by Rory Marron
‘I enjoyed our chat immensely,’ he said warmly. ‘Most Americans, naturally enough, have hostile preconceptions about colonies but I understand that you write very perceptively and even-handedly. I’ll be interested to read what you have to say.
‘I’ll try not to disappoint,’ said Meg. ‘Good-bye and thank you.’
‘I’ll see you at the reception on Tuesday night?’ Chrishaw called after her. ‘Could be newsworthy!’
She nodded. ‘Yes, the Major gave me the invitation before I came in. Thank you.
’Good,’ he beamed, ‘You can put me down for a waltz!’
Mac was sitting in a cane-back planter’s chair in the hotel lobby. He saw Meg come down the stairs and look around. Nearly every man was in a uniform of some kind. He stood, waved and walked over to her.
‘Hello, Mac,’ she said smiling. ‘Small world…again!’
Mac nodded. ‘Aye, so it is, Miss.’
‘Won any bets lately?’
‘Given it up for Lent, Miss.’ He was still thanking his lucky stars for his cushy assignment. Driving for an attractive reporter was a lot better than standing all day in the sun at a checkpoint.
‘Please call me Meg’, she said, offering her hand. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mac.’ She held his hand longer than he expected, and looked at him curiously, almost challengingly. ‘By the way,’ she added, ‘the jeep’s left-hand drive. Can you drive on the right?’
‘As long as everyone else does.’
Meg laughed. ‘You’re hired, soldier!’ She looked at her watch. ‘Right, Mr Sulosu, the maître d’ at my hotel has invited me to a festival at his village. There’ll be music and shadow puppets, which I really want to see. It should be great fun!’
‘A festival? Any food?’ Mac was always ready for a change from bully beef and beans.
‘Oh, the usual festival snacks I suppose, roast meats, fish, lots of fruits.’
He grinned enthusiastically. ‘That sounds great! Where are we going?’
‘Near Krawang—it’s about thirty miles east of here on the coast.’
His face fell. ‘You realise that’s about twenty-eight miles beyond our security zone?’
‘Don’t worry, Mac. I’m an American! And I’m invited!
Krawang, North Java Coast
Mac was attacking his third kebab of the evening with gusto. ‘What did you say this sauce was called?’
‘Satay,’ Meg replied, smiling, pleased that he was enjoying himself. They had taken a break from the puppets and dancing to try some of the food. Sulosu was treating them as guests of honour. Meg had been given flowers when they arrived and the children had clustered round them, shyly at first, despite Sulosu’s half-hearted protestations that his guests be shown more respect. After one little boy had dared to touch Meg’s face giggling children had started to crawl all over them. They had followed them noisily on their tour of the village and sat around and on them during the first of the wayang shows. The puppets had entranced Meg, even though she had been balancing two toddlers on her knees at the time. She had also noticed that Mac had been very attentive to the children.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Graham,’ Sulosu said in frustration. ‘These little ones are too small to remember the Dutch. They have never seen white people before.’
‘I see,’ Meg smiled. ‘So that’s why they thought we were devils?’
Sulosu gave an embarrassed nod then surrendered with a smile as another youngster came to stare at Meg.
Mac pointed to half a dozen youths forming a line in the centre of the village square. ‘More dancing? It’s the laddies’ turn now I suppose? The girls were beauties, Mr Sulosu. My friends will be so envious when I tell them!’
Sulosu smiled. ‘Thank you! I will pass on your compliments—after you have left!’
Their laughter was cut short by a fast, staccato drumming on a single gong. Almost as one, the youths dropped into very wide, open-hipped stances, their thighs parallel to the ground.
Sulosu drew closer to Meg and Mac to explain. ‘These are students of silat, a traditional fighting art. Many of the movements are based on animals. This first one is harimau or tiger. You’ll see it’s quite different from western boxing!’
After a hand salute the youths began swaying, dropping low over their stepping feet mimicking a prowling cat. Periodically their hands slapped their thighs in unison. Suddenly they flung themselves to the ground and jumped up to kick out, then dropped again into a crouch.
As a drum started to accompany the gong the youths stood tall and stretched, balancing on one leg, arms high and outstretched.
‘This is the crane,’ said Sulosu, watching them whirl, balance and spin, whipping their arms about them.
For their finale, the youths paired off in slow, dance-like combat sequences. Gradually they speeded up until the movements were an acrobatic blur.
Their display finished to tremendous applause.
‘That was amazing, Mr Sulosu,’ Meg said appreciatively. ‘They are so supple. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so fast!’
Sulosu was very pleased and turned to Mac. ‘What did you make of that?’
Mac shrugged. ‘Dancing around isn’t like proper fisticuffs though, is it? And they use their feet. I don’t know how they’d stand up to an old-fashioned straight left or a good right hook.’
‘A right hook to what, Mac?’ Meg laughed. ’A head that isn’t there! I know who my money would be on in a fight between a silat player and a boxer!’
Mac shook his head. ‘Using feet and knees like that’s hardly sporting, is it?’
Sulosu frowned. ‘Silat is not a sport. It’s combat. The object is to walk away unharmed. To survive.’ Then he smiled politely. ‘More satay?’
At nine Meg and Mac left the village with full stomachs and much regret. Happy, smiling villagers waved them off.
Meg was pensive on the drive back, so Mac made a stab at conversation. ‘That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time. He’s a nice bloke, too, Sulosu.’
She did not reply so he drove in silence until they passed a sign for Krawang Point. ‘We’re going the wrong way,’ he announced. ‘I’ll have to turn round.’
They came upon a clearing and he swung quickly off the narrow road. Just then the headlights picked out a fallen tree. He was too late with the brakes and the front wheels bounced up and over the trunk. Meg let out a yelp. They jerked to a halt and the engine stalled.
‘Sorry,’ Mac said quietly, switching off the ignition. The headlights went out. They sat in darkness, catching their breath. Gradually cicadas resumed their chirping and, just beyond a line of palm trees, they could hear the sound of waves breaking on a beach.
Embarrassed, Mac reached for a cigarette. ‘Could have been worse,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Umm… it was my fault, Mac,’ she replied softly. ‘I was supposed to be navigating. I wasn’t concentrating.’
Mac shrugged. ‘We’re only a couple of miles out of our—’
He stopped as they heard engines. Moments later, powerful lights swept the bushes ahead and then flicked past them. An unmarked, canvas-topped lorry raced by. Two smaller Red Cross-marked ambulances followed close behind. They rounded a bend and disappeared.
‘Christ!’ Mac gasped. ‘If I hadn’t turned off we’d have hit that! I hope it’s urgent, that’s all!’
Meg was still troubled. ‘My father told me never to joke about being hit by an ambulance.’
‘Aye, I see his point!’ Mac said getting out of the jeep. ‘Er, excuse me, call of nature. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Meg nodded. ‘OK, I’ll be over there.’
There was a gentle, sloping beach and apart from glimmers of light from a few fishermen’s huts at one end of the cove it was deserted. Her feet slipped in the soft sand and she took off her shoes and socks. She pulled out a cigarette then went forward to let the water swirl over her feet.
Mac’s footsteps sounded heavy in the sand. She turned wondering how
he would react if she suggested a swim. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
He looked around slowly and then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Aye, it is. I used to hate Asia. I thought it was just sweltering, stinking jungle and leeches. Java’s different.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Oh, there are cities, hotels, trains, roads, shops, cafes… I just wish we were more popular. Also I’m not here to kill anybody for one thing. That makes a big difference.’
‘It must do,’ she smiled, trying to gauge his mood. She felt a strong urge to reach out and take his hand.
He looked at his watch. ‘Let’s go. We can still beat the curfew.’
‘Oh,’ she sighed disappointedly. ‘I’d like to come back here to swim and watch the sunset.’
‘With me?’ he replied quickly. Suddenly he seemed embarrassed.
Meg raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you’re my driver, aren’t you?’
‘Oh,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I see what you mean…’ He looked away.
Meg shook her head. ‘No you don’t, soldier boy.’
With two quick steps Mac was in front of her. ‘I’m not a boy, Meg,’ he said firmly.
Her voice was husky. ‘Then show me.’
Hesitantly his hand touched hers. She smiled at him, letting her fingers intertwine with his. Their gaze held and he leant forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes and raised her face. His lips brushed her cheek then slid to her slightly parted mouth. She pushed against him, letting her hands slide up behind his neck. ‘God!’ Meg gasped. ‘I’ve been worrying that you think I’m an old hag.’
He frowned. ‘You’re joking? You’re lovely, Meg. Really lovely.’ His arms closed firmly around her waist. His breath was quick and hot on her neck.
‘Oh, Mac! Don’t stop now,’ she murmured into his ear. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’ Then she felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down on to the sand.
Her hands went to his face and she kissed him, taking his lips between hers. She moaned breathlessly into his kiss, hugging him to her. Their tongues met and she shuddered as his hands squeezed her breasts. He began pulling at the buttons on her blouse.
‘Let me do it,’ she panted, slipping from his embrace. Quickly she sat up and undid her blouse, then reached back to undo her brassiere which she flung away in the sand. His hand caressed her back and she lay back, her arms open and inviting.
Later they swam to wash off the sand and Mac dried her with his shirt. They dressed slowly, kissing frequently, reluctant to leave their paradise. It was nearly an hour before they were heading back up the beach arm in arm. Meg paused at the palms for one last glance at the cove and the ocean. Thick clouds were rolling in from the north and the last of the moonlight was flashing silver on the wave tops. She was turning back when suddenly she stopped and stared. If she had not seen the image before—a white silhouette of a shark on grey steel—she might have missed it. A chill shot through her.
Mac followed her gaze. ‘You look like you saw a ghost!’
She gripped his arm. ‘A submarine!’
‘A sub!’ Mac scoffed, glancing out to sea. ‘Don’t be daft!’
Meg glanced at him quickly then forced a laugh. ‘Well, maybe I am seeing things….’
Mac scratched his head. ‘Come on, lass, we’re late!’
Meg ambled after him, wrestling with the implications of what she had just seen. Tigershark was hunting off Java….
Mac decided to play safe and re-enter Batavia from the southeast on the main Buitenzorg road. He was concerned about the risk of ambush on the narrow winding lanes that linked the paddies and isolated kampongs to the east of the city. Even so, he drove at speed until they saw the signs for Meester Cornelis, a small township on the outskirts of the city. As the familiar landmark of a church came into view at the Salemba junction, he slowed and let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Meg turned to him with a smile. ‘Hey! We’ve made first base!’
‘Uh? Oh, yes, nearly there.’
He turned right on to the wide road without stopping. They sped past poorly lit bungalows and houses. Before the war, Meester Cornelis had become a continuation of suburban Weltvreden. Now it lay well beyond the British-Japanese security zone. Native squatters had already laid claim to many of the houses.
As the lights of the first roadblock appeared Mac slowed to a crawl. He did not want to raise the slightest suspicion because the Japanese were known to shoot first and ask questions later.
At least four rifles were trained on them from behind two cars staggered across the road. Once again, Mac felt his stomach tense at the sight of the Japanese. The weight of the Sten machine-gun resting against his thigh was comforting. He kept his hand on the gear-lever, just inches from the weapon. Even as he did so, he knew it was a useless and even dangerous idea.
Meg was rooting in her bag for her papers but they were not needed. To Mac’s relief, the Japanese, who seemed relaxed, already knew her. The lieutenant in command waved them through as soon as they saw the jeep and its passengers.
Mac drove slowly around the cars and pulled over a few yards past the roadblock. ‘We need some more petrol—I mean gas.’
Meg nodded and he jumped out of the jeep to reach for the jerrycan. Behind them more lights were approaching the roadblock.
Meg stretched in her seat. ‘Do you always drive so fast?’
He grinned. ‘Only between roadblocks!’
A squeal of brakes distracted them. An ambulance was drawing up at the roadblock. ‘The Red Cross are busy tonight,’ Meg said watching the Japanese inspect the driver’s papers.
Suddenly the Japanese lieutenant began shouting at the driver. Two more soldiers moved towards the rear of the vehicle.
Mac swore. ‘They’ve no bloody right to stop an ambulance like that. I’ll report it when I get back.’
There was more shouting as the guards started banging on the back of the ambulance with their rifle butts. A door flung open and two shots rang out. One of Japanese fell back clutching at his chest.
Mac grabbed for Meg. ‘Shite! Keep low!’
He saw the driver try to flee. The Japanese lieutenant fired and the man went sprawling. Mac was reaching for his gun when Meg grabbed his arm. ‘No! They’ll shoot you!’
He saw she was right and let go of the Sten. Another figure leapt from the back of the ambulance. He went down in a hail of bullets.
Mac let Meg up and saw some of the Japanese were now eyeing them suspiciously. Unarmed, Mac began to walk slowly back to the roadblock. Meg caught him up.
‘Go back!’ he hissed. ‘Anything might happen here.’
‘I’m a journalist, Mac. Let me do my job.’
The Japanese lieutenant did not seem particularly concerned about them but he checked their papers this time, then beckoned them to follow him. ‘Kochi ni kitte kudasai.’
Mac hesitated but Meg stepped past him. The dead Japanese lay unattended on the road. Next to him lay an Indonesian, also dead. Several Japanese were standing around the driver, who had only a minor wound in his leg. As she drew nearer, Meg saw the man was European, thin and wearing Red Cross badges on his otherwise plain shirt. Glumly he avoided her gaze.
Pointing, the lieutenant led them confidently to the back of the ambulance and produced a torch. Illuminated by the beam were long wooden crates and some smaller boxes. One had been prized open. The lieutenant invited them to look. ‘Mite kudasai.’
Meg already knew what was inside.
Mac was incredulous. ‘Bloody hell! Guns and ammo!’
Beside him, the lieutenant nodded in satisfaction. ‘Oranda!’
Mac frowned. ‘What did he say?’
‘I think he said “Holland”. Gun-runners,’ Meg added quietly. ‘The dead man is probably Ambonese and the driver an ex-POW.’
Mac shook his head. ‘Now the Dutch are running guns?’
‘So desu, Daatchi!’ The lieutenant squatted to pick up a beret. It carried Dutch insignia.
Meg and Mac went back to
the jeep to wait. Within a few minutes a British patrol arrived to take the prisoner away. Mac and Meg were questioned briefly, and then allowed to leave.
Meg sat half-twisted, resting her chin on her folded arms on the top of the seat back. ‘Why do I have a feeling that tonight’s fun and games will not feature in tomorrow’s bulletin from the Army Press Office?’
‘Eh?’ Mac half laughed. ‘Surely they can’t hush this one up. Two dead, and another one arrested running guns in a Red Cross ambulance!’
‘If you ever do come across it I think you’ll find it described as a “regrettable incident” involving “former POWs” having a go at the Japs. Very convenient really.’
‘Christ!’
‘Hey, it happens all the time. Don’t worry about it.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘Will you write about this “regrettable incident” then?’
She smiled. ‘I have a hunch it’s much more… You’ll see what I mean tomorrow at Van Zanten’s press conference.’
Governor-General’s Palace, Batavia
‘Doctor Van Zanten, when can we expect fresh Dutch troops to arrive in Java?’ The journalist stood expectantly, pen ready. It was the third question that morning on the same theme but Van Zanten was quite pleased to have another excuse to complain about British delays. Standing to one side near the back of the hall he could see Admiral Hurwitz, General Overbeck and Lt Colonel Brommer were quietly satisfied, in contrast with the far from happy British liaison captain who was taking notes.
Van Zanten raised his hands. ‘I only wish I knew. Dutch ships are still under British command. Despite our repeated requests, these have not been released to us.’
There was another planted question. ‘Doctor, what about the delay in arresting and trying the rebels? When will courts be set up?’
He paused for effect. ‘Naturally our Administration is very concerned that we have not yet been permitted to re-establish a judicial process. NICA judges, counsel and clerks are ready to begin work immediately should the British agree with us that the time is now right for Dutch law to apply throughout the Indies. Sadly, heinous crimes are going unpunished.’