by Emma Fraser
She came to in a hut, although hut was too grand a word for it, cupboard would have been closer to the truth. There was only just enough room for her to sit if she drew her knees up to her chest. Her cheek throbbed where the guard had hit her and feeling her back tooth with her tongue she felt certain it was loose.
What had happened to Edith? Was she having to service the Japanese soldiers? Would they kill her when they were finished with her? Georgina had promised to keep her sister alive. Had she failed her once more? Would she ever see her again?
The sun beat down relentlessly through the gaps in the wooden slats, the walls of her small prison trapping the heat and making it almost impossible to breathe. For a moment she almost panicked. Did the commandant intend to leave her here to die either from the heat or from lack of water? She wouldn’t put a slow, tortuous death past him. But screaming and crying wouldn’t help. She had to conserve her energy. Had to believe that when he was satisfied he’d punished her enough he would release her. Had to believe Edith was still alive.
Every morning she was hauled out of her prison. Her legs, cramped from hours in the same position, refused to hold her weight, and she was dragged across the dust to a wooden post where her hands were tied behind her back and she was left without water in the full glare of the midday sun. She squinted through swollen eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of Edith but to no avail. If her sister had returned, Georgina knew she would have made sure Georgina was aware of it.
At dusk she was untied and dragged back to her prison where she would force herself to take small sips from the bowl of dirty, warm water that had been left for her along with a bowl of rank rice. In the darkness she couldn’t distinguish the weevils from the rice and she ate them too, telling herself that they were protein and eating them might possibly save her life. She lost count of the days and the nights. When she was tied to her stake during the day, the women would pass by talking loudly, wondering aloud about Edith’s whereabouts.
The thought that she might have lost Edith forever tormented her. They had been through so much. It was the worst thirty days of captivity so far. She almost gave up, but kept telling herself that she had to survive, had to hold on in case Edith returned.
One morning she was dragged out of her prison and instead of being tied to the stake, was left lying on the ground. The other women rushed to her, gathered her up and carried her into the sickbay. By the time she recovered, two weeks later, there was still no sign of Edith.
Two months limped by and Georgina was working, hacking earth to make a garden, when the gates swung open. She almost didn’t recognise Edith at first. Thin to the point of emaciation when she’d last seen her, now she and Linda looked like two walking skeletons. But it was the look on their faces that terrified Georgina. No emotion, no relief or pleasure at seeing everyone again – nothing but blankness.
Georgina threw down her hoe and ran towards them, stopping only to make the loathed bow to the two guards accompanying the women. Close on her heels were the Australian nurses and the camp doctor. Between them they half-carried the two women into the sickbay and laid them on the pallets, the rest of the women crowding behind them.
Accepting a bowl of water one of the women brought, Georgina bathed Edith’s brow, murmuring to her that she was safe now. Her sister stared up at her with her vacant eyes and said nothing.
It took a few days for the full story to emerge. Edith still wouldn’t speak and it was left to Linda to relate what had happened in short, faltering sentences. They’d been working as normal when one day, without warning, the doctor and his wife had been arrested. Shortly after, the Kempeitai – the Japanese secret police – came for Edith and Linda as well as the civilian nurses and took them to prison. They never saw the doctor or his wife, or the other nurses again.
Edith and Linda were locked in a windowless cell, so tiny they could barely take two paces before they had to turn around again. There was no toilet, only a bucket, and no way of washing themselves. In cells on either side were Malayan criminals without whose kindness, risking their lives to pass the women the odd bowl of rice and piece of fruit, they probably wouldn’t have survived.
No one would tell them why they were there. They lived in fear of being executed every day and often had to listen to the sound of other prisoners being tortured, not knowing if they’d be next. At first they were only allowed outside for five minutes every day, but over time that increased to an hour twice a day. Then just as suddenly as they’d been arrested, they were released. When the guards had come for them the two women had been certain they were to be executed, but instead they were thrown inside a truck and driven back to camp.
As soon as Edith was back on her feet she returned to her nursing duties, but she was more an automaton than a person. She jumped if anyone spoke too loud, flinched if someone made a sudden movement. She was particularly frightened of the guards. When Georgina wasn’t working, she would go and sit next to Edith, to try and draw her out of herself by talking about the lives they had left behind, how one day they’d be home again and all this would seem like a nightmare. But Edith would shake her head and stare blankly in front of her. She had retreated inside herself, seemed to have lost the will to live and it terrified Georgina. She’d seen it happen too many times in the years they’d been in captivity. Women would lie down and turn their faces to the wall, and just give up, refusing food when it was offered. Sooner or later, they died. It couldn’t happen to Edith. Not when they had made it this far. Georgina wouldn’t let it happen. She had to keep her sister alive.
Inevitably Georgina caught malaria too. Her head had been pounding since the night before and all of a sudden she was overcome by a fit of shivers. Edith was released from her nursing duties and stayed by her side night and day. Georgina was conscious of waking and Edith being there, although occasionally it was Harriet – or their mother – sometimes even Findlay. At times she believed she was back in Paris or in her chummery in Singapore or in the cool comfort of Greyfriars.
Georgina was only just back on her feet and working in the gardens, hacking at the dry rock-hard earth with the other women, when one of the nurses came to tell her that Edith was unwell.
‘She was all right yesterday,’ Georgina said, as they hurried towards the sickbay hut. The commandant was watching so they had to stop and bow until he went back inside.
‘You know how quickly malaria can come on.’ Doris paused. ‘The doctor thinks she has beriberi too.’
‘No!’ Malaria was bad enough but to have it along with beriberi was serious. Several women had already died from one or the other – what chance did Edith have with both – especially with how she was now?
‘If only we had some quinine left – and some vitamin B,’ Doris said.
‘She’s not going to die?’ When Doris didn’t respond, Georgina repeated, more firmly this time, ‘She’s not going to die. She can have my rations for the next few days. I’ll ask others to give up theirs too. They know how much the nurses are needed.’
‘Our rations have no vitamin B, Georgina. An extra couple of bowlfuls of rice won’t help. And you can’t ask the others to give up what little they have. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Then she can have all of mine. It will be better than nothing.’ But her mind was racing. She meant what she said. Edith was not going to die. And there was a way to get both quinine and vitamin B, although the thought of what she’d have to do to get it made her want to retch.
Arriving at the sickbay she found Edith on a pallet almost submerged beneath the blankets that had been piled on top of her. Her hair was sticking to her scalp and she was so thin her bones protruded through the worn cotton of her dress.
Malaria followed a pattern. First the victim would get shivers and feel unbearably cold. Then almost as suddenly her temperature would rise and she would need to be sponged to bring the fever down. Georgina knew how awful it felt to go from one extreme to the next and how much reality faded – the nightmares – the gh
astly feeling – the utter wretchedness. She dropped to her knees beside the pallet. ‘I’m here, Edith,’ she whispered. ‘You have to fight this, do you hear me?’
But it was clear Edith could hear nothing. Georgina squeezed her hand and went in search of the doctor. She found her bending over another patient who, judging by the smell enveloping her, had dysentery as well as malaria.
‘Could I have a word, Doctor?’ she asked.
The doctor straightened. Her blouse and skirt was as patched and as grubby as everyone else’s clothes, but while they wore the minimum in the heat, she refused to rip off her sleeves or do anything to make herself cooler. Georgina knew that the doctor was hanging on to what little dignity she had left for the sake of the patients. ‘You’ve been told about Edith.’
‘You must have some quinine squirrelled away for emergencies,’ Georgina said desperately.
‘If I had, don’t you think I would have used it for one of my nurses? I haven’t had any for months.’
‘Then we need to get some.’
‘And how do you propose we do that? Ask the commandant? We’ve tried. As everyone knows.’
‘If I managed to get some for her, can you save her?’
The doctor gave her a long, slow look. ‘There’s none to be found on the black market either, if you’re thinking of going under the fence.’
The thought had crossed her mind. Dangerous though it was, it was still preferable to the alternative.
‘Are you sure?’
‘My dear, I couldn’t be more certain of anything.’
‘Perhaps someone has something they’ve been keeping back?’
‘You can ask. But I doubt it. The only women who might – and I’m only saying might – have something are those who have taken up with the Japs.’ The doctor’s mouth twisted in a moue of distaste. ‘But we’ve asked them before to get us medicine and they’ve never come through. God help their wickedness.’
The women in the camp were divided on many things, but collaboration with the Japs was one thing they agreed on; decent women simply didn’t do it. Not for anything. Georgina had been just as disgusted as everyone else when some had taken up with the guards but that had been when she still had the luxury of having Edith in reasonable health. She knew what she was considering – if it worked – would mean her certain alienation from the others in the camp – possibly even Edith.
There was no time to waste. Every minute could mean the difference between life and death for Edith. She left the doctor and returned to Edith’s side. ‘Hold on, dearest,’ she begged. ‘Hold on.’
Chapter Forty-One
Charlotte
1984
Georgina faltered to a stop. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and the intermittent whines from Tiger as she lay on the rug chasing rabbits in her sleep.
Georgina’s eyes looked haunted and I suspected she was gathering her courage to tell me about whatever came next. I left my chair and went to sit next to her on the sofa, taking one of her hands in mine. Hers was deathly cold. I rubbed it, trying to bring back some warmth.
‘Perhaps you should stop for a while,’ I suggested gently. ‘Remembering all you and Edith went through must be very difficult.’
Georgina clasped my hand as if trying to anchor herself. ‘No. I need to go on before I lose my courage completely. The next part is important for you to understand…’ She fixed her eyes on the carpet in front of the fireplace.
When she looked up her eyes were drenched. ‘I had to save Edith. Whatever it took I had to save her.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Georgina
1944
She wouldn’t think too much about it, she decided. She went to the kitchen sink and washed herself as best she could with the muddy water, scrubbing at the dirt under her fingernails until her fingertips almost bled. If she was going to do this, she had to make the best job of it she could. She couldn’t risk him turning her away. She had one spare blouse that was reasonably clean although it had, like the skirt and dresses she’d acquired from the suitcases on the beach, been repeatedly patched. She couldn’t help a wry smile. She would never have imagined in a hundred years setting off and seducing a man dressed as she was, let alone a man she despised.
As a finishing touch to her toilette she used her finger to brush her teeth with charcoal, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to provide colour.
She walked over to the main hut and told the guard she wished to see the commandant. A few moments later the guard returned and shoved her in.
He was sitting at a table, writing. She bowed stiffly and waited for him to acknowledge her. He ignored her for a long while. His personal quarters were spartan and meticulous. Apart from a desk, on top of which there was a neat stack of papers, a picture of the emperor on the wall, and a small door leading off through which she could see a single bed, it was bare.
Eventually he looked up. ‘Prisoner Guthrie. What is it you wish to see me about?’
She ran her tongue over her dry and cracked lips. ‘You said I should come if ever I changed my mind.’ Now she was here she couldn’t bring herself to try and seduce him. He would see right through her anyway.
She saw the leap of desire fighting with contempt in his eyes. Almost immediately, the usual inscrutable mask snapped back down.
‘Why have you changed your mind?’
‘My sister is very sick. I need food and medicine for her.’
He came out from behind his desk and stood in front of her. He lifted a lock of her hair, laying a finger along her cheek. ‘Your hair. I have never seen anything like it. It is the colour of the sun on the Japanese flag.’
It took every ounce of willpower not to shrink from his touch. Everything about him revolted her. Even looking at him made her skin crawl. He could have saved the lives of many of the women who’d died had he chosen to do so. He had no humanity or compassion. He didn’t see her, or any of them, as a human being. Her mind flashed back to the villagers, the way he’d slaughtered them without mercy, the swish of his sword as he’d brought it down on the sailor’s neck. She forced the images away. If she dwelt on what he’d done she could never make herself go through with it.
He let her hair fall and shouted for the guard and, when he scurried in, barked something at him. Her heart thumped painfully. Was he going to throw her out? Put her into solitary again? Worse, had he changed his mind about wanting her?
To her relief the guard bowed and hurried away.
‘I am not so alone that I can have a woman who is not clean. The soldier will bring water and something for you to put on after you have bathed. Then we will eat.’
Even if it hadn’t been an additional humiliation to be made to bathe in front of him – time was of the essence. Every minute that passed brought Edith closer to death.
‘Before I bathe, may I have some quinine to take to my sister? I will return immediately.’
‘No. After. No more talk of medicine.’
The guard he had spoken to came back in carrying a tin tub which he laid on the floor before hurrying out again. A short while later he and another guard appeared with pails of water. They emptied them into the tub, bowed to their superior officer and retreated.
The commandant sat back down, stiff-backed and impassive. She remained where she was, refusing to bow her head.
‘Take off your clothes.’
She unbuttoned her blouse, trying to hide the fact her fingers were trembling. Shut out everything, she told herself. Imagine, instead, that she was back in Singapore preparing herself for an evening out at Raffles hotel. Tsing Tsing had run her bath and Georgina was about to loll in it before slipping on her evening dress. The heat was the same – even if there was no swirling overhead fan.
She slipped her blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and stepped out of her skirt. Her brassiere and slip were tattered from a thousand washes yet still stained with sweat. They joined the rest of her clothes in a heap o
n the floor.
Almost naked now and aware of the greedy eyes sweeping her body, she thought of Edith lying on the bed, sweating and crying out with fever. She thought of that day down by the shore, the feel of Findlay’s hands on her shoulders, the dark hairs on his arms, his broad chest, the hard muscles of his biceps, the intensity of his gaze – the green flecks in his eyes. No, no, no, she would not think of Findlay in the same room as this man. Instead she thought of the bleakness in her sister’s eyes, of the promise she had made to protect her. She stepped out of her panties and into the tub.
A bar of soap had been set to the side and with her knees drawn up to her chest she began to wash herself. Despite her horror a small part of her revelled in the water, exulted as the grime was soaped away. Remembering again the disinterested look on his face, the sickening sound of his sword as he’d decapitated the sailor, the implacable look on his face as his soldiers had murdered the villagers, bile rushed to her throat. She closed her eyes in an attempt to make the images go away.