When night fell and they were left alone in their marital chamber, he carefully removed the many silk layers of her princess outfit, which had been worn by every bride in their village for generations. Sooni was shy, unlike her usual cheerful self, and he himself was very nervous. But after he blew the candle out, and caressed her smooth shoulders and kissed her moonlight skin, she wrapped her legs around his waist and raised her hips. He was shocked and grateful that she desired him too. The joy in being one with her was unimaginable. It was the opposite of standing high in the mountains, which had been the most intense happiness he’d known until then. Whereas that was an ecstasy of height, coolness, and solitude, this was an ecstasy of depth, warmth, and union. He wrapped an arm around her and she nestled her head on the nook between his shoulder and chest. Are you happy? he’d asked. I wish we could be like this forever, she’d whispered. But I’m also so happy that I wouldn’t have any regrets if I died right now. Like I wouldn’t even be mad.
Me too, he’d said. That’s exactly how I feel too.
The hunter felt himself fall into a soft, cloudy mound of memories. It was so sweet to let go of his grip on the present and dwell among the shadows of the past. Slipping into death really wasn’t so bad—it was rather like passing through a door to a world of dreams. He closed his eyes. He could almost see Sooni gently calling out to him, My husband, my darling, I’ve been waiting for you. Come home.
Why did you leave me, he said. Do you know how hard it’s been for me?
I was always next to you, Sooni said. You and the kids.
I want to go with you, he said, and waited for her to take him away.
Not yet, but soon, she said.
His eyes snapped open as he realized he really was hearing a sound. A soft breathing sound that came from the edge of the cliff, whence an icy fog was emanating like incense. Instinctively he readied his bow, knowing that even if he got his prey, he likely wouldn’t make it down the mountain. He just didn’t want to end up as a leopard’s meal.
He felt, rather than saw, the leopard climb up onto the ledge, its silhouette weaving through the brume. He gasped and lowered his bow when it finally revealed itself, just yards away from him.
It wasn’t a leopard at all, but a tigerling.
From nose to the tip of the tail, it was as long as his arms stretched wide apart—just the size of a full-grown leopard. It was too big to be called a cub, though still too young to hunt on its own. The tigerling looked at the hunter with curious eyes, twitching its circles of ears padded with white fur. Its calm yellow irises were neither threatened nor threatening. It had almost certainly never seen a human being before, and looked mildly puzzled by the strange apparition. The hunter gripped his bow tighter. It was, he realized, the first time he’d spotted a tiger within range.
Hunted by the Japanese in every hill and valley, tigers had been driven deep into the wildest mountains. The prices had gone up accordingly for their skin, bone, and even meat, which had never before been the reason they were hunted, but had become a fashionable delicacy on the tables of wealthy Japanese. They believed that eating tiger flesh gave you its valor, and held banquets where officers decked with epaulettes and medals and upper-class ladies in European dresses sat down to taste courses made entirely of tiger parts.
With this kill, he would be able to buy enough food to last three years. Perhaps even a plot of land. His children would be safe.
But the wind howled into his ear, and he lowered his bow and arrow. Never kill a tiger unless it decides to kill you first.
He got up to standing, which sent the tigerling scampering backward like a village pup. Before it even disappeared back into the fog, the hunter turned around and started his descent through the thickening snow. Within a span of a few hours, the snow had already gathered halfway up his calf. The hollowness that had made his feet lighter was now dragging him closer to the earth with every step. A gray, colorless dusk was draped over the shivering trees. He started praying to the god of the mountain, I’ve let go of your attendant creature, please let me make it down.
The blizzard stopped at nightfall. He came halfway down the mountain before his legs buckled and he fell knee first into snow. He was on fours like an animal; when even his elbows gave out he curled into the powder, sparkling white in the moonlight. Then he thought, I should be facing the sky, so he heaved himself over onto his back. The moon was gently smiling down on him: it was the closest thing in nature to mercy.
*
“WE’VE BEEN GOING IN CIRCLES,” Captain Yamada said. The others around him looked frightened, not just because what he was saying was true, but also because he dared to voice this calamity in the presence of his superior.