by C S Gibbs
Chapter Seventeen - Felice Navidad
Palermo,
Buenos Aires,
Argentina
December 24th, 1942
Dear Katsuhiro,
Tomorrow, they are celebrating Christmas in Argentina, so I thought it would be lovely to send you my best wishes.
The trouble is, I do not know where in the world my wishes are going, because you have to keep your whereabouts private. Of course, I understand that, but it would make me feel better if I knew where you were. So, where ever you may be, I hope that you are safe and I send you my love and mother's too.
You probably do not want to hear about how good the food is, here, or how lovely a place it is, either! But please be assured that I am well and having a wonderful time. Work is fine. The children are very well behaved and the staff are friendly. Everyone here has made me feel welcome. I am still enjoying the friendship of that couple whom I mentioned in previous letters and they have helped me learn to ride a horse.
I have not heard from you in a long while, so I hope that you will find the time to write to mother or me, just to let us know that you are in good health. I know that the army will be keeping you busy and it is so very important to you that you do your best, that I understand that you have to put your duties first.
Well, that is all I have to write for today. I look forward to receiving a letter from you.
Your sister,
Setsu
It had only been an hour since she had finished writing to her brother, when Setsu made her way to the post office and sent her letter on its way to somewhere. Like a message in a bottle, it would somehow find its way to Katsuhiro and hopefully wake him from his militaristic trance and remind him that he had a family that cared for him.
On leaving the post office, she reached her rendezvous point with Vero outside Once Station.
Dressed to kill, once again, Vero was cutting a dash in a pencil skirt and a crisp, cream blouse. Her usually minimal accessory of a handbag (which contained her two essentials of travel: money and cigarettes) was today augmented by a large shopping bag, bulging with last minute impulse buys.
The two women exchanged pleasantries, bought their tickets, and took their places on the train bound for Mercedes.
“I have just sent a letter to my brother,” Setsu began, “I do care about him very much, even though we never agree on the war or what Japan is fighting for. I just hope that he is safe, wherever he has been sent.”
“So you don't know where he is – has he not told you?” Asked Vero, as she lit another cigarette.
“Of course not – that would be a security risk. Besides, he hasn't written to me since he left for training. What a fine brother he is! The truth is, we would argue so much at home, especially about the war. His head is so full of government lies and all he wants to do is go and kill the Americans and British. I don't know what to say to him, anymore, but I still worry about him.”
Vero laughed. “Ah, boys will be boys, won't they? They have all of that energy and don't know what to do with it. Then a war comes and they get so excited – you should have seen how many of our young men volunteered to go and fight – and we're not even at war with anyone!
“Then they get their chance to go away and march around in uniforms, running around and doing all of that school boy adventure stuff, before they go off and start shooting each other, and all you hear from them is how much they hate it and that they want to come home for a quiet life! I tell you, Setsu, there is no understanding men!”
The train rolled through Moreno and the two women looked out across the flat fields, which were emerald green in the summer sun.
“Look, Setsu, I'm sure that brother of yours will be fine – hasn't he always done well in everything?”
Setsu nodded.
“Well, then he'll take care of himself, won't he? Besides, you have a lovely young man to meet again, this evening. Hector is going to pick him up from work and drive him to Mercedes, so we have time to get the estancia ready for this evening – Sandra is getting lots of Christmas food ready for us. I am so pleased that you two are getting on so well.”
Setsu just smiled and did not wish to say any more. She knew that there was more than just a novelty to her growing relationship with Ben – it went beyond language and culture for her, because over the past few weeks, she had simply known that he was a good soul and that she wanted to be near him. Of course, she could have arranged to meet Ben in the city and travel to Mercedes with him, but Vero was too canny for that and made sure to arrange the train journey for Setsu and herself. Hector did not have that much business in the city, that day, but Vero made sure that he was on hand to fetch Ben. Despite Matron Vero's controlling hand, Setsu was sure of one thing: she was aching to see Ben again.
***
“Not long, now, before you get to see your lady, again, Ben?” Remarked Hector as he steered the Citroen out of Lujan on the final stretch homeward.
“You have not seen her since last weekend and I know that she and Vero will have got something prepared for us when we arrive. I hope you are hungry.”
Ben laughed off the remark, as they both knew that his appetite was seldom, if ever, found wanting. With two days off work for Christmas, there was the promise of a wonderful holiday, offering relaxation and sunshine in the most tranquil of surroundings. He compared this with the works' annual summer seaside trip, back in pre-war England, where at the crack of dawn the holiday special trains would choke the railway station and sidings whilst hundreds of employees swarmed on the platform, packing the carriages to bursting point, ready for a three-hour incarceration en route to such east coast exotica as Skegness or Yarmouth.
The day would be filled with beer, chips, sand castles, donkey rides, kiss-me-quick hats, penny arcades, music hall turns and toffee apples, before everyone would stagger back to the train station, tipsy and sunburned, for the journey home.
Things would certainly be different, this Christmas. And so it proved to be as the car pulled up before the estancia, where Vero and Setsu stepped out to greet their men.
Each of the women wore a flower in her hair – another of Vero's touches that set the tone for the evening – the deep red ceibo, which stood out beautifully against their jet black hair.
“Do you like the flowers?” Asked Vero, “I read in the papers that it has just been made the national flower of Argentina, so it seems right that we should wear them. Besides, we could not find a lotus for our Japanese girl, here!”
The four went inside for dinner.
Chapter Eighteen - A Passage of Time
Constitucion,
Buenos Aires
March 17th, 1943
Dear Setsu,
Hello again. I have only just returned from another weekend with you at the estancia, but I truly miss you already and cannot wait for the weekend to come, so I simply have to write to you.
Writing to you allows me to actually express some of the things that I cannot say to you when we are together with Vero and Hector.
One thing I want to say is that I feel so happy and free when I am with you. I am so glad that I can talk about anything with you and we never seem lost for anything to say.
To be honest, I have never been in a proper relationship with anyone. The fact that you are from Japan is not an issue for me – though I know that it would be if anyone in our native countries were to find out. Maybe one day they will see that we are not all supposed to be enemies? I just hope that this war ends soon and we can leave such things behind us.
The past four months have been so wonderful with you and I hope that, somehow, we will be together for much, much longer.
I cannot wait to see you again.
Love,
Ben
***
Retiro,
Buenos Aires
April 23rd, 1943
My Dear Ben,
I am writing during my lunch break, so I will have to be brief. I do so love your letters! They help to keep me close to you when we are away from each other.
I have heard from my mother and she is making enquiries for me to teach when I return to Japan. Please believe me that I do not wish to be parted from you, but when I read my mother's letters, I know that I she needs me to go home and help her.
All I want to do, right now, is enjoy every moment I have with you. Like you, I never really had a relationship with anyone in Japan. Yes, many people in our countries would say that you and I should not be allowed to feel the way we do about each other, but then who put those people in charge of our lives?
I do not care for the war makers but I care about what can happen to us. I promise that I will never stop believing in our love for each other. As long as we can keep in touch, we will keep our hopes alive.
The weekend is coming, soon, and I will see you then, my dear!
Lots of love,
Setsu
Chapter Nineteen - Knowing the Right People
“You are not looking yourself, Ben,” suggested Setsu, “It is not like you to be off your food.”
She was right. Normally, any plate put before her English beau was condemned to a swift demolition, followed by kind offers to see off the remains from anyone else's plate. So, with the evidence of a half-eaten meal before her, Setsu did not require the skills of a Poirot, Holmes, or even a Doctor Watson to ascertain that something was amiss.
The intervening four months had been blissful. They had spent almost every weekend together at the estancia, learning all about one another, enjoying each other's company in an atmosphere of familial gentility that Vero and Hector provided for them. All four of them had become a de facto family. As Ben's Spanish had improved, so had his self-confidence, so it was strange to see him looking so melancholic on this mid-Autumn evening.
“I've had a letter from home,” he sighed.
“Oh, is it bad news?” asked Vero.
“Well, yes and no. Don't worry, everyone back home is fine, it's just that my mum reminded me that I will be turning twenty one, soon, and that I will have to register for the forces.”
From the outset, he had known that this would be the case. Just a little six month jaunt in to uncharted territory was all that this was going to be, before it was back to all the things that he knew. He had set off thinking that all things foreign would not be for him, that he would feel like a fish out of water amongst all of those non-Anglo types, but after four months of nothing but friendship, this letter had served as a blow – an unwanted reminder that this dream could not be his for ever and that he would have to give it up.
“Ah, do not let that concern you too much, Ben,” said Hector. “By the time you get home, sign up and finish your training, the war will be as good as over.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” asked Vero.
“It is simple: economics,” continued Hector. “This war is costing millions of dollars a day for all sides. The Germans are in Russia, the British are in Italy and the Americans have started against the Japanese in the Pacific. One day, they are all going to get letters from their bank managers and they will all have to find a way to stop this.
“So, both of you, do not worry. It is a long, long way to Tokyo and the Americans won't want to pay their passage. It will all be over before you have to fire a shot at anyone.”
“I hope that you are right, Hector. I really don't think that I could kill anyone.”
“And nor should you! I have fought with men in the past but I have never wanted to take their lives.”
“I recall,” interjected Vero, “That you fought with my father and I am quite sure that he wanted to kill you.”
“Yes, that is true, my dear,” Hector began to glow with the glory of his past triumph, “The old lion was no match for the young jaguar, though! And it's a good thing that I did win, eh, my sweet?”
“Oh . . . yes . . !” gasped Vero, hamming up her gratitude like a bad vaudevillian, “I tell myself that almost every . . . month or so.”
Vero was doing her best to steer the conversation in to calmer and jollier waters, but she would have to wait before she could weigh anchor.
“When you go back, will you have any say in what you will do?” asked Setsu.
“I don't know. I might just get sent off to whatever I'm given – army, navy or air force.”
“But what if you could choose?”
“Do I have a choice in this?”
“You can make one if you try. What would you like to do?”
“Well, I'd rather not go to war at all, but I feel that I have to. So if I had to make a choice, then I would join the Royal Air Force and be a pilot, like my friend, Tom. But I don't know how I can go about that from here.”
“Oh, my boy, that is easy,” cut in Hector. “There have been many young men from Argentina who have joined the RAF. They have a whole squadron, there, made up from our boys! I am sure that we can get you on the right track, there. More to the point, there is a certain beauty in you joining the air force, because it will take you a long time to train as a pilot. By the time you have finished your training, it will all be over!”
Setsu grabbed Ben's hand and smiled.
“That sounds like the best plan. You can 'do your bit' somewhere safe, without being called a coward and this whole stupid war can burn itself out. I like the sound of that. How do we go about signing him up?”
Hector lit himself a cigar. He felt that he had already earned it for what he was currently planning.
“Just leave it to me. Next Saturday, Ben, you and I shall meet in the city. I know just the place to take you and just the man to whom you must be introduced.”
“So, you know the right people, Hector?”
“Ben, darling,” said Vero, “We are the right people!”
Chapter Twenty - Dressed to Impress
At first, it had not made sense. On Monday morning, Ben had received a message from Hector to meet him at a Florida cafe after work. Over a coffee, Hector divulged little about the coming weekend's meeting with 'the right people', but was most pressing about two things: firstly, did he have a bit of spare cash? And secondly, did he not realise that a young man of his standing ought to find himself a decent tailor?
After admitting that he had been very careful with his money and that he had barely even walked past a tailor's shop in his entire life, never mind gone in one, Hector decided which way the die would be cast for the evening.
“My boy, it is time that you were properly dressed. You need to look like a gentleman on Saturday.”
“But I always thought that I dressed well?”
“For a railway engineer, perhaps? But for a future pilot? You need to make some changes.”
“What's wrong with the clothes I've got?” He was almost a little hurt. Had he not brought his best clothes to Argentina? Mrs Burford was just as thorough with her laundry as his mother had always been – he knew that if he had lied in his letters regarding the cleanliness of his clothes (especially his underwear), that Liza would somehow have sensed the truth.
“Ben, when Vero and I first met you, you were so thin that your clothes were hanging off your shoulders. Now, they are falling off you in tatters!” He motioned to the fraying seams of his jacket and shirt.
“Alright, alright. You've taught me to dance like Fred Astaire, so I suppose I ought to try and dress like him. Where are we going?”
Hector stubbed out his cigar and gave an assuring nod, “Finish your coffee and come with me.”
They left the cafe and strolled along the pedestrianized road, zig zagging their way through the streams of city folk, many of them on their way to and from the banks that dom
inated the area, making turns that began to make what was in fact a short journey somewhat labyrinthine, until they arrived, halfway along a narrow side street, at a small shop.
A wood panelled front with a well-lit interior, the sign above the brass-framed windows read 'James Taplin (Establecido 1913)'. On show in the window were two mannequins – one in a black, pin-striped, three piece suit and the other in a dark blue, double breasted affair.
“An English tailor in Buenos Aires? I should have guessed,” smiled Ben.
“English? Well, you could say that,” said Hector, “He was born here, of Welsh parentage, and has been making me look presentable for twenty years. Now it is your turn. Let us go in.”
There was a soft, tinkling bell that lacked any urgency and again echoed the laid-back feel of the city. For a moment, they were left to wait and take in the sight of sets of dark, wooden pigeon-hole cupboards on either side of the room, which were stacked with crisply folded shirts. The glass-topped counter at the end of the room was filled with shiny cufflinks, tie-pins and colourful ties that denoted one's affiliation to a club, university or company. There was a stirring from the back room and Señor Taplin made his entrance from a curtained doorway at the back of the shop.
In his mid-fifties, Señor Taplin was of medium height, with thinning hair, high cheekbones and a trimmed moustache. He wore a suit of his own design – a deep blue double breasted one with red pin stripes – along with a plain, white shirt and a dark, woollen tie. He clasped his hands together, smiled and greeted his familiar customer.
“Señor Hernandez, welcome. I was not expecting to see you so soon after your last visit. What can I do for you?”
“Buenos tardes, Señor Taplin. I have come here to see what you can do for my young friend, Mister Hutchinson, here. He is from England and I am taking him to meet some rather important gentlemen on Saturday. I know that this is at rather short notice, but do you think that you can manage to produce something for him by then?”
Señor Taplin was a craftsman and at first, he was a little surprised, thinking that Hector would know better than to ask for a quality suit in anything less than two weeks, but he could see that faith was being put in him and that Hector could have easily gone somewhere else for a quick bit of tailoring. He looked Ben up and down. Yes, this skinny fellow was in need of a good suit (and business was a little slow, this week).
“It will be a bit of a rushed, job, Señor,” he told Ben. “If it is to be of my usual standards, then I will need to see you for a fitting for the next three evenings.”