Fathers

by David J. Daniel

  “Er, okay but why?” Asked Jack.

  “It is a symbol of respect. Rather like you calling another ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ but perhaps a little less formal. It is a polite thing to do in our culture.”

  “Bugger that!” Said Wiremu. “Sounds like alot of extra talk that ya don’t really need.”

  Jack agreed. “Yeah. Let’s just stick with what we know, eh? I mean we all respect each other don’t we, without having to say it every time we open our mouths.”

  Konosu laughed. “Perhaps you are right. What does it matter when you are here in the New Zealand bush, a thousand miles from Japan?” He continued. “Anyway. You asked me what it is like to live in Japan. I can only guess that it is a little different from your own way of life in that it is very formal. The way we address each other is just one example. We are taught to respect our parents and elders and each other certainly more so than what you are used to. My father is very strict. He believes in the Emperor’s Japan. He believes that we were right to go to war. He believes in dying for the cause and was very proud when I became a soldier... He even told me that if I happened to die while in battle it would make him very proud, and that it bring great honour on him.” He shook his head in disbelief and then continued. “You see, if I let myself be recaptured and I returned to the prisoner of war camp it would have brought great shame on my father. I would have disgraced myself and therefore dishonoured him. In fact I think he would have disowned me had I done that. It was bad enough being captured in the first place, let alone a second time. I do love him, very much, but it does seem a little absurd that a father would much rather have his son die than suffer the ignominy of a perceived failure.” Konosu was silent for a while as he stared at the fire. He frowned then continued. “I think that you would find our society quite stifling, indeed quite oppressive. Expressing ones emotions in public is frowned upon. In fact if one said what one really thought they may find themselves in prison, or worse. We were taught to worship our Emperor, never question our government. Blindly follow our leaders and believe all the propaganda about our enemy. A belief that was founded on hysteria and racism. We were taught that our race is the noble race. That we are supreme beings. That all others should bow before us. That we have the right to conquer the world and take what we need from it. Exploit everything and everybody... Unfortunately, the truth is that we have overpopulated our small nation and we don’t have the resources to sustain ourselves. So in their wisdom, our leaders decided we needed to expand into and conquer other countries, like China and the Pacific nations. Not negotiate with these countries like a civilised nation would do, but take them by force. I am afraid that it is a contest between us and the Germans as to who is the most hated race in the world today.” And he shook his head and stared miserably, at the fire.

  “Mmm, I’d say it’d be the Germans,” said Jack.

  “Nah the Japs for sure!” Said Wiremu.

  “The Germans killed my Dad!” Said Jack.

  “True, but my Dad says the Japs are treating our prisoners real bad when they catch them. Starving them and killing them for no reason!” Argued Wiremu.

  Konosu interjected. “Alright boys, that is probably enough said on the matter. All countries in this war have probably done things that are wrong and they will be judged accordingly after it is over, I hope. I know both the Germans and Japanese will suffer for their crimes against humanity.”

  Jack asked, “Why’d you fight against us if you don’t believe in what you were fighting for?”

  “What I believe doesn’t count. What our leaders believed did. Besides I had no choice Jack. I was conscripted. I didn’t volunteer like some others.”

  “I would’ve told them to stuff it!” Said Wiremu.

  “It does not work that way and you will probably find that if any of your country men refused to fight in the war, your government would probably punish them as well.”

  “Yeah, but everybody wanted to fight against the Germans and Japs, eh. They couldn’t wait to get stuck in!” Said Jack excitedly.

  “I am sure there would have been some that were not so keen, Jack,” said Konosu.

  “Yeah, like Rex Roberts’ old man. He chopped of his hand so that he didn’t have to fight!” Said Wiremu.

  “Aw, that’s what they say, but I don’t know if it’s actually true,” said Jack.

  “You would be surprised at what a man would do when he is truly afraid,” said Konosu.

  There was silence as they pondered Konosu’s last statement.

  Wiremu stood up and stretched. “You know every time we get together we talk about things that get us down. Let’s talk about something else... I know I’ll tell ya a story about my uncle. A fishing story where he catches a huge shark...”

  Jack interrupted. “Aw not that story Mu. I’ve heard it before. Isn’t that the one where he wrestles with it, and then ends up riding on top of the shark for miles, by holding onto the fin?”

  “Aw crikey Jack, you’ve spoilt it now. Konosu hasn’t heard it before.”

  Jack rolled his eyes then looked back and forth between Konosu and Wiremu. “How about Konosu tells us something. Something from his life. Something that’s not made up!”

  “Jeepers Jack, what’re saying? That I make all those stories up? Why would I do that? My uncle told them to me. They’re true I tell ya!”

  “No, no, no. I’m not saying that you make them up. You’re just repeating what your uncle tells you. Hey, and they’re good stories. I like ‘em, but I dunno if everything’s true in them. I just want to hear about Japan. Don’t you?”

  Wiremu picked up a stick and tossed it in the creek. He watched it as it sailed on down the stream and then as it slowed and began to float around and around as it got caught in an eddying little pool. “Course I do. But you didn’t have to spoil my story though,” he mumbled feeling a little annoyed. “And those stories are true,” he said, but under his breath so no one could hear.

  “Sorry Mu. Maybe next time, eh?” Jack looked at Konosu and said, “Go on Konosu. Tell us something good from your life. Maybe the stuff you used to get up to when you were younger or something.”

  Konosu also stood and stretched. He went to his blanket that was hanging in the tree and felt it to see if it was dry. He removed his hat and then turned. The sun lit up his face and he was grateful for its warmth after a week of grey skies and bitter coldness. He looked at Jack and Wiremu and said, “In Japan I live in Hiroshima, a large city with over 400,000 people living there. Japan is made up of islands and Hiroshima is on the island of Honshu, the largest island in Japan. As a boy I liked to play baseball and soccer...”

  And Konosu told them about living in Japan and about the sports he played and his friends he played with. He told them about Japanese board games and card games and of playing hide and seek. Games not dissimilar to what Jack and Wiremu played when younger. He spoke of the food he enjoyed and missed, and the excitement of the markets that sold the many varieties of seafood and plants and animals. He spoke about going to watch sumo wrestling and how it was done and showed them a little bit of karate and judo. He spoke about Shinto, his religion and the gods and spirits he worshipped. How he worshipped all things around him. All things in nature. And he spoke of the beautiful gardens that he had walked through and he described to them, as best he good, the colours of the trees and the pools of the multi-coloured carp and goldfish. And he told them all he could remember of Japan. Of the country he knew before the war. Before the madness. And finally he spoke of his family; his mother, the good things about his father, before the wickedness of war corrupted his soul. He spoke of his brothers; one now dead from war, and the other, who he hoped was still alive, and he spoke of his sisters and of his lover, Kiyomi, and how he hoped she would still be waiting for him when he returned to Hiroshima, to Japan. He told them how he missed her terribly, yearned for her, loved her and would die for her. And then he sat down, heavily, and a single tear escaped from his eye and trickled down his cheek
. And as he gazed at the dying embers in the fire, he felt sorry for himself, for his loss and for his lonely existence.

  “Well that certainly cheered everybody up!” Said Wiremu, in a sarcastic attempt to be jovial.

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to get emotional again,” said Konosu as he wiped his eyes and looked at them and smiled.

  “Ah, no worries,” said Jack. “Happens to the best of us. You okay now?” He asked.

  “Yes, thank you, I am fine.”

  Jack reached for his bag. “Look I’ve brought you some more food and I’ll get some more tomorrow. Hopefully this’ll keep you going for the week.”

  “Thankyou Jack. Thankyou once again.”

  “It’s all good. No problem. Anyway we need to head back now, it’ll be getting dark in an hour or so. Whatta reckon, Mu?”

  Wiremu grabbed their belongings and handed the rifle to Jack. “Yep sounds good. And tomorrow I’m going to show you how to catch eels from the river, that’s if you’re keen... Anyway we’ll see you tomorrow Konosu. Haere rá.”

  “Goodbye, Jack-chan, goodbye, Wi-re-mu –chan,” said Konosu as he bowed. He straightened. Placed his hat back on his head and watched them wander up and over the rise near the campsite, chatting and telling jokes to each other as they left.

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  Doug saw them leave. He had followed Jack and Wiremu all day. He had left early that morning wanting to set out before Jack so he could wait, near the ford in the river, for him to arrive. And he did arrive, on his horse with his hori mate whatsisname. Wiremu. Yeah that’s the one, Wiremu. And he had watched them as they cleared their traps and skinned their possums and then reset the traps. But he had thought he was wasting his time. That they were doing nothing out of the ordinary. Just going about their business. Constantly jabbering away at each other, telling stories and tales and fibs, while they did their work. It was enough to drive a man insane, listening to all the bullshit they were talking. He thought about chucking it in a couple of times. Thought he would actually go for a hunt, like he told them, rather than waste his time following these two idiots. But he stuck at it, stayed patient he did. After all patience was the key, he reminded himself. And it paid off. Paid off big time. He thought they were going to head home after they had done their traps but they didn’t. They headed into another area of the bush. Upstream from the last area and he knew then, that this would be it. That this would reveal Jacks, dirty little secret. So he followed. Quietly followed. Secretly followed. Staying in the shadows. And they didn’t have a clue he was there. There, the whole day, he had been. Watching them. Spying on them. Stalking them. And then as they went over a rise and out of his view he could smell cooking smells. Cooking smells? Delicious, tantalising, aromas that made his mouth water. And he peered cautiously over the rise and saw them. There were three of them now. The stranger was wearing the old coat that Jack had been wearing last week, when he had spied on him from the window. He was a man? Yes, he was a man, not a boy, but not much bigger than Jack or his friend. And he wore a hat that covered his face. A hat not dissimilar to his own but dark in colour, not khaki. And he was pottering around a fire that held a billy that steamed away. Doug could see his tarp and his axe and he seethed inside, knowing that this man was using his property. But he calmed himself and relaxed and waited, as he watched them sit around the fire and then eat their meal. Eat that mouth watering stew with bread from Jacks haversack. His bread no doubt. Stolen by Jack to feed the hori and the stranger. And he watched them as they finished their meal and like fat lazy cats kick back and scratch their stomachs, well sated while his gut growled and rumbled with the thought of food. And then he sat through their incessant chatter, as they squawked and clucked like a flock of hens. He needed a cigarette. Needed it bad. Hadn’t had one in hours. The longest he’d gone without one in ages. But he resisted the urge. Stayed focussed on the job and waited patiently. He thought about confronting them all. Demanding that they explain, what the hell was going on? To storm down there and break up their little tea party. Their sordid little tryst. And claim back his gear. And kick that sneaky little bastard Jack square in the arse and send him home, quick smart. He would tell that stinking Maori to get his black hide outta here or else! And he would send that stranger packing. Send him back to wherever he came from. Tell him to find some other boys to make friends with. To find some other boys to entertain him. And if the stranger protested or put up a fight, then he may just have to introduce him to his good friend, Mister Three-O-Three, and see if that changes his mind. Yep, he would do it. Do it now. And as he was just about to leave his hiding place and confront the trio, the stranger stood and took off his hat. He turned. And his face was exposed to the sunlight. It highlighted his features. His Asian features. And Doug gasped. And with wide eyed wonderment gaped at what he saw. Of course, the hat. The prison issue hat. He was, the prisoner. The escaped Prisoner of War from Wakeford. The one everyone had given up for dead. He had even given up for dead. Didn’t even consider that the man could survive a winter in the bush. Never considered that these two boys would be providing food and shelter and, comfort to the enemy. And he shook his head to clear his mind and to look again. To make sure he was seeing it right. But there was no doubt. And he thought: What do I do now? How do I handle this? But in a while it came to him and he knew just how he would handle this. After all he had the experience didn’t he? Tons of experience he had. The experience in handling Japanese prisoners of war.

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  Konosu watched until Jack and Wiremu disappeared from view and heard their chatter and banter dwindle with distance before he turned and picked up the empty billy from near the fire. He sighed as he approached the creek. Crouching down he began to wash the inside of the pot using the gritty sand from the creek bed as a scourer, to remove the stubborn food that had caught on the bottom of the pot. He smiled as he watched a little crayfish, a crawly as Wiremu had called it, come out from its hiding place. The bits of food in the water providing too much temptation, causing it to expose itself in the daylight. He saw it using its nippers to snatch a morsel of stew that had drifted past its home and then he watched as it backed up rapidly, the food held tightly in its claw, as it vanished back under its rock. He rinsed the pot once more, filled it with clean water, stood and turned back to the fire. He hung the billy over the fireplace. He loaded on some more wood from his stack and poked around in the embers until the fire caught again and black smoke billowed forth enveloping him, causing him to turn away and his eyes to water. He coughed a couple of times clearing the smoke from his lungs and rubbed at his stinging eyes. As he opened them he saw in a blur, a shape, rapidly coming towards him. A person? He blinked rapidly and said, “Jack? Is that you?” He closed his eyes again, hoping they would clear. Once again he opened them and they were cleared. Or clear enough anyway. Clear enough to see who stood before him and he gasped as he cried ‘Akuma!’ And it was him. The devil, Satan, the former Wakeford Prisoner of War Camp guard who was dismissed for his cruel deeds. The one who carried the stick, who beat the prisoners with it, who poisoned them by putting ground up glass in their food, who made their lives a living hell. And Konosu repeated the word ‘Akuma’ again. In a whisper this time, not really believing it, hoping he was dreaming. But knowing he was having a nightmare. And Doug stood there before him. His rifle held low, on his hip, his finger poised on the trigger, the barrel pointing at his prisoners gut. Because this Jap. This Nip. This scum. This piece of worthless offal was his now. He owned him. And he could do anything he wanted to him. And Doug snarled at him as he said “Akuma. Akuma eh! Ya better fuckin’ believe it, ya slant eyed yellow bastard!” And he motioned with the rifle flicking it up and down a couple of times “GET YA FUCKIN’ HANDS UP IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE ‘EM BEFORE I BLOW YA GUTS OUT ALL OVER THE BUSH!” He screamed. And Konosu complied slowly raising his h
ands and then placing them on top of his head. Doug screamed “UP IN THE AIR I SAID YOU DEAF PIECE OF SHIT!” And so Konosu raised them straight up in the air as he stared at his enemy. Keeping silent. Saying nothing. And he looked into the eyes of Akuma. And he saw the madness they possessed. And he knew if he did say something, something wrong, something he didn’t like, then he would be dead, in an instant. “So you understand English do you?” Asked Doug calmer now.

  Silence.

  “SPEAK!” He screamed as he jabbed the rifle at Konosu. Konosu looked down at the gun, saw Akuma’s finger on the trigger. Saw it was white with the strain. Saw his hand was shaking. Saw that Akuma’s whole body was shaking. And he knew that he must speak. He must answer or die right here, right now. “Yes I can understand English,” he said.

  “Okay, okay. Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth and his eyes darted all over the place as though suddenly, he felt he was being watched. “Just you is it? None of ya brothers hangin’ about is there? Ones they never accounted for when ya had that big breakout?” He asked nervously.

  Calmly Konosu said, “No. It is just me.”

  “Good. Good. Wouldn’t want one of ya mates sneakin’ up on me now tryin’ ta be a hero or somethin’.”

  “It is just me,” repeated Konosu, his arms starting to ache as he held them high.

  “You speak pretty good English for a Nip. It’s gonna make things a whole lot better for everyone in the long run.”

  Konosu’s arms slowly started to get lower as he felt the strain of keeping them above his head, take its toll.

  “Keep ‘em higher shithead or you’ll be pissin’ out another hole!” Smirked Doug. He continued. “So ya got yourself quite a set up here haven’t ya? Very cosy. You’ve got ya food supplied by ya two little slaves. You’ve got ya tarp, ya axe, ya knife, some comfy clothes. Hell, you are just fine and dandy aren’t ya? What was ya hopin’ ta do? Stay here till the war’s over? Convince ya two little mates ta take ya home and look after ya like you were their little pet? Was that what you’re hopin’ ta do, you yellow bastard? Tell me ‘cause I’m real curious, and I really need to know.”