He and Chen had often joked about carrying each other’s ashes home. Now it had really come to pass. But Mingji couldn’t be certain if he himself would return alive. Today he was burying Chen, but might he not die tomorrow with no one to bury him? Life was so precarious, and he felt so vulnerable, so helpless. There was no way of putting off fate. Could the gods in Heaven intervene? A living being today, a corpse tomorrow. The same tragedy had been played out thousands of times in the Pacific and in every corner of the world. And what then? The situation would never change.

  As Mingji stood thinking, he didn’t hear what Masuda said. He suddenly noticed that Masuda and several others had moved to where the bodies lay. They stood with their legs apart, swords in hand.

  “Mingji! Are you going to take care of Chen yourself?” asked Masuda.

  Mingji knew what was being asked of him but didn’t know how to do it. He took a sword and walked over to where Chen’s body was lying.

  “Matsushita, beware of this blow,” said Masuda in a low voice. He swung his sword and severed Matsushita’s left arm. Then he stuck his sword in the ground, lifted the severed arm high, and tossed it into the flames. Then the others lifted their swords.

  “Well, Mingji?”

  Mingji tried to shake off his confusion. He pulled Chen’s arm away from his body so as not to harm it any more than need be.

  “Let me do it.” Masuda pulled at Chen’s arm, which came off at the shoulder with a snap. Mingji took the arm and lifted it high. He knelt, facing the fire, and kowtowed three times before putting the arm in the flames.

  As the arms were consumed by the fire, the men dug the graves a little deeper and put the bodies in. Mingji spread a layer of jasmine flowers in the bottom of the grave, and then with the help of Crooked Mouth Li and Nozawa, he lowered Chen’s body into the hole.

  He prayed for Chen to rest in peace and for his soul to accompany him back to Fanzai Wood, and if Mingji too should lose his life, he said that they would return together.

  “We have to remove the flesh from the bones,” said Masuda.

  They removed the burned arms from the ashes. They were still hot and emitted an acrid odor. After allowing them to cool, each man grasped an arm and with rags or handfuls of grass stripped the flesh from the bones. They kept the white bones.

  It was a cloudy, chilly morning, not in the least like spring. The thirty of them passed north through the empty main street of San Fernando. They could hear the faint thud of cannon fire; their futures seemed uncertain at best. The ground seemed to shake at intervals, but they didn’t know if it was due to air raids or tanks.

  They wondered if their homeland was safe.

  NINE

  •

  Women of the Mountains

  On January 3, 1945, several hundred Allied planes bombed Taiwan. Hundreds of planes flew bombing raids on January 4, 9, and 14. Two hundred planes bombed Taichung, Changhua, and Kaohsiung on the fifteenth. Casualties from fire were especially heavy in Kaohsiung. Eighty B-29s bombed Xinzhu, Miaoli Station, and the Nanmiao Sugar Factory on January 17. On March 3, island children were organized into a defense corps. Island women were forced to take military training.

  That year, the first cicada chirr in the tree behind the Earth God temple was extremely loud. Rain had been more abundant than usual, and the abandoned fields were thick with weeds. The margins of the fields were covered with reeds that stood pointing at the sky like a forest of blades.

  Summer had begun. Amei was nearly three, but she was small and stunted and looked more like a one-year-old. She could stand only by clinging to the bed; otherwise she crawled like a feeble puppy. Her mouth hung open and saliva ran from the corner. She hiccupped constantly.

  “She is sick again,” said Dexin’s wife. “I will go get some peanuts.”

  Azhen immediately put Amei on her left leg and, supporting her daughter with her left hand, started pinching the skin on her neck. She continued pinching and pulling the skin on the child’s throat. Already her throat was bruised in several places, and soon another red bruise appeared. This was how country people attempted to cure, or as they put it, “capture” the sha syndrome. Over the last few years, bruises had appeared on the throats of the people of Fanzai Wood, young and old alike.

  “I don’t have any more,” said Dexin’s wife, “not a single peanut left.”

  In consternation, Azhen continued pinching Amei’s throat, shoulders, and back.

  It was felt that people suffered from the sha syndrome, as it was called in Chinese medical terminology, due to a lack of fat in the diet. In those days few people could afford to fry peanuts. Peanuts were hoarded as if they were a treasure, and when someone felt the condition coming on, they would chew a few raw peanuts until the symptoms disappeared. However, the Pengs had long since consumed the peanuts they had stored the year before. Azhen asked that she be allowed to give her daughter some of the seed peanuts, but Dexin’s wife said that was what they had been using.

  Dexin’s wife herself was hiccupping. Azhen put Amei back on the bed and went to give her the same treatment. Dexin’s wife told her that she would do it herself.

  There were so many purple bruises on her throat, one on top of another, some darker than others, that it was impossible to tell how many she had. Gritting her teeth and knitting her brows, she pinched and pulled her skin.

  Azhen herself felt a tickling in her throat. She too hiccupped, and her mouth filled with saliva. She suddenly panicked; she trembled, and her hands and feet felt numb. She had spasms in her stomach and her belly twitched. She realized that she too had caught the syndrome. She quickly started to pinch the skin of her throat. Saliva filled her mouth and rolled out of her quivering lips. The symptoms seemed to vanish, and she quickly finished sweeping the house and doing the wash. She then asked her mother-in-law to look after Amei and feed her when she awakened. After talking with her mother-in-law, she set off for the temple. Akang’s wife and Minseng’s wife were already there; to her surprise, fat Angmei was also there.

  The women had agreed to meet at the temple to catch frogs. The field frogs, like the snails, had all long since been caught, but now word had it that a different kind of frog—a mountain frog—could be caught among the rocks in the stream behind the temple. Mountain frogs had become the catch of the day. The frogs were tender and fat and if boiled, would produce a fatty broth. That was what everyone was saying.

  But there was one problem with catching mountain frogs. The place under the cliff where they were found was thought to be “unclean.” In the late afternoon as the sun was setting, a cold wind would rise there, standing one’s hair on end. Some people said that they had heard strange noises and seen furry, black shadows there too. Nevertheless, the lure of mountain frogs proved much stronger than any fears and superstitions.

  Just the day before, Azhen and Ashu had been talking about the idea of catching mountain frogs. Minseng’s wife had overheard them.

  “We can go together to catch them, if you really dare,” said Mingsen’s wife.

  “Okay! But do you dare?” they both replied.

  They quickly arrived at a dark and gloomy spot high up along the stream. The shrimp and crayfish had long since been cleaned out, and even tadpoles were a rarity. The stream was low and flowed very slowly. The stones were covered with moss, making it very difficult to walk. In the end, the women found it easier to walk in the stream.

  “Gotcha!” shouted Angmei, who was walking ahead of the others. “Come and look.”

  “What did you get? Goodness, an eel!” said Azhen, nearly falling into the water.

  Angmei was holding it in her right hand, and it had coiled up her right arm. Actually, it was a poisonous snake, a variety quite common in the area. It had red spots and was about as thick as a person’s toe.

  “Did it bite you?”

  “Look,” said Angmei, holding the snake firmly at the base of its head while showing the others how it had opened its mouth.

  “Throw it away. Do you want to die?” said Mingsen’s wife, her voice quavering.

  “It makes the best tonic,” said Angmei in a whisper. “My old man always eats them. It’s such a delicacy, he eats them bones and all. Don’t tell him about it; I’m going to eat this one.”

  As Angmei spoke, she squeezed her fingers together, crushing the life out of the snake. She really was an expert at dressing snakes. She broke the fangs off in a branch, then tossed the lifeless body into a cloth sack she was carrying.

  “Angmei,” said Ashu, slightly embarrassed, “if we come across another one, will you catch it for me?”

  “All right. But there aren’t many of them left.”

  They did not find anything else edible as they made their way. They were harassed constantly by huge mosquitoes, and occasionally a bat would swoop down through the trees.

  “Wow, a big one!” said Angmei, who had made another catch.

  “You caught another one?” they all said in disbelief.

  This time, Angmei had managed to knock a bat from the rock overhang along the stream. It was a good-sized bat, about as big as a fist.

  “Can you eat it?”

  “Idiot! There isn’t a thing that can’t be eaten,” said Angmei with satisfaction as she threw another item into her sack.

  Now they began looking for anything and everything edible. It was said that Angmei could make anything palatable. The things that other people thought were useless—the bones of wildcat, gibbon, or boar—found a place in Angmei’s pot.

  “Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”

  “I boil everything for a long time and even the bones are soft. How can I get sick?”

  Everyone in Fanzai Wood was thin—except for Angmei. She didn’t seem to know hunger like everyone else.

  “You are laughing at me,” said Angmei, frowning. “With a husband like mine, what else am I to do? Huoxian has never worked for his meals—I provide them all.”

  “You’re better than us,” said Azhen, smiling sadly.

  In the past, everyone in Fanzai Wood had looked upon Angmei with some contempt—she was thought to be fat, messy, and unkempt. But now her status in the village had risen. Yet Angmei never thought of herself as being better than anyone else; she was always humble and modest, and felt herself to be inferior to the other village women. She was a natural survivor—she didn’t have to think about it or work hard at it; it was her nature.

  “Azhen, why are you so absent-minded? We’re here!” shouted Angmei up ahead of the others.

  They had arrived at a long rocky outcropping at the foot of the cliff. The three-foot-high stalks and egg-shaped leaves of the stinging nettles, known locally as “dog-bites-man,” were everywhere.

  High above, wisps of cloud could be seen in the pale blue sky. But down where they were, the air was damp and cold. The place seemed devoid of life—there were no bats, mosquitoes, or snakes. Azhen was afraid, but her fear was mixed with a sense of awe and reverence. She felt she had arrived at the living heart of the mountains, the very root of their strength, a place that ought not to be entered. But strangely, she also felt it to be the safest place on earth—there were no evil spirits or demons, nor were there enemy guns and bombs. The threat of death did not seem to exist in this place. She thought of Yonghui.

  “Mountain frogs!” said Angmei, who had spotted their quarry. “See, there in the crevice.”

  There in a crevice on a moss-covered ledge near where a spring bubbled out of the ground, was a row of frogs. They were a silvery gray tinged with blue, and their eyes were a watery red. They were bigger than field frogs and had huge round mouths and thick meaty backs. Their bellies were white and they looked so tender and appetizing.

  “How are we going to catch them?” asked Angmei, suddenly at a loss.

  “Why don’t we …” Azhen started to speak.

  “We can’t take too many,” said Mingsen’s wife.

  “I don’t dare …”

  “What are you afraid of? I was just thinking that they will all scatter as soon as we get close enough to catch them,” said Angmei. “I think we can get a few if we club them with a stick.”

  “But we would kill them.”

  “Are you afraid of killing them?”

  They had, after all, set out to catch mountain frogs. They were dying of hunger, so what were they worried about? Azhen still felt that the frogs were not meant for peoples’ tables.

  Angmei and Mingsen’s wife went to look for a stick with which to club the frogs. Azhen hesitated. Slowly she edged closer, lifting her hand ever so gradually. She wanted to stroke their backs. Her fingers were almost touching them when she suddenly caught sight of a monstrous frog squatting in the crevice behind the others.

  Azhen screamed and slipped, nearly losing her balance. Suddenly all the frogs vanished from the dark crevice. When Angmei asked her angrily what she had seen, she said that she had seen a huge frog the size of a bowl.

  Angmei was angry with Azhen and started thrusting her stick into the crevice, but not a single frog appeared.

  “Careful Angmei, or you might pull out a big snake,” warned Ashu.

  “That would be fine! It couldn’t eat me, but I sure could eat it.”

  They all burst out laughing. Angmei’s anger seemed to fade. They started turning over stones in search of anything to eat. To their surprise, they caught a number of crayfish. These were considered a delicacy, so their trip was a success after all. They also caught a large number of fat snails. It was a big haul, and Angmei was beaming.

  They cleaned the snails by the edge of the stream. First they crushed the shells with a rock, then they cut the guts away from the meaty bodies. When they got home they would sprinkle them with ashes to absorb any remaining dirty juices and then boil or fry them with chives or celery. It was a favorite dish in Fanzai Wood, and especially good for curing the sha syndrome.

  All the women managed to gather a huge amount of food, with Angmei getting the most. She was still not satisfied so she took up all the innards, washed them clean in the stream, and put them in her sack.

  Azhen was also very happy. Her small sack of food would keep her family from getting sick for another week or more. She also pondered what fat Angmei had said to them that day. She now felt stronger and more confident.

  TEN

  •

  The Journey of the Salmon

  Summer had arrived in Luzon, and the tributaries of the Pampanga and Tarlac rivers were overflowing. Liu Mingji and his companions had left San Fernando, and after a five-day march had arrived at Cabanatuan, gateway to San Jose, the military heart of central Luzon. The Rising Sun Regiment that had been stationed there had long since been withdrawn to the north, and confusion now reigned in the area.

  Rumor had it that the American army was making its way south ahead of them, so they again had turned north. All the bridges over the Tarlac had been destroyed, so they had to swim the river. Finally they arrived at San Jose, which was headquarters for the Iron Regiment. But it too had long since been withdrawn. Looking down at San Jose from the hills, they saw not a soul, but all the lights were lit. They wondered if the Americans had already arrived.

  Manila had fallen on April 2, so it was possible that San Jose might already be in American hands, or controlled by the guerrillas. They decided to spend the night on the outskirts of town. It was there that they learned from some stragglers that the Japanese army had decided to make a stand at San Jose to stop the American advance, even if it meant total annihilation.

  Mingji and his companions decided to risk cutting across the outskirts of town at night. They set off in pairs at fifteen-foot intervals. In that way they bypassed San Jose. By daybreak they had reached the highway and put more than ten miles between themselves and the danger zone. Vehicles came and went along the highway. They decided to leave it and make their way north.

  For two weeks they had carried no provisions save the salt they had found in the house. They had foraged for wild fruits, herbs, and young potato shoots. Six days out of San Jose, the going was becoming more difficult and the terrain steeper. Cloud-shrouded peaks now lay directly before them. They were at a loss as to what to do.

  “This has to be the southern tip of the central mountain range of Luzon.”

  “Then we must be close to Baguio.”

  “No, Baguio is close to Lingayen Gulf. We’re going to the north, right?”

  “Yes, to Aparri, and from there we’ll take a boat across the Bashi Straits.”

  “And back to Taiwan.”

  They all smiled and laughed until tears flowed from their eyes.

  Groups of stragglers were seen all over the countryside; they were everywhere except on the highway. None of them knew the way north or what their final destination was. They headed north by observing where the sun rose and set. Some just blindly followed other soldiers.

  They were entering the mountains. No one dared follow the highway for fear of being bombed or being forced to rejoin what was left of the Japanese army for a certain death. The mountains rose higher and higher the farther north they went. They encountered peak after peak, and narrow passes and defiles. Often, after walking two or three days, they would come to a precipitous cliff, which meant that they had to turn back. Even though they moved in this groping fashion, the paths were filled with long columns of people. The paths were littered with trash and excrement and an occasional corpse, some of which had been there for a long time and others that were quite recent.

  At first sight of the corpses, the men felt a mixture of fear and pity. But after they had seen a good number, they didn’t give them a second thought. One thing good about the new corpses was that they might provide matches and salt or even clothes and shoes. By now no one carried anything but a helmet, which could be used for cooking, and a bayonet. Their packs were empty save for the bones of their companions. And only Mingji and Masuda still had their packs—the others had long since ditched theirs. When they encountered other groups, the men usually eyed their packs.