Along the Broken Bay

by Flora J. Solomon

  Gina nodded. Though homecoming wasn’t what she’d expected, she felt like she’d landed in a safe harbor. “Thank you, Lainie. You’ve always been a good friend.”

  Gina saw that little had changed in her childhood home since she’d last visited. She half expected to see her dad come through the back door with an armful of flowers to arrange in a vase and display on the dining room table.

  Lainie followed behind. “My father-in-law was your dad’s lawyer. We went through the house together. I cleaned out what would spoil, and we collected and documented your dad’s personal papers and anything of value. We figured you’d be coming home as soon as you could.”

  In the bedroom closet, her father’s clothes hung in good order, and his shoeboxes lined the floor. Gina opened the top dresser drawer, feeling like she was invading his privacy. A lump rose in her throat, and she wiped tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hand. “I feel awful that he died alone.”

  “He wasn’t alone, Gina. He had a busy life and many friends. Several of the gardens in the city parks are his design . . . he tended them like they were his children. There’s talk of naming the park on Third and Madison after him. There’s a plaque there now.”

  Gina found the news comforting.

  The girls skipped into the room, Cheryl wearing a red flapper dress and Leah a middy blouse and navy pleated skirt, both outfits sizes too big. Gina couldn’t help but smile. “You scamps have been in my closet.”

  Cheryl twirled around, and the dress’s fringe took to the air. “Did you really wear this, Mom?”

  Lainie answered, “She sure did. Your mom was a hot petunia in that dress, with her dark cropped hair and kohl-rimmed eyes.”

  Gina smirked, her hand over her mouth. “And you, Lainie . . . as skinny as a boy, and a fashion snob. I coveted your pink cloche hat and that long string of pearls you got for your sixteenth birthday.”

  They both posed like flappers—one knee bent up, toe pointed down, and arms and hands gracefully extended, as they had done what seemed a lifetime ago. The last constraints of their long separation loosened with giggles.

  Lainie looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get to the office.” She handed Gina several work orders. “Workmen are coming today to check your furnace, electrical, and stuff. No reason you can’t move in if you want. I’ll have my son bring your things over and drive you to the grocery store.” She handed Gina an envelope. “Your dad left a good amount of money in the bank. Here’s a loan to help you get started. You can pay me back later.”

  Gina established a comfortable home with the cash her dad had left in the bank and a life insurance settlement pending. However, making even small decisions was difficult, like where to place the telephone—in the kitchen or the living room. She wished Ray were there to help. With the scars on her body a constant reminder, her thoughts often dwelled on her months in Fort Santiago, the interrogations playing like a loop in her head, causing her stomach to ache. She wondered if she’d given clues that had put the underground workers in danger as Captain Sato had said. She stressed about her Manila friends . . . were they alive; were they in hiding? Though she was physically safe, anxiety continued to be her constant companion, and some nights she drank too much wine.

  She wrote the War Department in Washington, DC, inquiring about Ray and received only a form letter stating his status was “missing in action” and referring her to the Prisoners of War Information Bureau. The bureau had no record of Ray beyond his imprisonment in Cabanatuan. It seemed the US Army had lost track of her husband. How could they do that! She wrote the departments and bureaus multiple times as she remembered details she thought might be helpful, but she learned nothing new of his whereabouts.

  The girls were enrolled in the same grade school Gina had attended. With them in school, Gina had time on her hands, and she found physical activity blocked her disturbing thoughts.

  “That’s pretty,” Cheryl said of the newly painted peach-colored living room walls.

  “It brightens it up a lot, doesn’t it?” Gina showed her the pale-green paint she’d purchased for the kitchen and the flowered material from which she’d be making new curtains. “Where’s Leah?”

  “Upstairs writing in her journal. Can I go out and play?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  Cheryl made friends easily and had a group of girls with whom to play jump rope and jacks on the playground and after school. However, Leah hung back, preferring to spend time alone in her room reading books borrowed from the library or writing in her journal. She helped Gina with household chores without being asked, and when the weather warmed, she planted and tended a spring vegetable garden.

  “Leah,” Gina said on one sunny day, “the girls are playing hopscotch. Why don’t you go out and join them?”

  “I’d rather not. They don’t play it right.”

  “You could teach them the rules.”

  “No. Don’t make me.” Her chin quivered. She ran to her room and slammed the door.

  Gina followed Leah and sat on the bed beside her. “Honey, I’m not going to make you do anything.”

  Leah turned her face to the wall.

  “I know you miss your mother terribly. I do too. She was my best friend, and I loved her so much. I wish you’d talk to me about her. It might help.”

  Leah shouted, “Stop talking about my mother.”

  Gina retreated. Leah needed help but rejected any offer of it. Gina was stymied about what to do.

  Heavy fighting continued in Manila, but the Allies had made gains. In February 1945, four thousand internees were liberated from Santo Tomas. At the end of March, General MacArthur declared a victory for the United States. However, the Japanese vowed to fight to the last man’s death. All through the summer, both Allied and Japanese troops pounded Manila with heavy artillery, eradicating whole portions of the city and slaughtering tens of thousands of civilians. Obsessed, Gina could not stop reading the news.

  To bring closure to the unceasing carnage, on August 6, 1945, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Japan’s port city Hiroshima, and three days later another bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. On September 2, 1945, in the event that was broadcast around the world, Japan signed the formal Instrument of Surrender.

  Two weeks later a telegram arrived for Leah:

  SAILING. EST. ARRIVAL OCT 15. SEATTLE WA. KISSES. DAD AND MAGGIE

  Every day Gina watched for a telegram from Ray that never came, and each day she became more fearful that he hadn’t survived.

  At eleven years old, Leah was more a young lady than a child. She had grown during the summer and came up to Gina’s chin now. The day of Theo and Maggie’s arrival, Leah dressed in a navy skirt, white blouse, pale-blue cardigan sweater, and ballet slipper shoes. Her blonde hair curled onto her shoulders. Outwardly, there was no trace of the rough years she’d lived in the mountains.

  When the taxi arrived, Theo emerged first, followed by Maggie. Leah ran from one to the other, and then all three stood in a huddle with Theo’s arms encircling both of his daughters. Joy registered on his face, and tears puddled in his eyes.

  In the harsh light of the homecoming, Vivian’s and Ray’s absences were achingly vivid, and Gina struggled against giving in to her rawest emotions. It was not so for Cheryl. Gina found her in the bedroom, her head buried in a pillow. “Dad’s not ever coming home, is he, Mama?”

  Gina sat beside her and rubbed her back. “I don’t know, but we have to believe he will. There are still men in prison camps that haven’t been released. We have to be patient.” Gina had mulled over the thought of preparing Cheryl for the possibility of Ray’s death, but not yet. Not as long as there was a thread of hope. “Come, now. Mr. Theo needs help with the luggage.”

  While Maggie cut up apples and celery and put them on the table for munching, Gina poked at the roast in the oven and added potatoes, onions, and carrots to the pan. She closed the oven door and waved the heat away from her face with a hot pad.

  Theo came
into the kitchen. He looked weary, like he’d aged ten, not just four, years. He peeked under a dish towel that covered an apple pie. “Did you bake this yourself, Gina?”

  “Sure did. I’ve discovered I’m a woman of multiple talents.” She handed him a cup of coffee. “Where are the girls?”

  “Upstairs finishing Leah’s packing. How’s she doing, Gina?”

  Gina pulled out a chair for him. “I have some concerns—”

  “She’s been trouble to you?”

  “No. Just the opposite. She’s trying to be too perfect, like she’s eleven going on twenty.” Saying that gave Gina pause. Had they all aged beyond their years? “I talked to her teacher. She said Leah’s a little quiet, but she’s a model student. I’ve tried to get her outside with other kids, but she’d rather stay in her room and read or write in her journal. I feel she’s tied in a knot, but she brushes me off when I try to get her to open up.”

  Theo leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Does she talk about Vivian?”

  “No, but she writes about her in her journal. Don’t tell her I peeked.”

  Every wrinkle in Theo’s face deepened. “I’m not surprised. She’s our sensitive one. Being around Vivian’s mom will help her. They’re a lot alike.”

  Maggie added, “What I remember about Grandma’s house is that every room is filled with family pictures going back generations. Photography is a hobby of hers. She has tons of pictures of Mom with me and Leah. I need to see them too. I don’t want to forget . . .”

  Gina reached over and patted Maggie’s hand.

  Theo said, “We’ll have a proper funeral. It will be good for all of us. We haven’t been able to mourn her passing as we should have.” His voice trailed off, as if he were entering his own thoughts. He blinked and came back to the present. “Have you heard anything about Ray?”

  “Only that he’s classified as missing in action. Last week I got a reply from the International Red Cross in Switzerland. It’s the main conduit of POW information. They couldn’t help either. They said the lists of prisoners provided by the Japanese are incomplete.” Feeling a sting behind her eyes, a prelude to tears, she jumped up to check the roast.

  Dinner was a success, and there were groans when Gina brought out the apple pie, and a decision was made to serve it later with ice cream. Cheryl and Leah asked to go to the park, and they begged Theo to go with them. Gina and Maggie were left to clean up the kitchen.

  Gina surveyed the pile of dishes. “Wash or dry?”

  “I’ll wash. You dry and put away. That was a good dinner.”

  “Thanks. I’ve discovered that I like to cook. I’m turning into my mother.” Realizing what she’d said, she turned to Maggie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip. It’s a good thing. I remember a loving home.”

  Maggie plunged her hands into the soapy water. “I don’t need to be pampered, Miss Gina. I’m not a wilting flower.”

  “No, you’re not. And you’re not a child. You can drop the ‘Miss.’ Just call me Gina.”

  Maggie grinned at the acknowledgment that she was an adult. “Thank you.” She carefully washed and rinsed the glassware and placed it in the drainer. “Do you miss your houseboys and maids?”

  “No. I’ve been content with having my home to myself and the girls. I’ve enjoyed fixing it up. I grew up here, you know. Funny, I could hardly wait to leave. Now I don’t think I ever want to. What are your plans, Maggie?”

  “With some studying, I should be able to test out of high school and get into college. I always thought I’d be a surgeon like my dad, but now . . .” She tucked a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear with a soapy finger. “Well . . . things have changed. I’ve changed. I’m not sure I’m up to the challenge.”

  Gina flashed the young woman a sidelong glance, thinking Maggie was more than up to any challenge.

  Maggie rinsed the soap off the plates and placed them in the drainer for Gina to dry. “I had a few free days in Manila, so I went to Pearl Blue. I thought I’d check it out for you. In the last battles there was damage from strafing, but much of the building is still standing.” She hesitated. “The truth is I was curious.”

  Gina hadn’t thought much about Pearl Blue except for the people. She dried the clean plates and began stacking them. “Curious about?”

  “You. How you faced the Japanese every day. Just standing on the stage and imagining being surrounded by the enemy audience gave me the creeps. Weren’t you scared?”

  Maggie was stirring emotions on which Gina had not let herself dwell. “Yes,” she admitted. “At first I was terrified. But then I forced myself to focus on what mattered . . . the survival of the families in the mountains and the men in the prison camps. The irony was it was the Japanese themselves who were supporting my cause. It became a game, a dangerous one. For a while, I thought I’d outwit them forever. Inevitably, the end did come.”

  Gina felt a stir of anxiety. She stopped drying dishes to light a cigarette and inhale deeply, the ritual taking the edge off her discomfort. “My experience in Manila was no more frightful than yours in the mountains. A different focus. A different set of horrors.”

  “Horrors, yes,” Maggie said. “There were plenty of them. I raged at the inhumane cruelty I witnessed every day. I had no outlet like you did, and the rage is still inside of me. Sometimes I relive the worst moments . . . I hear it. I see it. I smell it. I even feel it inside of me. Does that happen to you?”

  “It did once.” Gina had thought her strange incident an anomaly. “I found this blond kid dead on the road. I even remember his name—Gerald Kent. I sat beside him to keep the crows away until he was buried. Weeks later, I relived every heartbeat of it. I even reached down to close his eyes.” She remembered Gerald’s wallet and class ring she’d meant to send to his parents. They had gotten lost long ago. How she wished she had sent them. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. I’m learning it’s not uncommon. Nor are nightmares and panic attacks that turn me into a blubbering idiot.”

  “Have you told your dad?”

  “No. He has his own demons to deal with.”

  “Maggie, you can’t ignore this. You need to talk to him or to somebody.”

  Maggie stopped washing dishes and dried her hands to light a cigarette. “I know. I’m talking to you. You’ve always been so strong.”

  Gina’s eyes opened wide. “Is that what you think? You, who at sixteen years old rolled up your sleeves and dug in when I didn’t want to get my hands dirty? You, who became the doctor of a budding band of guerrillas? Who was second in command of a clinic under the ugliest and most inhumane conditions? You need to change your definition of strong, Maggie.”

  Maggie contemplated. “It sounds different when you say it that way. I just went day to day, doing what had to be done.” She put out her cigarette and tackled the roasting pan with a Brillo pad. “On the ship home, I met a biochemist. He loaned me a couple of his books. I suspect there are biochemical changes in the brain when the body is under stress for long periods of time. If we can understand what’s causing the symptoms, we can learn how to control them. But it’s a challenge. It will take years of study before I could even begin to understand it. I don’t know if I have the strength or the will to do it.”

  Gina reached for Maggie’s hand. “Please don’t think like that. You’re exhausted right now and mourning your mother. You’ll regain your physical and mental strength. Your mother’s passing may always be a burden, but it will soften. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself time to heal.”

  “But I’ll never be the same.”

  “None of us will. You’ve seen a dark side of humanity that you never should have. It’s part of you now, and you’ve changed. You started out a determined young woman; now, accept the change and make it work for you. You’ve already begun to do that . . . seeking to learn what’s happened to your body and how to heal it.”

  Maggie’s reply came as a whisper. “Those words are easy to say, but I’m not as
determined as you think I am.”

  “Oh, that’s not so. I remember seeing a pretty tough streak of rebellion in you. It drove your mother crazy.”

  “I know. I feel guilty about that.”

  “Don’t. She knew you’d need that spunk to be successful. She was so proud of you, Maggie, and she loved you so much, even when she was rolling her eyes.”

  Maggie sniffed and grinned. “Thanks, Gina. I needed to hear that.”

  The next morning there were goodbye hugs and kisses and promises to visit. All day the family was on Gina’s mind—Theo depressed and older than his years, Maggie suffering debilitating anxiety, Leah having pulled into herself—and they all were mourning Vivian’s death. How much could the human body and psyche endure without being permanently damaged? That night, she said a prayer for the family in crisis.

  With mail going through again, Gina wrote letters to Franca, Chan, and Father Morgan. She wrote that she was doing well in Seattle, but she was still looking for Ray. Her effort was rewarded with a letter from Franca.

  October 30, 1945

  Dear Gina,

  What relief your letter gave me. I’m so glad to hear that you and Cheryl are safe at home in the United States. I worried so. I’m sorry—I do not have information about Ray at this time. I am checking the new-arrival list every few days at the 29th Replacement Depot, where men returning from the prison camps in Japan are being housed before their redistribution. Ray’s name has not appeared yet, but keep your hopes up; ships are still arriving.

  After spending several months hiding in a convent high in the Sierra Madre, I am now home. My dear husband, Salvador, was arrested not long after you were taken to Fort Santiago. He was killed just days before the Americans returned. I’m extremely proud of the work he did to sabotage the Japanese efforts to conquer the Philippines, our beloved home.

  There is more sad news that I feel obligated to pass on to you. Our precious Father Morgan and five other Irish priests at the Malate Church were arrested, executed, and buried in a mass grave. Their bodies are being exhumed and will be given a proper burial. May the wrath of the Lord come down on their executioners.