As he was leaving the room a little later, the Reverend Mother called him back. She waited until the other nuns had filed out and then pushed the door shut.
‘Mr Clear, I have a suggestion that I would like to share with you. An alternative to your plan to walk to India, which is reckless in the extreme.’
‘An alternative?’
‘There is a steamer captain who works out of Moulmein harbour. He is a Burman, certainly not a Christian, but a godly man nonetheless. He used to do the journey along the coast from Moulmein to Chittagong via Rangoon for the British, and since the Japanese invaded he has had no choice but to work for them, taking troops to Rangoon and the Arakan. He has several times intimated to me that he could take us – my sisters and I, and the children – to safety in India.’
‘Why did you say no?’ said Edwin, his heart beating fast.
‘For my part, it is as I said earlier; this is my home and I will not leave it. Although it is a dangerous journey, I considered sending the children if they were in peril, but my heart tells me that they are better off here, waiting out the storm. You, however, are in real danger.’
Edwin looked at her. ‘Do you think he would take us?’
‘I believe so, if the request came from me. I will speak to him tomorrow.’
*
Edwin climbed the stairs to the first floor, which lay in darkness, and pushed open the door of the room where Rama lay. A cool breeze came through the window and, in a pool of candlelight, Sister Margaret sat in an armchair, reading a book. She looked up.
‘I will stay with him tonight,’ said Edwin.
‘Are you sure? You need to sleep too.’
‘I can sleep here,’ he said, and pointed at the twin bed. ‘Please. You’ve done enough.’
‘Very well. There’s a jug of water on the nightstand and clean cloths and towels over there. I’ve been sponging his face now and then; it seems to help a bit.’ She went to the door. ‘Do call if you need anything. I will pray for him.’
‘Thank you.’
The door closed and he looked down at Rama, whose eyes fluttered open.
‘You’re here.’
‘Yes,’ said Edwin, grasping his hand. ‘We’re safe.’ He kissed Rama’s forehead and thought it felt cooler.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Strange. A little better, perhaps. Who are these ladies? They washed me and gave me clean pyjamas.’ His voice was soft.
‘Nuns,’ said Edwin. ‘They are very kind.’
‘Are we staying here?’
‘I don’t know.’
He thought of the Reverend Mother’s idea and was filled with conflict. If they took the boat they could be in India in a week or two. And what then? What kind of future awaited? Not for the first time he wished that time would stop, that this journey, these precious days, would go on forever.
‘There might be a way,’ he said quietly. ‘A way to safety in India.’
Rama looked up at him. ‘Another way to India?’ His mouth was dry and Edwin reached for the glass of water on the cabinet and passed it to him. He sat up a little and sipped it.
‘There’s a boat.’
‘You don’t sound keen,’ said Rama, lying back on the pillow and observing him with a smile. ‘Oh, Edwin, don’t you want to get to safety?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘It won’t be the end,’ said Rama, reaching out and taking his hand. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but it won’t be the end.’
An hour later the Reverend Mother poked her head into the room to check on Rama and saw Edwin curled up on the floor beside his bed, still fully dressed and fast asleep. She closed the door quietly and went on her way. She had seen far stranger things.
65
Moulmein, December 1942
Two days passed in a haze of sunlight. The laughter of children rang through the house and good food was served three times a day. Edwin assisted the nuns in the garden, put up shelves for them, and helped the children with their schoolwork.
Upstairs Rama dozed, his fever receding, ministered to by the conscientious nuns. When he was well enough to sit up he peered out of the window and smiled to see Edwin deeply absorbed in a game of grandmother’s footsteps with the younger children.
‘He’s good with them,’ said Sister Madeleine, placing a tray on the table beside the bed. ‘They do appreciate a change of company. It’s been hard having them shut up like this.’
‘It’s good for him, too,’ said Rama. ‘I have never seen him so light-hearted.’
He sat back against the pillows and looked with interest at the tea and cake she had brought.
‘What about you?’ asked the nun. ‘You look better.’
‘I am much better. You have done so much for two perfect strangers.’
‘Oh, you’re not strangers,’ said Sister Madeleine, now gathering up damp cloths from a basin by the bed. ‘You are God’s children as we are and that makes you our brothers.’
‘I admire your faith.’
‘It was never a choice.’
‘Becoming a nun?’
She nodded. ‘I knew from the age of ten, growing up in Marseilles, that I would give my life to God. I had a friend who knew she would marry a rich man, and she did. The convictions we have when very young are often correct.’
‘Do you miss your family?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I have not heard from them for several years. When the war ends I hope I will have news and until then I must pray.’ She hesitated. ‘What about your family?’
‘They are in a little town in the Punjab. I had a row with my father several years ago and have not seen him since. Unless he is dead I doubt I will go home, even if I get to India.’
‘Wouldn’t your mother like to see you?’
‘Yes, I suppose she would.’
‘Perhaps you ought to go anyway, for the sake of your mother. You should not punish her for your father’s transgressions.’ She flushed slightly. ‘It’s not my place, of course.’
‘Sister Madeleine, your advice is very wise,’ said Rama, smiling a little. He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know what I can do about my father, though. He makes me so angry.’
‘Forgive him,’ said the nun, opening the door. She looked back. ‘It’s one of the most powerful things you can do. Then go home and be kind to your mother.’
*
Before dawn on the third morning Edwin was called down to the parlour, where the Reverend Mother stood looking agitated.
‘You must leave immediately.’
‘What has happened?’ said Edwin.
‘I have received a warning from a friend in town that the Japanese know we are harbouring Englishmen. Someone must have tipped them off and they will come here today, I’m sure of it.’
‘We’ve put you in danger,’ said Edwin, feeling the onset of panic. ‘Forgive me.’
‘There is nothing to forgive. But you must leave. I have sent a message to the captain. His name is Aung Pataya and he will be waiting for you at the far end of the docks, on a boat called Golden Lotus. He is due to leave for the Arakan today, from whence he is willing to continue up the coast to Chittagong. He will take you as far as he can.’
Upstairs, Edwin found Rama packing their meagre belongings into the sack.
‘Must we leave?’
‘Yes. We’re in danger.’
Rama crossed the room and held him tightly, his strong arms reassuring. Edwin breathed in the scent of his neck and looked up at him.
‘I’m a little afraid,’ he admitted.
‘Be brave. I am with you.’
‘But you’re not well.’
‘I’m much better. I’ll be fine.’
They went downstairs. The Reverend Mother stood by the open front door with a small wicker basket. ‘Take this – food for the journey. And there are some rupees to give to the captain, to sweeten the agreement.’
‘I will not forget your kindness, Reverend Mother,’ said
Rama, pressing his hand to his chest.
‘Neither will I,’ said Edwin. ‘I wish you well in all that is to come.’
The old nun watched them walk briskly down the winding driveway. As they reached the edge of the paddy fields Edwin looked back and saw her raise a pale hand. Then the door of the convent closed and once again they were on the move, pushing along the overgrown paths between fields.
Soon the town of Moulmein was spread out before them, just visible in the first seeping light of dawn. In the centre the tops of pagodas were visible, as well as the slender spire of an Anglican church.
Before long they were on the outskirts of the town, padding along narrow, darkened streets. Few people were around this early, although occasionally they saw a boy on a bicycle, or a delivery driver with a cart in the distance. The ground began to slope gently away and soon they rounded a corner to see the black, shifting spread of the sea before them.
‘The Gulf of Martaban,’ said Edwin.
‘It’s a long way to India.’
‘How long will it take, do you think?’
Rama shrugged. ‘A week? Perhaps longer? It must be hundreds of miles to Chittagong.’
As they went downhill they could see the docks, with dozens of boats rising and falling quietly in the half-dark. In the distance they could see a few men unloading fishing boats and went quickly on towards the main jetty.
Rama kept a close lookout, twisting this way and that, as they proceeded along the jetty and Edwin checked the name of each boat. These were mostly sailboats and motorboats, much too small for the journey they hoped to make.
It was not until they were almost at the end that he saw in the dim light the words Golden Lotus, with a hand-painted lotus beside the name in Burmese. She was a compact steamship with two narrow funnels, her black mass rising and falling gently on the tide. The deck was piled high with cargo, covered by oilcloths tightly bound with rope.
‘This is it.’
They waited beside the boat as the sky grew lighter. Edwin began to feel anxious again and wondered what they would do if the captain never arrived.
Finally a figure appeared from the shadows, a small, slim man dressed in the usual Burmese style, his longyi neatly knotted. He was near to middle age, his head shaved like a monk’s.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘Forgive my delay.’ He looked around, ill at ease. ‘I worry I am being watched.’
‘I see no one,’ said Rama, peering back along the jetty. ‘But we should get away without delay.’
‘Thank you,’ said Edwin. ‘We are grateful for your help.’
Aung Pataya nodded. ‘I have much respect for the nuns. They help me many times over the years.’ He gazed back at the town, now silhouetted in the half-light. ‘These are evil times and all of us must do what we can.’
He bowed again and turned back to the Golden Lotus, which was rising and falling gently beside them. The captain leapt nimbly onto the ship and grabbed hold of a rope to steady himself. He fished out a narrow plank and flung it out towards the jetty.
‘You first,’ said Rama.
Edwin stepped tentatively onto the plank, reaching out for the rope that swung nearby. His foot slipped, leaving him dangling, and at that moment he heard the barking of a dog behind him, followed by shouts. He peered back to see men with lamps held high running down the pier towards them, only a hundred yards or so away.
‘Quickly!’ shouted Rama, pointing at the ship. ‘Get on.’
‘Not without you!’ But Rama was already hunched low in a fighting stance, his breathing hard and his face beaded with sweat. He looked back at Edwin, who stood uncertainly on the gangplank, and jerked his head again.
‘Edwin, go!’
Edwin leapt for the ship, feeling the plank slip sideways, but in the darkness behind him a dreadful crack rang out and he looked back to see Rama sprawled on the ground.
Aung Pataya looked out from the upper deck and saw Edwin swinging back onto the jetty; he shouted something down, but it was lost. He followed, leaping over the edge and landing like a cat with his knees bent.
‘Get aboard!’ he said. ‘I must take you to safety.’ He clutched Edwin’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip.
‘Not without him.’
Rama had been shot in the leg and was bleeding heavily onto the wooden planks of the pier. Edwin could see uniformed men approaching along the narrow causeway while Aung Pataya untied the painter from around a thick bollard.
‘Take him!’ Edwin shouted to the captain, who began to drag Rama towards the ship. ‘I’ll delay them.’
He took a few deep breaths and stood squarely with his feet apart, expecting another shot to ring out at any moment. The first Japanese soldier was just yards away and lashed out at him, and Edwin, who had never fought in his life, found himself ducking and flinging punches. He caught one of them full in the face and the man reeled away, clutching his bloody nose and looking angry. But it couldn’t last for long, he was surrounded, and soon he found himself being dragged along the jetty, away from the ship, away from Rama.
‘Stop struggling, Mr Clear,’ said a voice, and he realised it was one of the interpreters from Tavoy, but he did not stop until they hit him hard in the face and he sagged, the adrenaline suddenly giving out.
Rama dragged himself into a sitting position and saw Edwin, in the distance, standing before three Japanese soldiers. Rama’s leg was badly injured and he felt that he might pass out at any moment, but he held himself grimly upright. He could feel blood seeping onto the dock and knew that he would not be able to walk. Aung Pataya was behind him, trying to get him up and onto the boat.
Someone shouted and in a moment two more soldiers were marching down the pier, their guns trained on Rama. He felt rather than heard the captain behind him leaping for the boat, but one of the soldiers fired immediately and there was a splash as Aung Pataya hit the water. Golden Lotus, unmoored, began to drift away from the jetty.
‘You are a fool, Mr Clear,’ said the interpreter somewhere above Edwin. He could barely see; his glasses were gone and his eyes were full of blood. ‘Trying to defend your friend. He’s going to die, you know. He brought you here. He is – what do you say? Troublemaker.’
‘No,’ said Edwin, his breathing short and ragged. He had been kicked hard in the stomach and wondered if something had ruptured. Everything was painful.
‘He’s an Indian,’ said Edwin, trying to sound disdainful. ‘Do you really think an Englishman would take orders from an Indian? I needed a servant, so I brought him along, although he was reluctant. He wouldn’t have the intelligence to plan something like this.’
‘You English,’ said the interpreter, sounding resigned. ‘Such arrogance.’ He shook his head and spat on the ground. ‘You deserve everything that comes to you, you and the rest of your people.’
Edwin felt a surge of euphoria and knew that his lie had worked. He could feel the blood pulsing through his body and, knowing that the end was drawing near, he had never felt more alive. Will it be worth it? Have I done enough this time? And then, the astonishing thought: so this is love.
Rama, watching from a distance, saw the men talking as Edwin stood before them. Then suddenly Edwin was pushed down to a kneeling position. There was a little more discussion, and then a shot reverberated in the dawn, and Rama saw a figure sprawled on the dock.
66
Calcutta, December 1945
The sun was going down. A sweeper made his way through the park, dragging a hessian sack. He paused to pick up a banana skin and saw a couple sitting on a bench. The white woman was sitting very still, bolt upright, while the man beside her sat forward, his head in his hands. Unsurprised, the sweeper moved on. He had seen more illicit assignations and subsequent heartbreaks than he could count.
‘Forgive me,’ said Rama at last.
Kate shook her head, unable to speak. He looked despairing and impulsively she took his hand, pressing it for a moment. He turned to look at her
.
‘Did you know he was dead?’
Kate dropped her hands into her lap and stared at the fountain. ‘Yes, in my heart,’ she said at last. ‘I knew that he had been taken prisoner and that many men don’t survive.’
She had opened the letter containing Rama’s brief request for a meeting and had known at once what it meant. But hearing it confirmed was quite another thing and she felt her chest tighten. She took short, fast breaths, trying to slow the pace of her thudding heart and quiet the sorrow that was roaring in her ears. They had been in the park for a long time.
The story that Rama had told her seemed quite incredible, but she had no reason to disbelieve him. That Edwin – shy, awkward Edwin – had escaped from a prison camp and had purposefully given his life to save someone else was startling; but she had seen his heart and knew that he was capable of it.
Rama had told her how he and Edwin had escaped, and how the Japanese had at last caught up with them, but there was a great deal that he had not said. He was protecting something precious and she had no wish to intrude upon his grief by asking. Perhaps he was afraid, even now, to be honest about who he really was. But it was clear to her, without the words being spoken, that he had loved Edwin fiercely, and that Edwin had loved him back. Questions that had hovered in her mind ever since she had first met Edwin now had their answers and it all seemed obvious. Of course he had loved this man. Of course he had died for him.
It was bittersweet that only after Edwin’s death was she able to understand something so fundamental about him. He had told her a great deal but had held back this last piece of the puzzle, and now she would never be able to speak to him again, to tell him she understood.
She thought of the Japanese soldiers who had been responsible and wrenched her mind back to Rama. He was all that was left of Edwin. ‘What did they do to you?’ she asked. ‘Afterwards.’
‘They tied me up and took me back to Tavoy. They were very angry.’
‘Did they torture you?’
He hesitated.
‘You don’t have to worry about distressing me,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen a great deal of misery.’
The Long Journey Home Page 30