban Field was a rather simple and crude airfield. Besides a command post under camouflage netting, there were some low, gray barracks hidden behind some trees. Two short, narrow runways ran north and south and were largely hidden by weeds. This had saved the airfield from being attacked. Although the runways were intact, large planes such as medium and heavy bombers were unable to land there. On the parking apron, several Zero fighters were camouflaged with netting and palm fronds. To the left and to the rear of the command post, three large black planes were parked; they looked like light bombers. Such planes had not been flown in combat in ages and were used mainly for training. What were they doing there?

  After eating, Mingji decided to walk around and take a look. Finding the place pretty boring, he headed back to the barracks for a nap. As he walked, someone called his name. Lifting his eyes, he saw a tall, pale, thin man with two shorter companions.

  “Liu Mingji, is that you?” The tall man hurried toward him.

  “Who? … Oh, is that you, Zhong?”

  “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Renhe.” The two friends embraced. Then they stepped back to look at each other. Talking as they walked, they were in their own private, happy world. They sat down on the grass near the parking apron. Only then did the taller of Renhe’s companions speak. “Uncle Mingji!”

  Mingji trembled and nearly leaped to his feet.

  “Uncle Mingji, don’t you recognize me?”

  Mingji didn’t know the teenager in front of him, but a glimmer of recognition flickered in his eyes. “Are you Su Xiumin?”

  “No, he’s my cousin,” the young man replied, blushing. “I’m Su Xiuzhi.” He smiled slightly.

  He was Ahua’s cousin. Seeing Su’s gentle, open smile, Mingji was overwhelmed and felt like crying.

  “What’s the matter, Mingji?”

  “Nothing,” he said, smiling bleakly. “How is that you came here?”

  “I arrived three days ago. I joined the Air Force Preparatory Training Course,” responded Su gloomily.

  “But aren’t you still in school?”

  “At the beginning of the year, I volunteered for the naval technicians, but later they told us to join the Preparatory Training Course.”

  Since December of the previous year, the Japanese had been conscripting school-age children into the service. The so-called Preparatory Training Course was in fact an air force cadet corps. Mingji never imagined that the policy of making the Taiwanese “the Emperor’s People” would mean making youngsters air force cadets.

  “Who is your friend?” asked Mingji, remembering Su’s companion.

  “My name is Lin Mingzhu.” He looked even younger than Su.

  “Like me, Lin is from Zhu’nan,” interjected Renhe. “Yesterday we ran into each other, and the kid recognized me. He and Su are in the same company, and they’re both from Taiwan.”

  It turned out that this group of air force cadets had received little more than six months of basic training and just sixty hours of actual flight training—some as little as forty-five. The cadets who had arrived in the Philippines to take part in the war were all stationed at Bamban Field. The last contingent was to arrive soon.

  In his conversation with Su, Mingji learned news of home. His own nephew Jiansheng had “volunteered” for the naval technicians at the same time. Peng Yonghui and all his cousins had been conscripted, as had the young men from the dozen or so other families he knew at Fanzai Wood and Great Lake. In fact, nearly all men between the ages of seventeen and thirty had been mobilized. The younger ones had become laborers in the army and navy; the older ones had been sent to the Labor Corps or the Combat Support Troops. The full-scale mobilization of Taiwan had begun on August 20. On August 22, a formal policy of mobilization was implemented after the wartime situation had grown more desperate, and a Women’s Corps had been set up on September 15.

  They had been talking for about an hour when a whistle blew for the cadets to fall in. Su spoke quietly to Mingji as he went to leave. “I heard that Ahua is also here in the Pacific.”

  “What?”

  “She might be here in the Philippines.”

  Ahua in the Philippines! There were so many islands, but when someone spoke of the Philippines, they usually meant Luzon. That was the very ground on which he was standing. Mingji wondered it if could be true that Ahua was on the very same island. His heart swelled with emotion, and he felt bewildered.

  But where on Luzon could she be? Why was she there? He desperately wanted to see Su again and ask him for news of his cousin Ahua. He would surely ask him the next time they met. Then he began to worry that Su would climb into one of the special fighter planes and never return.

  When he was at Nichols Field he had heard how the Commander of the 1st Air Fleet had personally seen off the kamikaze pilots. He had seen the kamikaze pilots wearing their rising-sun headbands taking the ritual farewell drink.

  He also recalled how, one evening when he was walking with his head down on the low earthen rampart behind the barracks, he had nearly collided with a young officer. The man had close-cropped hair and a sturdy physique, and was wearing a white shirt. Mingji knew he was a pilot at first glance. The young officer was standing facing north, his head held high as he gazed at the horizon. Mingji did not want to disturb him and risk a few blows across his face. So he hastily tried to sneak away before being seen.

  “Hey, come back,” ordered the officer.

  “Sir! I have disturbed you. I beg your pardon!” Mingji stood at attention, saluted, and apologized.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m a pilot, and not one of your superiors. Don’t worry.”

  “Sir! What are your orders?”

  “Just to chat. How long have you been here?”

  “About one year.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “From Taiwan, Xinzhu County.”

  “Oh, you’re Taiwanese. Taiwan is not far, just north of here,” said the officer, heaving a sigh. “Are you homesick?”

  “No, I’m not,” said Mingji, biting his lips as he spoke.

  “Liar! Who are you kidding?”

  “Sir! I’m not lying.”

  “I’m not accusing you. Are your parents alive? Your wife?”

  “My mother is well. I have a fiancée.”

  “Do you know what I am?”

  “You are an officer in the Japanese Imperial Army.”

  “Ha ha! Really?” The officer gave a short laugh, and a questioning look flashed in his eyes.

  “I wouldn’t dare lie.”

  “Ha ha. You know what? Tomorrow a ball of flame, some ashes, the sky, the sea, all gone.”

  “You are a kamikaze warrior, guardian of the Japanese Empire.” Mingji bowed low before him.

  “Ha ha. It was nice meeting you today. Let’s shake hands.”

  “Sir!”

  The officer shook Mingji’s hand heartily. His hand was soft but powerful, his palm smooth and warm. Mingji felt dazed.

  “Good luck, Mr. Taiwanese.”

  “Sir, what is your name?”

  “A Japanese—a ball of flames and some ashes. Ha ha. That’s my name.”

  “Good luck to you. Please take care of yourself.”

  “And may you return home safely.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That is all. Wave to me tomorrow as I leave.”

  The strong, handsome pilot never gave his name, but Mingji would never forget his face and voice. The next day at dawn, Mingji stood carefully on the roof of the barracks—he was afraid of damaging the roof—looking in the direction of the runway. As he had expected, four Zero fighters were waiting to start their engines, and four men dressed in white were being escorted to their planes by a group of officers.

  Mingji waved both his arms and kept waving long after the planes had risen high into the sky. He was still waving when they were but small specks in the distance. Following behind the four planes were two other Zeroes and four large black planes of a type he didn’t recognize.

  Then another group of men dressed in white appeared. He couldn’t make out clearly how many there were. He just waved his arms. He wondered which one was the man he had met the previous day. Why distinguish between them—a ball of flames and some ashes….

  December 26 was a special day. At around 3 P.M., it was announced at Bamban Field that the Japanese forces on Leyte Island had been annihilated and that the island had fallen. It was said that 8,500 Japanese troops had been killed and only about 800 taken prisoner. Almost all of the 14th Area Army troops in the Philippines had been committed to the defense of Leyte Island. It was also said that not one soldier of the infamous 16th Division—responsible for the Bataan Death March in which 25,000 Americans died—had survived. Like their victims, they were now buried in a foreign land.

  The second and last time that Mingji saw Su and Lin was on the evening of December 26. Both men were neatly dressed: black flight hats with white earflaps, cream-colored uniforms, and brown boots. Their figures both looked strong and handsome and commanded respect, but they themselves looked numb.

  By chance, Renhe had shown up. At first, Mingji suggested going to the canteen for a chat, but Su thought it inconvenient. They ended up sitting on the grass where they had first met.

  “Leyte Island has fallen.”

  “It was all over for Mindanao a long time ago. The Americans who landed at Batagas are already pushing toward Manila.”

  “That swine of an officer said that this was the last chance.”

  Lin kept his head lowered and said nothing. He seemed to be a different person from two days ago.

  The winter sun had gone down behind a mountain, throwing a huge shadow over Bamban Field. A dreamlike golden light seemed to hover over the grassy plains to the east.

  “Uncle Mingji, I’m glad to have seen you before leaving,” said Su, maintaining his cool.

  Mingji found it difficult to hold back his tears.

  “Uncle Mingji, I want to tell you about Ahua, but I don’t have the whole story.”

  “No, let’s not talk about that now.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Well …”

  “Something happened to her not long after you left.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “I’m not sure. It seems that during a speech at school, she started to make a commotion.”

  “What happened?”

  “I heard that she started cursing somebody in front of everyone who was in the hall for the speech. She was shouting and cursing.”

  “Who was she cursing?”

  “I don’t know. She passed out. They carried her outside. After she came to, she disappeared for several days.”

  “Disappeared? She died?” said Mingji, leaping to his feet.

  “Great-uncle Yungpao and Uncle Changqing asked everywhere for her, but they couldn’t find out anything. Later, when I was conscripted, my father said that she had written.”

  “A letter?”

  “It arrived through the military post. I heard that Ahua had gone to the South Pacific.”

  “How could that be?”

  “She volunteered to be a nurse’s aide. I heard that she was in the Philippines someplace.”

  “Does my family know about this?”

  “I’m sure they know. I remember Uncle Mingqing came to our house once or twice.”

  Mingji stared fixedly at Su through the darkening evening light. His mind was in turmoil, but he could bear it stoically. He wanted to die, to explode into a million pieces, but that would have to wait until he had said good-bye to the young men. He could not be so selfish as to take all their time for his own affairs.

  At that moment, Renhe produced some dried potatoes and some water. “We have some biscuits,” said Lin, speaking for the first time. The two young men took the biscuits out of their pockets. They were the high-class foreign kind, something inconceivable at that time.

  “Let’s have something to eat,” said Renhe with a forced cheerfulness, trying to raise everybody’s spirits. “Who knows, pathetic creatures like us with our little lives are all the same. Sooner or later death must come. But we’re still alive and we’re here now, so let’s eat and drink.”

  “Uncle Mingji, what are your feelings for Ahua?”

  “What’s the point of asking?” said Mingji, trying to act light-hearted.

  “You two are the envy of many people.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t despair,” said Su. He seemed to have aged prematurely. “If you have feelings for each other, you’ll get married one day. You’ll see her again.”

  “Thank you,” said Mingji from the bottom of his heart.

  “When you see her, remember me to her.”

  “I will. I wish you good luck on her behalf.” What more was there to say?

  “When you get back to Taiwan, would you look in on my mother and father when you have time?”

  “Of course I will, if I’m still alive.”

  “You’ll make it back alive,” said Lin.

  Mingji’s heart was filled with pity for Su. He wished he could die for both of them. By dying he could offer a chance to those younger than himself. He wasn’t being heroic, he just couldn’t bear things the way they were.

  He never saw them again. The two seventeen-year-olds had gone. Mingji couldn’t believe it. Every morning and evening when he heard the roar of an aircraft engine, he would rush out of the barracks expecting to see them. He was doomed to disappointment. Every time the airplanes took off, he could only wave his arms with all his might, just as he had done for that unknown kamikaze pilot at Nichols Field. Every night he and Renhe would go to that grassy place where the four of them had sat together. They both hoped for some miracle for the two young men, that Su and Lin would appear before them. But they never did.

  SEVEN

  •

  Misty Spring Days

  Fanzai Wood was shrouded in mist from the tops of the persimmon trees halfway up the slope to the Earth God temple, from the stream to the precipitous cliffs. Drops of mist hung thick in the air; the green bamboo and the battered eaves and rotting roofs of the houses were all dripping wet. The sun glowed above the mountain behind the cassia bamboo, turning the dense mist white. The mist thinned a bit, then began to move, surging toward the cliff and then rolling back. The scene was silent save for the chanting of Buddhist sutras coming from the house of the Liu family near Black Rock Cliff.

  Dengmei, Liu Mingji’s mother, was reciting the Lotus Sutra as she did every morning. “If there is one who keeps the name of the bodhisattva Kuanyin, even if he should fall into a great fire, the fire would be unable to burn him, thanks to the imposing supernatural power of this bodhisattva. If he should be carried off by a great river and call upon this bodhisattva’s name, then straightway he would find a shallow place.” Although Dengmei could not read, she could recite “The Gateway to Everywhere of the Bodhisattva Kuanyin” chapter of the Lotus Sutra and the Amitabha Sutra. Alian, a holy woman, had taught her the texts line by line. It had taken her years to learn them by heart, and then only with the help of Alian’s explanations.

  In Fanzai Wood, Alian’s tragic life, the strange events that befell Huoxian and his wife, Uncle Amei’s martial arts skills, the sutra chanting of Dengmei, and the pickles made by Auntie Pickles were all well known in their day. Alian had long since passed away. Amei was old and decrepit; he had long ago lost his youthful vigor for wielding his staff and was more likely to be seen toiling in his potato patch or looking for herbs in the mountains with which to fill his belly. Huoxian had once taught Chinese, but since it had become a forbidden subject under the Japanese, he had become a priest at funeral services. He was assisted by his beloved wife, Angmei, whom he affectionately referred to as “my fat piggy.” Auntie Pickles had no more pickles in her jars because of a shortage of salt, which was rationed.

  Only Dengmei continued to recite sutras, wind or rain, morning and evening. He voice still rang clear, rising and falling but never ceasing. Her chanting and the weeping from Hawk’s Beak were the two predominant sounds in Fanzai Wood.

  Shortly after Liu Ahan died, Dengmei had stopped eating meat at her morning meals and on the first and fifteenth of each month. After chanting her sutras this morning, she went to the kitchen for her breakfast of sorghum porridge, which her daughter-in-law had prepared earlier. This was a special treat just for her; the rest of the family had potatoes.

  Dengmei’s third son, Mingsen, sat on a low stool in the courtyard. He had been home for more than a year but still had not recovered. Although he no longer suffered from sudden outbursts of tears and laughter, he was often dazed and confused.

  The rest of the family, both young and old, had gone to the fields. Air raids were increasing in frequency, and often, as soon as the flag was raised at school in the morning, the air raid siren would start wailing. Classes were rarely held, and the children who skipped class were seldom punished. Instead of going to school, the children of Fanzai Wood stayed home and helped with the chores, picked wild fruit, or caught shrimp. In this way, the lonely villages seemed a bit more lively. The youngest grandchildren in the Liu family were about nine years old and since they didn’t go to school, they often helped out around the house and in the fields.