Chinese Literature

the roped-off area, who was to refuse to allow people to go in. After this, the order was obeyed.

An ordinary day, after this fantastic night. Feng Hsiao-kui got on with his normal routine, rolling up the bedding which had been warming on the kang all night, and started to urge us to get off to our mountain caves to sleep. I lifted the black-out tarpaulin at the doorway, and went out on the threshold. Most mornings we would stand at the doorway and stretch ourselves, but this morning we were in no mood to relax. We looked around in silence. Although there was no objective change from yesterday, or the day before, we felt that there must be some imperceptible reflection of the night’s strangeness. All we could see, though, was the little glen, the village, and some scattered homesteads, with smoke curling from their roof tops. With their steep thatched roofs, they looked like old fishermen in their grassy rain-cloaks. The nearby stream glittered in the morning sunlight like a silver chain, and alongside it a woman walked in shining white, balancing a jar on her head. There was an old white-bearded man with a bundle of faggots, and an ox-drawn plough. All was the same as it ever was; it was we who felt strange.

All was stillness and peace. It lay like balm on our souls. The warm sunlight caressed us, striking through the rosy cloudlets; our hands curled in it as though we could touch its kindly cirelet, and we welcomed the friendly embrace of the morning breeze. The vivid green pine woods framed the quiet scene, heightening its beauty. But as we stood there under the eaves, our impatient thoughts were on our wounded comrade, and I heard the Commandant give vent to our feelings, as he muttered, “Where can he have gone?”

Feng Hsiao-kui shared none of our musing. He was impatient at our dawdling, and came back to hurry us to our caves. Once there, we fell back into being our wartime selves. The darkness, the cool dampness, and the call of the quilts brought us back to our immediate need, the most cherished need at the front, sleep. I lay down on my camp: bed, and rolled myself up in my quilts, still holding their comforting warmth from the kang, but sleep would not come to me. The telephone bell still rang. ... A shell depot was damp, a new unit had turned up and needed supplies . . . it was some time before Commandant Shen got the chance to drop off.

Our faithful Feng was on duty at the door, and keeping a firm hand on telephone calls and visitors. I could hear him, “The Commandant’s only just got off to sleep. Please give him a chance to rest.” Like a good member of the race of orderlies, Feng could be absolutely maddening at times, but at critical moments he was right on the job, watching over the safety and well-being of his charge.

Suddenly I was startled wide awake by an altercation outside. Two people were at it hammer and tongs. “Pah! You haven’t even been in uniform long enough to get the creases out of it! “Who d’you think

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