After Darkness

by Christine Piper

  ‘Yes?’ he called.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  He looked up from a folder open on his desk. ‘Ah, Ibaraki. Take a seat.’ He gestured to a chair. Although I’d visited his office numerous times, he hadn’t invited me to sit there since my initial interview. Dread formed at the pit of my stomach.

  The chair sighed as it took my weight. Framed certificates lined the wall behind Kimura’s desk, a glass cabinet containing medals and Kimura’s porcelain collection stood to my left, and I knew from memory that behind me was a bookcase filled with leather-bound titles in German, English and French. Kimura’s desk was neat. A glass lamp, a notepad, a folder, and a desk stand with an ink pad for his seal and two pens were all that graced the broad surface.

  He shut the folder with a snap. ‘I trust you know why you’re here?’ He stared at me, his gaze even.

  ‘Yes, sir. If you mean the demonstration yesterday . . .’

  ‘That’s right.’ He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘How long have you worked for me, Ibaraki? A year? Two years?’

  ‘Almost two years,’ I said.

  ‘In that time I’ve had no cause to complain about you. You are punctual and meticulous. You work hard and have tremendous potential. Shimada has drawn my attention to your achievements on a number of occasions. Even Lieutenant Colonel Ishii approved of you. Until this week, I was going to nominate you to go to Manchukuo to train under him.’

  My head felt light.

  ‘Yesterday, however, you showed a different side when you refused to carry out a simple procedure. Your behaviour reflected poorly on our organisation and caused me, personally, a great deal of embarrassment. It would have been even more humiliating if Yamamoto hadn’t stepped in to do your job.’

  ‘Please, I was not myself. My wife suffered—’

  ‘Did I say you could speak?’ Kimura’s eyes blazed. ‘Only fools speak when their superior is talking!’

  I hung my head. There was a moment of silence before Kimura continued.

  ‘I’ve been trying to determine whether your recent indiscretion was an isolated incident or whether you might show such insubordination again. We’re at a crucial juncture in our research, when we cannot afford to take risks—and you, Ibaraki, are a risk. Now, Shimada has told me of your troubles at home. I understand that work puts a strain on your family. Our families suffer. We all suffer. But a soldier of the Fatherland fights for His Majesty—regardless of his family, regardless of his personal views. He puts aside his feelings. And so must you.’

  He opened the folder on his desk. He picked up a sealed envelope and held it in his hand. ‘Here’s a letter with the terms of your termination. You’ll receive full pay for the next three months. Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.’

  My mouth opened. I felt as if the air in my body had been knocked out of me. If I lost my job, I would have nothing. I wondered who else would hire me. But it was also a matter of pride. A dismissal would affect me for years to come. ‘Please . . .’ I whispered.

  ‘Is there something you wanted to say?’

  ‘Please, sir, I beg you to give me another chance. I’ll never do it again, I promise. I am always discreet. Just that once . . .’

  Kimura sighed. ‘Try to see it from my position. Our entire unit relies on secrecy. One moment of weakness and we could be exposed. Our honour is at stake. Not just now, but in years to come. If you are truly a man of honour, you’ll know to hold your tongue and never speak of the Epidemic Prevention Laboratory again. Take the secret to your grave. Is that clear? To disregard that would bring great shame on you and your family—on all of us. Think of your father: I’m sure he had only the highest hopes for his son. You’re still young. You’ll be able to find another job in time. You could still do great things.’

  He thrust the envelope towards me. ‘In a few years’ time, we’ll be ruling over Greater East Asia, and our suffering will be rewarded. Have faith that that time will come. That will be all, thank you, Mr Ibaraki. Please exit the building in a timely manner.’

  Without a job and without Kayoko, there was no need for me to stay in the city. I left the house in Setagaya and returned to my family home.

  The weeds in the yard had grown high and the furry heads of the green stalks brushed against the fence. Mother had changed, too. The line of her mouth had softened and her hair had greyed. I’d expected disappointment when I returned to live with her, but she seemed happy to have me back. Nobuhiro was away doing military training in Nagano. Megumi visited with her children twice a week. Hanako, my three-year-old niece, climbed onto my lap whenever she saw me. Megumi tried to teach her the word for ‘uncle’, ojisan, but all she managed was ji-ji. Kazuo, my newborn nephew, mostly cried or slept against his mother’s breast. Megumi took him to the kitchen while I played with Hanako. I could hear my sister whispering to Mother. I was certain it was about me, but I no longer cared. My life had become one that others whispered about.

  I tried to call Kayoko at her parents’ home.

  ‘She’s convalescing in the country,’ her father said, his voice cool. ‘Her mother’s with her. I don’t know when they’ll be back.’

  And so the days passed. I remember the subtle shift of light in the house at different times of day. The burnt-rice smell of the rice balls I ate. Time seemed to collapse, pulling all meaning into it. The days crawled by and vanished all at once. The weather grew warm, bringing a flourish of green leaves. While my mother and Megumi frequented parks and festivals, I spent the long, hot summer days indoors, too dispirited to go out.

  In early autumn, my aunt visited from Osaka, bringing turtle-shaped manju and arare rice crackers, small and glossy in my hand as I scooped them from the packet. Her husband worked in the shipping industry, and he’d heard of a job at a hospital in Australia, she said. He could make inquiries on my behalf if I was interested.

  ‘Australia—where on earth?’ My mother frowned. ‘I’m not sure you should bother.’

  ‘We should ask, at least,’ I said.

  Word came soon afterwards. The job was in Broome, in northwest Australia, thousands of miles away. A very respectable position as the head of a small hospital, but with only moderate pay. A two-year contract, with an option to extend.

  ‘Don’t take it,’ Mother said. ‘Be patient. You’ll find a job here soon.’

  But the stain of my dismissal meant my prospects in Japan were slim. I wasn’t ready to face my friends and former colleagues and tell them about my situation, not yet. Kayoko’s silence hung over me, unacknowledged yet ever present. Instead of accepting my loss, I wanted to escape. I yearned to put all the pain behind me and start afresh. The thought of Australia grew more attractive with each passing day.

  Broome

  1941

  I woke early, my back damp with sweat. Although I had shifted my bed to the verandah, I could not escape the humidity. Beyond the pale gauze of the mosquito net, the sky was still dark. Insects trilled around me like the pulse of an ancient heart. From somewhere far away, a bird began its morning call. I decided to take a walk before the sun grew too hot.

  The streets were quiet at the start of the wet, the exodus almost complete. President Kanemori had left with his family two months earlier. Only Harada remained, as usual. I planned to celebrate the new year in Broome with him and Minnie, as my friends in Melbourne had returned to Japan earlier in the year. A few luggers were still at sea, making the most of the late start to the wet, so I had decided to keep the hospital open two more weeks.

  I listened to the crunch of my feet along the dusty road, the subtle shift when I stepped on a pebble or a twig. The air filled my nostrils and mouth, tasting of metal.

  At the hospital, I drew the curtains shut and closed the door against the heat. I sat in the anteroom, updating the log of patients in the light peeking from beneath the curtain. Sister Bernice moved about the ward, unhindered by the gloom. She returned equipment to the cabinet and supplies to their
boxes. Doors creaked. Glass clinked. She was going to Geraldton at the end of the week.

  ‘Hello?’ a muffled voice called from the entrance. It was one of Ang Pok’s laundry boys. Sister Bernice went out to meet him. I heard the hum of their voices.

  Minutes later she appeared in the doorway. ‘Doctor?’

  I looked up. Even in the darkness, I could see her distress. Her brows were knotted. She clutched at her throat. I wondered if there had been an altercation.

  ‘I’ve just heard some distressing news. Ren Kin just told me Japan bombed Hawaii sometime early this morning. They attacked the US naval fleet, apparently sunk several ships. It’s all over the wireless, he said.’

  I moved to the corner of the room and switched on the wireless. Sister Bernice stood beside me as we listened to the broadcast.

  ‘. . . In breaking news, earlier today, at seven fifty-five am Honolulu time, Japan launched a surprise attack on the US naval base at Pearl Harbor off the southwest coast of Hawaii, sinking at least two battleships and damaging several others, and destroying hundreds of US aircraft. The National Broadcasting Corporation in Honolulu states that more than one hundred Japanese planes were involved in the attack, which occurred in two waves, forty minutes apart. Heavy US casualties are expected. President Roosevelt has condemned the attacks.’

  The broadcaster paused, then repeated the message. After I had listened to it a second time, I lowered the volume. I felt empty. For months, I had feared Japan’s entry into the Second World War, knowing the challenges it would present. Now that it had happened, however, I found I didn’t feel anything—no fear, regret or even sadness.

  Sister Bernice gazed at me. ‘Don’t you realise what this means? We’re at war with Japan now. You mustn’t stay here. It isn’t safe.’ Perhaps mistaking my silence for shock, she continued to speak. ‘They’ll come for you—they’ll put you away. You should have left a long time ago.’

  Her face was creased in anguish. I felt a great tenderness towards her at that moment. ‘Thank you for your concern, Sister, but you need not worry—I have prepared myself for this outcome.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When President Kanemori and the others returned to Japan, I was invited to join them, but I decided to remain. I felt it was my duty as a doctor and as a member of this community to stay and face the inevitable consequences.’

  Sister Bernice lowered her hand from her throat. ‘“The inevitable consequences?” Surely you don’t mean that. They’ll put you in prison, or worse. What good will you be to this community if you’re locked up?’ Her cheeks were flushed.

  Seeing her agitation, I tried to put an end to the conversation. ‘I made my choice, Sister. Whether right or wrong, it is now too late to change. I have to stay here in Broome. I hope I can do so with your blessing.’

  She stared at me for several seconds, then lifted her head and drew in a breath. Her mouth formed a tight line. ‘Very well, Doctor. As you wish. May I suggest you start gathering your belongings? And we’ll need to start making arrangements for the closure of the hospital. There’ll be no one to replace you once you’re gone.’

  She walked out of the room. A moment later I heard her rattling through the medicine cabinet. From the door of the anteroom, I watched as she removed packets and boxes and dumped them on top of the cabinet. Her head shook with the vigour of her movements. She must have noticed me, but she didn’t look up.

  We barely exchanged another word for the rest of the day. At three o’clock she asked if she could leave early. ‘I think it will storm soon. I’d like to return home before it does.’

  She had never asked to leave early before. I was aware I’d disappointed her over my decision to stay in Broome, but what else could I do? There was no point in trying to run now. I was an enemy alien. She had to accept that.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You know how quiet it has been here. And please don’t feel you need to come here in the next few days if you have other things to do. I can manage on my own.’

  Darkness crossed her face, but she turned back to the cupboard without saying anything.

  Before she left for the day, I made a feeble attempt to put things right between us. ‘Thank you for your help, Sister. And for your concern for my wellbeing. I am forever grateful for all you have done. I hope I have not offended you in any way.’

  She looked as if she was about to say something, but instead she gave a resolute nod, then opened the door and stepped outside.

  Although it was my fourth summer in Broome, it always amazed me how quickly conditions changed. One moment I was sweeping the verandah, the air so heavy it seemed to inhabit me, and the next a cool gust of wind stirred up debris and whipped through the trees. Rain began pelting the roof. Praying it wasn’t the start of a cyclone, I hurried to secure all the shutters.

  The storm was still raging when I retired to bed. Noise disturbed me throughout the night. Thunder shook the windows and the wind howled outside; the battering of the rain entered my dreams in the form of gunfire.

  When I heard a tapping sound I thought it was the wind shaking the shutters. But when the same distinct pattern of tapping occurred again, I got up and went to the door. I opened it and found Sister Bernice standing on my verandah. With no umbrella or raincoat, she was drenched. Her veil had slipped back from her crown, revealing a damp tangle of hair. In her dishevelled state, she seemed a different, much younger person—someone I knew by sight but had little connection with, like the daughters of master pearlers who spent most of the year at school in Perth and returned to Broome for the holidays.

  ‘Sister, what’s wrong? Is someone sick?’ Thinking one of the other nuns must be ill, I began to turn away from the door to get my things, but instead of answering me, she glanced past me to the hallway and then stepped inside. I offered her a seat but she remained standing. She was breathless, her eyes wide. I had never seen her so flustered.

  ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you—for coming so late. You must think me very strange. But I cannot stop thinking about what you said today. It just does not seem right to me that you expected war to break out with Japan—and yet, knowing this, still you stayed? Wouldn’t you have been safer, happier, if you’d returned to Japan?’

  I was taken aback. The drumming of the rain on the tin roof grew louder, a roar that filled my ears. I wanted the sound to grow so loud it deafened me. I stared at Sister Bernice. Water beaded on her forehead and trickled towards her eyes. Her gaze was unflinching. I could see she was determined not to leave without an answer. The thought occurred to me that I could tell her. If not about the laboratory, at least about what had happened between Kayoko and me. If there was anyone who could listen without judgment, it would be Bernice. But how to put my pain into words?

  ‘I did not want to go back to Japan. Not yet,’ I said finally. ‘My family—so much occurred before I left . . . It’s hard for you to understand—’

  ‘Why? Because I’m young? Because I’m a nun?’ The sharpness of her voice startled me. She glared at me. I blinked. My heart sank as I realised the opportunity was gone. I could not tell her about my past—how I hadn’t been there for Kayoko when she’d needed me the most. I certainly couldn’t tell Bernice when she was so aggrieved—if I ever could at all.

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. Something happened in Japan. It is hard for me to say . . .’

  I stared at the doorframe behind Bernice. I noticed we were standing in the same arrangement in the hallway as Kayoko and I had been on the day she left. I forced myself to look away. Butter-yellow paint coated the walls. As the rain continued its assault, the space between Sister Bernice and me seemed to stretch apart.

  Finally, she spoke again. Her voice was strange. ‘All these years we’ve worked together and I still don’t know who you are. I’ve tried to understand you—the Lord knows how much I’ve tried. But as soon as you show a part of yourself, almost at once you hide it away. I see you almost every day, and yet I don’t know the slightest t
hing about you. Perhaps I shouldn’t care, but I do.’

  Unease welled within me, a feeling so strong I had to lean against the wall for support.

  ‘Remember the time I left for Geraldton early? You thought I left because of the way you treated me after I found that thing inside the book. And I was upset—I was angry with you for shouting at me. But that’s not why I left. The reason I left was I realised something—a feeling was growing within me. For a long time I denied it, but when you reacted so strongly to the wooden tag, all of a sudden I understood: I was jealous. I was jealous of your other life in Japan, the one you never talked about. Maybe I felt like that because you were always so secretive, or maybe it was because of something else, but it made me so ashamed. I wondered why God had burdened me with such feelings. Was He testing my faith? I really did think of giving it up, of throwing it all away because of you. It was a silly idea, of course. You’d never—’ She winced and closed her eyes, as if she felt sudden pain. ‘I mean, I knew it would come to nothing. I never wanted it to come to anything, but I couldn’t help thinking . . .’

  She shook her head. Droplets spun to the floor, tiny pearls of light. Rain lashed the windows and roof, but everything inside was silent. She remained standing in my hallway with her eyes closed. I was frozen, save for the thumping of my heart. I sensed she was waiting for me to speak, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Finally, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Sister, it is very late. Too late to be talking about such things. Let’s discuss it in the morning, when the weather is calm and our minds are clear.’

  She looked away. The ceiling light reflected in the corner of her eye.

  ‘Stay here until the storm passes,’ I said. ‘I’ll make a bed for you. It’s too dangerous to go outside.’

  She didn’t seem to hear me. She turned and moved towards the entrance.

  ‘Bernice, wait.’

  Without pausing, she stepped through the door.