Authors: Siobhan Daiko
Sofia bends her fingers forward at a 90 degree angle to create a dragon claw. She must maintain the tension. It’s a year since Leo’s wedding, and she’s practising her kung fu moves with him.
Her sister-in-law, Michiko, spends her time either in Leo’s suite of rooms here at Father’s, or at her family home. Michiko’s mother is ill – some female problem no one will explain to Sofia – and needs Michiko to nurse her. She’s there this afternoon, which is why Sofia has Leo’s full attention.
After Japanese troops seized the British steamer
Sian
in the harbour, killing about twenty guards, the Japanese demanded the installation of their own advisors as an alternative to military occupation. Mr Kimura, it turns out, was what is known as a sleeper, and now advises the Portuguese administration on civilian defence. Not actually a spy, Uncle said, just waiting until the moment came to show his true colours . . .
Today, Sofia is the attacker and Leo is the defender. Sometimes they switch roles, but not often. Leo is still too strong for her and his attacks too rapid. One day she’ll be good enough to resist him, hopefully.
They face each other and bow with their palms together. Sofia opens her arms wide and lets out a loud, ‘
Hai
!’ She flies at Leo, hands flailing, flicking her wrist for extra force so that she can dig her fingers into his arm muscles. He blocks her move and she falls back. Up on her feet, she attacks. He throws out a kick and rolls away. She goes in for the assault again. Leo’s superior technique pushes her across the terrace and she has to concede defeat.
‘One more go,’ she begs. This time she’ll get him. She’s determined. She goes at him like a whirling dervish, arms and legs flying out at the same time.
He aims a kick at her; she leaps up in the air and it misses its mark. Finally, she has the upper hand. She can feel victory within her grasp. She aims a zigzag motion kick at the top of Leo’s foot, then grabs his leg and pushes him down. She’s won.
‘Well done, little sister. But you wouldn’t have been able to do that if I’d used force on your pressure points.’ He laughs.
‘When will you teach me how to do that?’
‘It’s too dangerous. I could kill you and, judging by how much progress you’ve made recently, you could even end up killing me. Come on, let’s go indoors and get ourselves something to drink. I’m parched.’
They sit in companionable silence at the large rosewood dining table, sipping iced jasmine tea. Sofia lets out a sigh of contentment. In spite of the Japanese practically controlling Macau, and the destitution of people on the streets, happiness bubbles up within her. She shouldn’t feel happy. Not with all the wretchedness around her, but she can’t help herself. A knock at the door, and she looks up. Father’s houseman, Ah Chong, slinks into the room, his face pale. ‘
Aiyah!
Big fire. Master Leo you go quick. Missy Michiko hospital.’
Sofia lets out a gasp as Leo runs from the room. ‘What happened?’
She perches next to Father in his study, waiting for news. She only saw Michiko this morning at breakfast. They talked about how they both missed going to the cinema, her brother’s wife opening up to her at last.
‘Michiko will be all right, won’t she?’
‘I hope so,’ Father says.
Sofia takes his hand. ‘Why didn’t you object to Leo marrying a Japanese woman?’ It’s a question she’s posed many times. Maybe today he’ll finally tell her.
‘I felt guilty for not giving him the love he craved from me. Michiko adores him, don’t you know? I watched them together and couldn’t refuse.’
‘Oh,’ Sofia says, frowning. She thinks back to the year between Leo’s first meeting then marrying the girl. They must have seen each other in secret, because she can’t remember him courting her openly. She squeezes her father’s hand. ‘Why couldn’t you love Leo?’
‘He reminds me too much of my own father, who only saw things in absolutes. There wasn’t room for any compromises in his character. He could only see black or white, never the shades of grey. I’m sad to admit I disliked him, and, although I don’t actually dislike Leo, I can’t find it in myself to truly love him either. Not like I love you, my daughter.’
She’s suspected this for years, but it’s still a shock to have it confirmed. Another reason for Leo’s jealousy. And an explanation for the change in him since he met Michiko; the Japanese girl seems to love him unreservedly.
I hope she’s all right.
‘What about Mr Kimura? Did you suspect he was a sleeper?’
‘Absolutely not! He told me he wasn’t in the military because he was colour-blind. I took it on good faith. I just wanted to get a cheap price for the pearls I’d promised Siu Yin. How was I to know Leo would start wooing the girl?’
Not long after the dinner party when Leo had first met Michiko, Siu Yin appeared with a long string of even bigger pearls than Mrs Kimura’s. Why Father has to pander to her step-mother’s every whim is something Sofia will never understand. Natalia has told her what she calls “the facts of life”, of course. Could it be something to do with sex? Sofia can feel a blush creep up her neck just thinking about her father having sex with Siu Yin. ‘I see,’ she says, although she really doesn’t.
The minutes stretch into an hour, then two hours. Ah Chong brings them a tray of supper. Cold bean curd. Sofia picks at it with her chop-sticks. She doesn’t feel like eating. Something’s wrong. Otherwise Leo would be back by now.
She can’t wait any longer. She’ll telephone Uncle. He’ll know what’s going on. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she says.
Natalia is in the front hall, standing straight-backed at the foot of the stairs. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Come up to your room, darlink. There’s something I have to tell you.’
A sinking sensation in her chest, Sofia follows her governess up to the first-floor and into her bedroom. Natalia sits on the bed and pats the space next to her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Natalia says softly. ‘The whole Kimura family is dead.’
‘No!’ A chill creeps into Sofia’s bones. ‘How?’ Her voice trembles.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Leo has been collaborating with the Japanese military. Your uncle found out he’s been acting as an intermediary between Mr Kimura and a group of nationalists, who’ve been pretending to fight Japan when all they do is block the communist guerrillas.’
‘How did Uncle find this out?’
‘Because I’ve been following Mr Kimura. And the worst thing is, he saw me this morning when I tailed him to the harbour. I’d managed to creep up and hide behind an upturned sampan on the beach, where I listened to him conspiring with those traitors and heard them giving him details of guerrilla movements. Nationalists turning against their fellow-Chinese. Unspeakable!’
‘How did he see you?’
‘I was attacked by seagulls. Can you believe it? Even the seagulls are starving, and they must have thought my hat was edible. I sat there as they dive-bombed me, willing to brazen it out, but one of the men came to investigate and I ran off.’ Natalia pauses. ‘Leo will put two and two together. He’ll think I had something to do with the arson attack on Michiko’s family.’
‘Why should he think that?’
‘Firstly, because I was following Mr Kimura. Secondly, because only the guerrillas would have carried out the assault. They’re the only people who dare to resist the Japanese around here.’
‘You said it wasn’t supposed to be this way.’
‘Some young hotheads in the brigade took it on themselves to teach Mr Kimura a lesson. They didn’t mean to kill anyone. Just to frighten him. Unfortunately, with the dry weather we’ve had recently, the house went up like a tinder-box. There were sacks of rice blocking the back door and the family was overcome by smoke inhalation.’
Sofia starts to sob. Her shoulders heave and snot runs from her nose. She grabs hold of her governess. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I can’t stay here. I’ve just come to collect my things and say goodbye, my Sofichka. You’re fifteen years old now, too grown-up to need a governess. When the war is over, your father should send you to school or employ the best tutors for you to finish your education. Make sure that he does!’
She goes with Natalia to her room and watches her pack. How to make Natalia change her mind? That would be foolish, though. Natalia’s right; she has to leave. And soon. Sofia glances at her watch. Leo will be home any minute now. ‘Hurry up!’
***
‘Where is she? Where’s that Russian bitch?’ Leo shouts, coming through the door. He marches up to Sofia and her father. ‘I know all about Natalia’s shenanigans this morning. She’s a spy. The police have found rags soaked in kerosene dropped on the road outside the house. The fire was started deliberately. If I discover you had anything to do with this, Sofia, I’ll never forgive you.’
‘Now, now, Leo,’ Father gets up from his chair. ‘Calm down! How can you accuse your sister of something so terrible? She’s only a child, for heaven’s sake. And what proof do you have that Natalia is a spy?’ He turns to Sofia. ‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘She’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Father repeats, a frown crinkling his brow.
‘She said to tell you both that she’s very sorry. She didn’t mean for this to happen.’
Father sits back down. He opens his mouth then shuts it again. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose. ‘Did you know she’d been spying on us?’
Sofia has never lied to her father and she’s not going to lie to him now. ‘I knew she was a communist. I found out last year.’
‘See!’ Leo points at Sofia. ‘My bastard step-sister is in cahoots with the Russian bitch.’
‘I don’t want to hear language like that in my house,’ Father says, shaking his finger at Leo. ‘Apologise to Sofia!’
‘Never! She must have known about Natalia. They’ve always been thick as thieves. I’m sure there weren’t any secrets between them.’
‘I know I should have told you, Father, I realise that now. I thought she was harmless.’ Should she tell him this is all Leo’s fault for collaborating with the Japanese? She isn’t a tell-tale-tit.
‘Harmless?’ Father’s voice shakes with anger. ‘How can deception ever be harmless? Go to your room, Sofia! I’ll come up and talk to you when I’ve had a few words with Leo.’
‘All right,’ she says, her mouth trembling. Tears prickle, but she won’t cry. Not in front of Leo.
***
The counterpane is cold beneath her fingers, like the icy feeling inside her. She runs her hands up and down the smooth silk. How will she cope without Natalia? She’ll just have to and that’s that. This war won’t go on forever. When it’s over, she’ll start a new life. Maybe go to Hong Kong. She’s always loved it there.
A knock at the door. ‘I’ve been trying to talk some sense into the boy,’ Father says, lowering himself onto the chair by the window. ‘He won’t listen. It’s grief, I suppose. I can’t help feeling responsible. I should never have allowed the marriage. It was bound to end in tears.’
‘You weren’t to know. I’m sorry for not telling you about Natalia. And I’m devastated for Leo about Michiko. Really, I am. And her family. It’s so, so sad.’
‘I don’t understand why Leo thinks Natalia is responsible for this tragedy. He says Siu Yin’s cousin caught her following him. He won’t tell me anything else. Can you shed any light on this?’
What to do? She doesn’t want to lie to Father. But if she says anything, Leo will find out and that’ll make things even worse. Then, there’s Uncle. No one must know he’s been helping the guerrillas. She made a promise she can’t break. That’s it. A prior promise cancels out a future lie. She gets to her feet and makes eye contact with her father. ‘I don’t know anything.’
The Pearces’ balcony directly overlooks the prison exercise yard. Every evening, from five to six, I’m there, watching Charles pace up and down with the rest of the prisoners, my heart going out to him with every step he takes. I’ve practically haunted the place in the eighteen months since his arrest.
Ruth tugs at my sleeve. ‘Can you test me on my spellings?’
‘Of course, kiddo.’ How resilient Ruth is! Just like the rest of the children, she’s full of joy at life, even in this terrible place. I’ve been trying hard to keep positive, telling myself the war is bound to end soon and that Charles will survive. It’s hard, though . . .
Minutes later, after I’ve given Ruth full marks for her spellings, my heartbeat quickens. He’s come into view. I can see him clearly. He turns his head in my direction and waves furtively. Like everyone else in the camp, he’s deathly thin. At least he’s still walking tall and doesn’t look ill. Oh, how I long to take him in my arms . . .
Charles’ family have been kind and welcoming. If they didn’t know I loved their son before, they know it now. Papa wouldn’t have been like them if it had been me who’d been imprisoned. He would have told Charles he didn’t think him worthy. One day, I’ll confront Papa about his prejudice, but only when liberation comes and I can love Charles openly.
I point to the flower from the orchid tree I’ve tucked behind my ear. If Charles can see it, he’ll understand . . .
***
On the fifteenth of January, air-raid sirens blare above Stanley. I rush to the window. American planes are flying overhead. They come often now to bomb the harbour, as well as targets on Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Papa stands next to me. ‘We haven’t got any white crosses on the rooftops. How will they know we’re an internment camp?’
Throughout the day I count the aircraft, over three hundred of them, the biggest raid yet. The next morning, the alarm sounds again. ‘Look! They’re back.’ I go to the balcony. ‘Thousands of them.’
‘Not quite thousands,’ Papa says. ‘I’ve heard the Japs have put guns on top of the prison buildings. That’s certain to attract attention.’
Japanese soldiers dash onto the village green, firing revolvers and rifles at planes miles high. ‘They’re running around like headless chickens,’ I laugh, keeping my worry about Charles to myself. He’ll be a sitting target in the prison . . .
A sudden roar. Four planes drop from the sky. They’re heading straight for the Indian Quarters! Three American aircraft pass overhead, chasing a Japanese plane, their machine guns roaring.
‘Quick! Get down!’ Papa shouts.
A huge explosion rocks the building. Flinching, I peer over the parapet. The Americans have gunned down the Japanese plane, which has crashed into the hillside to our right - just above the bathing beach. A plume of smoke rises up. Tell-tale signs of more planes shot down: towers of smoke come from the outlying islands, from behind the hill on the other side of Stanley Bay, and from the cove itself.
The day wears on and the air-raids continue. I curl up on my mattress, holding my breath during the attacks, and letting it in and out while waiting for the next one. Papa sits next to me, grumbling and muttering about the lack of a proper shelter.
Late in the afternoon there’s a massive bang. I stumble to the back of the flat, my legs shaking so much I can hardly move. A heavy cloud rises up from behind the cemetery and I grab Papa’s arm. ‘They must have hit one of the buildings at St Stephen’s.’
***
Derek Higgins walks up to me the following morning in the water queue. ‘Guess what?’ he says with his habitual smirk. ‘The Americans must have thought that rusty old wreck of a tanker in Stanley Bay had some strategic importance. A couple of aircraft turned to attack it, but their wings touched.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘The pilots had to jump out when the planes crashed into the hillside. One of them didn’t make it and his parachute tangled up in the propellers. The other pilot got out and the Japanese shot him just as he landed.’
‘Oh no! What about St Stephen’s?’
‘Bungalow C scored a direct hit. When the all-clear sounded, ten bodies were lying on the grass. Someone said they looked like they were asleep as they didn’t have a scratch on them.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Because I went up there for a look.’
‘Were they all right?’
‘Of course not. They were dead. Six people were taken to the infirmary. One woman died on the way there. Three more bodies were found in the wreckage. The funeral’s later today and they’ll be buried in a mass grave.’
‘Another mass grave,’ I murmur. Heavy-footed, I make my way back to the Indian Quarters, my chest aching. Of course they’ll be buried in a mass grave. There’s only one coffin in the camp. The base has been removed and it’s used again and again for the many funerals, just like it was for Mama’s. A picture comes into my mind of standing in the rain under a paper umbrella, and of strangers shovelling clods of earth onto my mother’s shrouded body. I swallow the knot of sorrow in my throat and grip my bucket.
Papa is waiting for me. ‘You haven’t heard the worst.’
‘What can be worse?’
‘Some people didn’t wait till the all-clear and looted the bungalow even before the bodies were removed.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I often think we’re interned with a bunch of animals.’
‘Are you sure it was one of us? Isn’t it something the Japanese would have done?’
Even as I ask the question, I remember Derek’s description of the bodies and my stomach clenches.
‘Japs mounted a guard as soon as they found out what happened then presented arms above the wreckage.’
‘Such strange people . . .’
‘They seem to think it’s honourable to die in war, but equal to losing your soul if you’re taken prisoner.’
‘That explains a lot of things, but not their treatment of us.’ I stretch out on my mattress and stare at the wall. Last October I turned eighteen. I’ve been in the camp for over three years and it’s hard to imagine my life when peace eventually comes. What will it be like to no longer be hungry? To have proper clothes? To be able to go out and about? To be with Charles again?
And what will happen if peace doesn’t come?
***
A week after the air-raids, I’m on the Pearces’ balcony, waiting to catch sight of Charles. Tailorbirds chirp in the bushes below and a kite soars above, gliding in circles among the thermals and giving an occasional long drawn-out squealing call. I look down at the exercise yard. It’s getting late. Where is he?
A chill. The hairs on my arms stand up. A shift in the atmosphere. Anxiety radiates from Ruth, Mr and Mrs Pearce. A sudden terror. Everyone leaps to their feet. Charles isn’t among the prisoners!
‘I’ll go and find out what’s happened,’ Mr Pearce says, making his way to the door.
Mrs Pearce seizes his arm. ‘Be careful, dearest!’
The next hour drags. I bite what’s left of my fingernails, which stopped growing ages ago for lack of nutrients. I pace up and down the balcony, then I sit on a camp-bed, then stand, then sit again, twirling my jade bangle round and round.
Mr Pearce returns and slumps down on a camp-bed, his face grey. ‘Charles has been drafted to a labour camp in Japan along with some of the POWs from Shamshuipo camp.’
I let out a muffled cry. Charles has been weakened by years of semi-starvation. How will he survive? I can see in Mrs Pearce’s eyes the same thoughts that I’ve been thinking. Ruth sobs, and I put my arm around her.
‘Don’t worry, kiddo! Charles will be fine. You’ll see!’
***
Time passes. Winter releases its hold, the orchid tree finishes its flowering season, and a muggy spring turns into a fierce summer. There has been no news of Charles.
I line up on the village green for a bowing lesson, heat and humidity enveloping me. The Camp Commandant is obsessed with military etiquette and seems convinced the prisoners aren’t getting it right. I go through the movements, my mind elsewhere.
‘How can the Japanese expect us to take this bowing seriously?’ I whisper to Papa. In May,
The Hong Kong News
announced Germany’s surrender. Soon afterwards, the Japanese said, “no more newspapers” and they became another item for black market traders. ‘It’s obvious they’re losing the war.’
‘They’re doing it out of spite, I reckon.’ Papa laughs, yet his eyes, staring blankly, give the lie to his apparent mirth. ‘A guard said they’ve been tunnelling shelters and foxholes into the hills. Japs seem to think they can fight for Hong Kong. How desperate and pathetic . . .’
‘Whenever I hear a guard coming, I run and hide or I give them my best bow.’ I shrug. ‘Everyone does. Don’t they realise we’re too weak for all this?’
To my left, Jessica Chambers is staring straight ahead. On the other side of the parade ground, a group of young men from the Hong Kong Police grin mockingly and make little effort to bow. I study the outline of Papa’s ribs poking through his bare chest. Sweat pouring from his face, he stands to attention in the hot sunshine; I take his hand and it’s like holding a bunch of twigs.
I glance at the Pearce family. Physically, they’re surviving. Mentally, though, they’ve become listless and resigned to their circumstances, just like everyone else. They no longer mention Charles; they probably think talking about him will jeopardise his chances. So I try to do the same and carry on as if everything will turn out for the best. And I cling to that hope; it nestles next to the numbness that has seeped back into my soul.
The Commandant struts in front of us. ‘Captain Ito show you.’
The Japanese officer stands on a table. He inclines at the waist, holding his body at a forty-five degree angle. We try to imitate him, struggling with the exertion, weak with exhaustion.
The new Formosan guards stand on the side-lines, their faces unreadable. The Commandant has put them through field training over the past couple of weeks, leading them around the camp, wielding a bamboo stick. He has no chance! The Formosans don’t give a damn about fighting to keep Hong Kong in Japanese hands. The Japs treat them like dogs, unaware they participate in a thriving black market with the prisoners, keeping us informed about events in the outside world. Manila has already been liberated. Surely it won’t be long before it’s Hong Kong’s turn? My hands shake. If freedom doesn’t come soon, we’ll all starve to death. The situation has become that serious.
And poor Charles stuck in Japan . . .
***
The days go by in the same monotonous pattern – get up, queue for food, lie around too weak to do anything, queue again, sleep. Finally a copy of
The Hong Kong News
is smuggled into the camp with the information we’ve all been longing for. Japan has surrendered. I hear about it in the supper queue and join in as everyone hugs and kisses each other. Even though I’ve no energy, my step quickens. ‘It’s over,’ I say to Papa back in our room. ‘The war is over.’
He stares at me. ‘I can’t believe it. Far too sudden.’ Then he breaks into a smile and hugs me as hard as his lack of strength allows.
The next day, a notice pinned to the canteen wall informs us officially that hostilities have ceased. The Representative of Internees, one-time Colonial Secretary, has accepted responsibility for the maintenance of discipline. I read the report slowly. Then I read it again so I can relay all the facts to Papa. I let out a sigh and close my eyes. I won’t have to worry about survival any more. From now on, I won’t have to live behind barbed wire. Then I stare into the distance, as if by doing so I can see Charles.
Where is he? How is he?
I walk up the road and the camp is quiet. All the guards have disappeared and the Japanese are marching shamefaced to their headquarters. I make my way to the canteen. Passing the godowns, I spot a group of European policemen in uniform, patrolling the area. At least I don’t have to bow anymore . . .
***
It seems liberation will never come. An American aeroplane flies over and drops pamphlets saying the internees should remain calm and not leave the camp until the Allied forces arrive. Time moves on slowly as we wait for the Royal Navy. The local Red Cross representative makes a speech, promising that the authorities will increase rations and provide buses to bring visitors from Victoria City and the Kowloon camps.
One afternoon, I’m reading to Ruth in her quarters. She looks up. Charles’ Auntie Julie and Uncle Phillip come into the room. Phillip Noble, a tall man with silver hair, is a Portuguese-Chinese who married Mrs Pearce’s sister ten years ago. They’ve spent the war in Macau.
‘Conditions weren’t much better than in Hong Kong,’ Mrs Noble says. She looks so like Mrs Pearce they could be twins. ‘We didn’t have much food, but at least we didn’t starve.’ She hugs Mrs Pearce and stares at Ruth with a sympathetic expression. ‘My poor dears! You’re nothing but skin and bone. The sooner we get you out of here the better. And we’ll do everything we can to find out about Charles.’ She goes on to explain that the Pearces’ old home was destroyed in the bombing. ‘And the Japanese turned our place in Kowloon into an officers’ club. Before they left, they did their business in the corners of every room. Such barbarity! The whole place needs disinfecting and a fresh coat of paint.’