Having had her porridge, Dengmei came out to the courtyard to sit in the sun. She was very thin and her face deeply wrinkled. She stroked Mingsen’s hair and cheeks with her deeply veined hands. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them back. Her mind often drifted back to memories of the past, and she frequently had to make an effort to keep her thoughts on the present.

  It had been a long time since she had had any news or letters from Mingji or Jiansheng. None of the sixteen families in Fanzai Wood had heard from their sons who had been conscripted to work in the Pacific in six months. She was actually afraid to receive any news, because that usually meant only one thing. A month earlier, Peng Desheng and Lai Ahe had been summoned to the Military Affairs section of the Rural Affairs Office and picked up two foot-long boxes wrapped in white cloth—the ashes of their sons. No news was good news.

  It had been years since Dengmei had done any work. Her one task was to cross the wooden bridge over the stream and climb up to Black Rock cliff at around ten o’clock in the morning. Facing the cliff, she would still her mind and then recite the section about Kuanyin in the Lotus Sutra thirty times. She recited the sutra for the sake of her youngest son and her eldest grandson and for the safety of all the sons of Fanzai Wood. She wanted to ward off evil, ward off the arrival of any government official.

  Dengmei never claimed a profound understanding of fate, but she felt she had found her place in the natural order of things. Nevertheless, she did still have some doubts about life. Had her husband and son been right in their activities? Did their deeds have any value, or had they sacrificed everything, including their lives? Why had Ahan and Mingding died? Why were so many people of the same mind, willing to sacrifice everything? Why had there been so many? Why were there still so many, and would there always be so many?

  Dengmei thought it amusing that she could be so indifferent to the passing of life but could not be indifferent to its value. She understood the reality of life, but she could not fully understand her own place in the events that made up her lifetime. Perhaps Ahan could. Ahan was more intelligent than she was. Ahan understood things; that was why he had boldly pursued his ideals. Was he satisfied when death came? It was good. But everything to do with Ahan was in the past, and soon all that was hers would be in the past too. That was life.

  She was still bound to her life by love. Or was it an unwillingness to let go? No, it wasn’t that. It was simply that she still had feelings and could not bear to see her sons and her grandchildren—and all the people of Fanzai Wood—suffering so. It was her lot in life, and she couldn’t relinquish it. Scarcely could she bear it, but then it would all soon pass away. She prayed that her children would be safe. Safety was what counted most at that time. She prayed to Kuanyin Bodhisattva to protect her children, who risked their lives for the sake of feeding themselves, and to protect those suffering overseas.

  She deeply felt the lack of security in life and the hardships, and her heart was filled with feelings of pity and grief. Without much thought, Dengmei began to murmur the Lotus Sutra: “If there should be a thousand-millionfold world of lands filled with yaksas and raksasas who wish to come and do harm to others, if they should but hear the name of the bodhisattva Kuanyin, these malignant ghosts would not be able even to look upon those others with an evil eye, much less inflict harm on them!

  “Even if there is a man, whether guilty or guiltless, whose body is fettered with stocks, pillory, or chains, if he calls upon the name of the bodhisattva Kuanyin, they all shall be severed and broken, and he shall straightway gain deliverance.”

  At that moment, Mingqing and his brother and a few others came down the slope singing. They were all carrying sweet potato vines or plants, which were used as feed for pigs. Wrapped inside was the meat of a wild boar that they had taken illegally.

  “They’re back safely,” said Dengmei, sighing with relief.

  At some time or other, Mingsen had come to stand beside her. He was leaning against her like a child. She sighed again, feeling sore all over and very frail.

  Two days after a rather subdued Lantern Festival, as the sun was shining on Blind Man’s Pool, a government functionary arrived to visit the Xie, Xu, and Peng families.

  Young and old alike were convinced that he must have news of Tianding, Akang, and Yonghui. The functionary informed them that they had to appear at the Military Affairs Section of the Rural Affairs Office at eight o’clock. He told the heads of the families that they could send their wives in their places if they couldn’t go—after all, allowances had to be made since all the young men had been conscripted. The closest relatives could go, but they had to appear with their seals and identity papers.

  “What for?”

  “Just to pick up something.”

  “What are we picking up?”

  “You’ll find out when you get there. Remember, you must have your seals and your identity papers.”

  The people listening to the functionary, especially the Xies, Xus, and Pengs, insisted that he be more specific.

  “I don’t know. I’m not allowed to tell you anything.”

  “Can’t you give us a hint?”

  The man would not say.

  “Can it be?” said someone softly while outlining the shape of a small box with his hands.

  “Think what you like,” said the man as he turned to leave. “If it weren’t that, do you think I’d be here?”

  Fanzai Wood was thrown into turmoil. The white boxes containing the ashes of Tianding, Akang, and Yonghui would be brought home the next day.

  Yonghui’s wife, Azhen, and Akang’s wife, Ashu, burst into tears and began wailing. Tianding was a bachelor. His elder brother had died a long time ago, and his father was an invalid at home. His mother, when she heard the news, fainted away. Her mother-in-law, Auntie Pickles, was there to bring her around with some ginger juice.

  Ashu, baby on her back and son in tow, ran to Azhen’s house. Akang’s mother had died many years earlier. But his elderly father rushed to catch up with them because he was afraid that something might happen to his daughter-in-law and grandson.

  Peng Yonghui’s parents were drying their tears and trying to comfort their daughter-in-law Azhen. With three branches, the Peng family was the largest in the area. Having heard the news, all the members of the family rushed to Peng Yonghui’s parents’ house. Just two months earlier, Peng Desheng and his wife had gone to pick up the white box containing their son’s ashes, and now it was feared that their nephew was being brought home the same way. They were overcome with grief.

  Azhen was still wailing. She was bathed in sweat and trembling. She hugged little Amei to her breast. Amei stared at her mother with her big, gleaming eyes. Tears soon gathered in her eyes and she too began wailing. Her daughter’s cry tore Azhen’s heart to pieces. Her body throbbed with pain as she recalled how she had spent every day of the last year in misery, longing for her husband’s return. She had hoped he would come home, and now he had, but in a box! She reproached herself, feeling that perhaps her wishes had been a curse on her husband. She had been a bad wife. She had tried to prepare herself for just such a day, and it had come. She felt bad about herself.

  Just as she had feared, he really was coming back in a box. She felt guilty for having thought of that possibility. Bad women always anticipate the worst.

  “I can’t stand this!” Azhen suddenly opened her eyes wide, put Amei down, stood up, and went toward the door with her head held high.

  “What are you doing?” Uncle Defu and his wife stopped her at the door. At that moment, Ashu, Akang’s mother, and the others came in weeping.

  Darkness had fallen, but no one lit the lamps. All was darkness in their hearts and before their eyes, but in that darkness they could see their families and the people of Fanzai Wood, who shared their grief. The sound of wailing went on and on; the sound of weeping filled the house, filled the mountains.

  Suddenly a torch appeared. The light cut through the night like a knife and shone so brightly that everyone had to squint. The sound of wailing died down.

  “Dengmei is here,” said someone softly.

  It was Dengmei. Small and slight, she was dressed in her padded jacket, work pants, and cotton shoes. Her white hair strayed from under her headcloth. Mingqing and Mingcheng stood beside her, each holding a cassia bamboo torch.

  Everyone greeted her in their own way as befitted their age. She softly acknowledged their greetings as her eyes moved from one person to the next. Lastly her eyes rested on the group of weeping women who stood there holding one another.

  “Auntie!” cried Azhen.

  Then the weeping rose again. Dengmei began to cry, but she gestured for them to be quiet.

  “You must all control yourselves.” She herself was the first to do so. “Although it has come to this, you must look after yourselves. Tomorrow a man from each family must go and bring them home.” She swallowed with difficulty and glanced around as if looking for someone.

  “Here I am, Auntie Dengmei,” said Huoxian, standing by the firewood outside the door.

  “Huoxian, you must perform the funeral services.”

  So it was decided. Escorted by Mingqing, Dengmei was the first to depart. Then each family left without saying a word. The three families who had been charged with sending representatives to the Rural Affairs Office held a discussion. Peng Dexin and his wife asked Peng Zuwang to go because all the young men had been conscripted. He himself had no sons, but there had been no bad news about his sons-in-law. Xu Dingxin decided to go himself. Tianding’s father couldn’t go, so they asked Huoxian to help them, because he was related by marriage.

  After everyone left, Azhen remained sitting on the floor of the main hall, still hugging her daughter. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she wept in silence.

  It all turned out as expected. Huoxian and the others returned to Fanzai Wood bearing three white boxes at ten in the morning. All together, thirty-two boxes had arrived at the same time at Great Lake. The road to Fanzai Wood was quite busy, as nine other boxes were being borne in the direction of Big Southside. In such a small corner of the mountains, everyone was related in some way. Thus those who had gone to pick up the boxes did not find themselves alone. No words were spoken, and all that was heard was the sound of footsteps and muffled sobs.

  Huoxian had left incense and a small gong that he used in rituals in the grass outside Great Lake. As they passed along the road on their way home, he lit the incense and banged the gong to summon and lead the spirits of the departed.

  “Xie Tianding! Spirit and soul, fear not, come forth.” Huoxian then turned toward Peng Zuwang and Xu Dingxin.

  “Yonghui, be not afraid, come forward!” said Peng Zuwang hoarsely.

  “Akang! Akang! Come home!” Xu Dingxin could scarcely pronounce the words.

  “You have to call his full name,” said Huoxian.

  “Xu Akang, come here. Your father is here to take you.”

  Huoxian beat the gong as they walked back to Fanzai Wood.

  The people from Big Southside also beat a gong as they turned onto the mountain road. The filial children in the procession wore the flax headgear and clothes of mourning. Some held incense and spirit tablets. At each turn in the road stood a few old women and children, staring at them. Some asked what family they were from and where they lived, and some even asked if they had seen a conscripted loved one.

  “Excuse me, my son Qiu Mubin was conscripted. Have you seen him?”

  “What about Zhang Ayin? Has anyone seen him?”

  “What kind of question is that? You fools, you may as well ask him,” said Huoxian, pointing with annoyance at the box in Angmei’s hands.

  The mourners made their way back along the road to Fanzai Wood. When they arrived in front of the temple, Huoxian raised his gong stick high above him, then sounded the gong three times to announce their arrival.

  “Here we are! Xie Tianding, ascend the slope!” said Huoxian, instructing the spirits.

  “Peng Yonghui! Up the slope, you have arrived!”

  “Xu Akang! Go up the slope to Fanzai Wood!”

  “Yonghui, take care at the bend in the road!”

  “Akang, the road turns, take care!”

  “Xie Tianding, you have arrived. Cross the bridge!”

  “Yonghui, be careful as you cross the plank bridge!”

  “Akang, when you cross the bridge, you will have arrived. Take care as you go.”

  A makeshift mourning hall had been erected in the Pengs’ courtyard. It was twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide, made of a bamboo framework with straw from the chicken coops and piles of kindling for a roof and fresh-cut banana leaves for walls on three sides. The hall, which was for the whole village, had been erected hastily and without much planning. After the work had begun, the village headman, Chen Qian, expressed his concern by saying that the colonial officials might object and some people might end up in jail. But no one took any notice of his warnings as they quietly hastened to complete their work.

  The mourners had returned with the three wooden boxes. Everyone was silent. But their silence was tinged with anxiety that Chen might bring in an inspector to arrest people. It was to be expected; after all, the erection of private structures for mourning and funeral rites had been forbidden by the Japanese for years.

  After a whole night spent grappling with the situation—a time that seemed interminable for her soul—Azhen was resolved to stay calm and keep her composure when Yonghui’s ashes were brought home. But she gave a violent start at the actual sight of Peng Zuwang carrying the white box. As the box neared her menacingly, she trembled violently and staggered; as she reached out to take the box, she gave a short scream and collapsed in a dead faint.

  By the time she regained consciousness, she could hear the steady rhythm of the gong. She smelled a scent that she could not mistake. That was what brought her around. She turned sharply. “Mother!”

  “Lie still.” Her mother had rushed over from Big Southside. Her mother held her close.

  “Azhen.” Someone was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Father! Father!”

  “Lie down. Don’t move,” said her father, trying to calm mother and daughter.

  “Don’t worry. What matters now is your health,” said her father. “Everyone will look after you. Your mother and father are here, and soon little Amei will grow up.”

  “Listen to your father,” said her mother as she tidied her daughter’s hair. “There is nothing you can do. It is fate.”

  Fate? Was it fate? Azhen remembered how Dengmei described fate—she said that it could not be explained, that it worked of its own accord and often suddenly, and that there was no escaping it. She wondered why it was that way. Because she was human and that’s the way people were. That’s what Dengmei had told her. Then there was no meaning to life. Azhen felt angry. But that’s what gave life meaning, Dengmei had said. She didn’t understand, but Dengmei had told her that one day she would. And she would have fewer grievances when she understood life for what it was—fate and the suffering. But Dengmei also told her that perhaps it would be better if she never understood it.

  She realized that many women in Fanzai Wood, not to mention Xinzhu and the island of Taiwan, had exactly the same fate. There were thousands and thousands of women just like her.

  Yonghui was gone and never again would she have his love, but that didn’t mean life was over. Yonghui wasn’t coming back, but she couldn’t say that he didn’t exist; and what had been would always be. She had to go on living for Amei and Yonghui. Suddenly her heart was suffused with light. Yonghui was dead, but he was still with her, and he would cease to exist only when she herself had died.

  Azhen suddenly raised her head from her mother’s lap and sat upright. The comfort of others was also a ray of light to her heart, and it was strengthening her. She felt that she had aged considerably in just twenty-four hours; she felt ten years older.

  She drank down a bowl of thin gruel and led Amei out to the courtyard. There in the middle of the mourning hall were five white wooden boxes. Ashu was there, baby on her back, and Atian’s wife was there too. She guessed that the other two boxes contained the ashes of Lai Ahe’s son and Peng Desheng’s son. No service had been held for them since they had been brought home. It looked now as if they were going to be given the proper rites.

  Azhen had calmed down considerably: she wanted to fully take in the service for Yonghui’s soul. In her calm state, she felt so near to Yonghui, almost able to touch him; it was painfully exhilarating.

  She stared at the wooden boxes for a long time. Did that box really hold Yonghui? Yonghui was back, but he wasn’t in a box. He was in the wind and the light, or in some corner of the mourning hall. He was everywhere. She was certain that he wasn’t in the box. She felt completely in control of herself, and was in fact more calm and rational than she had ever been before.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon. The sun was hidden by the clouds and a chill breeze blew. The mourning hall was very simple. All of the deceased were under thirty, and naturally there were no portraits of them for the altar, nor were their any photos suitable for enlargement. There wasn’t time anyway. The white boxes were placed on the altar, and in front of each box was a spirit tablet Huoxian had made out of cardboard and a bamboo incense burner. Huoxian’s ritual paraphernalia was placed on another table. Huoxian himself was busy writing ritual inscriptions.

  Huoxian was the star of the moment. He began with an invitation to the gods. He knew the names of all the gods and spirits in the three realms: the gods in heaven, the spirits in the mountains, and the demons in the ocean. But on this day he was very disturbed and actually forgot some of their titles. In the end he could only offer a prayer of apology: “Gods, spirits, and demons, I, Yang Huoxian, a teacher and follower of Confucius, find myself in the midst of these turbulent times. Fanzai Wood has been plunged into misery, my heart has been consumed, and thus my invocations have not followed the proper order. Those whom I haven’t summoned by name are all invoked. Have pity on the young who have died unjustly, their bones in foreign places, their pain everlasting, their lonely spirits wandering.”