The streets were quiet; there were no sounds of hawkers firing up their stoves, no rattle of metal shutters as shops were opened. Even the pariah dogs that roamed the streets seemed cowed. The harbor was silent, lacking the daily shouts of coolies and the noise of sea traffic. Those who were brave or foolish enough came out to watch; I joined a group of people by the roadside.
We heard the faint sound of marching feet. As it grew louder the first lines of Japanese soldiers came out from the road leading to the harbor. A cheer erupted from some of those around me, those who believed the country to be finally freed from colonial authority. The Japanese had, after all, promised to return the country to Malay rule. There was a sudden raising of homemade Japanese flags, many with the central circle of red crudely drawn, thrust up like flowers forced into sudden bloom.
After hearing about them for so long, I finally saw them and, like many others, I thought it inconceivable that this group of ill-dressed, uncouth-looking soldiers had defeated the British.
They came in their baggy trousers, high rubber boots, and loose, mud-stained shirts, their heads covered by cloth caps with dirty neck-flaps, their swords hanging limply, knocking against their dented water canteens. They were only permitted to drink once a day while marching and their clothes were practical for the jungle terrain through which they had to travel.
Endo-san had requested that I be present for the formal surrender of the island at the resident councillor’s official home. I left the crowd and made my way to the road leading to the main entrance, as the soldiers marched past the angsana-shaded drive that passed through the gardens where the resident councillor’s wife used to give tea parties in support of her favorite charities. In my mind I could hear teaspoons knocking against delicate china, voices rising and swooping, and merry laughter matching the cadences of the water that sprang from the fountain. Now, only the crackle of the leaves in the wind remained from those times.
I took my place next to Endo-san in the garden outside the main doors of the Residence. It was already a beautiful day and the light of the early morning picked up the beads of water on the lawn, letting them sparkle for a brief moment before burning them into steam.
Only a few members of the resident councillor’s staff had remained. His family had left Penang with the first wave of evacuees.
“Your father would be ashamed of you,” he said when he saw me take my place next to the Japanese.
“He’s as ashamed of me as he is of the cowardice of the British army, leaving the island completely vulnerable,” I said.
The soldiers halted before Hiroshi and their commanding officer bowed to him. Hiroshi turned to face us and read from a document from General Tomoyuki Yamashita, who was running the war in Asia.
I interpreted the entire proceedings, ignoring the angered looks from the resident councillor and his remaining staff. That was the day I became known as a “running dog,” the term used by the locals to refer to a collaborator. There was actually no need for my presence, since Hiroshi, Endo-san, and the military commander all spoke English well; it was a clever move by the Japanese to present me to the English. A military photographer had us pose and took our picture for the newspapers.
We stood on the lawn as the Union Flag and the Straits Settlements’ dark blue flag were taken down without ceremony. The flag of Japan, a drop of blood on a sheet of pure white, floated gently up to the sky as the military band played the
Kimigayo.
I did not sing, although Endo-san had long ago taught me the words. And then I watched without expression as the resident councillor and his people were led off to a prisoner-of-war camp. I never found out what happened to them.
There were immediate reprisals by the Japanese against the looters who had scoured Georgetown. They were identified by informants, then arrested and beheaded. Their severed heads were stuck on poles lining the streets. Quite a few had been innocent, singled out by people who held a grudge against them. Our cook, Ah Jin, who had remained with us, came back from the market and I heard her voice frightening the others in the kitchen.
“The
Jipunakui
caught two young men stealing from a motorcycle shop and cut off their heads in the public square at the police headquarters. You can see them. Their heads are still on those long poles.” There were moans of horror and Ah Jin continued,
“Aiyo,
the blood, like pigs being slaughtered in the Pulau Tikus market-
lah!
I tell you, these
Jipunakui are
animals!” She saw me listening by the door and hurriedly took her basket and went out to the yard.
A curfew was imposed and those caught breaking it were shot on sight. Food and supplies were rationed and the firms and trading companies were taken over by the military, although a few—Hutton & Sons among them—were still allowed to be run by their owners. The goods would be shipped to Japan to help with their war effort, much to my father’s fury.
We heard nothing from Edward or MacAllister. “I hope they’re all right,” my father said on our way to a meeting called by Endo-san. The Penang business owners and managers who had not escaped to Singapore had been asked to attend. “You realize you’re now working for the second most powerful man in Penang? And probably one of the five most powerful men in Malaya?” he asked. “I suppose I can’t hire you back again at your former salary?”
I tried to appreciate his feeble attempt at humor and smiled, hoping he had come to see the sense of my decision.
“I’m sorry. I should have discussed it with you first,” I said.
“It’s already done. You would’ve gone and worked for them anyway,” he said, and the brief moment of humor and warmth we had tried to achieve was gone, washed away by the bitterness in his voice.
We were shown into the meeting room once used by the resident councillor to run the affairs of the island. Soldiers were moving furniture and boxes, as they shifted the administrative departments of the Japanese consulate to the Residence. Henry Cross, the head of Empire Trading, greeted us. Despite the circumstances he was as well dressed as ever, his height and broad shoulders making him seem the most authoritative man in the room, until Endo-san walked in.
I took my place next to him and looked around the table. There were quite a few faces I recognized, company managers, bankers, factory owners, business leaders; all had at one time or another been invited to parties at Istana and I in turn had been invited to their houses. I gave a slight nod to Towkay Yeap, steeled myself, and looked straight ahead.
“I’ve been appointed by the Japanese government to assist them in the transition, to interpret and to guide all of us concerning cultural matters,” I began. There were the expected murmurs of outrage but I ignored them. “By my side is Mr. Hayato Endo, or as he would prefer to be called, Endo-san. He is the assistant governor. Mr. Shigeru Hiroshi, the new governor of Penang, sends his apologies but he has had to leave for Kuala Lumpur, which, as you may not be aware, has just surrendered yesterday.”
There were expressions of shock on their faces and then loud murmurs of disbelief. My father looked at me, stunned and angry. I had not disclosed the news of K.L.’s surrender to him and from the look in his eyes I knew he was thinking of Edward. “You knew this and you didn’t tell me? Knowing your brother’s there and that I was worried to death about him?” he said.
“He was under my orders not to disclose anything,” Endo-san said quietly to him. I stared at the surface of the table, unable to look at either of them.
“We are here to decide on your roles in helping the island’s recovery,” Endo-san now said in rapid Japanese. I translated slowly, grateful that he had redirected my father’s attention. I watched the faces around me, avoiding only his. They covered their unease faultlessly, like good commercial people.
I had asked Endo-san why he required an interpreter and he said, “I wish to hear their replies twice. You would be surprised how much they will say when they think I cannot understand.”
It was a convincing reply and there was truth in it. But I was starting to see that my main purpose would be to serve as an instrument of Japanese propaganda.
“General Yamashita’s plan was to have members of the military take over the running of your companies and businesses completely. It is my opinion, however, that soldiers make bad businessmen. I suggested to him that we merely place advisors and allow you to assist us in running your businesses.”
Henry Cross seemed to speak for them all. “That’s quite unacceptable. How much power would the advisors have?”
“Complete authority. You will only remain to ensure that everything is run efficiently.”
“What if we refuse?”
“Then your presence here is unnecessary and we shall make arrangements for you to be interned in a prison camp. Conditions may not be as satisfactory as those you enjoy now.”
Everything went smoothly after that. “You did admirably,” Endo-san said after the meeting. He appeared out of place among the heavy English furniture and I had the dislocating feeling that I was in a dream, seeing this man—the quintessence of all things Japanese—leaning back against a leather Chesterfield and fronted by a slab of oak table. “I know how hard it must be for you. At least those people saw the sense of cooperating.”
I wanted to say that it was not cooperation but coercion but that would have been to state the obvious. I saw his rueful smile and so kept my silence.
“Your family will be safe,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“That’s all I want.”
“Everything will be made good ... in the end.” His eyes now held mine captive. “I hope you do not lose your way.”
* * *
The Japanese army moved south all the way to the town of Johor Bahru, where they crossed the causeway over the Straits of Johor and marched into Singapore. On February 15, 1942, the news of the official surrender came over the governor’s radio and General Arthur Percival was brought before General Yamashita Tomoyuki, the military commander of Malaya.
The photograph of the surrender of Singapore, taken at the Ford factory where the signing of the agreement took place, was sent to newspapers around the world. We stood to attention as once again the Japanese anthem was played. The Japanese Occupation had begun.
“As General Yamashita promised,” Hiroshi announced, his voice proud, “Singapore has been delivered as to the Divine Emperor his birthday present!”
Endo-san once described to me how the young Hirohito had spent his summers at the seaside villa owned by Endo-san’s family, wading in tidal pools looking for specimens for his collection, for the future emperor was already a keen student of marine biology. I was left to wonder what sort of person the emperor had grown up to be, to want as his birthday present the subjugation of another land.
* * *
I had not heard from Aunt Mei and I became worried, wondering whether she had left her home on Bangkok Lane. The roads were busy with Japanese troops as I cycled into town and I was stopped regularly at checkpoints. My identity document issued by Endo-san prevented me from being troubled and I did not have to bow as low as the others. As I was cycling off, I heard a man being clubbed with a rifle when he forgot to bow to the soldier. I forced myself to continue, to ignore the coarse shouts of the Japanese. He’ll learn, I thought. He’ll learn. We all will.
I knocked on Aunt Mei’s door. The windows were shut, the wooden louvers closed. It seemed so different from the old days, when the street was full of sounds and life. Even the suspicious cats were gone.
“Aunt Mei! It’s me!” I shouted through the gaps of the door. I had the feeling that the street was not as empty as it seemed and I began to feel curious eyes peering from many of the houses. I knocked again.
The door opened and I was let inside. In the shadows I saw her face, damaged and discolored. I felt a jolt of anger. “The soldiers?” I asked.
She nodded, slowly, because of her bruised face. I sat her down and examined her. “Are you all right? Do you need medicine?”
“No, no. I am fine,” she said, her voice squashed by her swollen features.
“What happened?”
“Did not show proper respect to a Japanese soldier.”
“Do you have enough food?” I asked.
“Enough.”
“You must come and stay with us,” I said. “I’ll help you pack now.”
She shook her head. “I am fine, really. I cannot go with you. I still have certain obligations.”
“You should stop worrying about your pupils; I’m sure they are wise enough to go into hiding for a while.”
She refused to accept my offer and I stopped insisting. “How’s Grandfather? Have you heard anything from him?”
“He is fine. The Japanese have not harmed him. Stays in the house all the time.”
“Good. I’ll see if I can get a travel permit to visit him.”
She looked keenly at me. “I was told you’re now working for the Japanese.”
“It seemed a good way to save my family. Isn’t that what Grandfather said—that the family is all?”