The Gods of War

by Christopher Stasheff

  The December cold permeated Mei's bones on the bus and the long walk home from her stop. Her parents' shop was full of anxious men and women eager to gossip about the morning's attack. The radio reported a speech by General Chiang that sought to reassure all citizens of Nanking.

  To their dismay, General Chiang threw the offer to parlay back into the faces of the Japanese High Command. Most people were now waiting only for the sword's edge to fall upon them, but the Generalissimo insisted that they were protected against all harm. They were to continue with life as usual, because the defense of the city was in good hands. Chiang himself had put that task into the hands of Tang Shengzhi, who followed the teachings of Buddha, and now added his vow that he would loyally defend the city of Nanking to the last drop of his blood.

  She clutched close to her chest the paper bag of soup, rice, and steamed duck with vegetables, grateful for its warmth. It was a cold walk, and she was afraid of getting lost when the last of the winter light had gone. The city was now officially under siege, and blackout regulations were in force. She and her family lived in a more prestigious part of town than her parents did, closer to the foreign concession areas, but farther from the stop for the local bus. Many of the foreign nationals with whom she and her husband had become friends—Sunyi worked for the chief Nanking newspaper and had many connections among British shippers and American industrialists living nearby—had already been evacuated by their governments in the face of the Japanese advance. The besieged neighborhood seemed empty, its big, brick buildings leaning over her with black, dull eyes. Perhaps it was just that all of the other women were already home cooking supper, and no one was left in the street at this hour. Everyone was hiding behind thick, dark drapes.

  Mei suddenly felt eyes on her back. She spun on her foot, seeking the source of her discomfort. There was no sound but the wind.

  "Who's there?" she asked. The wind whipped away her words. She repeated it, louder. "Who is there? If you do not show yourself, I will scream for the patrol. "

  A filthy hand circled around her throat, and another planted itself across her mouth, cutting off her last words. Terrified, she dropped the bag of food and clawed at her captor's arms. The hot soup flooded out of the container and splattered her feet, and, she hoped, those of her assailant. Where were the soldiers on patrol?

  A harsh command barked in her ear. More hands pulled down her clawing fingers and pinioned her arms at her sides.

  Merciful Goddess, she prayed. Free me, don't let me be harmed! My children, my husband!

  "Don't scream," the man's voice in her ear said. He had a rough, uneducated man's way of speaking. Her heart was pounding, and she had to bite back the cry that almost escaped. "We're Chinese, like you. All we want is food and clothes, and we'll leave you alone." He turned her to face him, his hand still covering her mouth. There were four men in all, armed and dressed in the uniforms of the New Army. "If you don't scream, we'll be gone as soon as you help us."

  Watching them all carefully, Mei nodded, as aware of every movement as a tiny bird trapped amidst a crowd of cats. She stooped to pick up the bent and crumpled bags of food lying on the pavement, but the man who had been pinioning her arms knelt first. She held out her hands for her parcels, but he shook his head, holding them away from her.

  His voice was thin and exhausted. "We haven't eaten anything in a week. We come from Wuxi." There was an expression of dangerous determination that warned Mei not to argue with him. He pried open the carton of steaming rice and began to eat it with his fingers. The other two soldiers, who had stood in the shadows, pushed forward and shouldered their guns. They grabbed handfuls of rice and stuffed them into their mouths, catching stray grains with fingers and tongues. The first one elbowed his companions away from the food, and they poked him to get him to drop his guard. Mei noticed as they chewed that the lines of their faces were pared very thin. Under the baggy uniforms, there was bone and muscle only, no meat. She felt sorry for them. Not one was older than twenty or twenty-two. The dirt concealed only the barest trace of moustache hair.

  "The Japanese pursue us," their leader said. Mei judged him to be nearer to her age, thirty or so. He wore a corporal's uniform, rumpled and torn, with rag ties holding the sleeves closed over his chilblained wrists. "If they spot us dressed as soldiers, they will shoot us on sight. Give us your husband's clothing. As civilians, perhaps we can escape to the west."

  "My husband is a reporter,' Mei said, sizing them up critically, watching them squabble over the last of the rice. "You might pass, dressed in his clothing, but these others won't."

  "They're only country boys," the corporal smiled fondly, then the expression turned grim. "They will pass, or lose their lives." He let go Mei's arm to work open the container of duck. She watched resentfully as he picked out meat and vegetables and shook them, steaming, in the air to cool them down before popping them into his mouth.

  When he had eaten his fill, he handed the container over to his men, who exclaimed between them over the feast, laughing, hissing and batting at the air at the heat of the food on their tongues. Mei's eyes flashed with anger, but she held back sharp words. They had treated her with respect so far.

  "They're only boys," the corporal repeated, but there was a warning in his tone this time.

  "Where are the soldiers of the garrison?" Mei demanded. "They are all around the city walls. General Tang has them marching patrols everywhere. They should have stopped you entering the city."

  "So where are they now?" he asked. "We came in through the gates before dusk, and no one challenged us."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Believe, sister," he said, wearily, taking her arm and urging her up the street. "We were not alone. Thousands of soldiers, fleeing Wuxi, and some, on the road even longer, from Shanghai, came in with us. They're looking for the same thing I think—food and a place to hide. If you're smart, you'll get out of town."

  "General Tang has sworn he would defend Nanking to the last breath in his body!" she retorted.

  "Hah! No one is that self-sacrificing." His cry was bitter, and he thrust her along with a push of his hand behind her upper arm. Mei's shoes slipped on the pavement. She windmilled, trying to keep her balance, and her kidnapper grabbed hold and righted her just as she tipped over. "You kept silent. Good. You seem to be an intelligent woman. Remain so."

  "I have a degree in international economics," she hissed, furious at being treated like chattel.

  Her captor was unimpressed. "Good. Tell that to the Japanese bombs when they fall on your house."

  They skirted the crumbled ruins of the two buildings at the corner of her street. Only one man had been killed that morning, but twenty families were rendered homeless. Friends and kin took them in, wondering how long it would be until they too lost their homes or their lives. Mei shivered. Once they reached the apartment building, the corporal stayed close by her while she felt in her pocketbook for her latchkey, and kept his gun in her ribs all the way up the stairs to the first floor.

  "Mei? Is that you? You're late, sweet flower. Was the bus crowded?" Sunyi came out of the kitchen with a baby bottle and a drying cloth. He stopped short when he saw Mei's escort. For the first time in all the years they were married, Mei regretted that Sunyi was not a bruising stevedore. His intellectual's shoulders were thin, his reactions wary but predictable. He had no defense against soldiers; they knew before he did what moves he might make.

  "Give them clothes and they will go away," Mei said tightly, her jaw set against the tears of frustration she could feel welling up in her eyes.

  "The Japanese are coming," the corporal broke in. "Flee for your lives, but give us clothes first so we can disguise ourselves."

  Sunyi opened his mouth to protest, but Mei's pleading gaze reminded him that there were children in the next room. His face became expressionless; his hooded eyes gave no clue to his thoughts. With a silent nod, he went into their sleeping room with two of the soldiers in attendance. They emerged
with armfuls of clothes. The corporal stood on guard while the others changed, then doffed his uniform for Sunyi's best suit.

  "We thank you, and in our gratitude, leave you your lives," the soldier said, cynically. "You would be wise to destroy those uniforms, not merely throw them away. Is there more food?"

  "No," Mei said quickly. "I was bringing it home for my family. You have eaten it all."

  With a nod, the corporal covered them with his rifle barrel while the other three men, ill at ease in Sunyi's Western clothing, slipped out of the room and into the dark hallway.

  The tension held until the door at the bottom of the stairs closed behind the last man. Mei's shoulders slumped, and she felt the tears overflowing down her face. Sunyi ran to hold her.

  Mei wept for a while, trembling against Sunyi's chest. He kissed her smooth black hair, and murmured little baby words to comfort her. "We have to get rid of the uniforms," she said, her voice quavering. They must not be found here."

  "How did they get into the city?"

  "They said they were not challenged," Mei said. "Where are Tang Shengzhi's troops?"

  "On guard," Sunyi assured her. "I interviewed a high officer close to him this afternoon. My report is in the evening paper. Perhaps when the sentries saw them, they assumed these men were joining Nanking 's defense. I will ask them tomorrow."

  "Don't go," Mei pleaded with him. "You heard what that man said. The enemy is coming. I don't want to be separated from you."

  "We are quite safe," Sunyi said, confidently planting his hands on her shoulders.

  "Mama?" Jinyiang stood in the doorway, cradling Sunli. The baby stared, wide-eyed but quiet. Mei and Sunyi opened their arms to the children and held the girl and baby between them in a tight embrace. "I hid when I heard the strange men talking."

  "You did right, blossom," Sunyi assured her, stroking the girl's shining black hair.

  "We should leave, too," Mei said.

  "I will find us a way out tomorrow," Sunyi promised. "Someone will give us a ride to the country."

  Feeling uneasy, Mei went to the kitchen to prepare the second dinner that night, to replace the one stolen by the soldiers. She flipped spoonfuls of rice resentfully around the inside of the wok, seeing the grinning faces of the men as they ate her family's dinner. No apologies, no words of thanks, only the mannerless exigencies of war. And yet, they were all so thin, so scared, running from their own army as well as that of the enemy, that a part of her heart was with them, erasing most of the anger she felt.

  "For the duration of this action against the enemy, no hoarding of valuable supplies will be tolerated. Severe penalties will be visited upon persons who defy this order. By order of General Tang Shengzhi."

  Notices and radio announcements about food hoarding began to appear and were repeated more and more frequently as the days went by. Mei's parents' cookshop was broken into several times by desperate townsfolk looking for supplies. At last, her parents closed it and came to live with Mei and Sunyi.

  "Thirty-five years we worked in that place," Mei's mother complained bitterly, her wrinkled face pinched around the mouth. "You think you can trust your neighbors? I recognized old lady Yao's eldest boy climbing in the back window. I thought it was more of those soldiers looting and killing. It isn't enough that we must guard against our own militia. Now we have to hide from thieving neighbors. I loathe Mrs. Yao and all her brood." Her mother spat to rid herself of the evil taste of the Yao family name. "Anyhow, we brought what was left in the storeroom. Our customers bought most of what was there. We haven't got much: rice and dried fish, a chicken, a few vegetables. But we were not hoarding them!" Mother glared as if defying anyone to accuse her otherwise.

  "You are welcome with your hands full or empty," Sunyi assured them warmly.

  "Well, I hope it will not be for long," Mother said, somewhat abashed at her display of bad temper. "I want to be in my own place again as soon as possible."

  Sunyi set up a pallet for them in the kitchen next to the stove. Mei, the children, and he were already sleeping there, since it was the warmest room they had, and it was away from the windows. Japanese planes occasionally strafed the area, throwing metal shrapnel and shattered stone everywhere. Every window was broken, by direct hit or sonic boom from nearby explosions. The neighborhood, with its privileged location near the concession area, was more fortunate than the areas to the south and west, and avoided the constant bombardment suffered by the rest of the city, but they could not avoid hearing the sounds of battle. General Tang's planes seemed to have little ability to deter the enemy's air attacks.

  Fortunately, wherever the Japanese troops attempted to breach the walls of the city, they were turned back. Thousands of citizens left every day, fleeing via the river, or on foot. Sunyi attempted to find them a ride out of Nanking with friends, but the friends left sooner than expected during a barrage by Japanese bombers. Mei despaired of being able to leave the city on foot with the baby. It was too far, and the weather was against them.

  "I blame myself," Sunyi said sadly. "I should have abandoned my job and taken all of you away at the first sign of trouble."

  "Heaven will provide," Mei assured him, inwardly doubting her own words. She had gotten over being angry with her husband s obsession with his job, and now felt only despair.

  Supplies ran short in Nanking sooner than anyone expected. There were riots, which were put down by the military. More break-ins occurred as hungry people suspected their neighbors of having more than themselves. The frozen remains of edible plants were uprooted in the night from public gardens. Houses abandoned by the foreign nationals were looted in search of supplies. Mei husbanded her meager pantry, and doled it out to her enlarged family in the evenings only. The only one being fed regularly was the baby. Mei was getting so little to eat that she felt lightheaded each time he nursed, but she couldn't deny him sustenance.

  To keep her mind off the hopelessness and fear around them, she told her family stories. Cuddled up by the big iron stove, she smiled at the kitchen god s paper image, and reached far into her memory for tales of Pangu, the giant whose body filled all the space up to heaven and eventually formed all of the features of the Earth, and of the great tortoises who carried the islands of the immortals in the Eastern Ocean.

  ". . . There were five at first, but in the end, only three, and all because of a curious giant," Mei concluded, sitting with Sunli and Jinyiang against the side of the stove. The giant was punished by the August of Jade for his carelessness, and the three islands which remained were called Penglai, Fanghu, and Yingzhou. They became the refuge of immortals and other unusual men and women who find peace there from the turmoils of the human world."

  Jinyiang sighed. "I would love to see an island carried by turtles. I wish we could go there, don't you, Mama?"

  "I'm afraid we are not unusual enough, child," Mei said, with a smile. "I think we'll have to settle for the human world. Things will be better soon. You'll see."

  Her mother stirred. "You tell the old stories better than I do, daughter. I wish your brother was here with us. He loves the magical tales."

  The five of them stayed together in the apartment during the days. Sunyi continued to seek out his stories for the now much-reduced Nanking newspaper. Many of the employees had fled, so he worked at whatever task was needed, including running the great presses to keep the paper on the streets. He came home later and later every night, forced to walk for miles when the few buses left in the city were too crowded to carry one more man.

  "I'm ordered to write of high morale in the garrisons," Sunyi told them one night, "but it's a lie. If it wasn't for fear of being shot by their own commanders, most of these young men would desert in a second. The monk who advises General Tang exhorts the troops to think of others than themselves, but these are no philosophers. They're children. To give them deserved credit, they are holding the defense valiantly. That small bit of hope at least I can give our fellow citizens trapped with us in Nanking."
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  Early the next evening, Mei heard the sound of feet galloping up the stairs. Fearing that it was more soldiers breaking into the house, she pushed the children into the kitchen and made Jinyiang squat down behind the stove with the baby's mouth muffled against her shoulder. There had been reports daily of people murdered and robbed by terrified troops retreating through the city. Mei counted herself lucky that her encounter with runaway soldiers had been so peaceful. She took up the kitchen cleaver to defend herself.

  The door flew open, letting in a gust of cold wind. Her heart gave a tremendous jolt as she summoned inner strength to make the attack, and returned abruptly to its normal pace when she realized the intruder was Sunyi.

  "You're home so early!" Mei exclaimed, putting down the cleaver and running to him. She was frightened by how exhausted and haunted he appeared. The hollows under his sharp cheekbones were touched by black shadows. "What's wrong?"

  "The garrison is empty," Sunyi croaked, dropping into a chair. At the sound of their son-in-law's voice, Mei's parents crept out into the room.

  "What?" asked Mei, her mouth dropping open. She ran to the stove for the kettle of hot water on the hob and poured it out over waiting tea leaves.

  "The barracks are empty. The walls are unguarded. Even the airstrips are unmanned."

  "How long?' Father asked. Sunyi shrugged his shoulders.

  "What happened to Tang Shengzhi?" Mother demanded.

  "Gone!" Sunyi gulped, accepting a cup of tea from his wife.

  "But he swore he would defend us," Mother wailed. "He swore an oath to Buddha. Where has he gone?"

  "No one knows. They are not here, that's all. We've been abandoned."

  "We must flee," Father said at once.