Content warning: racism
Taiwan under Japanese colonial rule, 1913
When Takeda opened his tent in the morning, the mountain ridges on this tropical island were covered in snow. The pure whiteness had painted the trails, and the strong wind was whispering to his ears like a woman’s haunting lament.
This was the colony in the South, and there should not be snow.
Yet the vast white that greeted him confirmed that it was, indeed, snowing. Takeda stared into the mountains as his body managed to resist the strong wind and the malicious flakes. He was shivering, and he was sure that it was not only because of the cold.
Someone—or something—was watching him. Takeda’s heart almost stopped. Was it a banjin? Did they foresee the unusual snow and plan to ambush them?
But then there was nothing. Whatever was there was gone now, leaving only the hollowing wind.
There was no time to waste. Takeda quickly gathered the other officials for an emergent meeting, but none of them could explain the sudden change of weather.
“Maybe because we are on top of the mountains. Some of the island’s mountains are way higher than the ones back home.” One of his subordinates speculated worriedly.
“This island is ours now,” Takeda reminded him. He was still used to this new role as the commander, but when the tent was silent again, he knew that his authority was established. “Good. We are not afraid of this little snow in the South, are we? Let’s head to our destination right away; we are already delayed.”
True, for Takeda and the rest of the Japanese officials on this expedition to map out the banjin’s habitats, this chilliness was bearable, but not for those Han Chinese laborers they hired. Most of the men were out of breath when they finally reached the mountain’s top. The exhalation from their lips transmuted into white smoke, lingering in the air until it faded into nothingness. No one had prepared the equipment for such weather in mid-March in the southern colony.
Takeda knew that they needed to take a break, and ordered them to stop. The Han Chinese men were relieved and began to speak in a language Takeda could not understand, not that he cared anyways.
The verdant mountains once filled with mosquitos were now covered in an unblemished white, the summits merged seamlessly with the sky. The whiteness was beautiful in an almost aggressive way, like a piece of delicate white cloth that could not tolerate a stain.
The trails they had been following were mixed with mud and sweat. Takeda’s eyes fell on the shape of the soldiers’ footprints. They were exactly the same as they’d been eleven years ago during his training in the northern prefecture Aomori. The same coldness, the same snow.
He had almost forgotten about it.
When he first received the news that he would be dispatched to this colony in the tropical South, he felt relieved while everyone else was upset. His mother wept because too many soldiers were killed on that island in the early years of the occupation. “Couldn’t you choose somewhere closer?” she begged.
He comforted her. “Most soldiers died of malaria when taking over the colony, but the army was too ashamed to say that their soldiers died of some tropical illness. That is why they claimed it was the ferocious rebels that killed them. Now we have better medicine, and the island’s hygiene has improved significantly thanks to our efforts. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He did not lie, but what he did not say was that he had two choices: the snow or the tropics, and he did not want to see snow again. How ironic, Takeda could not help but smirk; who would imagine that he was now shivering in the South? But even the cold was not a problem now. Every day, he woke up fearing that the expedition team had been ambushed in the middle of the night, or that one of his men had lost his head at the hands of a banjin.
It had been eighteen years since they had ruled this island, and the fifth year of Takeda’s dispatch. Overall, after the first few years of rebellions from the native islanders, things were getting on track. It was easier to handle the Chinese residents. As one of the respected superiors once commented, the Chinese on this island were afraid of losing three things: money, face, and life. After a few suppressions, including hanging those rebel leaders publicly, they quickly stopped their unsuccessful resistance before Takeda’s arrival.
The dark-skinned banjins, however, were still lingering out there. Even right now, they might be eyeing Takeda like hunters hiding in the bushes. Takeda had never met an actual banjin besides those that were tamed—those that spoke the common tongue and wore civilized suits. A seiban—a raw barbarian, they said, still practiced this ritual of hunting heads of their enemies.
Takeda trembled unwittingly. He was not sure whether it was from the thought of the banjin or the freezing cold, but thankfully no one seemed to notice.
Either way, it was reassuring that this issue would be solved sooner than later. He was given this task to craft a blueprint of the banjins’ territory, thereby enabling them to lay claim to this final, untamed frontier of the deep mountains. Once it was done, he could get the hell out of there and get back to the city.
Footsteps were approaching. Out of instinct, Takeda grabbed his gun, only to realize that it was Noguchi, his second-in-command.
Noguchi looked surprised at his reaction, but he simply handed Takeda a box of cigarettes. “Need one?”
“No, thanks.”
“What? Afraid that it’ll attract the yuki onna?” Noguchi grinned as he took a cigarette for himself. The smoke exhaled from his nostrils, joining with the ones coming from Takeda’s breaths.
Takeda paused a moment before he laughed dryly. “The snow woman? They don’t believe in that here.” They don’t believe in that anymore, he wanted to add.
“Why not? Like you said earlier, this is part of our empire now, isn’t it?” Noguchi played with the dirt with his snow boots. “Our monsters might have already moved here. Like we did,” he added in a nonchalant tone.
“Right.” Takeda was not sure whether it was a joke or not, hoping that this conversation would not continue. “If only she can help us get rid of those rebellious banjins.”
“I’m not sure whether she can distinguish between us and them. For her, our flesh all tastes the same.”
“But she wouldn’t be here anyway,” mocked Takeda. “Wouldn’t it be a tenuous trip to travel across the sea? Or did she board one of our Imperial ships?”
Noguchi did not hear his sarcasm; or maybe he did but pretended not to notice. He threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. “I’m from the North. I’ve seen them. The snow woman lures men in the deep mountains. She asks them to carry her on his back. No man can resist her beauty, and when he wants to take advantage of her, she kisses him. The man’s heart then turns into ice. Every time before she begins her hunt, it looks like this.” He pointed to the thin fog covering the mountains.
Silence fell. Noguchi darted a quick look at Takeda. “But you know what people back in my hometown would say? If you have nothing to fear, then the snow woman would not go for you. She only reflects one’s deepest fears.” When Noguchi spoke, the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear. He was aware that those words were treading on thin ice.
Takeda did not reply. He had been enjoying this new role as the commander, something he was never privileged enough to crave, but he was still navigating it. Just as he was pondering how to warn Noguchi for trespassing the line as a subordinate, an unfamiliar voice interrupted.
“The night … would be harsh … we should stop advancing tonight …” The speech was heavily accented, but comprehensible.
Without either of them noticing, the banjin guide had been waiting behind them for a short while. He gave a courtesy bow when the two officers finally noticed his presence.
The man’s sudden appearance disturbed Takeda. One reason he never liked those natives was that you could never sense their presence—they popped up in front of you without a sound. He had heard of those stories from the survivors of their attacks. “Those banjins were like ghosts. You thought you had shot them, but then they appear again and again …”
Yes, another ironic part of this mission was that in order to draw an accurate map to suppress the banjins’ attacks, the expedition was also led by none other than a banjin, due to the unpredictable environment. But when all former expeditions had ended up in failure without a local’s guidance, there was no other way.
As the sun was setting low, for an instant the banjin man’s face was almost indiscernible to Noguchi or himself. He just looked like another ordinary Japanese man. But with a second look, the dark furrows and skin became obvious. Even the Westernized uniform could not hide his true nature.
“See?” Noguchi jerked. He then fixed his gaze on Takeda with an unfathomable look. “You didn’t forget about Hakkōda, did you? I mean, Aomori Prefecture.”
The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Takeda thought his heart stopped—what was Noguchi referring to? He could never have known about that night.
The guide interrupted his thoughts. “We … should not … advance tonight.” There was something in his eyes that Takeda did not like. From this angle, this man now looked no different than any other banjin, dark skinned and unclean.
He disliked this feeling of being directed by a banjin, especially in front of another Japanese man.
“No, we’re going forward. We’re almost there,” Takeda commanded firmly. He could not wait to get back to the urban areas where there was heat and good food. Even though they were of poor quality compared to Japanese standards, it was still better than the camp.
There was more than that, too. He particularly enjoyed an unspeakable pleasure when refusing this man’s pleading. A banjin’s pleading. He stole a quick look at Noguchi, whose face remained cold and impassive.
The guide looked up at him with his eyes flaring. “If you insist … . sir … then please allow me … and my people to … camp here for the night. … We will meet with you … tomorrow morning.”
It was a bold request from a subordinate, not to say from a banjin to a Japanese officer. But this man, banjin though he was, was hired by Takeda’s supervisors. Before the mission he was reminded, “It would be uncivilized to mistreat a formal employee of the empire.”
Takeda took a deep breath. “Fine, coward.” He dismissed the guide. He was certain that the banjin would not recognize the second word; those natives could never catch the nuance of his language. He turned to Noguchi. “My men are coming with me, though. Go prepare.”
Expecting Noguchi to make futile retorts, Takeda was taken aback when the man simply stared at him intently, a faint, uneasy smile forming on his lips. “As you say,” he responded lightly. Noguchi then offered a polite bow and departed, followed by the banjin guide. Takeda watched until they disappeared into the vast wilderness.
A new wave of coldness reached the ridge. Everyone knew about the Hakkōda Mountains Incident, Takeda reassured himself. Noguchi was simply cautioning that they would not make the same mistake. But this was a tropical colony; no one would die of the cold tonight.
There was nothing he should worry about. If anything should occupy his mind, it was the possibility that the guide might be correct: this would be a long night.
Two distant gunshots awakened Takeda from his sleep. On the top of the mountain, there was nothing but the wind and snow, blowing hard against his tent. He was all alone, shivering. His body was numb. Then he sensed something else—a human’s voice.
“Leave … please …”
Strange, because the voice was calling out in his own language in the remote mountains of the colony.
The voice was becoming sharper. The wind now turned into something like a melody, a symphony of death. It was tempting, like the songs of a siren. Takeda could not help but put on his heavy coat and pick up his gun. He briefly considered waking one of the soldiers in the next tent, but the risk of waking Noguchi ultimately deterred him. That eerie smile reminded him of someone he did not want to remember.
Outside, the cold pierced his bones, and his eyes were barely seeing anything. His footsteps on the snow sounded extra clear in the silent night, echoing with the roaring wind. Only a small glitter of light was visible. It came along with the deep, repeating call: “Leave … please … leave …” Had the snow weakened his senses?
But this feeling was familiar, as of eleven years ago when he had been dispatched to the northern Aomori Prefecture to prepare for the battle with the Russians. It was just a drill, nothing more than that, so none of them had prepared much other than the essentials. On their way to the top of the mountain, a local villager had warned that a guide was required, but the general dismissed the request. “Those countryside people only want money,” he had joked, and almost everyone agreed with him, besides a promising soldier named Suzuki.
A blizzard had also visited Takeda’s camp that night at Aomori. An hour after they departed for the trail they were assigned to inspect, the small squad was stranded by the unstopping snow. The wind and snow whipped through the forests to their fragile camp, groaning like an old woman. They could not get in touch with their superiors, nor any other fellow soldiers. It was too dark to risk descending from the mountain. They had no choice but to burn everything they had, and still no aid had come by the time the fire was almost out.
The soldiers huddled together, shivering in the biting frost. They exchanged glances, and the dread on their faces was mirrored in one another’s pupils. Slowly, one soldier began to speak in a trembling voice. The others joined in, sharing their life stories in rushed whispers, as if trying to squeeze in as much life as possible in their final moments.
Red and black were common colors to describe hell, but Takeda was certain that he was now trapped in a hell all in white.
Takeda finally remembered the names of his comrades. Before then, he only remembered Suzuki, but now he knew that the others were Yamada, Hasegawa, and Hayashi. All ordinary names, just like their ordinary lives that would perish like a candle in minutes.
“We should have listened to the villager,” the soldier named Hasegawa muttered. “The general made the wrong decision.”
“Be quiet; you’ll get punished if they overhear you,” Suzuki said, shivering—perhaps from both the cold and the thought that the superiors might overhear him. He was the most educated among them. “We’re comrades; we’ll go over this together.”
“If our superiors heard us complaining, then at least they would come to rescue us,” Takeda sneered. Pride was nothing compared to life.
The group went silent. The only sounds left were deep breaths and the noise of people grinding their teeth. Perhaps they had finally come to accept that they were all going to die tonight in this cold.
Suzuki’s laughter shattered the deadly silence. “Don’t be so pessimistic! The only reason you’ll die tonight is that you fall asleep in this cold. Let me tell you a story from my hometown so that we can stay focused.”
The proposition did not enliven the group, but Takeda did not like the awkwardness. His eyes met Suzuki’s. “What story?”
“The story of the snow woman,” Suzuki replied calmly. The dim fire lighted up his gentle smile.
“Please no, I’m afraid of ghosts!” the short man named Yamada whimpered.
“Don’t worry,” Suzuki reassured him. “This is not a ghost story.” He then began his tale.
At night, the snow woman searches for her prey in the mountains. Soon, she spots a woodcutter wandering alone in the woods.
The snow woman quickly approaches the man, pretending to be injured. “Dear sir, my leg is hurt. Do you mind carrying me home?” she asks in a sweet, seductive voice.
Most of the time, men return her look with a pair of lustful eyes, but the woodcutter simply responds, “Of course! Well, my basket is empty. I can carry you on my back. Just show me the way.”
The snow woman lets the man carry her. She pretends to be grateful, but in her mind she sneers at the ignorance of the woodcutter. She cannot wait to see his face when he discovers her true purpose.
The night gets deeper, and so does the snow. The woodcutter’s steps become slower. The snow woman waits patiently for the man to lose all his energy; then she will take her chance to freeze the man’s heart and devour his flesh.
“Miss, are you alright?” the woodcutter asks. He sounds genuinely caring.
The snow woman does not expect this. She is slightly flustered, but remains calm. “I’m alright, sir. Thank you.”
She cannot see his face, but the woodcutter seems to be relieved at her response. “That is good, young lady. I’m afraid that it will be too cold for you.”
The snow woman does not reply, but after a short silence the man speaks again. “Miss, I think we should be there soon. Please hold on. We’ll get there safely. Don’t worry.”
The frost on the snow woman’s face melts. She is shocked, for she has never met a man with such a pure and kind heart. For the first time in her life, she becomes ashamed of herself.
The woodcutter feels that his basket seems to lose its weight. “Are you alright, young lady?” he asks with concern.
When he does not get a response, the woodcutter finally turns around and is surprised to see that there is no woman in the basket; only scattered snow.
No one spoke when Suzuki’s tale ended. Either they were too entrenched in the story, or they all noticed that something was wrong.
The snow was falling at an unnatural speed. A piercing screech, no different from an animal’s mournful howl, came on the wind. Instinct urged them to flee; yet they understood that abandoning the campfire meant surrendering their lives like a flickering candle in the darkness.
The wailing came closer, mixed with other noises. Something akin to a monster’s roar.
None of them dared to make a sound until Yamada could not bear it anymore. “What is it?” he cried out hysterically. “Suzuki, did you summon the snow woman? I told you I don’t like ghost stories!”
“Shhh!” Takeda kicked Yamada firmly, and the short man wailed. “You’ll attract it!” Whatever it was.
But Yamada seemed to have lost his mind. He roughly opened his provision bag and started throwing everything into the campfire.
“Damn!” Takeda hissed. “He needs to shut up or we have to kill him.” He picked up his gun, but his hands were shivering. This was because of the cold, he told himself.
This move silenced everyone. All of them were soldiers, but none of them had ever killed before.
Like many times before, it was Suzuki who stood up. He blocked the space between Takeda and Yamada, who was still shivering and murmuring nonsense. “What are you thinking? Have you lost your mind?” Suzuki stared at him with a firm gaze.
Takeda could not meet his eyes. He did not want to die tonight. If he was going to die, he should at least die on the battlefield, not freezing to death or being devoured by some beasts during military training.
“Whatever that is, we’ll need to draw it away, or we all die tonight.” He lowered his gun.
“Or we can kill it together — whatever that is, if we don’t panic,” Suzuki said.
Even under such circumstances, Suzuki managed to shine. Takeda had always admired Suzuki. The best in class, the shining star who would get promoted, the one that attracted the best women in town. What pained him the most was that deep down, he knew that Suzuki deserved all the praise and attention that Takeda secretly craved.
Takeda observed his other companions, and the misery on their faces showed it all. They were just like him—they did not want to take the risk. They did not want to die.
“That would be unwise.” Those words came out from Takeda’s lips slowly. His heart was beating at an unusual speed. “Only one of us needs to draw it away. Like you said, even the snow woman can be tamed. Then there should be nothing to be afraid of.”
The campfire weakened in the endless snow as they were speaking. Suzuki’s expression was difficult to read in the darkness. He first looked at Hasegawa, who avoided his gaze, and then at Yamada, who was still whining ceaselessly. Finally, his eyes set on Takeda.
“Fine. I’ll go. I’ll fire two shots as a signal. Come find me if you hear it.”
Suzuki just wanted to be kind, or he wanted the credit as the hero. No one was forcing him to do this. That was what Takeda was thinking as Suzuki went into the deepening snow. Before he vanished, Suzuki turned around and reminded Takeda again, “Come find me if you hear the gunshots. That’s what comrades do.”
“Of course,” Takeda replied.
At last, Takeda saw her. In the glimmering light, a woman was walking toward him, holding a lamp in her hands. This was not Aomori; this was the colonial mountains.
His heart leaped. Noguchi’s words earlier in the afternoon reappeared in his head. Was it the snow woman? But curiosity overcame his fear. He took a step closer.
In the darkness, her colorful hairband was conspicuous, but it was the ink-black tattoo shaped like a reverse triangle around her lips that was particularly intriguing. The heavy decorations on her dress were rustling in the wind like bells.
Before Takeda could recover from the shock, the woman spoke in his language.
“This is our land … please leave us alone … Please.”
Relief quickly took over him. It was only a banjin woman lingering in the cold mountains late at night. They feared the banjin men for hunting heads in the dark, but there was certainly nothing to fear from a banjin woman.
Just like there had been no monster nor beast that night during the training. Perhaps it had just been a wandering bear. But Suzuki was not killed by any beasts. They found the body when the snow stopped the next morning. His gun was empty—he had shot all his remaining bullets in the air. His still body looked as delicate as a glass doll that could shatter into pieces any moment. The bright, shining Suzuki was listed as the victim along with two hundred other soldiers who died from the unpredicted snow and hail overnight in Hakkōda Mountains in Aomori Prefecture.
When interrogated about why the rest of them survived while only Suzuki died, Takeda did not speak. No one dared to admit that when Suzuki fired the first two gunshots, none of them had the courage to leave the fireplace. Two more gunshot followed, and then two more, until there was only silence besides the wind’s howl.
Yamada was the only one who spoke, but he simply repeated the same words over and over again: “The snow woman … the snow woman was here …”
That voice haunted him from time to time until it gradually died away. Now, it only recurred when there was snow. Like now.
“Leave … Please …”
Staring at the harmless banjin woman in the blizzard, humiliation washed over Takeda. He could not believe that he was afraid of her, if only for a fleeting moment.
“This is our land now, woman. Go away.” He gave her a stern look and raised his gun. Suzuki’s tale was nothing more than a fairytale for children. Suzuki had believed in the goodness of people, but the snow, or the snow woman, had still killed him without any mercy. Kindness was not something that should be granted to monsters or barbarians.
The woman’s gaze was a mixture of sadness and anger. All of a sudden, her face changed under the snow, just like the way Takeda had earlier mistaken the banjin guide for a normal Japanese person. No, that was not possible. He rubbed his eyes.
Under the moonlight, the dark-skinned, tattooed banjin woman was no longer there. Instead, he was facing a woman all in white with crimson red lips. Slowly, she opened her mouth.
No, impossible.
Takeda held his gun up high, only to find it covered by frost that had not been there a minute ago. His frozen finger could not pull the trigger. And not just his gun; a strange wave of iciness emerged at his toes.
“Wait!” Takeda gasped, dropping the gun that was nothing more than a piece of scrap metal now. He found his legs shaking involuntarily, and he could barely recognize his own voice. “I am Japanese … your kind! You should go for the banjins …”
His plea was useless as the snow woman cornered him at the edge of the forest. “Please,” Takeda shrieked. Now he wished more than anything that Suzuki was right; that the snow woman had mercy. “I will do anything for you, anything …”
“Go away … leave … this mountain …” the voice continued, though her lips remained closed.
Takeda knew what she was going to do next—she would kiss him, and then his heart would freeze.
But instead, she whispered to his ears and spoke in a voice he was too familiar with: “This is what comrades do.”
Lillian Tsay is an ESL writer born in the U.S. and raised in Taiwan. She is finishing her dissertation on the Japanese Empire at Brown University, with a focus on Taiwan under Japanese colonial rule. Her creative writing has appeared in Atticus Review, Lumiere Review, and Milk Candy Review, amongst others.
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