Hi Guys, this is my story for Mizal's writing competition, it comes to 5000 words (exactly!) and certainly doesn't contain any tanks and not really any elements of modern warfare (yeah, many of the characters have rifles and most of it's set in 1942 but that's not especially modern). The whole story is fictional but it's based on real events, places, people etc. Hopefully it's not eye-gougingly awful and it's a nice challenge to write something non CYS related for a change so it'd be cool if there is more of these sorts of competitions. Thanks for organizing it and good luck everyone who is involved.
A Chinese Tale
Part One
2016
The small Kai-to Ferry bumped gently against the Pier of Tou Jing Bu Island, the rubber tyres hanging from the boat’s sides cushioned its impact against the island into a gentle bump. A dozen tourists stood waiting to disembark, mostly Cantonese or Chinese tourists visiting the island on a day trip but among them were three Europeans, a young American couple and an Englishman. The latter listened as the American man read a brochure about the island to his partner.
“Tou Jing Bu Island was originally settled in the 1700’s as a small fishing community. Growing rapidly it numbered more than 300 residents at its peak in the 1800’s before emigration to the mainland reduced the population to less than 30 (2010 Census). Its name, which means “Head and Neck” in English, comes from the island’s unusual shape. Much of the Island consists of uninhabited jungle and hills with the small village of Tap Mun located on the island’s flatter ground (the “neck”) to the south. The island was briefly occupied by the Japanese during World War Two and among the island’s landmarks is the grave of a Japanese soldier, who died on the island during its occupation.”
The English Tourist’s attention was drawn away as the people in front of him stepped off the Ferry onto the Pier and he followed suit. Glad to be back on dry land after a bumpy voyage the Tourist found himself standing on an old, weathered stone pier facing a desolate looking huddle of houses. Most of the buildings had collapsed or been completely overgrown with vegetation and one of the houses on the quay edge had cracked in two completely with half of the house lying in a heap of rubble in the sea where waves washed against it while crabs crawled over the broken grey stone. The only person in sight, apart from the visitors, was an old man sitting on a bench at the quay. The island was incredibly quiet.
The English Tourist studied the elderly islander curiously. The old man sat with his wrinkled hands wrapped around the gnarled head of his walking stick and his crinkled eyes were fixed staring out to sea. To the Tourist it seemed the old man was lost in deep thought about something. Studying him closely he noted the islander wore a new-looking black raincoat, patched grey trousers and dirty brown shoes. A Nike brand on the trousers seemed wholly out of place. As he studied the old man the Tourist wondered what the stranger was thinking so intently about…
1942
The residents of Tap Mun Village stood silently on the quay as they watched the Japanese patrol boat speed across the sea towards them. The little ship’s deck was crowded with soldiers and an officer with silver grey hair and an impassive face stood at the prow, unflinchingly returning the unfriendly stares of the islanders. No one moved to help as the boat drew alongside the Pier, slowing as it did so, and the Japanese soldiers had to jump ashore and tie the boat up themselves. Once the vessel was secure the soldiers smartly assembled into a formation of two columns, counting them rapidly the villagers could see there were seventeen of them, including the Lieutenant. The soldiers stood motionless, their rifles held steady and ready at their sides. The Lieutenant stepped forward and addressed the crowd in heavily accented, but understandable, Cantonese.
“Last month, on the 25th of December, the British Garrison on Hong Kong Island surrendered. Hong Kong Island, the Kowloon Peninsula and all its surrounded islands and territories, including this one, are now under the ownership and protection of the abundantly benevolent Imperial Emperor and from this day forward you may all consider yourselves a part of the Greater Japanese Empire. My name is Lieutenant Kitasaki and I have been sent here to secure all military supplies and weapons on this island.”
Kitasaki paused and surveyed the unfriendly crowd carefully.
“If no resistance is offered then there will be no difficulties and my men and I will leave here within days but if violence is offered against any of my men then those responsible will be summarily executed. You have been warned. Our needs are simple: any of you who possess any guns or firearms of any kind are to surrender them immediately. You have five minutes to bring out and surrender any weapons you may possess and then my men will be searching your homes. Anyone who is found to have tried to conceal any weapon from us will be severely punished. None of your other belongings or possessions will be interfered with in any way but all weapons on this island must be confiscated immediately. Thank you for your attention. You have fine minutes to surrender any weapons in your possession.”
As the Lieutenant finished speaking his soldiers began to move forwards and amidst an excited cacophony of chatter the crowd broke up immediately. Among the group was a boy called Wang Zhan Yong, a quiet and diminutive youth just sixteen years old. He led his girlfriend by the hand out of the crowd, her name was Liu Yu and at fifteen she was even younger than her partner. Yu, with her soulful brown eyes and flowing black hair was widely reckoned one of the most beautiful girls on the island and it seemed strange to some that she would accept the quiet and unobtrusive Zhan Yong as her boyfriend.
“I must go home and tell my father what is happening,” Zhan Yong said to Yu. “Go to your home and I will come to you when I can.” The girl nodded and the young lovers parted ways, Yu to her house which stood on the very end of a row of houses while Zhan Young hurried to his home which stood on its own off to one side. Inside the small one-roomed stone building was his aging father Wang Jan, confined to his bed after a recent slip between the pier and a docking fishing boat had nearly killed him and crushed his legs beyond use.
“The Japanese are here Father,” Zhan Yong said immediately. “They want our gun.”
“Well they can’t have it,” Jan declared, forcing himself to sit upright in bed. “Don’t you give it to them boy! You be a man! You take to the jungle with your pa’s gun. Don’t you give in to them! What are you Zhan Yong? Where’s your courage? Are you and the other young men going to let the Japanese take our island and our things without a fight? Are you? Where are your balls boy? How can you ever call yourself a man again if you don’t fight for your father, your village and your country?”
Before the teenager could reply the door burst open and four Japanese soldiers strode into the small one-roomed house. They were led by a burly Sergeant with an ugly face who glared at the father and son. “We’re searching this place for weapons,” he declared in heavily accented Cantonese. “If you’ve hidden any it’ll be bad for you!” The Sergeant’s soldiers immediately fanned out opening cupboards and throwing things out, upending furniture and smashing pots on the floor to check their contents.
“You get out of my house!” Jan roared. “What right do you have to come here and break my things? Get out of here!”
“You better tell your father to be quiet boy,” the Sergeant advised Zhan Yong. “Or I will make him be quiet and he will not like it.”
“Are you going to let him talk to me like that boy?” Jan demanded. “That ugly brute who acts like the pig he looks like?”
“You shut your mouth,” the Sergeant snapped and started towards the old man. Zhan Yong stepped forward to stand in his way but the Sergeant punched him hard in the face, knocking him to the floor. As the Sergeant continued towards Jan his son, dazed but determined, grabbed the Sergeant’s ankle and bit hard into his leg. The Sergeant yelled in pain and kicked Zhan Yong savagely with his other foot but the boy clung on, biting deeper into the bigger man’s leg while the other Japanese soldiers roared with laughter. The Sergeant was not a popular man.
Finally the Sergeant was able to get Zhan Yong off his leg by reaching down, yanking him off with his giant hands and kicking him full in the face. As the boy fell backwards the Sergeant stepped forward and brought his foot down hard on the boy’s genitals. As Zhan Yong yelled in pain the Sergeant twisted his foot downwards making Zhan Yong scream In agony. The Sergeant sneered as Zhan Yong writhed in pain.
“I would not worry, it will not make any difference boy,” the Sergeant declared. “You and your people are all the same, you can’t fight and you aren’t men. We can take your things and your land and when you do try to fight back it’s just pathetic. It’s probably better for everyone that you don’t breed in the future, even if you know how to or still can. My name is Nakamura Masura and if you cross my path again boy I’ll kill you. It is best if you just stay home little boy and hide until we are all finished on this shithole of an island.”
There was a moment’s silence before one of the soldiers announced “nothing here Sergeant.”
With a final derisive stare the Sergeant spat on the boy’s face, turned and led his men out of the house. Wang Jon lay silent on the bed as his son climbed gingerly to his feet and grimaced in pain. Walking slowly and wincing with every step he approached the bed.
“Give me the rifle father,” he said. The old man pulled back the blanket he was lying under to reveal his old rifle which he had brought on the mainland many years before and which he and his son sometimes used to hunt birds from the hilltops. Without a word Zhan Yong took the rifle, crossed to an old dirty mat on the floor and wrapped the gun inside that. Carrying the package in his left hand Zhan Yong left his father’s home.
Keeping his eyes lowered he walked quickly down the street, hearing the sound of protests, a baby crying and the clatter of things breaking as the Japanese continued to search the houses. He was not stopped and he safely reached the last house in the village, hurrying inside. His girlfriend Liu Yu was inside with her elderly parents, her mother crying over a broken pot that had once held her father’s ashes. A wind whisked Yu’s grandfathers ashes around the floor and blew some out of the open door. Yu was comforting her mother while an older man with a bruised face stood off to one side.
Zhan Yong’s face darkened when he saw the older man. His name was Zhao Ting and he lived in the house right next to Yu’s house. An ill-mannered fisherman more than twice Yu’s age he had asked her father many times to be allowed to marry her and had always been refused due to his general poverty and mean nature. Recently he had been getting drunk and been badly beaten by Yu’s father after being caught sneaking into the Liu family home to watch Yu sleep and fondle her body. He had used the excuse of the Japanese to try and resume his visits. Zhan Yong ignored him.
“Yu, I need to do something,” Zhan Yong said shortly. “I aim to kill that big Sergeant tonight. Stay in the house and I’ll come to you at midnight. Stay awake and look out for me.”
Without another word he left the house, turned away from the village and walked resolutely down the path that led into the jungle.
Part Two
2016
The English Tourist walked through the village, passing overgrown and rubbish-filled ruins of houses. Few showed any sign that they were still inhabited but the Englishman paused to examine the last house on the edge of the village. The building’s roof had fallen in and the whole ruin was being reclaimed by the jungle, its grey stones gradually vanishing beneath creeping green vines. The Tourist sighed and turned away.
A short way from the house under the shade of some trees a small stone pillar stood alone. A sign above it read GRAVE OF A JAPANESE SOLDIER. The Tourist approached the grey rock and examined the grave but could understand nothing of the Cantonese writing, not even any dates. Rising from the ground he crossed to the sign, which was written in Chinese and English, and read.
“Near to this spot a Japanese soldier was killed by an islander on 19 January 1942 during the occupation of Tou Jing Bu and buried nearby. The original grave marker was destroyed by angry island residents soon after the Japanese left the island so the name of the soldier is unknown. One detail that is remembered from the original grave marker is that the date of birth of the soldier was given as 1924, which means the soldier was aged 17 or 18 at the time of his death. This stone was erected as a memorial to the soldier in 1992 by the Hong Kong Tourist Board.”
The English Tourist turned away from the sign and looked down at the grave marker frowning. He tried to imagine what it must have been like to be seventeen and far from home. He tried to imagine the circumstances which had led to the soldier’s death. The warm tropical breeze skimmed leaves across the path that danced and twirled around the grave as the Tourist cast his imagination back to imagine a dark night many years ago…
1942
The soldiers did not want to be on duty. It was swelteringly hot and uncomfortable in their uniforms. They wanted to be inside one of the two homes that Lieutenant Kitasaki had commandeered for his men but instead they had drawn sentry duty from 6pm until 12pm. Two soldiers patrolled the northern end of the village where it met the jungle while two more guarded the southern end where it met the sea. A fifth soldier, a Sergeant, sat in the Patrol Boat, keeping it safe from any saboteurs.
The two soldiers guarding the northern end of the village did not like their assignment. It had just got dark and being so close to the giant jungle made them feel uncomfortable; occasionally wasps the size of their fingers and spiders bigger than their hands flew or scuttled around them, causing them to duck and swear. One of the soldiers was just seventeen and this was his first time away from Japan. He decided he didn’t like this idea very much.
The soldier was unusually big for his age. Already well built and broad he smoked cigarettes and was trying to grow a moustache, trying to look older than he was. Today as he paced the path under the trees he wished he was anywhere but here. Scratching several mosquito bites on his left hand he slung his rifle back over his shoulder from where it had slipped down and turned away from the jungle. Taking another drag on his cigarette he stood still and sighed.
Without warning a gun fired, the bullet hitting the back of the soldier’s head, travelling through his brain and emerging out his right eye.
The young Japanese soldier fell dead to the ground immediately. His companion dove for cover behind a house and snatching up his rifle he heard the sound of slapping feet as someone ran away down the path that led into the jungle. Moments later there were shouts and yells, lights flared on in the village and the rest of the soldiers poured out of their makeshift barracks, rifles in hands and alarm on their faces.
When they reached the body of their dead companion all the soldiers fell silent as Lieutenant Kitasaki stepped forward and regarded the youth lying dead on his face. “Sergeants, take your sections and interrogate the villagers. I want to know who did this. Tell the villagers that if I don’t find out by morning then two of them will be executed for the murder of one of my men.” The Lieutenant’s impassive face left no doubt he was serious.
The soldiers went through the village with the anger of frightened men. They threatened the women and abused the men in their determination to uncover the identity and scale of their opposition. They hit any men who offered resistance: Sergeant Nakamura personally punched and laid out three men who tried to protect their families. While the village was being searched Kitasaki quietly spoke with the soldier who had been on patrol with the dead man and was reassured to hear that the survivor believed there had only been one gunman.
Finally Nakamura approached Kitasaki with a grin. “I think we’ve got something sir,” he announced. The Lieutenant followed his Sergeant into the second to last house of the village. Inside four soldiers were standing excitedly around a thin, nervous looking man who was sitting fidgeting on a chair. Every now and then he hocked up and spat into a spittoon nearby before going back to staring fixedly at the floor. He didn’t even glance up as the two Japanese soldiers approached and stood above him.
“You have information?” Kitasaki asked quietly. Zhao Ting chewed his bottom lip, snored, spat again and finally looked up.
“I have sir,” he said, trying to meet Kitasaki’s eyes and failing. “It was Wang Zhan Yong. Just last night I heard him say he was going to kill this big Sergeant here.” Zhao Ting gestured at Nakamura and the two Japanese soldiers glanced at each other. They both realised the same thing: the dead Japanese youth so resembled the Sergeant in height and build that it was a running joke in the platoon that they were brothers. “Where did you hear this?” Kitasaki asked quietly.
“Next door sir,” Zhao Ting said nervously. “Zhan Yong said he would kill this big Sergeant and he said something else sir… He said he would return to the house at midnight. He and the girl who lives there, Liu Yu, they’re… friends you see. If you go there and wait you can shoot him as he comes back.” In Ting’s mind his rival was the reason for his lack of success in winning the affections of Yu. If Zhan Yong were dead then Yu would be his. Kitasaki surveyed the informer with evident distaste. “If you’ve lied to us you’re a dead man,” he promised him.
The soldiers went straight to the Liu house. They said no word to the young girl or her parents, two of them just took up positions with their rifles at the windows that faced down the path that led into the jungle. Two more soldiers took up position behind the house and the Lieutenant and the Sergeant sat on chairs at the family’s kitchen table. Yu huddled nervously between her two parents, the three of them sitting on a bed in the corner. The dead soldier’s body was moved off the village path into one of the houses the Japanese had commandeered and the rest of the soldiers were ordered to remain awake and alert in the houses.
So the minutes ticked by as Kitasaki stared at his watch, an expensive timepiece made in Kyoto. The soldiers at the windows and behind the house tensed as they peered into the darkness, trying to remain hidden from sight. Kitasaki ordered all the candles and lamps extinguished and not a light shone. In the corner, between her frightened parents, Yu’s heart beat wildly in the chest. She knew what had happened, she knew who must have betrayed them and as the hours passed by her fear for her lover’s safety grew until it seemed that her heart would explode.
Finally the soldiers heard the crunch of shingle on the path as someone walked towards the house.
Part Three
2012
The English Tourist had spent the morning hiking; walking up and down jungle hills where there were paths to walk and trying to avoid the giant wasps which buzzed around him and the giant spiders which hung motionless in great webs over the paths. Finally he began to loop back round the paths towards the village, as he was going over one final hill towards the village he came upon a strange and unexpected sight.
All about him on the hill’s slopes were white stone tombs and circular graves that extended all around the top of the hill as far as where it dropped away into a steep cliff down to the sea. Some of the graves were little more than round mounds of dirt with stones in front of them. Fruit, baskets of food and bottles of alcohol and drinks had been left in front of them as was custom so that the dead could use them in the next life.
Other graves were more elaborate stone affairs and a number had portraits of black and white photos of the deceased resting on or in front of them. These ones contained no offerings of food; rather pots of incense had been burnt in front of them. As the Tourist surveyed the graves he realised he was not alone as he saw unexpected movement from a grave in front of him. Cautiously he edged closer.
The old man who he had seen earlier on the Pier was kneeling before a white stone tomb, his walking stick off to one side. He was burning incense in a small container before the grave and holding his arms out he lowered himself to the ground muttering Cantonese words before straightening up with difficulty and continuing to mutter words. As the Tourist stood there, feeling distinctly awkward that he might be spying on something private, his attention was drawn to the portrait above the grave.
Unlike most of the grave portraits this was not a black and white photograph but rather a colour painting. The young woman in the painting was incredibly beautiful, her brown eyes staring sorrowfully out of the painting and her long black hair flowing down her shoulders. She wasn’t smiling in the painting and there was a look of sadness about her. As the old man continued to chant and lent forward again the Tourist found himself wondering who the young girl might be…
1942
It was hell for Yu inside her home. For hours her heart had been hurting more and more inside her chest until it felt like it must break. As she heard the crunch of feet on the path outside her heart somersaulted and she sat up slightly. At the windows the soldiers tensed and raised their guns, around the building outside the others did likewise. Kitasaki raised a finger to his lips and made a sound for people to be quiet. “Let him get close,” he whispered. “Then kill him.”
As the crunch of footsteps came nearer and nearer each step was like a knife in Yu’s chest. As her mother and father tensed either side of her she could take it no more. She sprang to her feet.
“Zhan Yong,” she screamed. “Run!”
There was a moment of stunned silence and then Sergeant Nakamura raised his rifle and shot Liu Yu in the chest.
The young girl fell backwards, the bullet piercing her heart and killing her before she even fell into the arms of her parents. Kitasaki stared in horror for a moment and then remembered his duty. “Fire!” he ordered his soldiers who looked back to their front and fired. Gunshots rang out from both windows and behind the building as the soldiers fired again and again into the darkness, their flashes lighting up the night. There were clicks as one by one each soldier fired all seven bullets in their rifles and fell silent.
“Reload,” Kitasaki ordered and his men obediently obeyed, hastily slotting fresh ammunition into their guns. As they reloaded the Lieutenant looked down at the body of the dead girl in the arms of her mother who was crying and wailing. Next to them Yu’s father was on his feet now and screaming with rage at Nakamura. The big Sergeant raised his rifle and pointed it at the father but Kitasaki grabbed the barrel in his hand and pulled the weapon back down to point at the floor.
“I think you’ve done enough already,” he said coldly. “Go back to the rest of the houses and check on the rest of the men. The rest of you, go outside and see if he’s dead.”
The soldiers all filed out of the house leaving the dead girl and the grieving family behind. Kitasaki watched to make sure the Sergeant was walking back to the houses where the rest of his men were and then moved forward to join the rest of his men searching the path that led into the jungle as well as the jungle edges. There were marks on the path and trees where the soldiers’ bullets had hit it but there was no sign of a body.
Zhan Yong had fled at Yu’s warning and escaped.
Conclusion - 1942
Lieutenant Kitasaki decided that Zhan Yong must have taken shelter in the jungle and the next morning he sent six men into the jungle to find him, searching the thicket in pairs. Sergeant Nakamura was specifically kept in the village as Kitasaki felt the sight of the big Sergeant might stir the guerrilla into even greater rage. That evening four of his men made their ways back but two of his men failed to return. His surviving men reported hearing distant gunshots during their search. As night fell there were still no sign of the missing men, they had been lost to the jungle and the bloody vengeance of Zhan Yong.
The next morning, against his better judgement, Kitasaki allowed another search. This time nine of his soldiers were sent in to search in groups of three, this time Kitasaki allowed Nakamura to lead the search. The big Sergeant kept his trios of men within sight of each other as they combed slowly through the jungle. Late that afternoon, as they were returning after another unsuccessful search gunshots rang out. The two trios either side of Nakamura’s band converged on the site of the shots. They found Nakamura and his two men lying dead. The big Sergeant had three shots in the back of his head.
After that Kitasaki decided to evacuate Tou Jing Bu Island. He and his men had buried the body of the young soldier killed in the village, Kitasaki decided it was too dangerous to try and recover the bodies of those killed in the jungle. Kitasaki and his nine remaining men clambered back aboard the Patrol Boat, cast off and sped back towards the mainland. As they left the villagers gathered to watch in silence. Out of anger some of them knocked down the grave marker of the soldier buried on the edge of their village.
Atop the hill overlooking the village another funeral was taking place. Surrounded by her crying family and friends Liu Yu’s body, wrapped in a sheet, was being lowered into the ground. She was so still so short and so young her grave was little more than five feet long. Her mother scratched at her own face in her grief, drawing blood, while her father beat the stone with his fists. As Yu’s body was laid to rest relatives threw handfuls of flowers into the grave until the body was covered in a brilliant layer of colour.
Out of sight behind some bushes Zhao Ting watched the funeral with tears in his eyes. He had been hiding among the graves ever since he had heard the gunshots that had killed the girl he loved; he knew if her family had found him he would have been killed. From his vantage point atop the hill he could see the Japanese Patrol Boat skimming across the sea towards the mainland, the distant figures of the soldiers receding from view. He put his face in his hands and wept.
As he shook with grief he tried to cover his ears and block out the wails of Yu’s mother and the other women around the young girl’s grave. He knew he was weak and that he had been weak his whole life. Trying to summon up all that was honourable and decent in his life he resolved on what he must do. Taking a deep breath he forced himself to his feet. Bursting from cover he ran across the grave site in full view of all of Yu’s mourners, who pointed and stared. He ran straight to the cliff edge and plunged over it into the sea below.
His body was never recovered.
That evening Zhan Yong returned home. From a jungle hilltop he too had seen the Japanese leave and that dusk he made his way back to his home, his rifle at his side. He passed the knocked-down grave marker of the youth he had killed, pushed the door open and walked into his father’s home. Wang Jan sat up in his bed as his son sat next to him and laid his rifle down. He took a deep breath and sighed.
“Well, I’m back,” he said. “I did what I had to do. It was a near thing at times and I wouldn’t have gotten away if Liu Yu hadn’t warned me on the first night. Were the Japanese rough with her father?”
Nervously Wang Jan cleared his throat and prepared to tell his son the truth.
5000 Words.
