by C S Gibbs
The classroom was as hastily put together as Kunio's office, with crudely constructed wooden benches that were arranged in neat rows. The girls sat on one side of the room and the boys on the other. Setsu would dictate from the remaining books that she was given, and the students wrote as best as they could with stubs of pencils and scraps of paper.
The building was an old sake distillery, but the machinery had all been requisitioned long ago for the war effort, leaving a shell of a dwelling. The two main rooms had been taken over as makeshift classrooms.
For the past three weeks, they had managed in this fashion, carrying on as if this was somehow normal.
“It is now time for our history class,” Setsu informed her charges. She began to quote from her school textbook on the matter of the Kokutai no bongi - 'The Fundamentals of the National Polity' - and how Japan was superior to other nations, whilst also emphasising the importance of the home, the family and ancestors. The Emperor, it said, was 'a living god who rules our country with the benevolent wishes of his Imperial Founder and his other imperial ancestors.'
Kunio looked on with approval, whilst Setsu forced the words from her mouth – she had not realised that she was this good an actress. How long could she keep this going?
“We will end our class, today, with a patriotic song.”
At this, Kunio stole a march, and hobbled from his observation post at the back of the room to take centre stage.
“Pay attention, class. We have a new song to learn and I have written out the words on this sheet. You two boys here will hold this up.”
He ordered the two tallest boys in the room to stand either side of him and unfurl a cloth sheet, on which he had written the words. The title read 'Wipe Out Americans and Britons'.
In a gravelly monotone, he taught the class something close to the melody by getting them to sing back each line as he bellowed it toward them.
“The time to eliminate has come!” chorused the children.
Kunio sang the lines with relish and conducted the performance with an ever-growing martial frenzy. On reaching the final line, 'We, the Imperial subjects, are ready to die!’ he fixed his young charges with a steely gaze.
With the performance over, he dismissed the class for the day and turned to Setsu.
“There, you see? That is how to encourage your students and make sure that they have their hearts and minds in the right place!”
Setsu bowed again, “Yes, Sanu Sensei. I learned much from watching you.”
“You did well with the lecture on the Kokutai. If you keep this up, you will be a fine teacher. Now, we need to talk more about your drill instruction.”
“I am grateful for your guidance, Sensei. But if you will excuse me, I really must set off for home. I must get back to help my mother with the Neighbourhood Association.”
Kunio thought that he could sense some unease in her voice, but he put that down to her feminine vulnerability.
“Of course,” he sighed, “It is important that you support your mother. The two of you are alone, yes?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “We have had to leave our house because of the air raids and move to the Shitamachi district. It takes me a long time to travel there.”
“It must be so difficult for you to survive without a man to provide for the two of you. I am not just available to support you with your teaching, Kimura San. A young, unmarried lady like you could benefit from my support. Please bear that in mind. I know that I could be of great benefit to the pair of you.”
Again, Setsu nodded and bowed.
“Thank you, Sanu Sensei. Please excuse me. I must leave, now.”
“Very well. Have a safe journey home.”
With that, Setsu left the room, again feeling those eyes following her every step.
***
Setsu hurried to the tram stop and was pleased that she did not have to wait for long. She luckily found herself a seat on the vehicle and allowed herself to relax.
The journey home, though, would be taking a rather longer route than usual, for today was a special day. With yet more of the self-discipline of a Shinto-approved ritual, Setsu had developed a routine to which she had adhered for the last year and a half. On the first available working day of every new month, she would make a journey to the city for her favourite errand.
Oblivious to the other passengers, she let the stops roll by. With her back to the window of the tram and the view before her obscured by other passengers, she was spared the sight of ever more bomb damage as the tram gently rattled its way from the west of the city to the central area.
For now, some areas had for the most part been spared the wrath of the US Air Force, and it was here that Setsu alighted and made her way along the main road for a couple of minutes, before stopping to cross the road. This was a routine that she had practiced many times, now, where she would use the action of looking for traffic to also look around her and make sure that she was going un-noticed.
Satisfied that the rush-hour crowd had secured her a degree of anonymity, she crossed the road and boldly approached the door of the Argentine Embassy.
The doorman acknowledged her with a reassuring nod, having seen her make this monthly visit several times, now, and she made her way to the reception desk, where her favourite and riskiest formality was about to be played out again.
Florita Rios was still engaged in a telephone conversation and had not yet looked up from the sheet of paper on which she was writing down a message. Her shoulder length, light brown hair was pulled back tightly and gave her an unapproachable look. She assured the Uruguayan civil servant that the meeting would take place at the agreed time and hung up the receiver. Only then did she look up and see Setsu, feigning indifference to this young local who could have been anyone.
“Buenos tardes. May I help you?”
Maintaining the formality, Setsu reached in to the fold of her kimono, producing a letter, then responded with her stock reply.
“Buenos tardes, señora. I would be very grateful if you could please pass on this letter to my friend, Señora Hernandez, in Buenos Aires. I have addressed it in full. The envelope is un-sealed, if you wish to inspect the contents.”
Florita perused the envelope with an air of nonchalant officialdom.
“This all appears to be in order. I shall place it with our other mail. It will leave within the week. Thank you.”
This should have made Setsu's heart skip to know that another of her letters was starting its long journey to Ben, but was suddenly struck with disquiet. Was there nothing more?
“You will need to sign this visitor's register, please,” added Florita, almost as an afterthought. She passed over a clip-board and pen, gently reaching forward and guiding Setsu's left hand to the back of the board, pinned to the back of which by Florita's thumb was an envelope. For the first time in this exchange, her blue eyes met Setsu's with a look of friendship.
“Just the one, this month,” she whispered with a nod, “See you next time, my friend.”
Setsu gave a reserved smile and quietly thanked Florita as she tucked the precious communication in to her kimono and headed back to the tram stop and her final leg of the journey home.
Always, those first steps out of the embassy gave her a flush of self-consciousness, as though the mass of pedestrians, motorists and passengers might all turn their gaze toward her and wonder what she was doing there, but once she began to merge and mingle with the stream of bodies, she felt invisible again.
This was becoming a habit – a dangerous one, but a worthwhile one. There was no other way to do this, as the night-time curfew limited both parties to office hours and the Argentines did not wish to bring attention to themselves by passing by Setsu's home on a regular basis. She knew that if she were caught, only she would be brought to book for this and diplomatic immunity would take care of all other parties. Yet, all of this could be forgotten for now, as all she could think of was getting home
and reading Ben's latest letter.
She allowed herself a small smile and quickly put her head down, striving to maintain her inconspicuousness.
And blend in with the crowd she did, for she was not a familiar face in this part of the city, save for one keen observer who had alighted after her from the tram.
Once again, his eyes locked on to her slender frame and the way that her hips swayed with her now confident strides – but Kunio's lustful gaze was also laced with curious anger. Just what was this young woman doing consorting with westerners? This was not the first time he had followed her and seen her visit the embassy – she must be a spy!
Quickening his off-beat pace, he gave chase. Shouldering his way through the people before him, he closed to within a couple of bodies' distance, before there was a sudden halt at a junction and everyone massed at the kerb side, awaiting the go-ahead of the policeman in the centre of the road who was directing the traffic. He saw his chance and barged forward, grabbing Setsu by the arm.
“Kimura! You must explain yourself!”
“Sanu Sensei?” stammered Setsu. The people around her looked for a moment, but the signal to cross had been given by the policeman and the tide of people began to move around them.
“What are you doing with the foreigners? Why are you going to their embassy? Are you betraying Japan?”
“No . . . Sensei . . . I am a . . . loyal subject of the Emperor.”
“Lies! You will come with me!” He motioned towards the police officer, “Come, quickly, I need your help! This woman needs to be questioned!”
Some of the passing pedestrians turned their heads and showed signs of interest and the policeman was distracted enough to begin heading towards them.
Setsu began to try and wrest her arm free from Kunio's grip, but he was a strong man.
“Who are you talking to? What are you telling them?”
His words were cut short by the sound of the air raid siren. People scattered for the shelters and for a moment, Kunio was distracted by this as he again tried to catch the policeman's eye. Setsu saw her chance and broke free from his grip, running for the safety that the crowd would give her.
The policeman now had more important duties and told Kunio to forget his quarrel and take cover. Kunio began to chase after Setsu.
“Come back! You are running because you know you are guilty!”
His words became mixed with the growing sound of the approaching aircraft and the first explosions of their bombs. Woefully ineffective anti-aircraft fire added to the racket.
She had to stay with the crowd – to run in to the middle of the street would be madness, but this was slowing her escape and even the hobbling Kunio could still give chase with his eyes fixed on her.
The crowds were now thinning as they reached the shelters and underground train stations – filing in to the entrances and sighing with collective relief as the bombs began to fall with greater rapidity and closer proximity.
Running in to the shelter was no sanctuary at all, for there she would be cornered, thought Setsu, so the only place to go was back on to the street to take her chances with the bombs. She turned and pushed her way back from the entrance.
“Where are you going?” Asked an elderly lady. “It's not safe out there!”
Setsu raced along the pavement, turning back to see the advancing Kunio. She gave the old lady a look of despair, turned and ran.
An explosion on the other side of the road sent debris flashing in front of her and she was hurled to the wall of the building opposite by the blast. Reeling and driven by fear, she picked herself up and stumbled on as a fire crew tore past in their engine. For a fleeting moment as they drove by, the crew saw the dust-covered girl being chased by the lame old man and collectively gaped at the ridiculous scene, but then left them to their own fates as they returned their thoughts to the serious matters at hand.
Bomb after bomb exploded around them and a resounding salvo of blasts brought down the buildings ahead of Setsu, cutting off the way forward. Looking about her, there was an alleyway across the road.
The heat from the flames was now reaching her and the smoke was obscuring her view, but she made it to the alley, only to find that it was a dead end, with no doors or pathways out.
“Kimura!”
She turned around and saw Kunio at the entrance to the alley, some twenty yards away. Dishevelled and frenzied, he began to limp slowly towards her.
“You cannot run away now,” he spat, “Your name means 'faithfulness', but I feel that you would be better advised to call yourself 'traitor'!”
“It's not what you think . . .”
“Be quiet! I know an enemy of Japan when I see one! We need no trial for this! I find you guilty!”
He reached in to his jacket and produced a revolver, shakily aiming it at Setsu.
She froze, unable to scream, awaiting the bullet's ultimate sting. She looked straight at Kunio's contorted face and deep in to his eyes.
In another instant, he would have fired, but the bomb that exploded across the street, behind him, sent a piece of shrapnel hurtling towards him that ripped his head clean from his shoulders. The blast flung the decapitated body straight at Setsu, shielding her from the bomb's debris, and the pair of them flew along the alley in a macabre embrace, thumping in to the wall.
The raid passed and the all clear was sounded.
Winded and dazed by the impact, she lay there shaking, until finally, she managed to catch her breath and clamber to her feet.
Battered, shocked and covered in blood that, fortunately, was not her own, she did her best to remove some of the dust, debris and entrails about her person, then paused to reach inside her kimono and retrieve the precious letter. Comforted, but too battered to smile, she lovingly replaced the letter and dragged herself towards the street.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Estancia Fuga,
Mercedes,
Buenos Aires
1st of February, 1944
Dear Setsu,
Today, Hector and I heard the news that Argentina is actually making a stand and is breaking off diplomatic relations with Germany and Japan. This is a real change in our circumstances, as this will mean that I can no longer send your letters through our embassy.
Please do not worry, though. As you know, we ARE the right people, so Hector and I have made arrangements with another good friend and from now on, you are to collect our letters from the Swedish embassy. Carry on as you have done in the past and all will be well. Ask for a lady named Viola Norling – she will be expecting you.
I am so glad that we can keep our arrangement alive. Every time I receive your letters I send them on, knowing how much joy they bring.
I must tell you that all is very well, here. Our beautiful Summer is coming to a close, now, and there is much work to do in preparing the farms before the cold weather comes. You will be looking toward Spring and the warmer weather – let us hope that it also brings us peace, so that we might all be together again, soon.
With love from both of us,
Vero
Chapter Twenty-nine - May 1944
The train rolled on its way north from Wellington to Auckland. Ben had noted that the narrower gauged tracks would mean a slower speed and a steady fifty miles per hour seemed to be the norm. It had only been ten months since he had arrived in New Zealand and he was still marvelling at the landscape and its beautiful, reeling peaks and hollows, awash with the deep greens of grass and the now golden yellow leaves of autumn.
He had found a peace and serenity in this country that possibly eclipsed that of the Pampas, perhaps because the British cultural heritage allowed him to assimilate himself so easily, whilst both countries shared a farming heritage, plenty of space in which to relax and a wonderfully calm state of mind.
It was in that state of calm that he found himself at tha
t moment – a feeling laced with a certain irony given that he was wearing his blue air force uniform, as he had done for the past year, whilst there was also a plenitude of uniformed reminders of the war seated about the second-class carriage, the conflict still felt as far away as it had in Argentina. People idled, smoked and chatted away as they drank tea from their robust Crown Lynn mugs, all of which bore the legend 'NZR' of New Zealand Railways.
“Hey, mate, this is the bit you wanted to see again – just coming up!” Te Kawau shook Ben from his reverie and pointed out of the window.
Sure enough, the train was approaching the famous Ruarimu Spiral – a feat of railway engineering that James Carruthers had spoken of in mystical terms – in which the track would twice loop around itself, whilst going through a tunnel, then perform a horse-shoe bend before heading northwards – all whilst heading downhill.
Many other passengers readied themselves to take in this mid-journey sideshow and some even began making their way to the rear carriage of the train, so that as the train's locomotive swung to the right on the first loop, those looking out of the right hand side of the trailing carriage could see the train's engine coming towards them.
“One of the wonders of the world, mate, tucked away here in little old New Zealand!” marvelled Te Kawau, as he slumped back in to his seat and gathered his great-coat around him before slicking back his thick, shining black hair. He was a tall, handsome and confident young man, just a couple of years older than Ben, with a square jaw and keen, dark eyes.
The two young men had struck up a friendship once they had met at their Service Flying Training School, where they were now learning to fly the fast, but now largely obsolete Kittyhawk fighter, in preparation for even more powerful aircraft on a front line, somewhere in the world.
Both had been intrigued by the other's accents – Te Kawau was an eloquent speaker, yet his Maori twang set him apart from the other Kiwis on the course (indeed, he was the only Maori there) and he would giggle at the way Ben pronounced words such as 'cup' and 'lovely', often repeating the guttural vowels back to the Englishman.
“Oh, you'll like Auckland, mate. It's a really big place, now – even bigger than Wellington or Christchurch,” he opined.