Will of a Tiger

by Iris Yang

  He had to survive until the day he could take Mary’s hands in his, to hold her in his arms. Her striking figure in a carmine red dress appeared in his mind. He remembered he’d burned with desire when she leaned against his chest. We haven’t even made love yet. I promised her to have half a dozen Little Tigers. He couldn’t let her down. He was her Perfect Tiger.

  By now the screams and the cries had subsided. The area was eerily quiet. Only occasionally did a breeze rattle the birch leaves and sigh in the high branches of the pines.

  Then, a swarm of flies came, making a repulsive buzzing sound. Gathering the last strength he could muster, willing his courage to sustain him, Birch stretched out his arms. He tried to free himself from Captain Zhang’s lifeless form, hoping to crawl out of the grave. His right hand moved only a few inches before the movement awakened his numbed body. A sharp pain radiated from the wound below his right collarbone and sent shivers through his body. He moaned in agony.

  As darkness whirled at the edge of his mind, he heard footsteps approaching. He fought for consciousness. Were the Japanese returning to bury them? No!

  But Birch didn’t get the chance to find out. He fainted.

  Chapter 15

  Mary was brimming with joy—Birch was coming home. It had been over two months without a word from him. The last time they were together was a few days before his most recent assignment. Both his and Danny’s planes had gone down during the mission. No one knew what had happened to them. Injured? Captured? Killed? She’d been out of her mind with worry. Now, she was elated that he was coming home alive.

  Mary put on the carmine red dress that Birch had given her on her twenty-third birthday. The elegant outfit accentuated the curves of her feminine frame. She marveled at his good taste when she studied her striking figure in the mirror. Leaning closer to the glass, she reapplied a fresh coat of lipstick, touched up her makeup, sprayed more perfume, and fluffed her hair. Got to be at my best in front of the Perfect Tiger.

  Her name was Ma Li, a translator at the commander’s office, but she preferred to be called Mary since she communicated with the Americans regularly. A small beauty mark on her right cheek created a permanent dimple and the illusion of a constant smile. For that, Birch had called her Sweet Mary.

  With enthusiasm, she dashed out of her apartment. Her permed black hair bounced in loose waves, swaying behind her back.

  The streets of Chungking were jammed with a sea of people. It was September 2, 1945. Earlier that day, Japan had signed a surrender document, officially ending the Second World War. Throughout the city, and probably the entire country, people shouted and waved, jumping up and down with unfettered joy. Firecrackers sizzled and popped; the booms rumbled like thunder. The smell of smoke permeated the air as if the area were on fire. It went on for hours. The entire city joined the spontaneous festivity with red banners, flags, gongs, and drums.

  A girl with home-made flags of various colors handed a pink one to Mary. Attached to a thin bamboo stick, the flag’s slogan read, “We won. The Japanese bandits lost.”

  Tumultuous cheers erupted when a bright yellow dragon paraded through the town center. Several dozen dancers moved this mythical creature in a wavy pattern. Mary beamed. Still holding the paper flag, she covered her ears and elbowed her way through the crowd.

  Besides the victory, Mary had another reason to celebrate: she would be Mrs. Bai in no time. Birch had promised he would marry her as soon as the war was over. Before long, she would be the envy of the Air Force.

  A Western wedding will be better than a traditional one. Her grin broadened when she imagined how fabulous she would look in a white bridal dress. I should think about it in more detail. The thought brought another frisson of excitement. When the crowd thinned, she twirled a few times as if she were waltzing. Birch is an excellent dancer. The memory of the New Year’s Eve party they’d attended flooded her mind.

  A few people nearby smiled at her. Some clapped. A young man with a big bundle of paper flowers walked over and offered her a red one. Mary blushed and took it.

  The hospital was jammed with patients. It was as if she had stepped into a different world. The hallway was filled with temporary beds holding injured men. She heard moans, screams, and rapid orders from the nurses. An acrid smell of antiseptics and body odors permeated the air. Flies buzzed everywhere.

  Mary caught a glimpse of a man on a stretcher as it passed. His face was swathed in bandages except for his eyes, nose, and mouth. He was in a muddy, tattered Nationalist Army uniform. A young woman in a primerose yellow dress ran alongside, holding his hand, crying.

  Mary stumbled sideways and shrieked when someone snatched her arm.

  “Help me,” a soldier in a bloody uniform begged. With the right hand clutching her forearm, he stretched his left arm to his thigh. “They told me I don’t have my legs anymore. Why do I still feel them?” He groped with his hand as he stared at her with a vacant expression. “Are they there?”

  Mary shook her head in disbelief. Both his legs were gone, and as she had just realized, he was blind. “I’m sorry.” She jerked her arm free and fled.

  Is Birch hurt like these men? Her pace slowed; her steps were not as steady. No, not Birch, she answered her own question. He’d been wounded before, and each time he’d bounced back in a few days. She chided herself for her insecurity, He’s my Perfect Tiger. Birch’s father, General Bai, had told her Birch had come home alive. He hadn’t said anything else. Her smile returned by the time she opened the door to his private room.

  But one glance at his face with black and blue bruises and the bandage around his cranium, and Mary lost her composure. The pink flag and the red flower dropped to the floor when her hands in white gloves flew to cover her mouth.

  His eyes were closed, and he looked lifeless.

  “Is he…all right?” she asked in a weak voice. The paper flower crumbled under her feet. “Can I talk to him? When will he wake?” The romantic images she’d dreamed of only moments earlier vanished like a puff of smoke. Worry replaced elation.

  “Perhaps in a day or two… Maybe longer,” said Dr. Deng, a silver-haired man. He glanced at the chart. The patient had been transferred from a military hospital in Yunnan. “It’s also possible he’ll never come out of the coma.”

  “Never?”

  “The best window for a comatose patient to wake up is within seven days. It’s been more than two weeks.” The doctor turned his attention to the patient.

  Mary rushed to Birch’s side and snatched his hand. “Wake up, Birch!” she cried as she shook it. “You promised you would marry me. The war is over. You can’t stay here. Wake up!”

  The doctor lifted his arm. “If you can’t contain yourself, you will have to leave the room.”

  Mary nodded, tears gathering in her eyes. She backed away a few steps. When the doctor removed the blanket, she gasped. Her cheeks turned paper white. His once muscular body was thin and covered with various bandages. Ugly, puckering scars crisscrossed the rest of his otherwise smooth chest. His right leg was gone.

  Mary hurried to his side again. Lowering herself to one knee, she leaned over the bed. Her delicate features collapsed with grief. “Birch,” she called in a tortured whisper. Sadness settled like a blanket over her as she caressed his cheek with her soft palm. Tears streamed from her eyes.

  Staring at the still form of the man she loved, Mary had the urge to wrap her arms around his battered body. She wished her touch could magically return her Perfect Tiger to her.

  The window was closed, but a pane of glass rattled as the noise tried to sneak inside. The festive atmosphere outside lay in a stark contrast to the gloominess she felt.

  You’ve helped to win the war, Birch. Today is supposed to be joyous. You should be out there celebrating. Everyone is happy. Everyone except you and me…

  The doctor sighed and thrust his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat as he waited impatiently. Unwilling to be scolded again, Mary straightened, put h
er hands over her face and fled. Leaning against the wall in the hallway, she bent forward as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Birch! A gut-wrenching sob broke from her as she silently called out his name. Her mind tumbled back to the day she’d first met Birch Bai.

  Chapter 16

  Mary had heard of Birch before she met him. He was well-known—the son of a high commander, one of the best fighter pilots in the Air Force, and the wingman of the legendary Flying Tiger Danny Hardy. The two airmen had undertaken many death-defying missions together, including flying over “the Hump,” the eastern end of Himalayan Mountains. Transporting military supplies from India to China over “the Hump” was dangerous. They had to fly through the world’s worst weather over the world’s highest mountains. There was widespread acknowledgment: the only thing tougher than “the Hump” was the men who flew over it. Both Birch and Danny were the bravest of the brave pilots.

  But the first time she’d met him, she saw a different side of this courageous airman.

  It was July 4, 1944. Mary was invited to sing at a celebration for the American soldiers on their Independence Day. She’d graduated from Stanford University a couple months earlier and then returned home to become a translator at the headquarters of the Chinese Air Force. With her soulful voice, she sang “Jasmine Flower,” a popular Chinese folk song. The audience cheered wildly, so she sang an encore, an American song she’d learned in the U.S. The crowd was ecstatic. Mary was sure she’d charmed half the men in the audience.

  The other half had already been captivated by her beauty—she wore a lavender silk evening gown, with long white gloves, and a pair of black fabric high heels. She curtsied several times. With a satisfied smile, she turned, moving backstage with grace. Her curvy black hair danced around her shoulders.

  And there he was: a broad-shouldered man with a straight nose and intense dark eyes standing tall and erect. He looked dashing in his Air Force uniform, a maroon leather gun belt bearing the Nationalist emblem cinched at his narrow waist, and a Chinese violin in his hand.

  Mary caught a flicker of surprise on his face. Then he offered a sheepish smile. It was sweet and innocent, utterly different from the unabashed and lustful looks she was accustomed to seeing. He tipped his head before he marched onto the stage.

  “Who is that handsome fellow?” asked Mary.

  “You don’t know? He’s Major Bai Hua, a fighter pilot,” answered a stagehand. “He’s a real Tiger,” he added, as if the zodiac sign actually summarized the man’s traits. The tiger, the King of Beasts, was respected for its power and valor.

  No wonder he carries himself with such confidence. Mary stood and listened to the music he was playing. Chinese violin was a tricky instrument. If done wrong, the sound was awful, like ducks quacking. But in a skillful hand, the music was so touching that it could bring tears to the listener’s eyes. He received a thunderous reception.

  Backstage she greeted him in English with a cheery lilt. “Hi, I’m Mary, a newly-hired translator at the HQ.” She extended her hand.

  “Birch Bai. Very pleased to meet you, Mary,” he replied in English. Taking her gloved hand, he bowed and lightly touched the knuckles with his lips.

  She was impressed, unable to hide her delight. Birch was the first Chinese young man who had done it properly. She looked up. His luminous eyes held her gaze like magnets.

  And that had been the beginning of their romance.

  When they were together, people turned their heads with envy and admiration. A tall, handsome man and a beautiful slender woman—they were an eye-catching couple and a perfect match. They had the same interests in art, music, and literature. They spoke half in Chinese, half in English. Birch had spent a year training in the States, and Mary had lived in California for four years.

  She loved to clasp his large hand—strong and always warm. She enjoyed being wrapped in his muscular arms, resting her cheek against the broad expanse of his chest. Most couples didn’t dare to hold hands or hug. Chinese were wary of showing affection, even in private. But their western educations had encouraged them to be more expressive, and she’d always prided herself on being a modern woman.

  Mary was crazy about Birch and called him the Perfect Tiger. One moment he can fly a fighter plane as a fearless warrior. Another minute he can play an instrument in a way that moves his audience. What a fantastic combination! Where could I find a better man than Birch?

  Her parents warned her about the risk of his job. Mary dismissed them. Her Perfect Tiger was invincible. She’d seen his medals, read the reports, and witnessed the glory that surrounded him.

  Besides, Chinese parents interfered with their children’s lives too much. They were old-fashioned, too controlling. She wasn’t about to allow it to happen to her. At age twenty-three, she was a grown-up.

  The attractive pilot had swept Mary off her feet, so much so that a few days before his last mission, she hinted she wanted to make love with him. It was his thirty-first birthday.

  “This is the best gift,” he’d said, “but I can’t…I can’t...” He cradled her rosy face in his palms, eyes blazing. “We have to wait…until we’re married.” He swallowed hard. “There are certain rules we can’t break, lines we can’t cross.”

  Sensing her dismay, he added, “It won’t take long. I’ll be your Tiger, and yours only. Be patient; we’ll have a lifetime together.”

  His dark, sensuous eyes turned to the pair of Tiger-head shoes for babies that she’d given him. “We’ll make as many babies as you want,” he said in a soul-filled voice as he placed a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

  Mary turned her face to one side and laid her cheek against his shoulder. She flattened her right palm over his heart. He took a quick breath before scooping her into his arms. His nose brushed against her vanilla-scented hair. His hands caressed her back, moving up and down. She felt the heat of his touch. Judging from the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the fever in his eyes, she could tell how much he wanted her.

  Mary lifted his left hand to her lips. One by one, she kissed his fingertips. Then she turned her head, picking up his right hand. This time, she kissed his knuckles. “Half a dozen,” she murmured while she slipped her arms around his waist.

  “Huh?” He seemed puzzled, preoccupied.

  “I want half a dozen baby tigers, just like you.”

  “You have my word!”

  Mary felt his hardened body as she pressed tightly along the length of his tall frame. When they separated, she heard his low growl of self-denial. Gazing up, she watched him holding his powerful body rigid with incredible self-control. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

  Suddenly, Mary was embarrassed for putting Birch through this predicament. It dawned on her that her passion was only part of the motive. The other part was due to her insecurity—she wanted to “seal the deal.” Her anxiety had disappeared once he’d promised to marry her.

  Chapter 17

  Wrenched sobs racked Mary’s picture-perfect physique as she recalled their romantic encounters. The privileged young woman had never felt so helpless. They had dated for almost a year, although in truth they’d barely had time to meet once a month. And even when they were able to meet, their time together was often too short.

  “Ma Li!” Through a mist of tears, she watched her parents rush toward her.

  “Mom!” Mary cried out and flung herself into her mother’s arms.

  Mrs. Ma wore a tailor-made, turquoise cheongsam draped to her ankles. She patted Mary’s back, concern etched upon her delicate face.

  Nearby her father stood tall and rigid. Even in a dark blue suit and a silver tie, Ma Ning’s upright posture bespoke the authority of a military commander. “General Bai told me—”

  “What happened?”

  Ma Ning’s eyebrows furrowed, carving a deep vertical line. “Some farmers found Birch in an open mass grave. There were dozens of bodies. He’s lucky. The Japs usually bury them after shooting them.”

  Mrs. Ma
added, “Since the war was so close to the end, they left without—”

  “He was unconscious but still breathing, so the farmers carried him to a military base.”

  “Dear God!” Mary swayed. The thought of Birch lying in a mass grave set off another round of shivers. Moments later, she asked, “Where is Danny? Is he okay?”

  Ma Ning shook his head.

  “Is he dead?” she pressed.

  “Nobody knows for sure. Most likely, yes.”

  Mary sucked in a harsh breath. She knew how much the Flying Tiger meant to Birch.

  “I warned you,” said Mrs. Ma, wiping the tears from Mary’s cheeks. “A man who goes off to war isn’t the same when he comes back. Injuries, psychological trauma—”

  “Survivor’s guilt,” her father added. Shadows fell upon his face.

  “What should I do? I don’t know how to take care—”

  “Listen,” her mother cut her off, “I’m sorry to say this, and I know it sounds cruel, but you must leave him.”

  “What? No! I can’t. I love him. He’s—”

  “I understand.” Mrs. Ma tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Mary’s ear.

  “Don’t be a fool,” her father grumbled, less patient.

  “Listen to me, my child,” said her mother, gripping Mary’s shoulders. “I know you love him. Birch is an extraordinary young man. He’s a rare find. If he weren’t wounded so severely…” She faltered for a beat. “The reality is cold and hard. You have seen his injuries.”

  Her mother’s words reminded her of his amputated leg. The Perfect Tiger was no longer picture-perfect. In fact, without a leg, he looked pitiful. Even if he wakes, he’ll be a cripple. In the best-case scenario, she would live with his handicap for the rest of her life. And in the worst, he would remain in the coma. He may never again talk to me, look me in the eye, or touch me… A sense of doom threatened to overtake her as the enormity of his injuries hit her.