Wings of a Flying Tiger

by Iris Yang

  She even kissed me!

  But surely, such memories must be the product of his imagination. Or perhaps a dream… No Chinese woman would give him a kiss, or even touch a man’s hand…

  In the early 1940s, few Westerners knew much about China or any Asian country. Danny was an exception. Born into a missionary family, he’d lived in China for several years when he was a little boy. Such an upbringing had made him curious about this Oriental country. He’d long harbored a desire to revisit this part of the world. Living in San Francisco, he’d visited Chinatown many times and learned to speak Mandarin from his mother.

  Born in 1914, the Year of the Tiger, Danny had the characteristics of a Tiger—bravery and competitiveness. He loved challenges and had never worried about risk. Which was why he’d come to China—to help protect the place where his family had lived. Nanking, where the horrible massacre had occurred, had been his home and held a special place in his heart.

  “I’m in,” he’d stated without hesitation when a commander secretly recruited pilots to join the American Volunteer Group under President Roosevelt’s executive order. It was the summer of 1941, and America wasn’t yet at war with Japan, so the volunteer pilots had traveled to China as civilians and then enlisted in the Chinese Air Force.

  By then, Japan had captured vast areas of China, controlling and blockading the entire coast. Vital military supplies couldn’t be brought into China from friendly countries, including the United States. The only remaining supply line was the Burma Road, a treacherous unpaved path stretching hundreds of miles from northern Burma to Kunming in China. Keeping this lifeline open was the American Volunteer Group’s primary mission.

  “Where is Burma?” Danny had asked. He didn’t even know where they were going exactly, but he’d signed up anyway.

  “That sounds exciting,” said Jack Longman with an enthusiastic grin. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

  Danny’s fascination with China had rubbed off on Jack. They’d been best friends since elementary school, and Jack was eager to see the exotic and ancient land with his own eyes. The only problem was that he’d had to postpone his wedding because married men weren’t eligible.

  “Susan is going to kill me!” Danny exclaimed. Jack was engaged to Susan Hardy, Danny’s younger sister.

  Guilt snapped him out of the past and into the present. If it weren’t for me, they’d already be married. Now they’ll never have the wedding they wanted...

  But Jack was as much a daredevil as Danny and had joined the Flying Tigers on his own. Danny hadn’t purposely put his best friend at risk. Still, such facts didn’t soften the pain of losing his childhood friend, his wingman, and his would-be brother-in-law. Tears seeped out of his closed eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” a sweet voice said nearby. Soft fingers wiped away the tears. “You’re doing fine. Doctor Wang says you’ll be okay. Your fever finally broke. No need to worry, you’ll be well in no time.” Her hand patted his shoulder as she spoke.

  His eyelids flickered. Her voice sounded familiar. Was this the goddess in his delirious dream?

  Slowly, Danny pried open his eyes and blinked against the sunlight. He was in a simple mud-brick room, lying on a wooden bed with white mosquito netting draped along three sides. A painting of mountains and rivers hung on one wall; below it stood a timeworn ebony table and two chairs. Sunlight came through a window on the other side of the room.

  A young woman sat by the side of his bed. One look at her, and he knew she was the girl in his dream.

  “You’re awake,” she whispered, “finally!” She shot to her feet. “He’s awake!” she called out, turning toward the door. Her long hair swung with the movement of her head.

  A crowd of well-wishers poured into the room chanting a chorus of greetings. Suddenly it was packed with smiling old men, women, and children, some folks even stood by the open window and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the airman. Most wore ragged cotton shirts and slacks; more than a few seemed undernourished. Danny could tell that they were poor peasants, except for the young woman who wore a lilac silk blouse and a matching long skirt with a red scarf tied around her neck, and another girl dressed in apricot georgette.

  Arching his neck against the pillow, Danny struggled to sit up. Dizziness thrust him back down.

  “Would you like some water?” asked the young woman.

  Before he could answer, the girl in apricot georgette picked up a cup from the table. Squatting beside his bed, she spoon-fed him.

  Danny nodded in appreciation and managed to say in a raspy voice, “Ni…hao.” Clearing his throat, he repeated the greeting.

  A collective exclamation came from the crowd. It happened every time he spoke Mandarin. These people were amazed that a foreigner could speak their language. Although his vocabulary wasn’t as large as he wished, his pronunciation was impressive. Thanks to his early years in China, he had no trouble handling the “four tones” going up and down as most Westerners dreaded. “Ni hao,” he said again, an infectious smile on his face.

  “Ni hao! Good. How are you?” the crowd chorused.

  Just then, someone near the door shouted, “Doctor Wang is coming!”

  Chapter 29

  The throng parted. A man with gray hair and a wrinkled face walked into the room. He moved with determined strides, and when he reached the pilot, he dipped his head slightly and lowered himself onto a chair beside the bed.

  Doctor Wang took Danny’s hand and felt his pulse. He checked the young man’s eyes. Then he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, as he signaled his patient to do the same. Danny followed the instructions.

  The room was quiet as everyone focused on what the herbalist was doing, anxious to hear his assessment. A pleased smile came to Doctor Wang’s face after the exam. He patted the American on the arm and uttered a string of words in a thick local accent.

  Danny had no idea what the herbalist was saying. He could get by in Mandarin, but he didn’t understand all the dialects—there were too many to count—but from the contented look on the herbalist’s face, Danny guessed that whatever he’d said was good news, and all he could do was to return the same grin.

  “Doctor Wang says you’re doing great,” the young woman translated for him. A brilliant smile lit up her face.

  Danny was astonished that she could speak such good English. Before his plane went down, he’d noticed that he was flying over mountainous terrain. Most people in rural areas were illiterate, especially women. Few Chinese females were educated. Even elementary school was a luxury for a girl. Then he remembered—the goddess of his dream had spoken in English that night.

  “Your malaria is under control,” the girl continued, “but you still must take the herbal medicines three times a day and have acupuncture.”

  Malaria? The fatal disease had killed countless people worldwide, including a member of the ground crew he knew. No wonder he’d felt deadly tired those days before the last mission. It wasn’t a cold after all. Malaria is hard to cure, even with modern medicine, which was obviously lacking in rural areas. Danny was surprised that he was getting better. “How long have I slept?”

  “More than a week; you were in terrible shape,” replied the young woman.

  His jaw dropped. “Thank you,” he said to the herbalist, and then to her, “for saving my life!”

  She lowered her head to hide a blush.

  Turning around, Doctor Wang looked for his medicine bag.

  “May I?” the red-cheeked young woman asked. Her gaze dropped to the American for a moment before she averted her stare.

  “Yes,” said the herbalist, standing up. “You’re a fast learner. Go ahead. I’ll watch you.”

  She put the box on the nearby chair, opened it, and took out a fine needle three inches long. Carefully, she removed the blue-and-white cotton quilt from him, revealing half of his body. He was wearing only his underwear.

  Exposed in front of a roomful of people, Danny stiffened. Quickly, he pulled the c
overlet back, even though he knew privacy was a concept that hardly existed in China.

  “It won’t hurt,” she assured him. Her voice was soft. The sweet smile had never left her face. “I’ll be gentle.”

  The young woman took his hand. She measured three left fingers above his wrist crease and positioned the long needle over a meridian point. Looking up, she waited for the herbalist’s confirmation before she pricked the needle between two tendons. She twisted and twirled the thin needle between her delicate fingertips. One after another, she placed two dozen needles on his head, limbs, and body.

  The one on his stomach tickled. He twitched slightly.

  “Did it hurt?” Immediately, her head popped up, and she looked him in the eye. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better,” he joked. It wasn’t a lie. Surrounded by kind people and treated by the girl in his dream, Danny felt safe.

  Even when he was a boy, he’d had special feelings for girls from Asian countries. Although he couldn’t remember much, his upbringing and the good memories buried in his subconscious made him feel close to the people with whom he’d grown up. His first crush in middle school was for an Asian girl. She was so shy that she never talked to him much. In college, he briefly dated a Chinese woman. Back in the mid-1930s, interracial marriage or courtship wasn’t a norm, and her family had forced her to break up with him. A year later she married an Asian man.

  When he decided to join the American Volunteer Group, Jack had joked that Danny could date as many Chinese girls as he wanted. “Heck, you can even marry several, if you want.” Having more than one wife was seen as desirable, though only rich people could afford to marry more than one woman.

  The problem was—Danny had been so busy fighting the Japanese that he’d not had time to get to know anyone. The reason he’d volunteered to take this last mission, even when he was worn to a frazzle, was due to a lack of pilots. The American Volunteer Group was small, only one hundred pilots. Within half-a-year, a handful had left the group, more than a dozen had died, and many were injured. Even though vastly outnumbered by the enemy, the Flying Tigers had turned the tables on Japan in China’s skies.

  Danny had pushed himself beyond exhaustion, and he badly needed rest. His accident seemed to be an opportunity to relax and recuperate. “By the way, my name is Danny Hardy,” he said. “What’s yours?”

  “Bai Moli.”

  “You’re White Jasmine?”

  “Call me Jasmine.”

  “What a beautiful name! It’s fitting. No wonder you smell so sweet.” Danny flashed a smile. He wasn’t joking. Jasmine flower exuded an intoxicating fragrance. “Jasmine stands for purity and gracefulness, you know?”

  Jasmine nibbled her lip, flattered by his compliment. Open praise, especially from a young man to a young woman, was rare.

  “Jasmine flower is also the embodiment of everlasting love. Have you heard that, too?” said the girl in apricot georgette. With shoulder-length hair and a pink scarf around her neck, she looked very much like a younger version of Jasmine.

  “No, I hadn’t. Sounds even better. And your name?”

  “Bai Chuju. It means White Daisy.”

  “How charming! Fresh as a Daisy. What else does your name mean?”

  “Innocent, wholesome, cheerful…all that good stuff.”

  “Just like you, right?”

  “Of course,” replied Daisy, her voice sweet and full of pride. “You know, my brother is like you. He’s also a pilot. He was trained in the U.S.”

  “Really? What is his name?”

  “Bai Hua. He—”

  “Let me guess. He’s tall and strong, just like the Birch tree.”

  “Exactly!” Her eyes lit up with pure joy. “But…but he’s not as tall as you. No one in China is as tall as you. Anyway, we’ve already told him you’re here. And he said to get well. Relax, he’s already reported to your commander.” Her English wasn’t as good as the young woman’s, but she sure liked to talk, if given a chance.

  Danny tipped his head in appreciation. He knew his friends in the squadron and his commander, General Chennault, would worry about him.

  “Let me introduce you to the villagers while you…” Daisy indicated the needles on his body. “This is Shitou. It means Rock.” She pointed to the teenager with a toothy grin. He had just brought a bowl of dark soupy medicine into the room. “He’s Doctor Wang’s second grandson. His father joined the Army, like most of the healthy men. Linzi, his brother, is the one who went down the mountain to send the message to my father and brother.”

  Now Danny understood why only old men, young boys, and women were there. “Where is your brother?”

  “He’s in Chungking, hundreds of miles away,” Daisy said. “Now,” she pointed to a little boy standing near the bed, “this is Xiao Pang—Little Fatty—Doctor Wang’s youngest grandson.”

  Wearing only a red apron over his chest, the toddler with chubby cheeks was barely three. With a tiny sprout of hair shooting up on top of his skull, he looked like a cartoon character. His shoe’s toecap was made of scarlet red cloth and embroidered to look like a tiger’s head.

  Danny couldn’t help but wink at the child. “Cute shoes.”

  “Tiger-head shoes are used for babies and toddlers in the countryside,” explained Daisy. “According to legend, the tiger became real when the child was in trouble. He helped protect him and his family. I’ll tell you the story when you get better.”

  “Okay.” Once again, Danny learned how important the tiger was in China.

  “This is Mutou,” Daisy lowered her voice as she introduced a young man with a smudged face and filthy clothes. Most villagers had plain but clean clothes. This teenager was an exception.

  “His name is Wood, right?”

  “Correct. It also means Wooden.” Unwilling to let everyone hear, Daisy switched back to English. “He’s eighteen, but he’s like a two or three year old. Retarded, you know. Born prematurely, I heard. But he’s strong. He and Shitou carried you down the mountainside.”

  “Carried me?”

  “Yes. What else could we do? You were out cold. Mutou almost dropped you. He wanted to quit. I had to bribe him with candy.” Her lips arched to an impish grin.

  Danny felt even more grateful.

  One by one, Daisy introduced the other villagers to him.

  “What’s the name of this place?”

  “Tao Hua Cun—Village of Peach Blossoms.”

  “That’s beautiful!” Danny made a mental note to remember it. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not until the war was over. Right before his last assignment, he’d heard about a tragedy. One of the American pilots was rescued by a group of Chinese civilians after he bailed out. When the injured airman was interviewed back home in the U.S., he named the village in order to thank the people. The Japanese intelligence picked up the information and sent troops to the village to retaliate. Everyone there—men, women, and children—was slaughtered.

  A half hour later, Jasmine removed the needles and covered Danny with the cotton quilt.

  “Let him rest,” ordered the herbalist. “He’s not well yet. I’ll be back later to treat…” He gestured to Danny’s head, arm, and leg, then to the bowl of medicine. He chased everyone out except the two girls.

  Jasmine picked up the bowl of herbs while Daisy helped Danny sit up in bed. Without a word, the younger cousin slipped her body behind his back to support him.

  “Are you sisters?” rasped Danny. Moving made him dizzy and short of breath.

  “No, we’re cousins,” Jasmine replied and lifted the bowl up to his lips.

  “No wonder you look so much alike,” he said before drinking the medicine. It was bitter and unpleasant, but he didn’t question what was in it. Only afterward he made a face, sticking out his tongue, “I’ll be damned. Liang yao ku kou. I understand the phrase now.”

  “Good medicines do taste bitter,” agreed Daisy. “Personally, I prefer Western pills.”

  Jasmine offered a cup of wate
r for him to rinse his mouth.

  “Forgive me if I’m being nosy.” Danny wiped his lips and pressed his fingers together beneath his chin. His gaze bounced between the two women with open curiosity. “You girls don’t look or act like typical country gals.”

  “You’re right,” Daisy answered as she helped him lie down again. “We’re from Chungking, you know, the wartime capital. Jasmine was in college, and I was in high-school before the bombing forced us to quit.”

  “How did you end up in Tao Hua Cun?”

  “My father sent us here to hide us from the war. He’s a colonel in the Chinese Air Force,” explained Daisy with pride in her voice. “He sent my brother to the front, but he doesn’t want us to have anything to do with the war.”

  “Your father is right. Young ladies like you have nothing to do with this war.”

  “He calls this place Shi Wai Tao Yuan.”

  “Shangri-La?”

  “Yes, it’s a haven of peace and happiness shielded from the hostile outside,” Jasmine said, tightening the blanket around him.

  “How did he find it?” Danny’s interest was piqued. He couldn’t wait to see the village with his own eyes.

  “Years ago Doctor Wang saved him when he was lost in the nearby mountains. Since then this remote village has been part of his life, and ours. My brother is crazy about this place. Mom loved it, too. The flowers…she loved…” All of a sudden, Daisy’s smile faded, leaving only sadness in her almond-shaped eyes.

  Jasmine reached out and caressed her back.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Danny.

  “Nothing.” Blinking rapidly, Daisy dredged up a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You must be starving. Shitou made rice porridge. I’ll get it.” She hurried out of the room.

  “Is she okay?” asked Danny, concern written on his face.

  “Daisy is tougher than she looks.”

  “What happened?”

  “A year ago her mother, my aunt, was killed during a Japanese bombing.”