Along the Broken Bay

by Flora J. Solomon

  Cheryl wrapped her arms around Gina, hugging her like she’d never let go.

  Gina heard Theo say, “Welcome back.”

  Marcus helped Gina stand up, and when Theo hugged her, she bristled. “You’re in pain,” he whispered.

  She nodded. “I’ve learned to live with it. I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more for Vivian.”

  “She felt the same for you, Gina.”

  Leah, blonde like Vivian, clung to Maggie’s side. “I’m glad you’re back,” Maggie said. “Cheryl asks for you every day.” Gina reached out for Vivian’s girls, and they stood in a close circle for a moment, each blinking back tears. “We’ll talk later,” Gina whispered.

  A woman with a young boy joined the group of well-wishers, and she realized it was Davy’s wife, Sissy. “Welcome back, Gina,” she said. “Thank you for the packages you left at Santo Tomas’s gate. They saved many a day.”

  Eight-year-old Harry, a young version of Davy, offered his hand. “Thank you, ma’am. I liked the fire truck a lot.”

  Gina was overwhelmed seeing her friends and family gathered again, but each now with their own story of sadness and deprivation. When she stumbled, Marcus grabbed one elbow and Edna the other. “You’re bunking in with me,” Edna said.

  A good assignment, Gina thought, always comfortable in Edna’s presence.

  In the subsequent days, Cheryl stayed close to Gina, who followed her daughter’s every movement and held on to every word. She was the picture of Ray with his wide-set eyes and smile, though adorably snaggletoothed. She was self-sufficient, taking care of her own physical needs, and responsible, helping Edna in the camp kitchen.

  In a private ceremony, they clipped their half hearts together as one, and Gina hung the completed locket around Cheryl’s neck. Cheryl inspected the pretty locket, which hung almost to her tummy, and grinned. “I’ll never take it off.”

  Today they were playing rummy with a deck of worn cards, and Gina was impressed how quick her daughter was to order patterns and combinations. However, the child was quieter than her usual exuberant self. Gina said, “Miss Vivian told me you’re really good at math.”

  Cheryl shrugged. “It’s easy.”

  “Maybe you can be an engineer like your dad.”

  “What’s an engineer?”

  “A person who uses math to solve problems. Your dad’s good at that too.”

  Tears pooled in Cheryl’s eyes.

  Gina put the cards down. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  Cheryl’s tears turned to a blurted sentence. “Leah says Daddy’s in heaven like her mother.”

  Gina couldn’t get her arms around Cheryl fast enough. She drew her close, saddened she couldn’t disprove, without a doubt, Leah’s comment. “Nobody knows that. There are many soldiers who are missing. Some are hiding in the mountains like Mr. Marcus and Colonel Davy. Others are in prison camps like Miss Sissy and Harry were. Some of our soldiers have been sent to Japan to work in their mines and factories. We won’t know until the war is over where Daddy is. All we can do, honey, is keep our love strong.”

  Cheryl cuddled into Gina. “I hate the war. If I was president of the United States, I’d outlaw all wars.” She was quiet for a while and then patted Gina’s chest. “You’re not really sick, are you, Mama, like Miss Vivian?”

  Gina hugged Cheryl closer and kissed the top of her head. “No, I’m not really sick. Mostly I’m tired and weak from not having enough food. I’m better already, and I’ll be even better after I eat that stew you and Miss Edna are cooking.”

  Cheryl sat up. “That’s what Miss Edna said. We put in extra carrots for you. You want to play Miss Mary Mack?”

  “I guess. I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s a hand-clapping game. I’ll teach it to you. Put your hands up and clap like I do. Ready? One, two, three . . .”

  Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,

  All dressed in black, black, black,

  With silver buttons, buttons, buttons

  All down her back, back, back . . .

  Under Theo’s care, Edna’s pampering, and Cheryl’s endless menu of hand-clapping games, which always brought laughter when Gina bungled them, Gina slowly regained her strength. When able, she visited Vivian’s grave, finding solace sitting quietly reminiscing about their carefree days living a good life in a colonial society and then on a more sober note how they had changed. How they had dug in and done what had to be done in the nipa-hut camp, however distasteful and hard, working as a team, always supporting, encouraging, and protecting each other under the harsh bridle of their Japanese invaders. She promised Vivian that she would love and nurture Leah and Maggie like they were her own and keep their courageous mother’s memory alive. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more to help you, my dear, dear friend. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

  Per Theo’s instructions, Gina was encouraged to walk, and Edna accompanied her, imparting information and introducing her to other residents. “How many people live here?” Gina asked.

  “Permanently, around a hundred and fifty American soldiers. Some have wives and children with them. Most of the Filipino guerrillas live on farms or are laborers in the towns. Since the units consolidated, it’s a huge network. If needed, Davy and the other district leaders can muster thirty thousand guerrillas here on Luzon alone.”

  “How do you feed everyone living here?”

  “It’s hard. We plant gardens and hope they come to fruition before we have to move out. We’re always scrounging. We depend on people like you. We miss the money you sent from Pearl Blue. The farmers provide what food they can, but Japs take their crops in taxes, and they barely have enough to feed their families.”

  They stopped to say hello to an American soldier and his Filipino wife, who were playing cribbage on a homemade board. Both wore Japanese army jackets with visible bullet holes, Thompson submachine guns were within their reach, and pistols were strapped to their hips.

  Edna tapped the young man on his shoulder. “Jerry here is one of our radio men. This is his wife, Maria. She’s going to have a baby soon.”

  “Congratulations,” Gina said, but out of earshot, she said to Edna, “This is the last place I’d want to have a baby.”

  “There are worse, Gina. There are some families hiding in the swamps. You have no idea what the Japs do to these people when they’re captured.”

  Edna was wrong, but Gina had no desire to go down that road of thought.

  They began walking again, and Edna pointed to a hut larger than the others. “That’s Davy’s. He led a patrol on a mission. He should be back soon.” They passed by one of the many makeshift kitchens, where a woman was tending to a pot of mungo beans simmering over a wood fire.

  “Wouldn’t the fire tip off Jap patrols?”

  “It’s always a chance, but we have multiple rounds of security. If the Nips penetrate our perimeter, you’ll hear a warning shot. You’ll need a weapon.” She pointed. “There’s a path behind that tangle of bamboo. It leads to a cave about a mile up, where we store supplies off-site so we can vacate this camp at a moment’s notice. We’ve learned a lot since you were last with us. Still, it’s a cat-and-mouse hunt, Gina. It’s a crummy way to live.” She paused before adding, “But I guess you know all about crummy.”

  “Yes, but it was a different kind of crummy. In Manila I was comfortable enough, but I was face to face with the Nips. I had to constantly censor everything I did, every move I made, everything I said. There was no time to relax. No letting down my guard. The danger and stress take a toll.”

  They were walking toward Theo’s clinic when Cheryl and Leah caught up with them and displayed the ivory-and-ocher clay beads they’d just finished making.

  “My mom showed us how,” Leah said.

  The child was so thin she hardly cast a shadow. Gina admired the beads. “They’re very pretty. Your mom had many talents, Leah, and you are so much like her. I’m sure she’s smiling down on you right now.”

  Lea
h beamed. “She showed me how to poke holes in them before they dry. That way we can string them together. We’re going to make bracelets and sell them when the war is over.”

  Gina complimented the girls’ entrepreneurial drive, thinking it was good as anything to keep their minds off the ugliness around them. They left to hunt for an elusive vine used to string beads.

  “I’m a little dizzy. I need to lie down, Edna. I’ll check out Theo’s clinic later.”

  Resting on her cot in Edna’s nipa hut, Gina was startled by a young Filipino soldier who came through the door holding up his pants.

  “Sir,” the kid said to Edna in a mixture of his dialect and English. “I need thread. I no can hold up my pants and do drills. The tear is big.”

  Edna rummaged in a box and found a needle and thread. “You mend them here.” She pointed to a bench where he could sit and sew.

  His eyes got large. “No, sir. I go alone to my hut.”

  “You’re not leaving here with my only needle and thread. No one’s going to look at you, and for Pete’s sake, call me Miss Edna, not sir.”

  “Yes, sir.” He retreated to the bench, turning his back before slipping off his torn pants.

  Edna glanced at Gina. “New kid from the village. They stay here a few weeks for training. Davy’s lieutenants drill them to exhaustion. It toughens them up quick enough.”

  Enough to die? Gina wondered.

  She returned to her reading. Soon, another young man stepped through the door, looking so much like the first one they could be brothers. “Excuse me, sir. Colonel McGowan say he want to see you pronto.”

  Edna dropped what she was doing and shooed the kids out of the hut. She turned to Gina. “Davy’s orders always come pronto. Want to come?”

  On the way to Davy’s hut, Edna warned, “Word came that this mission didn’t go well. Sergeant Errol was killed, and Cimbo, a guide, is missing. Steel yourself for a tirade.” Edna stopped for a minute and squared her shoulders before entering the hut. Gina followed her.

  Marcus was already there, and Davy, scruffy and haggard, was pacing in front of him, flailing his arms. “What do you mean, we’re out of rice? My men haven’t eaten anything but swamp spinach for days. They’ll be shittin’ green for a week.” He turned to Edna and barked, “What the hell is going on?”

  Edna answered, her voice as strong as Davy’s was loud. “The Japs are marking and mapping trails, and our volunteer home guards can’t get their convoys through with supplies. Marcus has begged rice from the local farmers, but they don’t have squat left to give us, and we’ve used up our credit with Mrs. Bueno in Tinian. Where’s the money you promised was coming up from Manila?”

  Davy’s gaze went to Gina. He growled, “Hello, Gina. Welcome to hell.”

  Gina swallowed her emotions, their parting in Manila not on the best of terms, he having exposed her to undue danger. “You don’t know hell like I know hell, Davy.”

  He stared into her still-haunted eyes. “Just say we’ve visited different neighborhoods.” He waggled his hand at Edna. “Get the men fed. Anything but swamp spinach. If they don’t eat, we’re going to lose them.”

  Edna left, mumbling something about a goat, and Marcus followed her, leaving Gina alone with Davy. He sank onto a chair, the muscles in his face twitching. He turned his head away. “The Japs killed Sergeant Errol. They held him in a school turned torture chamber until the last three days, when they hung what was left of him from a tree by his feet and let the birds finish the job. I couldn’t get close enough to cut him down without losing more men. You understand that, don’t you, Gina?”

  She recoiled at his story and understood his need for reassurance, remembering even after successful missions—when he’d return with eyes too bright and carts loaded with food, weapons, and clothing stripped off dead Japanese foes—Davy went through a period of remorse. Missions gone sour took a particular toll. She let him talk out his emotions.

  “The Nips retaliate,” he muttered. “They’d have killed the townspeople. Lined them up and run them through with bayonets. I’ve seen it before.” He wiped tears from his eyes, and then his gaze focused on Gina. “I couldn’t take that chance.”

  Gina sought to assuage his guilt. “You’re a strong, compassionate leader. These men know they are risking their lives. They die nobly fighting to free their country from its cruel oppressor, a cause they believe in.”

  Davy straightened his spine. Though his face relayed his sorrow, his voice sounded gruff. “A memorial service. Get on it, Gina. Have Edna and Marcus help. Something nice. Have the guys bring their guitars and fiddles.” He lit a cigarette and offered her one. “Now, bring me up to date. How are you doing?”

  Before she had time to answer, a wild-eyed man burst through the door. “Cimbo’s been found. He escaped the Japs. He’s in the clinic. He said something about there being an informant in the home guard.”

  Davy’s head jerked up. “Who?”

  “He didn’t say. He’s in and out of consciousness. Dr. Theo’s doing what he can to keep him alive.”

  Davy heaved himself out of his chair. “God damn. I need to talk to him.” He motioned to Gina. “Come with me.”

  “No!” Gina did not want to be witness to any more Japanese atrocities. However, Davy was already out the door, and she trailed him.

  Davy limped up the six stairs to the clinic door. Gina dreaded going inside. Sick and injured men lay haphazardly in one large room that swarmed with insects and stank of shit, vomit, old blood, and the dita-bark concoction to treat malaria that Maggie cooked on a charcoal stove.

  Theo was leaning over a man, lancing a boil on the patient’s groin with a toothpick and Mercurochrome. The soldier lay white faced and gritting his teeth.

  The sight made Gina light headed, the feeling made worse because she was holding her breath against the fetid smell. She sat on a stool by the door, covered her nose and mouth with her hand, and swallowed hard.

  Maggie grasped the patient’s hand. “Take a deep breath, soldier. This will be over in a minute. Count with me. One, two . . .”

  The soldier followed the order but let out a roar when Theo’s toothpick found the right spot and pus spurted to the surface.

  “That’s the worst of it.” Theo turned the patient over to a Filipino aide to clean up the mess and bandage the wound. He addressed Davy while washing his hands. “If you’ve come to see Cimbo, he’s over there.” He nodded toward the back corner of the room, where a body lay under a mosquito net. “He took a bad beating. His right eye may be lost, and the right clavicle’s broken. He’ll recover unless something internal is going on. I’ll know better tomorrow.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “I don’t think so, but ask Maggie. She cleaned him up.” Theo waved Maggie over. She was a smaller, feminine version of Theo and second in command at the clinic. She checked the brew she was cooking before joining the men and answering Davy’s question.

  “No. He moans but hasn’t responded since he’s been here.”

  Davy parted the netting, recoiled, then leaned in and shouted into Cimbo’s face. “Cimbo! Wake up! Can you hear me?” There was not a flicker of reaction, and Davy said to Maggie, “Get me some water.”

  Gina, sensing what Davy was about to do, hurried to the bedside. “No. Don’t. He’s had enough pain. Let him sleep.”

  Davy ignored her plea. Taking a full jug from Maggie, he flung water on Cimbo’s face, and the injured man’s body convulsed.

  Afraid she was going to lose what little food she had left in her stomach, Gina returned to Edna’s hut. Dark, fast-moving clouds hung low, and a gust of cold air hit her like a dire forewarning.

  A black-haired kid stood outside her door. “Sir, my brother borrowed my shoes, and he won’t give them back—”

  “Get out!” she shouted to his astonished face and then to his retreating back.

  Despite the ache in her stomach, she gulped a slug of cane alcohol, which burned all the way down, but i
t soon brought on a sense of calm. She imagined she could become dependent on the mind-numbing effects of this potent brew, but at the moment she didn’t give a diddly care.

  Her hair growing in a messy tangle, Gina took to wearing a floppy canvas hat. To protect her feet, Marcus found her a pair of men’s boots that fit if she stuffed them with grass and wore the socks she crocheted from string. Davy gave her a shirt left behind by a guerrilla soldier. When she ventured out of the camp, which she did to forage for food, she wore a Colt .38 in a holster buckled around the waist of her long skirt.

  Cheryl and Leah didn’t fare much better clothes wise. Both girls had grown and were unusually thin. Both wore simple dresses or shorts and shirts made from mungo bean or rice bags. Maggie preferred cotton pajamas made by nuns from bedsheets found in an abandoned hospital.

  It wasn’t unusual to see Japanese planes overhead, but in late 1944 they began to drop from the sky. It was a mystery those in the camp speculated about until the radioman came from his hut scratching his head. “The fighting’s off Leyte. The Nips are jettisoning small rocket-powered aircraft they call cherry blossoms from the underside of bombers. The pilots steer the crafts straight into American ships. Kamikazes, they’re called. Suicide bombers.”

  “Kamikaze,” Edna whispered. “It means ‘divine wind.’”

  Cherry blossoms, Gina thought. Poetic. And evil. No doubt the pilot was a teen—expendable and indoctrinated by Hirohito’s message to the youth presented in poems like the “Song of Young Japan” that aggrandized death and charged the young “to be ready to scatter like cherry blossoms in the spring sky.” Inez had said that Rizal mouthed the words of that horrible song without an inkling of the seed that was being planted in his head.

  Cimbo died, and the informant was never identified. Camp guards remained on high alert. Activity increased with confederations of guerrilla leaders arriving to meet with Davy, some building lean-tos and staying several days, putting a strain on Edna’s food supply. Wagonloads of tommy guns and carbines were hauled into camp by skinny carabaos and stored in a guarded hut. Davy disappeared for a time and returned with a briefcase full of money.