by Jean Moran
The unique smell of sampans and salt water heralded their arrival at Victoria Harbour where Kim brought the car to a stop.
Her stomach churned. ‘Are you taking me back to Kowloon?’
‘No. I am taking you for a drive. We will discuss the next step in your life and all that has happened and all that we wish to happen.’
He stopped talking. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
The cliff road wound away from the tenements, the bustling alleys, the noise of people and war. After only a few miles, he pulled into a recess at the side of the road. From there they looked down on Victoria Harbour, the Perfumed Harbour of former times.
She wanted him to speak first and tell her how he had managed to arrange this without her having to ask.
Suddenly his arms were around her and his lips were on hers. It took her totally by surprise. On breaking the kiss he held her at arms’ length. ‘Why did you leave? I gave you everything. You were safe. I would never hurt you. That night I intended making love to you. You should have known that.’
Rowena looked at him, dumbfounded. ‘I didn’t leave you. Your grandmother turned me in.’
Now he was dumbfounded, which swiftly turned to anger. ‘Tell me, and I will tell you if I believe you.’
She told him how it had been, going for a drive, getting out, walking a little way, getting into a rickshaw.
‘Grandmother would never travel in a rickshaw.’
‘She would if it meant getting rid of me. There was nobody to see her turn me in. Your driver was left with the car. It was impossible for him to follow.’
A different look came to his eyes that she could not entirely comprehend. ‘My grandmother can be a little possessive.’ He nodded thoughtfully, then stopped when his mind was made up. ‘We can begin again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You will come to my house again.’
‘But your grandmother?’
‘I will leave her in Kowloon and take you to my house in Shanghai. You recall me saying I have a house in Shanghai?’
‘You mentioned it.’
‘My favourite house. You will be safe. There will be food and clean clothes. All you have to do is trust me. As I trust you. Everyone trusts doctors.’
‘We’re only human, just like everybody else.’
‘Doctors always speak the truth, I think.’
‘Most of the time.’
‘Have you ever lied? I do not think so. But we will not refer to you being a doctor. I prefer to speak of other things.’
She did not contradict him. Telling a lie had resulted in a man’s death, which was against everything she stood for. If the man who had killed himself had not been Japanese, she would never have lied, but whatever he was, the guilt was still with her. Sometimes it surfaced and made her feel an unworthy member of her profession. Telling herself it had been her way of fighting back helped but did not bring total forgiveness. Only time would heal.
She looked down at her hands, their whiteness against the rich red and gold of her dress, so luxurious, so different from the second-hand cotton dresses she wore in the camp.
His presence lifted her spirits, but she knew she couldn’t possibly leave her friends and she had to make him understand that.
‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
His eyes narrowed. His arm was around her shoulders, his breath warm on the side of her face.
‘I have a child. A daughter fathered by one of the men you killed. Don’t ask me which one. I don’t know.’ She went on to tell him she couldn’t leave her daughter behind, and that the woman he’d wished to possess no longer existed. He seemed to think about this, his face turned away, his jaw compressed, his eyes looking seawards.
At last he spoke. ‘You may leave her at the camp.’
‘I will do no such thing!’ Despite her fear of him, she didn’t hold back. ‘My child goes wherever I go.’
‘How strange.’
‘It is not strange. You have a grandmother who loves you and I love my daughter. I will not go with you.’
He seemed to be thinking about it. ‘A girl, you say?’
‘Yes,’ she snapped, feeling the heat rise to her face.
‘Girls can be more easily accommodated. They are much more biddable than boys. They are more easily trained to obey. It is in their nature, whereas boys...’ He laughed, a short bark, like taking a bite out of the air. ‘Boys like their own way. I should know.’
His hand travelled imperceptibly to the nape of her neck, his cool fingers tracing circles that gave her goose bumps and sent shivers down her spine.
‘Do you recall the first time we met? I gave you a cigarette lighter. Do you still have it?’
‘No. I bartered it for food and medicine.’ It was only half a lie, but she feared telling him about Connor, what he might imagine had happened between them.
The moving fingers slowed and stopped.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No. I prefer you fed and here with me, than dead of starvation or disease.’
Having made this statement, his fingers began moving again, leaving her cheek and running through her hair. ‘I do not like this style. I prefer your hair to be loose and long. It pleases me.’
He took out the first comb and a third of her hair tumbled down.
‘You did not get to know me so well before. In Shanghai you will know me better. You and your daughter.’
‘I will go nowhere without her.’
She started when he reached out and plucked the second comb from her hair so it fell like a black veil onto her shoulder. All that remained was the third.
‘No more kowtowing to Japanese officers who do not deserve it.’
‘Do you not bow when you do business with them?’ The last tress fell down and tickled her shoulder blades. She looked into his eyes and caught something dart across them – like a black beetle that shuns daylight and lives only in darkness.
‘Only those who are useful to me. Not the peasants who now think themselves soldiers. And I am useful to them. Without me Hong Kong would be more difficult to control and I am very good at controlling the island. I keep certain elements of its character under control.’
One arm around her, one hand cupping her face, his lips found hers. They were surprisingly cold and as mesmerising as the mysterious look in his eyes. Again he was playing with her hair. ‘I think I would prefer it like this. That is more to my liking,’ he said, as he appraised his handiwork.
‘You like things to be as you want them.’
His smile was slow and had something triumphal about it. ‘Always.’
‘Do you know what the women at the camp desire most of all?’
A knowing expression came to his face. ‘You are going to tell me and ask me to satisfy that desire – which I will do at a price. Everything I do is at a price. I think you know that.’
She did, but she asked him anyway. Soap, medicine, towelling and other feminine items.
‘I will do this. Now we go.’
The evening out had been a glorious change from the routine, away from dirt, disease and boredom, a short time in which to remember what it was like to be a woman going out with a man. And he hadn’t attempted to have sex with her. She’d contemplated what to do if he’d pressed himself on her, and decided she had her price too. Her fellow prisoners were in need of just about everything, and if she could get things for them she would. Such a small price, she thought, in return for comforts that might lengthen the lives of her fellow prisoners. But it wasn’t only that. Her body still stirred for his attention.
As they drove back she eyed his profile, the high brow, the aquiline nose, the wide, sensual mouth. She knew then what her life would be with him. He would require total submission, like a concubine of the old Chinese emperors. There was something both alluring and romantic about it, but also something a little frightening. Suddenly realising she would be giving up her freedom made her change her mind. No
matter the deprivations her friends suffered, she just couldn’t do it.
The car was waved through the main gate and stopped outside the commandant’s office.
‘I will go in and make arrangements,’ said Kim.
She felt the warmth of his hand encompassing hers, which felt as cold as fallen snow. ‘No. Don’t. I’m sorry, Kim. I’m not coming with you. I’m staying here. Sorry,’ she said again, and turned on her heel. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. ‘I’ll parcel up the dress and get it back to you.’
She ran and dared not look back, sensing that he was furious but sure she had done the right thing.
19
The one good thing about being in the hold of the Ashada Maru was that there were no guards to bully or steal what possessions the men had left. Not that they had much. The rest was all bad: the stinking latrines, too few to take the effluent of five hundred men, the reek of oil, the putrid bilge water washing around their ankles. The portholes were high and let in little light. They were in a dark, oily world where fresh air and daylight were an infrequent luxury.
Connor took out the lighter Rowena had given him. Their meetings had been brief, yet he could still smell her hair, see the dark grey eyes, the swan-like neck. Such small details kept him going. There had been many instances when he could have traded the lighter for food, tobacco or some other small luxury, but the memories it instilled were luxury enough. It kept his heart beating, his lungs breathing.
A bulkhead door opened and a shaft of light lifted the gloom. The daily ration of rice balls and water had arrived.
Fingers filthy on account of his surroundings, Connor swiftly tucked the lighter back into his loincloth. That and the lighter were his only possessions. His uniform had turned to mildewed rags long ago.
Food was swiftly consumed, as was the water, though it tasted brackish. Sleeping was difficult but welcome. Sleep helped him forget how hungry he was.
Time passed. Night was preferable to day.
The engines throbbed with an incessant rhythm. A sudden change in their tempo woke him. He looked up at the light coming from a deck prism, a thick piece of glass set into the deck through which came a feeble beam of light. The throb of the engines lulled them to sleep, but they heard their note change.
Harry looked up at him. ‘We’ve changed direction.’
‘And speeded up.’
Ears were primed for the slightest sound.
Another twenty minutes. Unsecured in the dingy hold, they lurched from side to side, bony bodies packed tightly, which at least helped prevent serious injury.
Another change of direction swiftly followed the first.
‘We’re zigzagging.’
Tension increased, men murmuring, questioning, and those of a naval background confirming what was going on.
‘There’s a submarine close by.’
‘A US submarine, no doubt.’
‘A torpedo is a torpedo and we’re dead.’
Eyes were raised to the overhead girders, the metalwork dripping with condensation blackened by grease and oil. Droplets fell on their upturned faces. Somebody asked if anyone had spotted a red cross on the side of the ship or anything to denote that Allied prisoners were aboard.
‘The Japanese don’t do that, old boy. If they’re attacked, we are too.’
Harry sounded his usual blasé self, but Connor heard the fear in his voice and, even in the gloom, saw the nerve twitch beneath his right eye and the trembling in his dirty fingers.
Suddenly the ship vibrated violently, lifted up, then smashed down, metalwork twisting as the side of the vessel was ripped open, like a sardine can.
Rivets pinged like bullets.
Water came rushing in, a dark green and thrusting power.
The door was gone, the darkness was gone. They thrashed against the incoming water, kicked until they were on the surface, flailing in the first light of dawn.
The oil was still with them, covering their bodies, siphoned into their lungs, smearing the sea with a black, clogging slick.
At first Connor found himself below the surface. It was blue and cool but turbulent with the antics of men and the death throes of a sinking ship. With every ounce of his strength he kicked his way to the surface, then powered himself away from the vessel. All around him those still alive were doing the same thing, cruelly aware that when the ship went down it would suck them with it if they didn’t get clear.
There were no waves and the sea was warm but it was hard to see. Dawn had broken but the oil got into eyes, noses, throats and ears. Connor wiped away the oil from his eyes, stalled his stroke and looked for something solid to hold onto. Some distance away he spotted a grey object, not a boat or a life raft but an object blown off the ship that promised stability.
Summoning every last ounce of strength, he struck out for it and knew that Harry was doing the same. Once it was within his grasp, he saw it was a bulkhead door, possibly the one that had kept them confined in the hold.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Harry was right behind him. As he hauled himself onto the door, it felt warm, from the explosion, and somehow comforting. His lungs heaving for air, he checked Harry’s progress. He had almost reached the piece of jetsam, though he was struggling, his hair floating behind him, his beard black and filthy.
Connor dragged him aboard, and they looked to where the ship’s bow pointed skyward. All around it men were getting into the lifeboats kept on deck, only accessible to the crew.
On seeing the lifeboats being lowered and the ship still there, though badly damaged, those prisoners who had swum away turned back in the vain hope that they would be taken aboard.
Connor and Harry exchanged a questioning look. Should they swim for it too and fight their way aboard a lifeboat?
Connor shook his head. He kept his eyes on the men, willing them to succeed even if it meant throwing the enemy sailors into the sea.
It wasn’t to be. Suddenly the whole sky seemed to catch fire as a second explosion ripped the ship apart, flame and smoke leaping upward. Debris rained down on Connor and Harry as they threw themselves flat onto the metallic surface. When they looked up there were only flames and smoke, a deafening roar and the sound of residual ammunition going up in smoke.
Some distance from the ship bodies floated, blackened and immobile.
There was no sign of a single lifeboat.
Connor cupped a patch of uncontaminated seawater and bathed his scalding eyes. Harry had been luckier: black saliva dribbled from his mouth but his eyes were clear. Forcing himself to straighten his arms, he looked all around. ‘Where’s the submarine?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone? Well, that’s just not cricket. They could have picked up the survivors even if it’s only two of us.’
‘They don’t play cricket and they’re not going to hang around and get sunk by a Jap destroyer.’
‘So what do we do now?’
Connor was fumbling in his loincloth for the lighter. It entered his head that if he still had that there was hope and he’d live to give it back to her.
For a moment he could see nothing as a light breeze blew his hair across his face. All around him was death, but he didn’t want to die. He dared to look towards the ship and the mass of floating bodies. They were caught in a current, which meant they were moving to – where?
‘Do you see what I see?’
Harry looked. ‘The bodies are coming this way.’
‘No. We’re all going in the same direction. We’re caught in a current. All I want to know is, where is it heading?’
He swallowed and wished they’d had the chance to bring water. As it was, they were both half naked and the sun would roast them like chickens. Without water they would dehydrate quickly.
‘Connor, I’m reading your mind. The only thing I’ve got that might help is this.’
Harry brought out his tin cup, his one and only prized possession.
Connor grinned. ‘That’s a start.
All we need now is some rain.’
The far horizon shimmered with light.
‘The rising sun is that way, the port side in nautical terms, which means the current flows south.’
‘Understood, old boy.’
‘It’s a slim chance but it could be taking us to Bali.’
‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. He couldn’t be certain, but hope would keep their spirits up. ‘I don’t know what speed we were doing on that old tub, and can only guess at our longitude and latitude, but there’s a chance. Just a chance.’
‘Good,’ said Harry, pulling his tangled hair over his face. ‘This should keep off the sunstroke, that plus a little swim now and again.’
‘Not yet,’ said Connor, and pointed to where more than one triangular fin was drifting through the mass of dead bodies. The sharks were coming to feast. The water was turning red.
‘At least they won’t bother us when there’s that much free meat.’
Connor turned again to the horizon. ‘We might make it. It’s a strong current.’
‘About seven knots would you say?’
‘Yes. If I remember rightly the horizon is roughly twenty miles away.’
‘So how long will it take us to get there?’
‘Anything from five to eight hours.’
‘Well, that’s something.’
‘It’s just the horizon. I didn’t say I could see any land.’
‘But if we get there...’
‘It could be another twenty miles to land, or fifty, or a hundred, it all depends on the current and the wind. It would help if we had a wind behind us.’
Harry didn’t ask anything else, but sank down and slept. Connor did the same, glad the sea was calm and that the sharks were preoccupied. All they had to do now was pray for rain tonight and tomorrow they could share a mug between them.
20
‘Rowena, I’m sorry. You can’t come in here.’
Rowena frowned. ‘Why? I want to do my job.’
Dr Anderson shook his head. Marjorie Greenbank was standing beside him wringing her hands and looking very worried.
‘It’s on the orders of the commandant. He summoned me just before midday and said you are no longer to be allowed to practise.’