A Pledge of Silence

by Flora J. Solomon

  Margie nodded, dull and dry-eyed, her skin clammy.

  Gracie went to Helen’s cot. Seeing Gracie on her knees, Margie crawled off her cot to join her. They prayed together, their voices quivering. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . .”

  Margie’s eyes refused to focus, and her injured throat constricted. She became mute with grief, but Gracie’s voice strengthened.

  “I will fear no evil: for thou art with me . . .”

  Her vision dimming, Margie clutched at Gracie before crumpling against her. She awoke a few moments later in Gracie’s embrace, and they clung together, trying to absorb this one more horror, while Santo Tomas’s church bells clanged in good cheer.

  Amid the chaos of liberation, burials were haphazard in Santo Tomas. A subdued group gathered to lay Helen to rest in the small garden outside the shack in Broadway. Through incessant gunfire from outside the walls, and bombers and fighter planes roaring and sputtering smoke into the blue sky, Margie spoke of how she’d met Helen while studying anesthesiology at Walter Reed Hospital, of her loyal friendship, her large family in England, and her unselfish desire to work at the front, where she would be most useful. The chaplain led them in prayer, and Gracie sang Helen’s favorite hymn, “In the Garden.” They all joined in at the refrain:

  And He walks with me, and He talks with me,

  And He tells me I am His own . . .

  Wade and Kenneth filled in the grave, and Ruth Ann marked the sacred spot with a wooden cross. Margie returned alone to the empty shack to grieve.

  Japanese guards remaining in Santo Tomas holed up on the top floor of the Education Building with two dozen internees held captive. After negotiations ensuring their safe retreat, they surrendered their weapons and left through a gauntlet of internees yelling, “Kill ’em! Kill ’em!” and children chanting, “Make ’em bow!”

  Shortly, from down the road, Margie heard a chattering of rifle fire.

  “Guerillas,” Wade said. “God bless ’em.”

  Fierce fighting between Allied and Japanese forces continued outside Santo Tomas. Inside the gates, however, the inhabitants experienced a reprieve. Margie, Wade, Gracie, and Kenneth relaxed on a blanket under a tree near the main building. Each had a bag of food and a container of juice. They watched trucks arrive through the front gate.

  “Those eight are food trucks. That makes sixteen of them already this morning,” Wade said.

  With the mention of food, Gracie reached into her bag and selected a banana. Wade followed suit, but he chose a peanut butter sandwich instead, as did Kenneth.

  “Eat slowly. Don’t make yourself sick,” Margie said as she lay back against the tree trunk. Still reeling from the rape and mourning Helen’s death, she felt detached from the rest of the world. She had no desire to sit here with her friends, but Gracie had dragged her out of bed, insisting she come, and in the end it was easier to obey than resist.

  Kenneth said, “I think I’m past that. The cereal this morning stayed down.”

  Wade ate half his sandwich and put the rest back in the bag. “One bite and I feel full.”

  Gracie peeled her banana and nibbled at it. “I’ll never complain about being plump again.”

  Kenneth caressed her bony arm. “I’d like to see you plump.”

  Another convoy arrived at the gate with a rumble of engines and the squeal of brakes. Since liberation, traffic flowed in and out of the camp almost nonstop. Some trucks arrived with companies of burly American soldiers, while others were filled with weapons, from sidearms to howitzers, and enough ammunition to blow up the whole wretched island. Cannons perched on roofs of buildings, and tanks lined the perimeter of Santo Tomas.

  “We’re an armed camp,” Kenneth said, “which just gives the Japs one more reason to attack us.”

  In response, Gracie ragged on her fiancé. “Kenneth Dowling, you are so blessedly pessimistic. I swear—”

  “Well, what do we have here?” Wade murmured. Buses filled with people stopped in front of the main building. The drivers coaxed the reluctant passengers to exit. The men were no more than skeletons—some wore nothing but thongs, and all of them crouched like beaten dogs.

  “Lord, do we look like that?” Wade said.

  Margie sat up, but she had to turn her head away, not wanting to identify with the miserable bunch.

  “It’s POWs from other camps. I heard more are coming,” Gracie said.

  “There’s no room here. Where are they going to put them?”

  “By their looks, in the hospital.”

  Wade rubbed Margie’s back. He had hovered over her since liberation, witnessing her mute despair. In a low voice he asked, “Have I done something to make you angry?”

  She shook her head. “I’m exhausted, is all.” The clock on the bell tower announced the quarter hour. “Time for work,” she said.

  “You had to say that, didn’t you?” Gracie made a face and leaned against Kenneth.

  The nurses worked six hours a day attending POWs suffering from the effects of starvation and soldiers wounded in the battles raging in Manila. Now buses full of prisoners from other internment camps kept rolling into Santo Tomas. Margie longed to escape into a deadening sleep. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  Wade held her in his arms and whispered, “Don’t give up, Margie. All we’ve been through—it’s almost over. I love you. I’ll take care of you.” His lips brushed hers.

  She slumped against his frail frame, drawing strength from his words, his firm hold, and light kiss, but foreboding haunted her. She would never be free of this cruel place and all that had happened here. She felt it in her bones.

  The hospital overflowed, but now the staff had enough food, soap, IV solutions, sharp needles, drugs, vitamins, plasma, linens, and bandages—everything they had done without for so long. Doctors arrived with the troops, and they brought with them a new drug called penicillin.

  “It’s an antibiotic made from mold,” one doctor said.

  Curious, Margie held a vial up to the light. “What does it do?”

  “It saves lives. Infections start clearing in twenty-four hours. It’s a miracle drug.”

  “From mold, huh? If only we’d known. What other changes have I missed?”

  “You’re going to be surprised. It’s a whole new world out there.”

  Yes, a new world, she thought. One that had left her behind with worthless knowledge, outdated skills, and no strength or desire left for catching up. She cared for patients too weak to eat, going from bed to bed offering encouraging words and bits of mashed banana. She checked their IVs, cleaned and medicated their broken-down skin, and made their beds with clean linens. Still, the hours dragged; when the next shift of nurses arrived, she felt relieved.

  She found Wade in her shanty, disposing of Helen’s ragged clothes and dried food he found hidden under her cot. He had put aside an address book, letters from her family, an unfilled journal, and an empty fountain pen with the inscription To Helen. Happy Birthday. Love, Mabel.

  “That’s all she had,” he said.

  As Margie slipped the fountain pen into her pocket, sadness descended again like a wall of clouds. Together they read the letters. “She wanted to go back to England,” she said. “That was her home.”

  “Would you like to write to her parents?”

  “Yes, and her cousin Mabel.” Margie’s eyes filled with tears.

  They composed the letters. The one to Helen’s parents told them how Helen was loved and cared for until the end, the other to Mabel to let her know how much Helen admired her. Wade addressed the envelopes and put them in his pocket.

  Huge explosions vibrated the ground and lit the sky like the Fourth of July. Margie and Wade dropped to the floor; they were vulnerable to Japanese shells lobbed into the tinder-dry shantytowns. Palm-leaf roofs crackled and bamboo hissed as wind-whipped embers flared to flames. People swarmed out of their huts, children crying for their mothers and fathers, parents assembling their broods
. Sirens wailed.

  All medical personnel reported for duty. At the hospital, Margie stuffed her pockets with dressings, tannic acid for burns, and a twenty-cc syringe of morphine for those in pain and shock. Outside, with shells popping and fires burning around her, she ministered to the wounded, the burned, and the lost and crying children. Her mind numbed with fear again, and she practiced her skills automatically. A pair of soldiers placed a stretcher at her feet. “Head injury, lots of blood,” one of them barked before running off.

  Lifting the dressing covering the man’s face, she jerked away from the stare of a blind, milky eye. Revulsion speared through her like an icicle. “Well, well, Max, isn’t this a twist of fate?”

  Laboring to speak, he stammered, “G-get m-me a d-doctor.”

  Her vision narrowed, and the clamor around her faded. She whispered into his blood-streaked face, “Give me one reason why I should.”

  He struggled to sit up. “I demand a doctor!”

  She pinned him down with her body. The feel of him against her, the smell of him so close to her face, and his piercing gaze of distain all focused her loathing for him. A plan welled up from a dark place. She waved the syringe of morphine in front of his good eye. “It’s full, Max.”

  He tried to call out, but she covered his mouth with her hand and watched his eyes grow wide as she uncapped the syringe with her teeth. Too bad it’s such an easy death—a surge of warmth, then the slide into unconsciousness.

  With the quickness of desperation, Max gripped her wrist and pushed the syringe toward her face. Morphine leaking from the needle’s point trickled onto her white knuckles. She wrestled against him: this time her strength equaled his, but Max grabbed her throat with his free hand and squeezed off her airflow. She gagged, then rammed her knee hard into his crotch. As he convulsed, she collapsed on top of him and sank the needle into his neck, depressing the plunger. She felt him go limp.

  She sat back on her knees, hands covering her mouth, eyes bulging in horror at what she’d done. Max’s lifeless eyes stared accusingly at her. She retched, then vomited a bitter green bile.

  Gracie dropped down beside her. “Margie, a wall fell.” Then she saw Max and gasped. Looking furtively around, she removed the syringe from his neck, capped it, and put it in her pocket. Her eyes asked, Was it him?

  Margie nodded.

  Gracie summoned a medic. “Head wound!” she shouted. “Died on impact. Margie, come with me.”

  Margie rose, weak-kneed and dazed. She wobbled through the bedlam of the injured, the screaming, the moaning, the mangled, the dead, and the dying—the memory of her evil deed already buried deep in her psyche.

  Soon after the horrific days of the Japanese shelling of Santo Tomas, a hundred relief nurses arrived, and the internee nurses gladly relinquished their duties. They were going home, the first in the camp to be evacuated. As they packed their few possessions into duffels, they chattered about the trip.

  “I’m going to kiss the ground, first thing. American ground.”

  “If we can get past the Japs. Bombs are still dropping.”

  “Uncle Sam got troops in here; he sure as shootin’ can get us out.”

  “Praise Uncle Sam!”

  Gracie came into the room and jumped up on her bed, waving her arms. “I have an announcement to make. Kenneth and I are getting married.” She did a little dance.

  Ruth Ann said, “So, what’s new? We’ve known that for months.”

  “We’re getting married tonight! We want you all to come.”

  The women surrounded Gracie and began planning a festive event. Boots had made friends with one of the cooks and could get a cake, and Ruth Ann knew someone who had a Victrola and records. Tildy offered to lend Gracie her grandmother’s wedding ring.

  Margie watched the revelry from the edge of the room. She sat at the window, looking over the camp that for almost three years had been a perverse sort of home. How many times had she stood here aching to leave? But now that leaving was a reality, she was scared. No one could ever fathom what she’d seen and done, or comprehend the suffering. Who would believe what a person would eat if they had never faced starvation themselves? Or what a terrified person would do to stay alive for just one more day? Or what a broken person would stoop to? Deep in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Gracie come up behind her.

  “Margie.”

  She jumped, and for a second she couldn’t imagine why Gracie was there. Coming back to the present, she said, “Congratulations!” and gave her friend a hug.

  Gracie bubbled, “You’re my best friend, Margie. Will you stand up for me?”

  “Of course, I’d be happy to.” Margie embraced Gracie again.

  “The wedding’s at five o’clock in the chapel. I need some help already.” Gracie nodded toward the crowd making plans. “I don’t want a party afterward. Help me get away.”

  “You got it,” Margie conspired. “Cut the cake, give them thirty minutes, and I’ll get you out somehow. You only have one night with Kenneth.”

  “One splendid, spectacular, glorious, fantastic night.” Gracie’s eyes twinkled.

  With her few belongings packed, Margie felt ready to abandon her shanty; she was scheduled to leave Santo Tomas in the morning. The war still raged furiously in and around Manila, making both leaving and staying equally perilous. She and Wade discussed their fears while sitting together on the main building’s front steps.

  “I won’t know how to act. I don’t even know how to use a knife and fork anymore. I’m sure to do something odd,” she said.

  “You’ll be with your family, and they’ll help you adjust. It’ll take a little time. You’ll be okay.”

  “But I look like a scarecrow. Seeing me like this will frighten my parents.”

  “Margie, don’t. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  “I feel bitter and old, and I know it shows on my face. Do you think we’ll ever forget all this ugliness?”

  “No. It’s part of us now, but in time, the worst memories will fade.” He took her hand. “Promise you won’t forget me.”

  “How could I ever forget you? You’ll be coming back to Michigan, won’t you?”

  “I don’t know. It depends on where the Tribune sends me.”

  “Oh!” The thought of Wade not being there frightened her. For nearly three years he had been her protector and provider. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”

  “I had something more in mind than letters, Margie.” He hesitated. “Would you consider marrying me? Can you love me that way?”

  The proposal caught her by surprise. She cared deeply for Wade, but she’d never thought about marrying him. There were no sparks of first-love excitement that she and Abe had shared, or fires of passion like Royce had ignited.

  “We can put all this behind us,” he said. “Start our lives fresh, you and me together. I’ll work at the newspaper, and you can stay home. You’ll never have to work again if you’re my wife.”

  She listened. What Wade offered sounded appealing—a carefree and stable life. She could be finished with nursing and put the horrors of war and this prison camp behind her. She would be free to have the babies she had promised her mother. It could be a good life, with a good man.

  “We’ll fill the house with babies,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Margie, will you marry me?”

  “I have no feelings at all right now. I’m empty inside.”

  “I’ll help you heal.”

  Dear Wade, a writer, musician, and kind nurturer. He had seen her at her worst, emaciated, neurotic, and full of demons—demons they shared. No one would ever understand or know her the way Wade did, and he wanted her for his wife. Her gaze explored his longing face, and she saw the love in his eyes. Saying no would be a stab to his heart, and she couldn’t bear hurting this compassionate man who’d been so loving and giving.

  “Yes,” she said. “I will marry you.” The decision made, she felt giddy for a moment.

  He twirled her around a
nd kissed her, and then placed a wooden ring in her hand. “It’s beautiful,” she said, holding it up to see the deep mahogany grain swirling amid delicate carvings of tiny flowers. “Where did you get it?”

  “I made it for you a while ago. We can have a double wedding with Gracie and Kenneth.”

  “Wait. You’re going too fast.”

  “I already asked them, and they said it was okay.”

  “You already asked them? I don’t know. A wedding today—it’s too soon.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not ready.” She walked a little way off.

  “There’s nothing to get ready,” he said to her back. “Kenneth reserved the chapel and lined up the preacher. All of our friends will be there. There’s even a party planned for afterward, like a real wedding. I don’t want you leaving without getting this settled.”

  She slid the ring on her finger and held her hand up to admire it. “It is settled. I want to be married in my church at home, with my parents there, and your family, your sister Carol. I want to be married in a wedding dress.”

  Wade circled her with his arms. “Knowing you’re right makes me love you all the more.”

  She pushed him back, unable to muster even a hint of desire.

  “What’s the matter, Margie?”

  The matter was that she was bruised and torn from a vicious rape, emotionally dead, and worried she would never want to be touched in an intimate way again.

  “Nothing’s the matter, silly boy. I’m going to save myself for our wedding night. Isn’t that what a good girl’s supposed to do?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Santo Tomas / San Francisco, February 1945

  Jubilation reigned. After thirty-one months in captivity, euphoric nurses piled into open-bed trucks and left Santo Tomas Internment Camp to rousing cheers and shouted promises of “See you in the States!”