by Ling Zhang
Millie, I shouldn’t say this. It’s both unkind and unfair to my master. You know, he rarely treated me like a military dog. To him, I was neither superman nor half man, half dog or even just a dog. He often treated me simply as a friend he could trust absolutely, because he knew I would keep my mouth shut. Like the day he got the letter from his girlfriend Emily Wilson—no, by the time he received that letter, she was his ex-girlfriend—he read it, but didn’t tell anyone. He ran to the top of the hill alone. Well, not truly alone, because he had me. When he was sure no one else was there, he leaned against a tree and sobbed.
“It’s my fault. I lost her. I’m the one who lost her,” he told me over and over.
He said they’d known each other for several months, but only kissed twice. Once was after seeing a movie, and he walked her home. As they said goodbye, he leaned in and kissed her. The light was on in her apartment, and she feared her aunt, whom she lived with, would see them from the window, so they just touched lips gently, then pulled away. The other time was at his going-away party. He’d invited her. They sat in a dim corner, and he kissed her, his tongue finally finding hers, but then a friend interrupted them, wanting him to make a toast.
Actually, he said there had been other opportunities. One time he was early picking her up for dinner. Her aunt was out, and she went to change while he waited in the living room. She didn’t close the bedroom door completely, and he caught a glimpse of her naked back in the mirror in the hallway. The blood rushed to his head, and he felt as if there were a thousand drums pounding in his temples. If he’d taken that moment of madness and slipped through the door, he thinks she wouldn’t have refused him. She might’ve even left the door ajar on purpose. But he didn’t want to compromise her chastity before he’d asked her to marry him. But if he had gone in that day, he would’ve had a piece of her, then when she left him, he wouldn’t have been left with nothing. Now, aside from the letter he’s read over and over, there is nothing to show there’d ever been an Emily Wilson in his life at all.
When he said all this, I was grateful I was a dog. If I were unlucky enough to be a human, my Millie, there might have been a mountain between us, and I would’ve had to sing countless love songs for months before I finally dared lick you for the first time.
Fortunately, we’re just a pair of dogs. The very day we met, we did all that a pair of dogs can do together, after falling in love. Now, even though I’m gone, I’ve had you fully, and I left myself fully with you, sweet Millie. So we’ll never be apart, really. We’ll always have a piece of each other.
All sorrows have an end, but some last longer than others. Millie, have you noticed that my master has a gleam in his eyes again and that he visits Pastor Billy a lot more than he used to?
Of course, it’s not really the pastor he’s going to see. He often goes when the pastor isn’t even there, like on Tuesday nights when Pastor Billy always leads a men’s Bible study. Or Friday afternoons, when my master has some free time between classes and dinner and Pastor Billy is usually miles away, visiting an herbalist to learn about traditional medicine. My master went to the church that Friday and invited himself in to sit for a while. Wende made them a cup of tea, and they tried to make conversation while they waited for Pastor Billy’s return. He always used us as an excuse. “Ghost has been a little unsettled, and I thought I’d bring him to see Millie,” he might say. Or, “Your Millie’s been at my place for a while. I thought you might be worried about her, so I brought her back.”
Those were beautiful excuses. We didn’t mind at all.
Between sips of his tea, he would whistle “Yankee Doodle” for Wende. He would always end with a shrill blast, making Wende laugh. Her laughter was mostly hidden in her eyes, with only the strongest bursts escaping her lips. It was her eyes that captivated my master. He sometimes brought old American magazines to Wende, things his mother had sent from America. She looked often at the photos of Hollywood actresses, whose hair, clothes, and makeup were strange and interesting to Wende. But the only thing she said was, “They’re not wearing much.”
My master cocked his head and looked into her eyes, asking, “Aren’t they pretty?”
She had no choice but to nod. My master laughed and said, “Ugly things need to be covered, but pretty things don’t.”
Wende was stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to her before.
Sometimes my master would teach Wende a little English. She had her own teacher—Pastor Billy had been teaching her for more than a year. But the English Pastor Billy taught her was all about sickness and souls, while my master taught her silly phrases that might make her simmer with laughter. For instance, he taught her the phrase, “the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top.” Wende had never seen an elevator. She had no idea what it meant, so my master used a Chinese metaphor to explain it. He said, “The mind’s missing a string for its bow.” She understood immediately and even repeated it to you once when you clumsily spilled your food.
Another time, my master asked Wende to guess the meaning of “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She’d figured out how his mind worked, so after a moment’s thought, she said, “If you get something for nothing, don’t be too picky about it.”
Her intelligence often surprised my master. One time, Pastor Billy was in an especially good mood when he came back from the herbalist’s house. He said the herbalist had promised to supply the church herbs at a reasonable price for a long time, so they wouldn’t need to go out searching the mountains themselves. Hearing this, Wende said, “Take his words with a grain of salt.”
Pastor Billy’s jaw dropped.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked.
My master and Wende burst into laughter, almost in unison.
Leaving Pastor Billy’s, my master would run excitedly, or really, allow me to pull him, running wildly. At times, I was his master, and he was the dog at the end of my leash. When he got winded, he’d pull me to him and whisper, “Wende is adorable, isn’t she? What do you think?”
I wanted to tell him, “Don’t make the same mistake you did with Emily Wilson. Just a few love songs are enough. When it’s time to act, don’t hesitate. Be like a dog.”
Unfortunately, though I understood his words, he didn’t understand mine. All I could do was lick his hand.
Dear Millie, I’ve said so much, just so you’ll know that my master was a good friend to me. He gave me the best possible gift—you. The trainers knew that a dog’s natural urges would affect training, so they suppressed the sex drive in military dogs. Before I left Chongqing, the trainer gave my master detailed instructions on the dosage and frequency of my medicine. He kept it in a wooden box next to his bed, but never once opened it. From his own loneliness, he knew mine. He didn’t let that medication become an unbridgeable gap between you and me. He gave me the most precious thing in life, the freedom to love. For that reason alone, he deserved the sacrifice of my life.
Millie, oh, dear Millie. It’s dark. Your master Wende has come to take you home. I can hear her footsteps. For my sake, I beg you to go home. Eat a good meal and sleep. Tomorrow, tomorrow when you come again, I want to see the stars in your eyes.
Day 5
Millie:
Ghost, even before your master returned, I knew you were dead. When the grenade exploded in your mouth, I was lying on a little bed of rags my master had made for me. It was like an iron drill pierced my mind, breaking my head into thousands of pieces. I immediately knew something had happened to you.
For the first few days, my sorrow was like dust filling the sky, with no place to settle. I didn’t know how to grieve, so I was just angry with you. No, not angry. That’s too frivolous a word. I think I hated you. I hated you for abandoning me for the sake of your so-called mission. I hated you for leaving without hesitation, not even looking back at me. But if you had forsaken your mission for me, or if your master had died and you’d returned safely, I wouldn’t have hated you. I would’ve despised y
ou, thinking you no better than a fly or maggot. I would rather riddle you with hate than have a trace of contempt for you. If I have to choose between hate and contempt, then I choose hate.
I’ve come here to see you every day. I stay from morning until the dim light of night blurs the words on your tombstone. I know it’s silly. It’s just a hole, with nothing but a clump of fur buried inside from midsummer, when your master cut your fur to keep you from getting fleas. He must’ve had a feeling you wouldn’t be with him much longer, because he picked up a bit of your fur and kept it in a cookie tin. For him, this tuft of fur would be the only evidence that you lived in this world. Unlike your master Ian, I don’t need a clump of fur to prove you lived. The little life growing in my belly—maybe one, maybe two, maybe more—that is the ironclad proof of your life.
Ghost:
Millie, you mean you’re pregnant? With our pups? One day there will be a few little yous or little mes crawling around—or no, little uses? Then, Millie, I’m not dead. They and their pups and their pups’ pups will carry our finite flesh-and-blood existence on to infinity.
Millie:
When you heard your master’s call and left me that day, I had wanted to let you sniff at my little belly, which hadn’t yet grown round, but you were in a hurry. You didn’t even have time to say goodbye. In this, you’re no different from humans. The mission is always what’s most important. You always said that it was your duty to serve your master, but when you looked at me for the last time, I saw the fire in your eyes. It was the excitement of a dog of superior physical and intellectual ability when he hears the call to do great things. You used your master’s commands as an excuse for your own ambition, just like your master used you as an excuse when he visited Pastor Billy. The two of you are the most loyal, reliable cover for each other. Despite all this, I can’t help but love you. I even love your ambitions and vanity. I love you completely.
Since you left, I’m always excited when I see Ian. When he stands, I nip at his pant legs. When he sits, I jump on his lap and sniff around restlessly. He’s puzzled by my sudden affection for him. Men always are clueless about such things.
“She’s searching for Ghost’s scent on you,” my master Wende said.
She’s the only one who understands. I am searching for your scent on him, but I don’t know how long the traces you left on his clothes can withstand the ravages of saponin and club in the hands of the laundry woman.
Maybe you noticed I’m later than usual today. I left at the usual time, after Pastor Billy’s morning prayers, as soon as Wende opened the courtyard doors. But halfway here, I heard a bugle call and got distracted. Whenever I hear the bugle, my ears tremble involuntarily, like a scared rabbit. That’s a habit you’ve left in me. We hear the bugles every day in Yuehu, but today’s was different. Usually, it’s a series of short sounds, close and impatient, as if saying, “You’re late. You’re late.” But today’s signal was a long, drawn-out high note, as if saying, “Look at me. I’m powerful.”
I ran toward it and found the field full of people. As soon as I saw them, I knew something special was happening today, because there was a larger group of guards and a crowd of people outside the camp not allowed to enter. Of course, this didn’t apply to dogs. No one would think to guard against a dog, so I squeezed through their legs. The soldiers who’d been wearing straw shoes yesterday were in cloth shoes today. Not only that, but their uniforms were all freshly washed. I could smell the saponin and sunlight from a mile away. And I’d never seen them standing so straight, as if they had rods for spines. Later, I learned that it was their graduation ceremony.
Ghost:
Oh, Millie, I had forgotten! It’s their big day. My master and his students talked every day about which big commander would deliver the speech. The higher-ups had kept it a secret.
Millie:
It was a lean old man. They called him Generalissimo. It’s a strange word. I’ve heard of a colonel, brigadier, commander, and a general. But I’ve never heard of a generalissimo. How high is a generalissimo?
Ghost:
Millie, you’re like all the other women in Yuehu. You don’t care about these things at all. The generalissimo is their highest officer. Forget the commander—even the chief of staff is below him.
Millie:
No wonder they seemed afraid of him. Usually, the commanding officer walks through the camp like a gust of wind, and his voice is like a cannon fired in the mountains. Today, in front of that man, the commanding officer seemed small, and he couldn’t say a single word.
Ghost:
How about the ceremony? Was it interesting?
Millie:
It was very dull. There was no food, no drums, no firecrackers. Everyone just stood still, quietly listening to speeches from one commanding officer after another. Listening to them turned my brain to mush. It’s an “autumn tiger” day today, when the sun shines so hot, it’s almost painful, as if the summer had returned. The men on and off the stage were quickly soaked, replacing the smell of saponin with sweat. I heard your master Ian whisper to Jack, “It’s just a few months’ training. Is all this necessary?” Jack’s voice was quieter than Ian’s, no louder than a mosquito buzzing, and I had to strain to hear it. I only caught two words: “ritual” and “honor.”
Of course, there were a few interesting things. When the commander spoke, he thanked the American, Dr. Lewis, saying that under his supervision only one person in camp had gotten malaria, and there were no cases of typhoid fever. As soon as the commander spoke his name, Mr. Lewis fell to the ground, as if the commander had cast a spell on him. He had heat stroke, so two soldiers carried him out. He’d probably never stood in the sun that long in his entire life. You Americans really are useless.
Then, at the end, every graduate was given a gun. I knew from how their eyes lit up that they’d received a treasure. Ghost, you’ve never seen such a gleam. It was like a poor man finding a piece of silver or a rat smelling sesame oil. The light in their eyes outshone the sun. Then the commander said now that they have their guns, they can set out tomorrow to join the troops.
Ghost:
What about my master, Ian? Is he leaving too?
Millie:
Ian won’t be going anywhere. The new students arrive in two days, so Ian will start new classes right away. He’s also keeping the one they call 635 around. Since he understands English, Ian wants to keep him on as his assistant.
Day 21
Millie:
I’m sorry, Ghost. I haven’t come for two days. Something happened at home. It’s a mess, and my master needs me, even though she never said so. My master is a strange woman. She’s never said the word “need” to me or anyone else. She guards that word as she guards her life. But I don’t need her to say it. I always know exactly when she needs me.
Last winter, I came to Pastor Billy’s home. My former masters, a Swedish missionary couple, had to return to their country due to illness. Before they left, they gave me to Pastor Billy, along with several other things they couldn’t take. My former master took me out of the bamboo basket—that’s how they carried me on their trips—and put me on the floor of Pastor Billy’s study, which served as his parlor and operating room as well. They told me, “This is your new home, Millie. Be a good girl.”
And just like that, I was left in a room full of strange furniture, books, bottles, and baskets. There was no stove in the room, and the evening sun made a cold white spot on the slate floor. The smell of antiseptic stabbed my nose and eyes. All the colors, lights, and smells were strange, making me feel cold and lonely. Cowering, I hid in a corner, whimpering.
A girl came and picked me up, holding me in the soft nest of her chest and arms. She didn’t say anything, just put her face against me. I committed her smell to memory—a mix of earth, plants, and disinfectant. It didn’t exactly smell good, but it put me at ease. When I noticed that the arms holding me were shaking too, I realized that we needed each other. I needed the warmth
of her arms and breast, even if it came with the smell of disinfectant, and she needed me to fill a hole in her life. From that moment, she was my master. Every time she picked me up and held me to her, I knew she needed my comfort. I understood her, just as she understood me.
I’m not really sure what name I should give my master. Pastor Billy—and he’s half master of me too—calls her Stella, which means “star.” But your master, Ian, calls her Wende, which means “wind.” Because of you, I got used to calling her Wende, so I’ll continue doing that, at least when talking to you. But neither Stella nor Wende are her real name. When you examine these names, the selfishness of the people who call her by them becomes clear. Pastor Billy expects her to give him direction during his days of wandering, and Ian longs for her to be a breath of fresh air in his life while he’s cut off from the outside world. I can’t tell which my master prefers, but I know the name she least likes to be called is Ah Yan. That’s the name her mother gave her when she was born. Beneath that name is buried a past that she doesn’t want to recall. Her past is a closed and locked door. But a few days ago, I inadvertently discovered a crack in that door.
It had been raining for a while and was starting to get cold. Wende took the bamboo mats off the beds, cleaned them, put them away, and replaced them with quilts. The cook who’d been working in the church for over ten years had suddenly left. Pastor Billy never said why she resigned, but he was looking for someone to replace her. The church was suddenly shorthanded, and the laundry, cooking, and cleaning had all fallen to Wende. It was inevitable that there would be some difficulty.
