CONTENT WARNING

The Snow Shrine

by George Cooksey

The cold December chill pierced Mei’s wool qipao, snapping her from her daydream. She shivered, pulling the light shawl she wore tighter around her shoulders.

A litany of sounds, smells, and bodies, assaulted Mei from all directions. She longed to be home in her family’s estate, back where things were quiet, with her nice clothes and toys and servants. But Mama said that those days were behind them.

Less than a week ago, the Japanese army had marched on Nanjing. The main government had already fled, but with Mama being pregnant, Baba said they couldn’t risk running. He had heard from a man at work that, across the river, a westerner set up a Safety Zone near Nanjing square. And so they found themselves here, at Pukuo Train Station, waiting for their turn in line to catch the ferry across the Yangtze.

At the head of the line, in the center platform of the station, a modest stage had been constructed from an ornate low-table. Behind the makeshift stage people were being distributed into two lines, though Mei couldn’t tell what each line meant. She combed her long black hair out of nervous habit.

Standing atop the low-table was a middle-aged Chinese man serving as the arbiter. He wore long robes and a big jacket, similar to those her father wore. At each of his flanks sat an intimidating Japanese soldier, each with a long rifle with a blade affixed to the tip. One of the soldiers had a thick bushy moustache and a splotchy red face, like his collar was perpetually too tight, depriving him of air. The other soldier had glasses, with a gaunt face and a cruel grin. He looked as though he were watching a comedy picture.

Baba must have noticed Mei’s frantic combing, as he turned around and put a gentle hand over hers. It felt warm, despite the winter air.

“My dear, remember, Jifeng jing-cao.” Baba gave her a soft smile. “What is it short for?”

It was one of Baba’s favorite sayings. Mei responded with rolled eyes. “It means that ‘It takes a tempest to show us the strength of a blade of grass.’”

“That’s right. And what does that mean?”

“That only in hard times do we learn our own strength.”

“And this-”

“And this is a tempest. I know Baba.”

“Good girl; I know you can be brave.” Baba kissed Mei’s forehead before pulling in both Mei and Mama for an embrace.

***

Finally their turn came and father stepped up to the stage, expression stoic. He bowed thrice: first to the arbiter, then to each of the foreign soldiers in turn.

“I’d like to apply for a Certificate of Good Citizenship, for myself, my pregnant wife, and our daughter.”

“Name?”

“Xia Hui-Fen, your Honor.” Baba paused. “Say, haven’t we met before?”

The arbiter’s eyes grew wide, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir, I have no idea what you mean... Now, occupation?”

“A simple bureaucrat, I worked for the New Republic’s Ministry of Finance.” Again her father pushed, leaning forward and almost whispering. “Yes, yes I do remember you! Your name... Hei Yong-Qi, right? What are you doing working for the Japanese Devils?”

Mei gasped to hear her father use such hateful language, but the man apparently named Yong-Qi seemed even more shocked. The soldier Mei dubbed Moustache barked an angry question towards the arbiter, but Yong-Qi waved him back, hiding his nervousness with an overly imperious air.

“Do not lie — if you are a soldier, just admit it. The Imperial Army will be very lenient, give you money to go home, even a job. But if you are found out... it will not be pleasant. I ask you again. Occupation?”

“A soldier? What are you talking about? Yong-Qi, you know me! Can’t you see that-”

Yong-Qi cut him off, fear in his eyes, commanding, “Show us your palms.”

Baba protested. “This is ridiculous. I work a desk job; I clearly don’t-” Moustache grabbed Baba’s hand, yanking it forward. Baba yelped in pain. Glasses and Moustache both inspected his right hand, with special attention to the thumb and index finger.

Yong-Qi translated, “They say your hands are calloused, like those of a rifleman.” His eyes waned. “I... am sorry. Truly.”

“No! It’s a blatant lie! I haven’t held a rifle in over ten years, before my daughter was born!” But Baba’s protests fell to deaf ears. He moved to grab at the arbiter, but before he could do so, Moustache connected the butt of his rifle with Baba’s face. Mama screamed, quickly pulling Mei behind her qipao.

Baba fell to his knees, nose bleeding. He clutched his dislocated arm as the two Japanese men moved to drag him away. He fought back, digging his heels and shouting.

“Yi-ran, I love you! Make it to the Safety Zone. Mei, be strong! Take care of your mother and the baby!” Moustache dug the rifle into Baba’s stomach, silencing him before dragging him out of sight.

Horrified, Mama cried out and stepped forward, but the arbiter held her back. “I’m sorry ma’am, there’s nothing we can do.”

Mama’s expression hardened, and she hissed with a vitriol Mei had never heard from her normally tranquil mother. “Coward.”

The arbiter turned away.

Mei wished to lash out with a thousand worse things to say. She wished more to chase after her Baba. Mei summoned up her courage — but nothing came. A knot formed in her throat, choking back tears.

Ashamed, she buried herself deeper into the recesses of Mama’s dress.

Her mother spoke up instead, her vitriol replaced by pleading. “I beg you, my daughter and I need to reach the Safety Zone. I am with child, and need a hospital. You have already taken my husband from me, do not take my children. Please.”

Yong-Qi looked down towards Mei, seemingly noticing her for the first time. Then his eyes darted towards Moustache and Glasses, who were making their way back across the platform. He spoke quickly. “Come back at night. Train carriages of supplies are ferried across the river then, and you can easily hop in one. But it isn’t safe now, I can’t promise someone won’t-”

He cut off as the two soldiers from before stepped back up, returning to their post. They looked down towards Mei and her mother, looming like two wolves prepared to pounce upon a meal. Glasses appeared particularly hungry, a snarl stretching across his thin face. He said something in the language that Mei did not understand.

Yong-Qi’s eyes widened, and he started speaking rapidly in the foreign tongue. The arbiter seemed to be pleading for something, though for what Mei wasn’t sure. However, Glasses just laughed dismissively. This continued for less than a minute before Moustache, apparently tired of listening to the exchange, held up his hand.

The distraction mitigated, Glasses squatted down to Mei’s level. He took a few strands of her hair in hand, yanking her forward as if she were a doll. His face was close enough that Mei could smell the warm stench of baijiu liquor on his breath. He grabbed her wrist.

At that, Mei jumped back, tripping on her floor-length qipao and falling to the ground.

“NO!” Mama lurched forward, but Moustache viciously jerked her back.

Glasses laughed, and hauled Mei back to her feet. Her heart raced. She struggled and squirmed but could not escape the soldier’s grip. All attempts at escape exhausted, she screamed. Suddenly, her face stung as Glasses struck her across the cheek.

Her face pulsed with icy pain, but Mei continued to scream. She turned in all directions, crying for help, but no one stepped up. A passing woman who looked about Mama’s age bore a sympathetic expression, but it quickly hardened as she sheltered her own children from view with a dirty shawl. Glasses began to drag Mei away.

Just as the horror of what was about to happen sunk in, a fist struck Glasses in the face. Yong-Qi stood there with a shaking hand.

Both Moustache and Glasses turned to the quivering man with fire in their eyes, raising their rifles. He managed to call out one final command.

“RUN!”

Mama grabbed Mei’s hand and bolted, abandoning their bags. From behind them, Mei heard the sound of a single rifle shot, and the train station devolved into chaos. They dove into the crowd weaving between carts, families, and soldiers running all directions. The thin veneer of civility shattered, violence erupted all around them, like a dam that had overflowed to bursting. Something had snapped in the foreign soldiers as they descended upon the unarmed crowd with swords.

Mei struggled to keep up with her mother. Suddenly, her ears rang in pain as a loud whistle announcing a soon-to-be passing train pierced the existing cacophony of the crowd, drowning out the cries and violence.

They quickly reached the edge of the platform, with no escape route in sight. The whistle called out again. All around them, soldiers were rounding up citizens, beating them into submission. Just five meters away, a trio of soldiers turned their heads towards them. Noticing they had been spotted, her mother looked around wildly. There was death all around, and no escape in sight. Then she saw a small body lying still on the train tracks, still intact, and she kneeled down.

“Darling Mei, listen closely. You have to crawl along the tracks, but I can't follow you. Be strong for me, ok?”

“No Mama! Baba is already gone — I can’t do this alone!”

“Yes you can. Jifeng jing-cao. You are strong. We’ll meet again at the small shrine by the bank of the Yangtze, just down from the tracks.”

The earth quaked. The train was coming, and fast. Mama kissed Mei before pushing her away. The deafening whistle cried out again, louder than ever before, and Mei jumped onto the tracks.

Mei fell to her stomach just in time as the train charged overhead. She closed her eyes and ears tight, the entire earth shaking around her, like an earthquake that never ended. She couldn’t hear anything but the rumble of stone, the screeching of metal on metal, and the roar of the engine that matched her own pounding heart.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to the iron wheels and carriages racing just centimeters above her head. Staying as low to the ground as possible, she crawled forward. Sharp stones kicked up by the train lacerated her cheeks, and the gravel beneath her dug into her skin. Still she clawed forward. She chanted to the rhythm of the shaking. Jifeng. Jing-cao.

After what seemed an eternity, the train passed. With great effort, Mei stood to her feet. Her muscles felt like jelly from being shook so long, and her arms and face were cross-cut in a hundred places. She took in her surroundings. The soldiers, the crowds, and Mama were nowhere to be seen. Concealed by the enormous train, she had managed to crawl out of the station.

Though her muscles screamed in protest, Mei quietly continued to run along the tracks towards the Yangtze river. The gravel was too difficult to walk on with her small-heeled shoes, so she tossed them aside. The rough stones tore into her soft feet, but she pushed forward. After a time, she approached the river bank, where beneath the setting sun she came upon yet another horrid site.

At the bank of the river lay piles upon piles of bodies, Chinese citizens. Neither age nor gender seemed to matter. There were so many she couldn’t dare count. So many, killed by bullet or blade, that the river itself bled red. Up the hill, Mei spotted Imperial soldiers dragging more, perhaps all from the riot back at the station. She wondered if Baba might be among them- No. She squeezed her eyes shut — it was too painful to think about now.

The soldiers were approaching. With no cover to retreat back up to the train, there was nowhere else to run, and among the corpses of the destitute, Mei’s expensive dress and long hair made her stick out like a sore thumb. She swallowed, spoke a silent prayer, and resolved herself. She tore off what remained of her tattered qipao, standing in the cold in her undergarments. She rapidly found the body of a young peasant boy who looked about her age, removed the blood-soaked robes from his corpse, and threw them on.

Next, she hurriedly fished out a sharp, rusty bit of metal from a pile of discarded belongings. She set to work hacking at her long hair, cutting, ripping, and tearing till she was left with a poorly shaved head with scattered, miserable wisps of miscast hairs. The soldiers were approaching fast. She threw the qipao and hair scraps into the river, and climbed into the pile of bodies, plunging herself into darkness.

The stench washed over Mei like a wave of nausea, threatening to make her throw up. It was only by stubborn will and inertia that Mei managed to hold it in, lest she give away her position. She stifled tears, desperately wishing to be able to cry, to be in Mama and Baba’s arms, to wake up from this nightmare.

From outside her hiding place she could hear the crunch of the soldiers’ boots on gravel. Some of them seemed to be laughing, stabbing at each pile with their bayonets as though they were playing a boys’ game. The sounds moved from pile to pile, louder and louder, closer and closer. Till finally, the sounds were directly above her.

A bayonet plunged mere centimeters from her, just barely cutting the tip of her finger. Her finger burned with pain, but Mei bit her tongue lest she make a sound. The bayonet retreated, but along with it the body that covered her slipped off the pile, revealing a young soldier who looked directly at her. She held her breath, and did her best to play dead. Her heart pounded louder than an entire troupe of drummers, and she was sure it would give her away. The soldier’s head cocked... but then blessedly he just gave a disgusted look and moved on. It was another minute before Mei released her breath.

Mei didn’t dare move for another several hours. Finally, under the full cover of darkness, she slipped out from her hiding place. At some point, snow had begun to fall. Without the sun for warmth, frost had coated the ground, forming a thin layer of frozen crystals and rubies. She ripped a few more pieces of cloth, fashioning makeshift footwraps and a simple shawl.

***

She found their meeting point concealed by reeds and rime. A small, dilapidated shrine with a single stone Buddha, covered in soot spewed from the nearby passing trains. The new Republic of China had promoted Christianity, so the shrine was abandoned. But Baba had kept the old ways, and would bring the family here before each time they traveled.

Mei knelt down, forcing herself through familiar motions. She said a prayer for her deceased protectors back at the river bank, wishing them peace in their next life. She said a prayer for the arbiter, Yong-Qi, who showed courage despite being a coward. She even said a prayer for Nanjing itself, a city lost to devils. Finally, she said a prayer for Baba and Mama, who she thought she may never see again.

When she ran out of prayers to say, she huddled next to the Buddha, letting the snowflakes fall on them both. Out of habit, she reached for a comb she no longer had, to brush hair that was no longer there. Eventually, she heard the muted crunch of footsteps on snow. Mei hid behind the shrine and listened, but they did not sound like a soldier’s bootsteps. They were uneven and soft. She peeked out. And as though a singular prayer answered, a singular gift from Heaven, before her stood Mama.

She had made it as well. But something was wrong.

Mama had a blank, wild look in her eyes. Her legs were bowed, and covered in bruises. She still wore her qipao, though it was torn in many places, and splattered with a deep red. Gripped in her hand was a large shard of broken glass, her hand dripping blood from holding it so tightly.

Mei trepidatiously called out for her. “Mama?”

At the sound of Mei’s voice, the light in Mama’s eyes returned, and the makeshift blade dropped from her hand. They rushed to embrace, holding each other tightly, warm tears silently streaming down their frostbitten cheeks.

“What happened Mama?”

“Nothing Darling, just... a tempest.”

Mei tended to her mother’s hand, gently wrapping the wound with a few strips of torn cloth. Then, hand in hand, they silently trekked through the darkness back towards the train station.

Just as Yong-Qi had said, train carriages were being loaded on a ferry to cross the Yangtze. Together they snuck into one of the carriages, where they huddled for warmth amongst others who traveled in the same fashion. A boy with a swollen eye who looked perhaps two-years her junior offered Mei a bite of a moldy rice bun, which she heartily accepted.

On the other side of the river, Mei continued to hold Mama’s hand, traveling by shadow and alley till they finally spotted a tall building marked with the big red cross her father had told her about — the Nanjing Safety Zone.

There, a group of kindly, elderly women helped put Mama up in a hospital bed, and set to nursing her wounds and checking on her pregnant belly. Mei curled up next to her, wrapped in a rough blanket. She lay there for a time, exhausted, but unable to close her eyes. A soft wind blew through the drafty window. Though it was a winter breeze, somehow its chill felt warm and familiar on her cheek. “Good night, Baba.”

Then, at long last, Mei fell asleep.