The Promise: A Novel of China and Burma (Oriental Novels of Pearl S. Buck) (23 page)

All this the General knew and had heard from his spies, and he told himself he must press on, though every instinct in his brain told him it was a war already lost. But no one could read his inner hopelessness that day at dawn when he stood on a little hillock above the gathered crowd of men who were to obey him.

“Men!” he cried, and his young full voice rang over their lifted heads. “You have your duty to do. We will not ask what is to become of us. We are here to rescue our allies and to turn defeat into attack. Men! Do not forget that this is the same war we have fought for five years upon our own earth. The enemy is the same enemy and when he is defeated here he is defeated on our own earth. Men! We must defeat our enemy and restore the Great Road into our own country. Fight, then, for your own!”

A low cry went up from the men, subdued, restrained, but deep. Immediately all began to move as a single body westward and Charlie Li went only a little behind the General to point the way. But not once did the General speak except to answer when Charlie pointed out a way more short or a footpath more hidden toward the valley of the white men. So they went and the dawn broke and the sun blazed out with its sudden heat. The air had been hot and still before, but now the sun seemed to set it afire and what had been heat before was coolness to remember. Fresh sweat broke out upon every face, yet the General did not stay his steps.

“They are westward of the next hills,” Charlie said at last in a low voice. The sound of guns was very near, now, cracking the hot air about them.

The General nodded and went on. But the soldier behind caught the words and passed them backward and from mouth to mouth they went and every heart tightened with hope and dread.

Then the General led them up a hill and then he began the slight descent. The column moved behind him down the slope. Ahead of him not far the General saw a motor car, then two. The motor cars stopped in the road and he lifted his glasses to his eyes and he saw white men, stiff with terror, their faces swollen huge through the lens.

“They are afraid,” he said to Charlie in vast surprise. “Why are they afraid of us?”

He handed the glasses to Charlie, and Charlie stared through them. Then he began to laugh. “Doubtless they think we are the enemy,” he said. “The enemy wears green uniforms—when they wear uniforms. But who but fools would wear another color in this green country?”

“Let them sweat and see what we are,” the General said drily. “Luckily we have the white sun upon blue on our caps. If they cannot tell by our faces let them tell by that.”

So he marched on and true enough it was that in a few moments when they came nearer the faces of those white men changed and what had been terror was now joy, and they stood up and waved their arms and shouted out and what they shouted, as the General could hear now, was the Chinese war cry.

“
Chung kuo wan shui!
”

Who can tell what small thing will free the spirit in men? But so it was those white men shouting the war cry which his men had carried into a hundred battles moved the General and he felt his spirit come out of his heart like a bird from a cage and he shouted in a mighty voice, “
Chung kuo wan shui!
” and all his men caught the shout and they shouted, too, until the cry went up to heaven itself. Not once did the General let his feet grow slow.

“Ask them where the enemy is,” he commanded Charlie as they came up to the cars.

“Where is the enemy?” Charlie asked the white men in their own language.

“There—there!” the white men roared, pointing with their hands to the rear. Now they could see that these men were not soldiers for they carried no weapons. They were civilians of some sort. “The enemy is there and our men are still fighting,” they shouted.

This the General heard and he listened while Charlie made it into his own language, and all the time he marched on, the column following him, still toward the west.

And behind him, as he passed them, Sheng stared at the faces of these new allies. He had never seen a white man close before. What faces were these—bearded, haggard, bony, the noses huge, the eyes sunken. White? They were dark with filth and burned by the sun to the color of his mother’s red clay teapot!

And far behind Sheng, Mayli still trudged ahead of her women. The spring was gone from her step and her hair was wet with her sweat. But when she saw the men standing in the car and caught their grins she waved her hand at them and called out to them, “Hello, there!”

She knew well enough what power these words would have on those foreign men. Grimed and filthy as they were, their garments ragged and their hairy arms bare, they leaned toward her and shouted at her joyously, “Hello, hello, hello yourself! God! It’s a pretty girl!”

She could not stop, for the General led on, but something young and laughing stirred in her heart. Oh, what good times she had had in America, dancing and talking and flirting with such young men! What good times the young could have together whatever their country! But not in times like these.

“Are they not very fierce, those hairy young men?” Pansiao asked anxiously at her side.

“No,” she said shortly. “They are not fierce at all. But they are hungry and tired, and have just escaped death, perhaps.”

She was hungry and tired herself and she sighed and suddenly wished with all her heart that the war was over.

Where was the glory of battle? When the General surveyed the scattered weary men who were his allies he wished himself unborn. Not one word came out of his lips, but his heart turned to a stone. These were not allies but burdens to add to all the other burdens of a strange country and alien people and an enemy superior to them in every weapon and way of war. He had hoped that at least by joining his own men to these something stronger might come of the union than either was apart. But he knew as he looked at them that when he allied himself to these he was adding weakness, not strength.

Nevertheless he marched through their ranks steadfastly, paying no heed to their few feeble cheers. At his side now there was Charlie Li, for the General could speak only his own language and he knew that he must report himself to the one whom the Chairman had put over him, the American.

He turned to his men. “You may be at your ease,” he told them, and this word went down the line. “Rest,” he told them, “and eat. We do not know when we must take up the battle again.”

For there was this fortune that after fighting all night the enemy had ceased battle for the moment, and there were not even planes in the afternoon sky. In this short peace men had thrown themselves on the ground in whatever shade they could find, and some lay on their faces, some on their backs with their hats over their eyes, and some sat with their heads down upon their knees, their guns thrown down. The newly come Chinese stood staring and silent, looking doubtfully at their allies. Some of the white men, seeing them stand, lifted weary arms in salute, some smiled, some shouted out hoarse greetings, but for the most part they simply sat or lay in silence, as though their weariness were too deep for cheer.

Through them the General went his way, and soon he saw coming toward him the lean figure whom he knew to be the American. The two stopped short and each saluted the other, and then to the General’s surprise, he heard the American begin to speak in his language. Now he had heard that the American did speak Chinese, but he had not believed it fully, and yet he understood well enough what it was he was saying. It was not perfect speech, and it was learned from common men, but the meaning was clear.

“I greet you,” the American said. “But I fear you are too late,” he added curtly.

“It is not my fault if we are late,” the General replied coldly. “We were kept waiting on the border for many days.”

“They could not easily find rice for so many men as you have,” the American said.

“We could have found our own rice,” the General said, “and we told them so.”

“Whatever mistakes have been,” the American said, “it is better to remember that we are allies, and the only hope we have is to work together and not against each other. Are you prepared for attack?”

“We have nothing else in mind,” the General retorted.

By now he knew that he and this American would not like each other, and be sure the American knew it too. The knowledge showed in his shrewd blue eyes and dry voice. He looked past the General.

“Your men look fit,” he said calmly. “It is pleasant to see somebody looking fit.”

“My men are accustomed to hardships,” the General said proudly. “They can travel thirty miles a day carrying all they need and find their own food.”

“Then,” the American said slowly, “I advise you as soon as you can to attack to the west. The enemy is entrenched in the city whose pagoda you see over those hills. Under cover of your attack we can reorganize and straighten the lines with the English.”

He hesitated and then went on unwillingly. “I suggest that you quarter your men a little apart from these others—say, over beyond that stream. It is better to avoid quarrels among weary men.”

“Quarrels!” the General said haughtily. “My men will make no quarreling.”

But now Charlie interposed with a smile upon his lips. “What the American means is that the white men will not welcome us too near them. By all means let us remember that we are not white and let us keep to ourselves.”

The General turned a sudden red under his sweat. “It will please us better also,” he said.

The American looked grave and he put pleading into his voice and he said, “We have a fearful duty ahead of us if we are not all to be killed. Let us accept what is a fact and forget each other’s faults. I will grant you whatever you are thinking, but in God’s name forget it and help us. Afterwards—when the battle is won—take your revenge. But now,” he flung out his hand and turned away, and then he took out his handkerchief which was wet and soiled and wiped his forehead and lifted his hat and wiped his bald head. “We may have only minutes,” he said, “before the attack begins again.”

“He is right,” Charlie said to the General.

The General stood his ground a moment longer, motionless, struggling with himself. Then he saluted sharply, turned on his heel and shouted to his waiting men,

“Men! Fall in, to the left—march!”

They fell in, turned and marched toward the little stream and splashed across it, waist deep, and then climbed out on the bank beyond.

And the American stood watching them, sadness upon his exhausted face. His shoulder bones stuck out under his wet shirt and his hands hung at his sides like weights. Who knew what he was thinking?

Sheng, marching past him with his men, stared at him curiously. So this was the American! He looked old, too old for this life. So old a man should be at home among his children. Were there no young men in America? He was very thin, too, and his leather belt was wrapped nearly twice about his narrow waist. The muscles stood out on his lean neck and his face was so thin that his ears looked big. But big ears were a good sign of a kindly wise man, or so Sheng’s mother had always said.

The American, catching Sheng’s bold young eyes, smiled suddenly.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“How is it I understand your talk?” Sheng asked astonished, stopping where he stood.

“Why not, when I speak your language?” the American asked. “I have lived in your country for twenty years.”

“Almost as long as I have,” Sheng said with his own great grin.

“You are young—a boy,” the American said. “I could be your grandfather.”

Sheng suddenly liked this American greatly. “It is true you are too old,” he said politely, “you should be resting in your home.”

But at that word “home” a flicker went over the bright blue eyes under the tattered sun helmet which the American wore. “It is better not to talk or think of home,” he said in his dry voice. “Who has a home now?”

“My father’s house still stands,” Sheng said proudly.

“Where?” the American asked.

“Near the city of Nanking,” Sheng said.

Then Sheng went on and the American stood there watching the long line of men and he let them all go until the very last, which were the carriers of goods and the hospital supplies and then the doctor and the women. These he stopped.

“You might stay, doctor,” he said to Chung. “I would take it kindly if you could tend our wounded before the flies eat the flesh off their bones.”

So Mayli, when they came to their allies, saw only a horde of hungry filthy weary men. Their faces were black with grime and streaked with sweat and their beards were unshaven and their eyes sunken in their sockets. The wounded lay in the small shadows cast by bushes and some were dying and many were dead. Her heart beat in her throat as she commanded her women quietly,

“Here is our work. We will lift those wounded but still living into the shade of that one great tree yonder. Then let each of you dip up water from that pond. We will not stop to boil it but I will pour disinfectant into it, and then each of you tend those who seem the weakest. Hsieh-ying, you are so strong. Gather some fuel together and we will build a fire and heat food for them. Ten of you will care for the wounded and two will help Hsieh-ying. Pansiao will stay by me.”

So quietly she set each to her task while Chung smoothed a place under the tree and spread down a clean oiled sheet that he took out of his tin box of tools and he put on his surgeon’s garments and prepared to cut out bullets and sew up gaps in the bodies of those who lay wounded. And now for the first time Mayli found herself quarreling with him, for she could not bear to leave any man who still drew his breath. But Chung said, pointing to this one and another, “Let that one die, he is doomed. That one’s eyes are glazed. We must save only those who have the chance of life.”

“How can you tell who will live and who will not?” she cried.

But he was ruthless and pointed his finger at this one and at that one, signifying which ones were to live and which to die. And she felt tears come into her eyes while she worked without stop, but she took the time, nevertheless, to hold a cup of water for a dying man to drink and she took time to stop for the stained letters and pictures they held out to her of their wives and mothers and their children and those whom they loved. Even as they drew their last breath they summoned strength to search into some hidden place in their soiled garments and take out sweat-stained, bloody bits of paper like these and give them into her hands, murmuring and gasping their last hopes, “Tell them—tell them—” and before he could say what must be told, man after man died.