Deep Night

by Caroline Petit

  It must be a false alarm. Everything was quiet. Jonathan was probably busy obtaining permission to get a car and lining up a magistrate to marry them. Maybe their engagement party could be cobbled together as a wedding party when the men straggled back from the call up.

  She was raving. It must be shock.

  Six of the servants finished taping the windows and appeared in the doorway of the living room, shifting from anxious foot to anxious foot, awaiting her orders. The radio was on, playing forgettable music as Leah listened, eager for any scrap of news. Huang fu came in with a tray of tea and scowled at the idle servants huddled in a nervous clump. The ancient gardener and his wife entered, holding onto one another like clinging vines.

  An authoritative male voice broke into the radio program. “The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbour in a sneak attack. There have been confirmed sightings of Japanese planes heading towards Hong Kong. We are now at war with the Japanese.” Afterwards, God Save the King filled the room. Huang fu translated the announcer’s words into Cantonese for those who hadn’t understood.

  The gardener and his wife cried. Leah looked at their tear-streaked faces and decided there was still time for the servants to go to the shelters in town. They were too vulnerable here. Victorious Japanese might harm Chinese who were loyal to Europeans. “You should all go to your families now,” she said. “You must use the shelters in Central. It is safer.”

  The servants nodded; the gardener’s wife stopped crying. Wordlessly, Huang fu handed Leah a list of all the foodstuffs. He had calculated how much food was on hand and how much each servant would be entitled to if he wanted to leave. Leah agreed, surprised that Huang fu had been secretly stockpiling supplies and humbled that she hadn’t thought of it herself. Huang fu oversaw the dispensing of the rice and canned food.

  Leah raced upstairs. She opened a Chinese box, pushed on the concealed knob to release the secret compartment and retrieved a wad of Ito’s Swiss franc notes. Downstairs, she pressed a hundred Swiss francs into each outstretched hand, explaining it was real money and the moneychangers would give them many Hong Kong dollars. They should wait to change it as long as possible. The war could go on for a long time.

  The gardener’s wife clung to Leah in gratitude. “You should go, Auntie. It is dangerous to remain here,” said Leah.

  The old man held out his arm for his wife and the couple shuffled out and padded down the hall. Finally, only Huang fu and the cook, Tung, were left.

  “I’m staying,” declared Huang fu. “It is my job to look after the house. The shelter is good.”

  “I am grateful for your company,” said Leah and turned to Tung. “Aren’t you going?”

  Tung thought of the cramped, crowded shelters in Central, full of terrified old men, women and children, crying, talking and shitting. Here was plentiful food and a kitchen he could still cook in. “I’m staying.”

  “If anything happens . . .” began Leah. She stopped, staring at the jumbled living room, “Well, you take what you want.”

  Huang fu gasped and eyed Tung. “Nothing will happen.We are safe.”

  The waiting was terrible. She couldn’t stop worrying about Jonathan. She entreated the heavens that he be spared and delivered safely back.When the air raid siren blared, she greeted it with relief.

  DURING the early night, the fighting was loud and fierce— bombs detonating, spot fires burning, the roar of big guns.They had candles and a kerosene lamp, but Huang fu cautioned that the light might trickle out between the beams of the trench. They sat huddled on a large tarp with a blanket each to keep off the chill.Tung sat on his haunches and screamed, “You wait dwarf monkeys, you’ll be dead soon.”Leah jumped up too, cursing in rage and anger that they were forced to squat in the damp earth and pray they wouldn’t be killed. She would never forgive the Japanese. Huang fu watched, nodding his approval, too dignified to join in.

  The fighting stopped some time during the night. They slept fitfully. Leah awoke to quiet, except for Tung’s snores, and a desperate need to pee. She stepped over the two dozing men and, positioning the ladder, climbed out.

  The misty air smelled foul: cordite, gasoline and a burnt stink. The stars were invisible because of the haze and she couldn’t locate the fire. It could be a downed plane.The noise of the battle would have drowned out the crash. She shivered. Was Jonathan all right? Perhaps he was camped on a ridge in the Heights or sound asleep, exhausted from fighting. Or, was he awake like her and nervously watching the false dawn? Maybe he was right: the Japanese didn’t fight well at night and were hopeless swimmers. But as she moved stealthily towards the house, she listened for soft-shod Japanese footfalls and imagined them creeping up on Jonathan and his men, bayoneting them as they slept. She raced across the garden to the house and was sick in the toilet.

  Holding her head under the tap, she tried to wash away the taste of sick and fear. She stripped off her clammy, earthy clothes to burrow naked under the covers in the too large bed and prayed she would have a dreamless sleep.

  THE war had no rhythm. The days melded together. Thursday had no more meaning than Sunday. They spent long hours in the trench trying not to think.

  During a lull, Huang fu and Leah risked a journey into Central to find fresh food. They leaned against a shuttered store in the empty street market waiting for the stallholders to arrive. An old woman peeked through the shutters and beckoned them into her son’s empty repair shop. She served them tea, clucking and moaning about the war. A few peddlers drifted into the street, lugging baskets of tired bok choi, chillies and bean sprouts. Huang fu attempted to bargain hard, but the word had gotten out, and a rush of people poured in, making haggling impossible. The vendor gave Huang fu only a pound of vegetables and demanded ten times what they were worth.

  “Pay him,” said Leah. They would eat less. There were no fish; the fishermen were spooked by rumours of mines and human-flesh-eating fish.

  Huang fu insisted he escort Leah to the jeweller. Bad people might be on the streets. The jeweller’s shop was steel shuttered and padlocked with three locks. Huang fu pounded on the heavy door demanding the man open up. He called, “Miss Kolbe has come to pick up her wedding rings.” There was no answer. Leah was certain the jeweller and his family were hiding inside, hunkered down, afraid.

  “It’s no use,” said Leah, as other people leaned out of their windows and shouted at them to go away.

  “When Mr Jonathan comes home, he will get the rings.”

  Leah smiled at Huang fu’s fiction and agreed.

  Silently, they trudged back to the Peak, their ears alert for the sound of planes or gunfire.

  Living on the Peak was like living in a distant country. No one knew what was happening. In between the bombing and the guns, Leah telephoned everyone she knew to get news. Delia refused all calls. She was flat out at the hospital, working twenty-hour days.When Leah called Hope, Hope argued that Charles and Jonathan would be fine; only the Canadian troops were in danger because they were raw recruits and didn’t know the terrain.

  Upset, Leah said, “Which is why we should have enlisted the Chinese.”

  There was a significant pause at the other end of the line. Then Hope said, “Leah, don’t be ridiculous.They couldn’t meet the height requirements.”

  “Well, they should have lowered them. The Chinese are good fighters. They hate the Japanese, especially those who escaped from China.”

  “Don’t be a romantic.The Chinese make terrible soldiers,” said Hope in a told-you-so tone. “They run away. What the Colonial Government should do is declare Hong Kong a Free City. Like Paris.We should be neutral. Let the Japs come and go and stop the fighting. It’s not our country. And I don’t want to be a widow.”

  Hope was a defeatist. All she cared about was her own skin and getting her easy life back, thought Leah as she toyed with the cord. She heard Hope’s voice crackle over the wires, “Leah, Leah are you still there?”Leah pressed the disconnect button.The telephone rang again five minutes lat
er. Leah let it ring.

  Huang fu was convinced that any day, Chinese Nationalist troops would pour into Hong Kong to save their brothers and its strategic harbour. A free Hong Kong was indispensable to the Nationalists to get guns and food.

  After the electricity stopped working and Hong Kong’s water supply had been bombed, Leah and Huang fu stopped speculating about when Chinese troops would arrive.

  Tung set up pots and pans outside to collect rain. Leah rationed herself to a cup of water daily for a sponge bath. Her hair was greasy and lank. A small cooking fire was kept going with bits of furniture she never liked. She wandered away from the sound of Huang fu chopping up a stool. For once, she was glad Theo was dead.He’d hate to see his treasured house being picked apart. It was like nibbling at his carcass. Anxiety rumbled around in her head all the time, leaving her exhausted and without any interest in food. Eating was a cruel joke. They existed on congee, a rice porridge that dwindled to mostly rainwater. She wore a pair of discarded black Chinese pyjamas; every few days she drew the drawstring waist tighter. Still, the house was standing, unlike the Beechworth’s further up the road.Their roof had been destroyed and, if she looked into the sun, she could see its blackened timbers. Where the Beechworths were, she had no idea. Perhaps they had taken shelter in town.

  The war raged on. Some days it was closer and they huddled underground as large clumps of dirt fell on the shelter, but the rafters held.Other days, the fighting was further away, and the drifting black smoke made them choke. Ritually, Leah crossed off the days on the Tiger Balm Company calendar in black ink. On the 22nd of December, Huang fu suggested they take the calendar down and put the new 1942 one in its place. Leah refused. She didn’t want to rush into a new year.War was unpredictable. A miracle could happen. On the 23rd, Huang fu stared unhappily at the blue printed number circled in red to signify Leah’s wedding. He foraged among the ruins of the Peak and discovered an escaped chicken. They roasted it over the outdoor fire and ate it greedily with their fingers.

  Afterwards, Leah wandered into the kitchen and lit a candle to examine the almond-eyed girl who represented Tiger Balm’s December. She sat, half-turned, on a high-backed chair, her head tilted to one side, the beginning of a possible smile on her lips. The girl was certainly waiting for something or someone. Neatly, Leah tore the picture in half and touched it to the candle flame. It caught fire. She flung the burning picture down and stamped on it.

  ON the 25th of December 1941, the Hong Kong Government surrendered to the Japanese.

  5

  December 8, 1941

  My darling Leah,

  I’m mad for worry about your safety. Did you get home all right? If things get bad, you must go to the shelters at Central. Have you got enough food? Let some of the servants go home. They’d want to be home. So much hanging about. War is waiting. I’m hunkered down in a corner, writing.

  The call-up was disorganised. Tony and I milled around the garrison as the chaps trickled in. Good we came early. Hated leaving you. Had our pick of the equipment—what we had trained with. Others like Stan and Wes issued only with mortars. Charles took his time. Probably stuffing away his banknotes. When Stan complained about his equipment, old Charles banged on about Dunkirk and having to make do. He became aggressive in that nasty way of his, puffed up and superior. Everyone wanted to take a punch at him. Before it got out of hand, Tony began to tell one of his rude jokes. No. I’m not going to repeat it. Won’t get through the censors. Even Charles managed a smirk. Everyone on edge.

  Please stay in the shelter. I know it’s safe. Keep the bathtub full of water. The mains could be bombed.

  I’ll post this when I can.

  Love, Jonathan

  *

  Day 3 Dec. 10 1941

  My darling dearest Leah,

  Have a minute to jot. Am on Gin Drinkers Line, near neck of bay in Kowloon. Transport a nightmare. The big guns had to be carried by mules. Who planned this? Am fine. A little Jap strafing. We fired back. But okay. Our sappers have blown all the bridges and entry points to Honkers. You will be safe. They can’t get to you. The Japs decimated Kai Tak airfield and our six planes. Anyway, what bloody good is it to have six ancient planes?

  *

  Sorry, interrupted. More shelling and random bombs. Later, after dark, major came. Said every day we hold out, we are beating the Japs. Bollocks. Sky is hazy like the mist we get on the Peak. Stinks, though. I put my arms around you and in our eyrie, you are safe.

  *

  Day 7, 14 Dec ’41

  Royal Scots magnificent. No idea of progress, squatting here and doing a bit of this. Cloud cover good. Ate in peace. Weary. Stray thoughts—my tin soldiers on mother’s Axminster carpet. Soldiers in full battle dress of the Crimean War (another lost cause) and miniature cannon. Marching them here, waging war, going boom. Like the damn nursery rhyme about that bastard the Duke of York. Was he a good general? Can’t remember. Better than sitting still. Big hit then. Must be our oil dumps. Sky black with smoke.

  *

  Sorry paper smudgy. Waiting for ferry, not sure where we are going. News: Japs are not afraid of the dark or the water. Remember your silvery laughter. I kiss you. Even Charles no longer believes Chiang Kai-shek’s army is going to rescue us. Heard rumour. Japs coming from the New Territories through the rough country. You must get away. Maybe you could stow away on a ship, a boat, a junk, a sampan? How could I have left you!

  *

  Another day

  (In pencil) Repulse Bay. A rout. Crawled here, unhurt, abandoned house. Inside a cupboard. Haven’t moved a muscle— Japs down below. Heard ’em rampaging. Thugs. Bastards. Terrible shrieks from Chinese women and a man outside.

  Gunfire. Grunts of satisfaction, laughing on the lawn. Unnerving quiet. Chanced it, ate my M&V ration—cold meat & vegetable stew. Feel better. Are you safe? Must be safe.

  *

  Sundown

  Must have slept. Peeped outside. Japs marching in little bands or in noisy belching vehicles. Saw a lorry piled high with furniture. From Repulse Bay Hotel? One heaved a piano on the road. Big joke. Thirsty. Need water. Should have stayed on the Peak with a machine gun. Am raving.

  *

  Maybe 22 Dec ’41

  Hiding in toilet block near football ground. Water foul, but water. Saw bodies 10 Chinese women & a young boy— 10,12? Hanging from wire mesh around field. Shot. Bayoneted. Shouldn’t tell. Writing. Keep brain ticking. Darling. Jap businessmen betrayed us. Built concrete floors in their port warehouses. Japs used them for gun emplacements. Didn’t stand a chance. Leah, my lovely Leah.

  *

  Must be a whole day without shooting. This terrible quiet. Am going mad.

  *

  Japs sniffing around again. Lying in a drain. Heard our chaps’ voices. Head up.

  *

  SAVED: Moving at an inch a minute manoeuvring around craters, saw one of the army staff cars carrying a large white sheet. An officer shouted: We’ve surrendered. Didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  *

  Crept out of the culvert to the potholed, rubbished road. Gave me a canteen of water and told where the collection point was. No salutes; no name. No one cares.

  *

  Near Collection Point:

  A man who looks like Huang fu’s brother waits. Gave him my watch to deliver this. Japs won’t get it. Have seen one Jap with six watches on his arm. Keep these scribbles for our children. Get out of Hong Kong. Leave. Darling, I can survive if I know you are safe. Have this terrible longing to see you. Man impatient. Have to go. All my love always, J

  THE man took Jonathan’s scrawled notes, stuffed them into his pocket and strapped on Jonathan’s gleaming watch. Every few steps, he lifted his arm to his ear to listen to the ticking. He smiled.

  Farther along the road, a Japanese soldier steered a motorbike with a sidecar cautiously around the craters in the road. The other soldier sitting in the sidecar caught sight of a coolie wearing a watch. He aimed his pistol and sh
ot. The motorcycle driver stopped and grinned at his friend’s deadly marksmanship. Jumping out of the sidecar, the shooter liberated the watch.

  “Search his pockets,” ordered the driver.

  His friend found only useless bits of scribbled paper in the dead man’s pocket. In disgust, he threw them away. The sheets fluttered in the breeze and disappeared down a steep hill.

  6

  LEAH STARED AT the strings of lacy cobwebs hanging from the ceiling of her once immaculate bedroom, listening to the insistent rain falling. Maybe it was a good time to be dead. It was a dead time, pearl dawn. Even Huang fu must still be asleep. She didn’t remember dreaming. What would the Japanese do with the defeated soldiers? One thing was for certain, they wouldn’t be released and she could not rescue Jonathan. The rain eased.To escape her thoughts, she pulled on a robe and walked out into the wet garden.

  The sky was ghost grey, as if signalling that her world had changed. An escaped canary, a blur of yellow, perched in the peach tree, singing. She half expected it to fall down dead at her feet or talk in English because nothing was as it should be.

  The roof of the trench was now a sea of mud; someone else’s roof tiles littered Theo’s flowerbeds. A length of copper tubing embedded in the soft earth poked up like a periscope to survey the changed landscape. The outdoor furniture lay abandoned and soaked cushions littered the grass. Soon they would go mouldy. In that overturned chair, warmed by the sun, she had sat on Jonathan’s lap and been happy. Was he alive? It was rumoured that several units had gotten away, slipping over the border to join forces with the Chinese. Jonathan could have done it. He was resourceful and his men were loyal. How she hungered for news.There was only a brief surrender announcement on the short wave radio, a last minute gift from Eldersen sent by a Chinese boy. All night she twisted and fiddled with the knobs and the antennae as it whistled and crackled until, exhausted and distressed, she had collapsed into bed.