Broken Jewel - [World War II 05]

by David L. Robbins

The men played like wastrels, careless for their future, certain it was good. Remy read their luck easily and found it running not so high as they believed. He fleeced them all. At sunset, he wagered heavily on a few rolls of the dice. He lost most of his winnings, but this was the reason for the game, to plumb the omens of his own luck. Remy found it indeterminate. He put away the dice. Clem, the biggest loser, walked off mad. The others thanked Remy, aware that he could have kept their money. They did not ask why he gave so much of it back.

  ~ * ~

  After dinner, KGEX played on. The station rebroadcast several programs from the past year that the internees had missed. For the third night in a row, the entire camp assembled outdoors, hungry for news and entertainment.

  They learned about the desperate Battle of the Bulge in Europe, Roosevelts contentious reelection, and MacArthur’s refusal of a movement to make him a candidate against FDR, claiming his first priority was to liberate the Philippines. The invasion force the general led was the second largest of the war, behind only the D-day landings in Normandy. The camp heard the details of massive naval engagements with the Japanese throughout the Pacific, and the grim butchery of the Marine Corps island-hopping campaign.

  Remy sat with Tal on a blanket to keep the boy company, and to watch the ongoing, imprudent carnival in the camp. Boys from No. 11 strolled by wearing abandoned Japanese items, peaked caps or high-laced boots. One older fellow stopped by to show Remy the commandants ashtray. Lights glowed in Toshiwara’s offices and Nagata’s barracks. The internees had already eaten half the livestock the guards had left behind and broken into every deserted locker and storeroom.

  Beside him, Tal fingered the inscribed wooden tag.

  “I been meaning to ask,” Remy said. “What is that? What’s it say?”

  Tal handed it over, tapping the symbol.

  “It means Songu. That’s what they call her.”

  Remy handled the tag, disgusted. The Japanese had even tried to steal the girl’s name.

  Tal continued. “Yumi’s got one, too. That old makipili woman, it’s how she kept track. Turned the tags over when the girls were busy.”

  Remy gave the tag back, noting the past tense in Tal’s description. The boy believed he was the difference in the girl’s life now. And the word he used, busy. So scrubbed a way to describe what those two girls’ lives had been for the past year. Did Tal really understand what they’d been through? Hell was a waiting room for what they’d endured. Remy kept his skepticism to himself. This wasn’t a poker table; he wasn’t sure.

  The boy rose from the blanket. “I’ll be back by midnight.”

  “Talbot, sit down.”

  “She’s expecting me.”

  “Sit down, boy.”

  Tal lowered himself with plain reluctance. Remy tapped fingertips under his chin, studying the best way to speak to this new son. Tal had grown into a bold young man under the Japanese, and now he had a woman to love and to rescue. Remy knew how hard people were to save.

  “I want you to wait.”

  “We been through this.”

  “Things are different today. The Americans are on Luzon. That means there’s fighting. You saw those planes today, they’re hitting targets on every side of us. It can’t go on much longer. But you can bet it’s a lot more dangerous out there tonight than it was yesterday. The war’s finally come to Luzon. Everybody’s gonna be edgy, soldiers and locals alike. That makes it no time to be an American wandering around alone. I want you to hold off. A couple of days, maybe. Let’s see what develops.”

  “No.”

  The boy stiffened his legs to rise. With a firm hand, Remy blocked him.

  “You heard what the old man in the village said. Makipilis are everywhere. Even if the Jap guards don’t catch you, how can you be sure one of those sumbitches won’t? That old woman, you think she’s not gonna be pissed about you carrying off one of her gals every night? I’m gonna assume you didn’t handle her diplomatically.”

  “No.”

  “I figured. Listen, one word from her and they’re out looking for you. Those Filipino boys will slit your throat andbe home for supper. Stay in the camp, son. A few more days. Let MacArthur get us out of here. Then, I swear, I’ll stand by you and that girl ‘til kingdom come if that’s what you want.”

  Tal studied the wooden tag.

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “We said we’d survive. We said we’d save her. You’re risking both your lives if you go outside the camp now. You got years ahead of you. Wait. In the meantime, the two of you can still sit there at the fence and jaw all day long.”

  Tal looked to her blank window. “I want to see Carmen.”

  Seeing her, Remy thought, wasn’t what the boy was itching so bad to do. Fair enough.

  “I gotta advise against it. There’s somethin’ goin’ on I can’t explain. But I don’t like it. Call it a gambler’s instinct.”

  “She’ll be disappointed.”

  “That may be. But trust me, you got time. The two of you have no idea how young you are. You heard the reports. MacArthur’s a hundred miles from Manila. A couple more days, at the most. Wait. Please.”

  Tal stuck his tongue in his lower lip and nodded. “Kingdom come, huh?”

  “Right up to the mornin’ of. You got my word.”

  “That’s a gambler’s word, Remy.”

  “None better.” Remy extended a hand to clasp his son’s. The boy shook, then pocketed the tag.

  ~ * ~

  Chapter Eighteen

  A

  tank stopped at the main gate. Carmen leaned out from her window to see it. The big steel vehicle cut off its lights and idled. One soldier jumped from the turret to speak with the guards at the gate. He climbed back onboard. The tank swung off the road into the grass beside the animal husbandry building.

  On her tatami, Carmen drew in her knees. Minutes later, many pairs of boots tramped up the stairs.

  The first soldier slapped his money on Mamas table so hard it drew Carmen into the hall to see what was happening. Across the foyer, in the opposite wing, Yumi in her emerald haori came out of her room, too.

  Mama explained to the tanker in simple English that they had come too late. Sundown meant only officers in the shuho. He was a sergeant, and the four with him were below that. The soldiers would not leave. The leader pointed at Yumi’s wooden tag. Mama gathered the pesos off the table and offered them back.

  The tanker struck at Mama’s hand, scattering the bills to the foyer floor.

  From her hall, the little girl yelled at the soldier and showed her nails like they were claws. The tanker stamped toward her. Yumi hurled more shouts, cursing in Japanese.

  Another soldier spotted Carmen. He came at her. Mama bent to gather up the pesos and made no more objections.

  The soldier entered Carmen’s hall. She wore the blue silk blouse Remy had bought; Tal liked to see her in it for their afternoon talks at the fence. The soldier advanced, reeking of sake and diesel. He was no taller than she. This was the first soldier to approach her in the shuho since the guards left.

  Carmen held her place to look in the tanker’s small black eyes. Though shed not been raped in five days, she hadn’t lost the ability to read fear. These drunken boys were headed to Manila. A woman was what they wanted, to act like men tonight so they might do the same facing death tomorrow. Carmen did not care to console this Japanese or reject him, she simply did not want him to rip Remy’s blouse. She retreated into her room.

  He did not appear behind her.

  Carmen stepped back through the curtain, returning to the hall.

  Benito, the house mop boy, the guerrilla, stood in front of the soldier. At Benito’s back hung a long pinuti.

  The tanker wore no weapon. Benito jerked up his chin for the Japanese to walk away. The young soldier stomped back to his comrades.

  Benito drew the bolo from his belt. Carmen got behind him.

  They entered the landing. Benito wielded the knife in
one hard hand, showing it to the four startled soldiers. Mama stood on the stairs, out of the way. The Filipino boy waved the sharp blade to make the point that he could handle it. The soldiers shuffled aside. Carmen followed Benito into the hall leading to Yumi’s room. Behind the drape, the little Korean mewled like a caged cat.

  Benito said to Carmen, “Stay back.” She put herself against the wall. The Filipino ducked under the curtain. Inside the room, Yumi quieted. In moments the soldier backed under the curtain on the sharp end of Benito’s bolo, all his bluster gone. Yumi came out grinning crazily, mimicking Benito with her arm raised, holding a phantom sword.

  Benito said, “Go.” The Japanese stepped away from the bolo. His tunic hung on the point before releasing. The young soldier kept his face to Benito for several steps down the hall, then stopped. He seemed quickly sober and not in the mood for a fight or trouble, just a woman. He inclined his head in a short bow. The Filipino did the same. Benito slid the bolo into his belt at the small of his back. The tanker collected his men and left the shuho.

  Carmen waited for the echoes of their boots to depart the stairwell. She hurried Yumi and Benito to her room to watch the soldiers, breathing easier after the tank revved its motor, flicked on headlights, and rolled away from the camp.

  Mama pushed aside the curtain. She made fists, glowering at Benito.

  “You, mop boy. You’re fired. Get out.”

  “No,” Carmen said.

  Yumi caught Mamas meaning. She brushed the backs of her hands at the old woman, dismissing her. “No, you ge’ ow! You go!”

  Carmen reined Yumi in, tugging her back. The little girl muttered more curses.

  “We trust him,” Carmen said. “He stays.”

  “And do you run this shuho?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t seem to work here anymore either. Not in five days. This little one does your share.” The woman stroked her chin. “But tonight, you looked like you were ready to take off that pretty blue blouse. Have you tired of your young American, Songu?”

  “No.”

  The makipili considered. Carmen needed to tread carefully with the old crone. Even with the Americans fighting on the island now, Mama still spoke with the power of the Japanese behind her. Carmen’s family would pay for any mistake made here.

  “Please. Let Benito stay.”

  Mama pointed at the bolo dangling at the Filipino’s back. “That doesn’t come into the building. If this little shit wants to be brave, let him do it with his fists so the Japanese can teach him manners.” She aimed a crooked digit at Benito. “The only thing I want to see in your hands, boy, is a mop.”

  Benito nodded agreement. Mama chewed on some suspicion for a moment longer, then exited the room.

  “Thank you,” Carmen said to him. Yumi offered a showy bow.

  Benito looked behind the curtain, to check that Mama had left the hall. He shook his head. In a lowered voice, he said, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why?” Carmen also dropped her tone, not sure why Benito wanted this kept private. “They weren’t supposed to be here. Mama told them to go away. They were just boys like you.”

  “And if they hadn’t gone? If you and Yumi had kept the five of them here for two hours? I could have arranged an ambush for that tank. It would be on fire before it got to Manila.”

  Carmen hadn’t thought of that.

  “Thank you anyway, Benito. Mama was right, you were very brave.”

  The boy accepted this with a shrug. “And was she right about you? Were you going to ... take the soldier? Were you?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Because the battle is on. We need all the information we can get. I can t talk to Yumi, and you sit by the fence all day.”

  Carmen touched a button of the blue silk blouse. “Yes. I would have.”

  “Good. I’m sorry. We all fight, Songu.”

  Benito left the room, trailing his long bolo. Carmen cut off the lamp and moved to the tatami. In the dark, Yumi cuddled beside her.

  She would have had sex with the soldier. It would have been automatic and cold. She thought of its opposite, the joy of giving herself to Tal. One night was all they’d shared, in the jungle, surrounded by so much life. It was not enough to insulate her from Songu. Benito had called her that name, so had Mama.

  Carmen prayed for the Americans to come quickly. They would chase off the Japanese and the makipili. Then she would be free. Songu was a slave, so wouldn’t Songu go away then?

  Carmen closed her eyes and leaned against Yumi. As sleep descended, she entered her own heart. She begged it to hold on until the Americans arrived. Her heart must cling to Tal and believe in love. Her heart must stay with her and not let Songu steal it away.

  When Carmen awoke, Yumi had gone to her room. Carmen sat up. The single set of boots that had roused her strode down her hall.

  She switched on the lamp, shielding her eyes from the glare. The footsteps halted outside the drape.

  “Who’s there?”

  Pushing aside the curtain, Kenji stepped in.

  He said, “We’re back.”

  ~ * ~

  Baby birds cry for their food, but a samurai holds a toothpick in his teeth.

  —Samurai maxim of stoicism, to act as if

  he has just eaten when he is starving

  §

  the rice bowl, murder, and the pit

  ~ * ~

  Chapter Nineteen

  A

  T THE rumble of trucks, Remy rolled from his bed. He thrust his feet into his sandals, dashed from the barracks to catch a view of the main gate. The wash of many headlights lit the camp an eerie white.

  His drowsiness gone, Remy grew excited that this might be an American convoy. A handful of other men wakened by the noise had this same thought. Together they jogged past the garage, the last building in their path. A fleet of eight trucks idled at the gate.

  The first soldiers dismounted.

  “I don’t believe it,” one internee said. “Son of a bitch,” added another.

  The two hundred Japanese who’d left the camp climbed down from the tailgates.

  The returning guards lurched their way into the camp, slumped and shabby. Rifles hung heavy in their hands. They tossed into a pile the shovels and picks they’d taken six days ago. The internees with Remy slouched back to bed muttering disgust. Remy stayed behind.

  In a minute, Pell, a bartender at the old University Club, emerged from the light surrounding the trucks, ashen-faced.

  “Pelly?” Remy called. “What happened?”

  “I just got woke up by Nagata with a pistol in my face.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  Pell snickered at his own close call. “I was in his bed. My luck.”

  Pell trundled off. The souring of the camp’s luck was what Remy had been divining the past few days. Now, like a foul card or cold dice, it was here.

  Over his head, in her third-story window, Carmen’s light flicked on. The window stayed empty.

  Remy didn’t head back to his bunk. Too much was going on—he stood no chance of sleep. Through dawn, he watched internees stumble out of bed, each shocked and dismayed. With the sun, the guards filtered back to their old stations, manning the fence, gates, towers, and pillboxes. Remy intercepted Lucas on his way back from the commandant’s office.

  “Where the hell they been?” Remy asked.

  “Toshiwara wouldn’t say. But he looks like crap, and he’s teed off.”

  “Over what?”

  “Three things in particular.”

  Toshiwara was angry that the internees had eaten through all their own stores and half of the guards’. His cherished Brahman bull was gone and most of his pigs.

  “What did he expect after starvin’ us?” Remy asked. “We had six days to make up for three years. What else?”

  “You remember the day we had no radio reports? Well, some jackass took the radio into town to trade for food.”


  “Then what’ve we been listening to?”

  “You know Berry, the math teacher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s kept a radio in his mattress for two years. He brought it out. I had to explain to Toshiwara why the radio he left behind wasn’t the one he found when he came back.”

  “Holy smokes. What’d you tell him?”