‘What was your daughter’s name?’
‘Catriona. We were ambushed by dacoits in the far reaches of the Shan State. My husband was wounded and she was killed, along with two of our men. She was six.’
Kate swallowed. ‘I’m sorry.’ She had always been ambivalent about the idea of motherhood, but the events of the last few months had turned her firmly against the prospect. I have buried too many children already, she thought.
‘Afterwards, I wanted to leave Burma,’ said Mrs Abernathy, absently folding a bandage again and again. ‘My husband said that it was more reason than ever to stay and spread God’s word. I was very angry with him at first, but in time it softened and I began to love him again, to love Burma.’
‘Did you ever get justice?’
‘They caught the men who did it. My husband intervened and asked that they be shown mercy, but the authorities wanted to make an example and hanged them. I couldn’t regret that they were dead, but I felt deeply sorry for their families – it wasn’t their fault. One of the wives ended up being baptised into the church. She was a great help to me. I wonder now what will become of her?’
Kate listened with increasing admiration as Mrs Abernathy fretted about the congregation she had left behind. What extraordinary strength of character the woman must have to have forgiven the people who had killed her only child, and to be working here alone while her husband remained with his flock to face the venom of the invading Japanese. If she can do this, then I can too, she thought.
The little boy’s fever broke near dawn and his father looked on hopefully as Kate and Mrs Abernathy sponged his small limbs and helped him to drink from the jug of tea beside the bed.
‘He’s not out of the woods yet,’ said Mrs Abernathy, speaking softly to the boy’s father. ‘But he’s better. I promise you we’ll do all we can. He’s lucky to have you by his side.’
Impulsively the man took her hands and they stood together, heads bowed, as if they were praying. Kate slipped away, realising that her shift should have ended an hour before.
It was beginning to grow light outside and the rain had stopped. Kate stood in the grass outside the hospital, breathing in the cool air and listening to the first birdsong. She walked slowly around the edge of the village. Mist was rising from the grass and everything seemed imbued with its own special light.
Somewhere high overhead an engine droned; automatically she looked up. She could not see a plane, but far above two parachutes were descending, silhouetted against the pale blue sky, like angels coming to earth. She watched them get lower and lower until they were swallowed by the trees.
36
Worcestershire, August 1935
‘Why don’t you go to the pictures?’ asked her father, watching her folding clothes. ‘Go with Mabel or someone, why don’t you?’
‘I’m quite happy here,’ said Kate. She opened the sock drawer and flung a few strays in.
‘It’s not healthy for you, Kate,’ he said. ‘You’re a good girl but you ought to go out sometimes. I hate to think of you locked in here with me – just because I’m stuck at home doesn’t mean you have to be.’
‘I’m fine, Dad,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I know I can go out if I want to.’
‘Such a waste,’ he said, lying back heavily.
‘What is?’
‘All of this. You. Me. Your mother.’
Kate went and sat on the foot of the bed. ‘Don’t say that. It’s hard, but it’s not a waste. We’re all right, aren’t we?’
‘It’s getting worse,’ said her father quietly. ‘But it won’t go on forever. You’ll have your freedom one day.’
‘Don’t!’ said Kate, standing up. She felt suddenly angry and it was all that she could do not to shake her father. ‘I won’t have you saying things like that! It’s not fair!’
He closed his eyes. She saw a tear trickle down his cheek and felt a rush of love and despair and fury at the unjustness of it all. His skin was mottled, his hair nearly white, his arms lying thin across the bedclothes. She would not let him go, not yet.
37
Shinbwiyang, August 1942
The men who had arrived by parachute were doctors, sent by the Indian government. They brought huge bags of medical supplies and suddenly the situation in the camp hospital seemed a little less dire.
‘I don’t envy them,’ said Mrs Abernathy. ‘It’s a huge task they’ve got.’
‘Two aren’t enough,’ said Kate, gesturing hopelessly at the ward and at the camp beyond, where hundreds lived in cramped, diseased conditions.
‘It’s better than none, my dear. Let’s be grateful that God has sent them to us.’
Kate knew that planes couldn’t land in the jungle, but it did not stop her from illogically wishing that the government had also sent transport to get everyone to India.
One afternoon as she trudged towards the dormitory, her feet and back aching, Mi Khin ran out, clutching something. ‘Look!’
‘What is it, Mi Khin?
‘A train!’ She opened her small hands to show a toy steam engine, carved carefully from a block of wood.
‘How lovely, where did you get it?’
‘Fred made it! I will show my friends!’
She dashed away, cradling the train, and Kate looked up to see Fred emerging from the doorway, smiling tiredly.
‘Should keep her busy for a bit.’
‘It’s a very kind thing to do.’
‘I loved trains when I was that age. I kept meaning to carve one for little Satish, on the journey here.’ He looked after Mi Khin, his expression melancholy.
‘You’re fond of her, aren’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘We’re all she’s got now.’
‘I’ll do everything I can.’
Fred nodded. ‘At some point soon we’ll have to think about leaving. The weather’s improving every day and those doctors are here now. People are starting to slip off into the hills.’
‘I’ve almost forgotten we’re still on the way somewhere.’
‘Yes. I see you, sometimes, on your rounds – as if you’re in a dream.’
‘It’s the only way I know to survive.’
‘We all do what we must.’ He hesitated, as though there was something else he wanted to say, but then he looked at the fading sky. ‘I’d better get on.’
She watched him hurry away and felt the usual flutter in her stomach. They had been through so much together, but she still knew very little about him. He’s a good friend, she said to herself, but what she had with Edwin was friendship; this felt different. She shook her head. It would not do to get attached. That way lay only heartache.
*
Late one night, Kate sat reading by candlelight in the hospital ward. Most of the people who slumbered around her had malaria, and sometimes she heard a cry or a murmur. She dabbed their foreheads, brought water, and when all was quiet again returned to her seat to see out the long night. Things were better than they had been for weeks, but always there was more sickness, more sorrow.
The door creaked open and she saw Myia peer around it.
‘Hello. Are you all right?’
Myia came in and sat down on the floor. She was pale, and for once her glossy hair was dishevelled. It had been weeks since they had spoken properly and Kate felt guilty that she had been too busy to check on her friend.
‘Myia?’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said, almost whispering.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I have had news of Denpo.’
Kate stared at her. ‘News? Here?’
‘He and his friends are now in Rangoon. They have been fighting alongside the Japanese. Denpo is leading a company of soldiers.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I’ve been helping to register people when they arrive. I ask them for any news they have and note it down. Usually they have nothing. Today a man arrived who had been working as a driver for the army in Rangoon and other places.
It was he who told me about Denpo.’ She looked up. ‘There’s something else. Do you remember in Bhamo, I thought I had seen someone I recognised near the dock? I thought I saw Denpo. Well, apparently he was in Bhamo at that time – they were trying to set up an army training school.’
‘So it was him?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘What would you have done? If you had known?’
‘I don’t know.’
Kate rubbed her eyes and folded down the page of her book. ‘Why is this man – the driver – here now?’
‘He became afraid for his family and decided it was not safe. He was going to China but somehow has ended up here.’ Myia twisted her hair. ‘It feels like – what is it you say? Destiny?’
‘It’s a coincidence, surely,’ said Kate, although she felt on edge. ‘It can’t be anything more.’
Myia stared down the ward and then looked up at Kate. ‘I feel so confused.’
‘Has anything really changed?’
‘Perhaps not. I just thought that . . . I might change his mind. I am the only one he really cares about. I could stop him before he betrays his country.’
Kate shook her head, feeling impatient. ‘Isn’t it a bit late for that? He’s already betrayed Burma, and you, by allying with the Japanese. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘Kate, you know so little about Burma. You do not understand us, not really. This is not a simple matter of good and bad. Denpo thinks he is doing the right thing for Burma.’
They were both silent. The candle flickered and the quiet ward was a sea of darkness around them. A child whimpered somewhere nearby.
‘I must check on her,’ said Kate, getting up. She put the book down on her chair and looked at Myia. ‘Perhaps when we get to India you can write to Denpo. Please don’t do anything rash. What can you do from here?’
‘Nothing,’ said Myia.
‘How can you possibly change his mind? You’ll end up being used, just as he is. Don’t let love blind you, Myia – think about what’s right.’ She felt like a hypocrite at once. Who was she to say what was right?
Myia stood up and brushed down her skirt before going to the door. She turned back to Kate, looking angry for the first time in the months that they had known one another. ‘What do you know about love?’
Nothing, thought Kate later, as she sat staring at the candle flame. I have loved until my heart cracked from side to side, and still I know nothing at all.
*
The next afternoon Kate found a note folded on her pillow.
My dear Kate,
I’m so sorry that I have to leave. I have spent months mourning the fate that has befallen my country and I can no longer run away. You said that this was more about Denpo and perhaps you are right. I have never loved anyone the way I love him. All I know is that I cannot go to India. The journey we have made together is one of the hardest things I have ever done. We have endured too much already. But I will never forgive myself if I turn my back on him and on Burma now.
You are much stronger than you think. Go away to India, to safety, and try to forget the terrible things you have seen. One day when the war is over I hope that we can see each other again.
Your friend,
Myia
Kate ran out into the half-light and found herself at the edge of the jungle. Myia was nowhere to be seen; she was probably long gone. She has made her choice, thought Kate, but listening to the dripping of the trees, and the distant shouts of children playing, she felt more alone than ever.
She walked in a daze through the camp and saw Nabanita and Shreya leaving the hut where rations were distributed.
‘It’s not enough,’ Nabanita said, frowning at the bag of supplies. ‘How are we supposed to live on this?’
‘Hello, Kate,’ said Shreya. Her mother looked up and her mouth hardened at once as she reached for Shreya’s hand.
‘How are you?’ Kate asked, looking tentatively between them.
‘We are coping,’ said Nabanita, although she looked exhausted. She wore a tattered second-hand dress. Kate remembered the gold sandals and embroidered sari she had worn when they first met. ‘Despite the meagre rations.’
‘Is that just for this week?’ said Kate, looking at the bag she was holding. It held a few pounds of rice and a small selection of dried food packets.
‘No. For a fortnight.’
‘That doesn’t seem right – I’m sure the standard ration is more than that.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ said Nabanita. ‘Haven’t you noticed that they have different rations for Indians and Europeans? It’s the same old story – one rule for whites and one for everyone else.’ She sounded weary but spoke without malice.
Kate flushed. She hadn’t noticed.
‘We’ll survive,’ said Nabanita. ‘Come, Shreya – we’ve got to go.’
‘Apparently conditions in the hills have improved,’ said Kate quickly. ‘Fred is making plans for us to leave.’
‘He’s mad,’ said Nabanita. ‘I’m not going to risk Shreya’s life. She’s all I have left.’
‘I’d be all right,’ said Shreya, looking up at her mother, but Nabanita shook her head fiercely.
‘No. The army will rescue us. It’s just a matter of waiting.’
‘It could be a long time,’ said Kate.
‘Then we’ll wait for a long time,’ said Nabanita, tight-lipped.
‘Is Christopher going with you?’ asked Shreya.
Kate nodded.
‘Will you all go back to England?’
‘I don’t know. If you change your mind . . .’ said Kate, and she hesitated. ‘We’re leaving in three days,’ she went on at last. ‘I think we have to try.’
‘We’re staying,’ said Nabanita firmly.
‘I understand,’ said Kate. ‘I’m sorry. For everything.’
They stared at one another for a moment. ‘I wish you good luck,’ said Nabanita at last and turned away.
38
Shinbwiyang, September 1942
They left Shinbwiyang on a grey day in early September. ‘We won’t go too far today,’ said Fred, looking around at Mi Khin, who marched steadily behind him. ‘Just as far as the first relief camp. Your little legs will get tired.’
‘I can walk a long way,’ said Mi Khin indignantly. ‘Ah May and Papa walk with me for long distance. Papa says I am strong!’
‘You are strong,’ said Christopher. ‘I suppose you don’t want a piggyback, then?’
‘What’s a piggyback?’
‘It’s when I give you a ride on my back,’ he said, taking off his knapsack and squatting down. ‘Want to try it?’
Mi Khin scrambled onto his back and Kate laughed to see her triumphantly riding along, nudging him with her heels.
‘Christopher is my horse now!’
At dusk they arrived at a rudimentary camp that had been built on a steep slope and were welcomed by a hearty British soldier who was cooking sausages and fried potatoes over a roaring fire. Other travellers sat nearby.
They were given large cups of sweet, scalding tea and Kate sat cradling hers, feeling her stomach rumble as they waited for the food to cook. The scent of sausages on the air was unbearably familiar and she smiled to see a moth-eaten Union Flag draped over a branch, like a souvenir of a lost civilisation.
‘Keep still,’ said Fred, kneeling down beside her.
‘What? Oh.’
He had a lit cigarette in his hand and used it to prod the leeches that had collected on her legs one by one. They fell off immediately, black and swollen, and she looked down at them with mild interest.
‘I’d forgotten all about leeches.’
‘The fellows here have cigarettes but no spare salt. They’ve given me a tin to take with us – best leech treatment available. Plus I’m out of pipe tobacco.’
One of the leech bites was bleeding and Fred pressed his handkerchief to it gently, frowning slightly. ‘Better wash that carefully and keep it covered so it do
esn’t get infected.’
‘Thanks for taking care of me.’
He looked up and caught her eye, his hand warm on her ankle.
At last dinner was served. Mi Khin prodded uncertainly at the food at first, but soon she was shovelling it down. She and Christopher sat side by side on a log, joking as they ate, both clearly pleased to be on the way somewhere at last.
Kate wondered where Myia was and thought suddenly of Edwin for the first time in weeks. I may never see either of them again, she thought. She looked around at the little group and prayed that she could keep them all safe.
Fred, at Christopher’s urging, began to tell them stories of his years in the army as a young man. He had fought at the Somme, and then later in Mesopotamia, where the Ottomans rode elephants across the desert and he himself had fought on camel-back.
‘The Turks had occupied Baghdad for months and had grown cocky. Their armies were overstretched elsewhere and they thought they could hold the city without many troops. But they underestimated the Arabs. They’d twigged, by this point, that we were their best hope, so they were on our side.’
‘Did you ever go in disguise as an Arab?’ asked Christopher breathlessly. ‘The fellows in my books always do.’
‘Oh yes, several times. I wore robes and a great big turban – you wouldn’t have recognised me.’
‘And you got away with it?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Fred with a half smile. ‘Eventually I was stabbed in the bazaar during the Battle of Baghdad.’
‘What happened?’ asked Christopher, looking deeply impressed.
‘I picked myself up and went on fighting, of course.’
‘That’s terribly brave.’
‘Not really,’ said Fred. ‘Stupid, more like. I lost so much blood I collapsed and had to be invalided home not long after. Weeks on a dreadful ship, dodging submarines all the way across the Med, and then months in hospital back home. Then I was sent back to the front until the war ended.’
‘What did you do after that?’ asked Kate, although she suspected that the road that had brought him to the East had not been a happy one.
The Long Journey Home Page 17