The Gift of Rain: A Novel

by Tan Twan Eng

  “The Jipunakui caught two young men stealing from a motorcycle shop and cut off their heads in the public square at the police headquarters. You can see them. Their heads are still on those long poles.” There were moans of horror and Ah Jin continued, “Aiyo, the blood, like pigs being slaughtered in the Pulau Tikus market-lah! I tell you, these Jipunakui are animals!” She saw me listening by the door and hurriedly took her basket and went out to the yard.

  A curfew was imposed and those caught breaking it were shot on sight. Food and supplies were rationed and the firms and trading companies were taken over by the military, although a few—Hutton & Sons among them—were still allowed to be run by their owners. The goods would be shipped to Japan to help with their war effort, much to my father’s fury.

  We heard nothing from Edward or MacAllister. “I hope they’re all right,” my father said on our way to a meeting called by Endo-san. The Penang business owners and managers who had not escaped to Singapore had been asked to attend. “You realize you’re now working for the second most powerful man in Penang? And probably one of the five most powerful men in Malaya?” he asked. “I suppose I can’t hire you back again at your former salary?”

  I tried to appreciate his feeble attempt at humor and smiled, hoping he had come to see the sense of my decision.

  “I’m sorry. I should have discussed it with you first,” I said.

  “It’s already done. You would’ve gone and worked for them anyway,” he said, and the brief moment of humor and warmth we had tried to achieve was gone, washed away by the bitterness in his voice.

  We were shown into the meeting room once used by the resident councillor to run the affairs of the island. Soldiers were moving furniture and boxes, as they shifted the administrative departments of the Japanese consulate to the Residence. Henry Cross, the head of Empire Trading, greeted us. Despite the circumstances he was as well dressed as ever, his height and broad shoulders making him seem the most authoritative man in the room, until Endo-san walked in.

  I took my place next to him and looked around the table. There were quite a few faces I recognized, company managers, bankers, factory owners, business leaders; all had at one time or another been invited to parties at Istana and I in turn had been invited to their houses. I gave a slight nod to Towkay Yeap, steeled myself, and looked straight ahead.

  “I’ve been appointed by the Japanese government to assist them in the transition, to interpret and to guide all of us concerning cultural matters,” I began. There were the expected murmurs of outrage but I ignored them. “By my side is Mr. Hayato Endo, or as he would prefer to be called, Endo-san. He is the assistant governor. Mr. Shigeru Hiroshi, the new governor of Penang, sends his apologies but he has had to leave for Kuala Lumpur, which, as you may not be aware, has just surrendered yesterday.”

  There were expressions of shock on their faces and then loud murmurs of disbelief. My father looked at me, stunned and angry. I had not disclosed the news of K.L.’s surrender to him and from the look in his eyes I knew he was thinking of Edward. “You knew this and you didn’t tell me? Knowing your brother’s there and that I was worried to death about him?” he said.

  “He was under my orders not to disclose anything,” Endo-san said quietly to him. I stared at the surface of the table, unable to look at either of them.

  “We are here to decide on your roles in helping the island’s recovery,” Endo-san now said in rapid Japanese. I translated slowly, grateful that he had redirected my father’s attention. I watched the faces around me, avoiding only his. They covered their unease faultlessly, like good commercial people.

  I had asked Endo-san why he required an interpreter and he said, “I wish to hear their replies twice. You would be surprised how much they will say when they think I cannot understand.”

  It was a convincing reply and there was truth in it. But I was starting to see that my main purpose would be to serve as an instrument of Japanese propaganda.

  “General Yamashita’s plan was to have members of the military take over the running of your companies and businesses completely. It is my opinion, however, that soldiers make bad businessmen. I suggested to him that we merely place advisors and allow you to assist us in running your businesses.”

  Henry Cross seemed to speak for them all. “That’s quite unacceptable. How much power would the advisors have?”

  “Complete authority. You will only remain to ensure that everything is run efficiently.”

  “What if we refuse?”

  “Then your presence here is unnecessary and we shall make arrangements for you to be interned in a prison camp. Conditions may not be as satisfactory as those you enjoy now.”

  Everything went smoothly after that. “You did admirably,” Endo-san said after the meeting. He appeared out of place among the heavy English furniture and I had the dislocating feeling that I was in a dream, seeing this man—the quintessence of all things Japanese—leaning back against a leather Chesterfield and fronted by a slab of oak table. “I know how hard it must be for you. At least those people saw the sense of cooperating.”

  I wanted to say that it was not cooperation but coercion but that would have been to state the obvious. I saw his rueful smile and so kept my silence.

  “Your family will be safe,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “That’s all I want.”

  “Everything will be made good ... in the end.” His eyes now held mine captive. “I hope you do not lose your way.”

  The Japanese army moved south all the way to the town of Johor Bahru, where they crossed the causeway over the Straits of Johor and marched into Singapore. On February 15, 1942, the news of the official surrender came over the governor’s radio and General Arthur Percival was brought before General Yamashita Tomoyuki, the military commander of Malaya.

  The photograph of the surrender of Singapore, taken at the Ford factory where the signing of the agreement took place, was sent to newspapers around the world. We stood to attention as once again the Japanese anthem was played. The Japanese Occupation had begun.

  “As General Yamashita promised,” Hiroshi announced, his voice proud, “Singapore has been delivered as to the Divine Emperor his birthday present!”

  Endo-san once described to me how the young Hirohito had spent his summers at the seaside villa owned by Endo-san’s family, wading in tidal pools looking for specimens for his collection, for the future emperor was already a keen student of marine biology. I was left to wonder what sort of person the emperor had grown up to be, to want as his birthday present the subjugation of another land.

  I had not heard from Aunt Mei and I became worried, wondering whether she had left her home on Bangkok Lane. The roads were busy with Japanese troops as I cycled into town and I was stopped regularly at checkpoints. My identity document issued by Endo-san prevented me from being troubled and I did not have to bow as low as the others. As I was cycling off, I heard a man being clubbed with a rifle when he forgot to bow to the soldier. I forced myself to continue, to ignore the coarse shouts of the Japanese. He’ll learn, I thought. He’ll learn. We all will.

  I knocked on Aunt Mei’s door. The windows were shut, the wooden louvers closed. It seemed so different from the old days, when the street was full of sounds and life. Even the suspicious cats were gone.

  “Aunt Mei! It’s me!” I shouted through the gaps of the door. I had the feeling that the street was not as empty as it seemed and I began to feel curious eyes peering from many of the houses. I knocked again.

  The door opened and I was let inside. In the shadows I saw her face, damaged and discolored. I felt a jolt of anger. “The soldiers?” I asked.

  She nodded, slowly, because of her bruised face. I sat her down and examined her. “Are you all right? Do you need medicine?”

  “No, no. I am fine,” she said, her voice squashed by her swollen features.

  “What happened?”

  “Did not show proper respect to a Japanese soldier.”

&n
bsp; “Do you have enough food?” I asked.

  “Enough.”

  “You must come and stay with us,” I said. “I’ll help you pack now.”

  She shook her head. “I am fine, really. I cannot go with you. I still have certain obligations.”

  “You should stop worrying about your pupils; I’m sure they are wise enough to go into hiding for a while.”

  She refused to accept my offer and I stopped insisting. “How’s Grandfather? Have you heard anything from him?”

  “He is fine. The Japanese have not harmed him. Stays in the house all the time.”

  “Good. I’ll see if I can get a travel permit to visit him.”

  She looked keenly at me. “I was told you’re now working for the Japanese.”

  “It seemed a good way to save my family. Isn’t that what Grandfather said—that the family is all?”

  “Be careful. A lot of people wouldn’t think so.”

  “Are you telling me that something will happen to me, to my family?”

  She did not reply.

  “Tell those people that I joined the Japanese also to prevent more blood being spilled,” I said.

  “I can tell them, but they are only words.”

  “Does this mean you won’t accept help from me now?”

  “I think it is better that you do not come here for a while. The neighbors. They are fearful and they will talk.”

  I got up from the chair, the feeling of rejection weakening me. “I understand,” I said. “I’ll see myself out.” I took her hand. “You may think I’m doing the wrong thing, but I made a promise to Grandfather to look after you and I won’t abandon you.”

  Chapter Five

  Despite my best efforts I could not trace Edward and Peter MacAllister. They had disappeared among the masses of Europeans who had been rounded up into prison camps. Isabel, who had come down from The Hill, was frantic. My father was worried about Edward, I knew, and ate very little. He had lost a great deal of weight since William’s death.

  “I cannot do anything; Kuala Lumpur is under Saotome-san’s command,” Endo-san said when I went to him. We heard Hiroshi coughing violently from his office and Endo-san winced.

  “May I telephone him?”

  “I think it would be more courteous for you to see him in person.”

  “In that case I’ll require a travel pass from you.”

  “You do not need one. Your document of identification allows you unimpeded travel. Let me have it now.”

  He removed a wooden case from a drawer and took out a small square block. He inked it in red and carefully placed his seal on the piece of paper. “That is my personal seal. Just produce it whenever you are stopped. You should not encounter any hindrance.”

  “Thank you, sensei.”

  He ignored the faint hint of sarcasm in my voice. “I hope you can find them. But they are prisoners of war. Remember that.”

  “I will.”

  He stopped me as I was leaving. “Please instruct the kitchen staff that all utensils used by Hiroshi-san must now be separated from general use. They must also be thoroughly sterilized.”

  “Yes. Is it tuberculosis as the doctor suspected?”

  “Hai.” He appeared regretful. “What we have to suffer in order to obey our country’s rulers.”

  Since her return from Penang Hill, Isabel had been anxious, walking around the house, unsure and angry. We had forbidden her from going outdoors, even though in her cropped hair and shapeless clothes she would have been almost safe. She insisted on coming with me when she found out that I would be going to Kuala Lumpur.

  My father put his foot down, softly, but firmly. “No, you can’t go. It’s still too dangerous. The soldiers are running wild around the country.”

  News of rapes and disembowelments reached us almost daily. Families and villagers caught in the path of the troops were raped and bayoneted, sometimes not even in that order.

  “I’ll do my best to find them,” I said, touching her arm. Her other hand came up and stroked my fingers.

  The train services had been restored, but obtaining a ticket required going through the military and the Kempeitai would be certain to compile information on all travelers.

  The countryside appeared as it had been, unchanged. The train headed into a thunderstorm soon after leaving Butterworth and I put my window up. The leaves of the trees lining the tracks were heavy with droplets of rain, smearing the windows, turning the view outside into a wavering, uncertain landscape.

  I slept fitfully, surrounded by Chinese merchants who had managed to obtain travel permits, their voices soft as they discussed the economy. The black market was thriving and the Japanese were already printing money to counter inflation. That was the first time I heard about “banana notes,” which were just worthless Japanese money, printed with a picture of a banana tree. “Aiyah, can’t even buy a banana with it!” these traders complained.

  They were curious about me. I heard them whispering in Hokkien as I fell in and out of sleep, trying to determine if I were European or not. I opened my eyes and settled their questions in Hokkien, amused by their mortified faces.

  “What are you doing in K.L.?” one asked.

  “Going to ask the Jipunakui where my brother is.”

  Their faces turned somber. “You won’t find him. The Europeans have been taken to Singapore. Or, even worse, sent to Siam.”

  “Why Siam? It wasn’t invaded by the Japanese.”

  “Yes, but they signed a treaty to preserve their territories. In return they allow the Jipunakui to build a railroad in the north.” His voice softened, like the wick of an oil lamp being lowered. “I’ve heard very terrible things about this railway line. Terrible.” He shook his head, glancing around to his companions for agreement.

  “Who will you be seeing in K.L.?” another man asked.

  “Saotome,” I said.

  The train entered a tunnel and for minutes I could not see their faces, could not hear them as the roaring passage of the train sang in the tunnel. When we came out into the light again the first man who had spoken to me said, “You must be careful of that man. He’s dangerous, with very strange tastes. He is attracted to suffering.”

  I thought back again to my dinner with Saotome and the girl who had been presented to him. The sweet taste of eel speckled my mouth. “I will,” I said, and thanked them.

  Endo-san had made an appointment for me, and a military car was waiting to take me to Saotome. Once again I entered the quiet hallways and polished corridors of the embassy. However, this time I was shown into his office, which overlooked a small garden made up entirely of pebbles and rocks. Akasaki Saotome was raking the pebbles, the sound like the mah-jong tiles that one so often heard in the streets of Georgetown as the players mixed the tiles on the tables, “washing” them. A Zen garden, I thought, recalling Endo-san describing to me the one in his home in Japan. The swirls and the patterns created by the sweeping were supposed to still the mind, to appear as the waves on the ocean. I waited at the doorway leading to the garden. A gust of wind blew and a clutch of leaves spun in the air before settling down on the pebbles, on the circular lines and waves left by the rake. “Look at that,” he said. “Like souls caught in time, neh?” “I prefer to see them as ships trapped in a tide of stones.” “We see what we wish to,” he said, hanging the rake on a hook. He skirted the rippling pebbles, his wooden clogs comforting, almost rustic, to hear. Once again I was aware of how handsome he looked, but an image, lying by the banks of my memory like a half-hidden mud-caked crocodile, of him licking his lips, marred his appearance.

  “I have examined the records of the prisoners. I did not come across your brother’s name, nor of that of Peter MacAllister.”

  “They were here on the day K.L. surrendered.”

  “It was a chaotic time; no doubt we may have missed them both. Or they both could have escaped to Singapore.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  He exte
nded his hand and stroked my face. I shivered at the sudden touch and he smiled. “You must love your brother very much,” he said.

  I stood very still and he said, “I am very much aware of your abilities. You could probably break my neck easily. But you see,” he gave a soft laugh, “I do not need such skills.” Again I saw his smile, small as an incision, revealing only a thin red line.

  He leaned closer to me and I smelled his scent. It reminded me of smoke from burning leaves, so evocative of dusk at Istana that I found myself savoring it. It was so easy to give in, but I moved my head away and he paused, his hand still on my cheek.

  “No?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I can call the guards, you know.”

  “You would not do that. You prefer your victims to submit to you of their own accord. So much more enjoyable to control them willingly than to have to take them by force.”

  His hand left my cheek. “You are shivering. I do not know why you refuse. You think Endo-san is different from me? That just because he is your sensei he will watch over you and protect you?” Saotome shook his head. “He and I are more similar than you are aware of. He is myself not so long ago; he will become what I am.”

  He had clarified the reason I was drawn to him, but I thought of Endo-san, and a surge of strength warmed me, burning away my fascination with Saotome.

  “Maybe in another lifetime, Saotome-san,” I said.

  “Then I shall wait,” he said. “Your brother and MacAllister have been sent to Changi prison and there they will stay for the duration of the war. There is nothing you can do for them now.”

  I bowed formally and left him there in the pebbled garden, among his souls caught in the tides of time.

  In my heart I knew Saotome had lied to me. Truth was a precious commodity for him; he would not have been generous with it. As I waited at the train station, I changed my ticket and hired a trishaw from a row of them waiting by the road outside.

  “Where to?” the trishaw-puller asked, hunched over his bicycle, a stained towel slung over his shoulder.