Sister Bernice didn’t return to the hospital. For a few days I expected to hear the hospital door creak, the blinds squeal as the rings slid on the metal rods, and then to see her, occupying the doorway to the anteroom, dressed in white. But she never came. I won’t lie: her departure saddened me. It was Bernice I thought of as I wiped down the benches and put the last of the medical books into boxes. I imagined her visiting her aunt’s family in Geraldton, a clutch of nieces and nephews around her, recounting tales of what they’d done since her last visit. No doubt her disappointment quickly dissipated upon seeing them and our unceremonious parting was soon far from her mind.
Without her, my world shrunk. I continued opening the hospital every day, although there was nothing left to do. Walking through Japtown, I saw the shutters had closed on all the Japanese-run businesses—the Shiosakis’ laundry, the Yat Son noodle shop and the Tonan Shokai store, where I’d bought rice, miso and other staples. At the hospital, I spent my time going through the medical files. I left the door ajar in case a patient came, although there were very few people left to treat since the arrests had begun.
One day, I heard a voice calling, ‘Hello?’ into the dim recess of the hospital. When I opened the door, Ang Pok recoiled, his tanned face crinkling in surprise. ‘You still here? How come they not take you yet?’
I confessed I didn’t know. As Ang Pok listed all the townsfolk who’d been arrested—the Shiosakis, Torimarus, Muramatsus, Tsutsumi and his wife, the Kanegae brothers, Joe Iwata, Johnny Chang—I began to wonder if I hadn’t been arrested yet because of my profession. Broome’s only other physician, Dr Wallace, was in poor health. If he became too ill to work, the town would have no doctor. What if they didn’t take me at all? Perhaps I would remain in Broome under the watchful eye of Inspector Cowie, who was rumoured to have been sent from Perth because of concerns about Broome’s large Japanese population. The residents would see me when they had to, and spend the rest of the time talking about me behind my back. The only boon would be a chance to make amends with Sister Bernice. I was sure I had done the right thing—she had her whole life ahead of her and there was no point throwing it away on a silly infatuation with me—but I wished I had been more considerate of her feelings. If only I had her talent for gentle counsel, for soothing people through talk, perhaps things wouldn’t have turned out as they had.
That night, I went to Harada’s house. Poor Harada, whose body was condensing with age; his spine curved like young bamboo as he shuffled around his home. He’d arrived as a diver during the pre-World War I boom, and had stayed long enough to see the divers come and go and the pearling industry dwindle like an ebbing tide. When President Kanemori had decided to return to Japan in October, he’d urged Harada to join him. ‘Return now or you might never be able to go back,’ he’d said. But Harada had refused. ‘My home is here now, with Minnie. I’ll stay, whatever happens.’
But when I visited that night, doubt creased his brow. I sat at his dining table with him and Minnie, drinking tea.
‘Did you hear about the crew of Trixen?’ he asked. ‘They were late to shore this season and were arrested by Cowie and his men at the jetty yesterday.’ His voice was a whisper. ‘I saw them on the road, being led to gaol with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Everyone stopped to watch them as they walked past. The look on their faces—they had no idea what was going on.’ He shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. ‘We’ll be next, you know.’ Minnie’s eyes flashed, then she got up and left the room.
Harada leaned closer. ‘She’s mad at me. She thinks I should’ve gone back when I had the chance.’ He didn’t say anything for a few moments. He fingered a button on his jacket. ‘We did the right thing, didn’t we, by staying here instead of going?’ His earnest expression sought my reassurance. But I said I didn’t know.
It was a dreadful kind of waiting. Time entered a new dimension—not exactly slow, but a state in which I sensed everything more keenly. I detected the sharp scent of metal in the air, I felt each drop of sweat beneath my shirt, and I observed how the shifting light at dawn and dusk seemed to hide more than it revealed.
I was at the hospital when they came. The cloudy sky cast a sombre light in the thick midday heat. As I sat in the anteroom, the soft grate of men’s voices disturbed the air. I was paralysed with trepidation as the murmurs became louder, till I sensed a movement of shadow beneath the front door. Four sharp raps sounded. I jerked into action, suddenly freed from the magnetic pull of my seat. I crossed the floor and flung open the door.
Inspector Cowie smiled, only the corners of his mouth turning upwards. Behind him stood Constable Taylor, the officer who’d replaced Rooney six months earlier when Rooney and his pregnant wife had moved to Perth. Taylor stared straight at me, his eyes like pale beads. The skin around his nose had been scorched by the sun.
Inspector Cowie cleared his throat. ‘Dr Ibaraki, good morning. In light of Japan’s entry into the war last week, the Australian government has issued an edict for the immediate internment of all Japanese nationals—’
I put up my hand to signal I understood. ‘Just let me get my things.’
They followed me inside. Cowie took off his hat and wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. Taylor inspected the hospital while I packed up the last of my belongings in the anteroom. I heard footsteps behind me and I spun around to see Taylor, his unblinking gaze bearing down on me. He sniffed and looked away. I closed and locked my suitcases and carried them to the front door.
‘One bag only—same as for all the others, right?’ Taylor walked up behind me.
‘I think we can let this one go, Constable,’ Cowie said. ‘The doctor’s a special case. He needs his equipment if he’s to treat anyone.’
‘What about these, then?’ Taylor held out a pair of handcuffs.
Agitation crossed Cowie’s face. ‘No, no. They’re not necessary. It’s just the doctor, after all.’ Taylor thrust out his jaw.
I placed my luggage on the ground outside the hospital. Turning around to lock the door, I glanced inside one last time. I remembered how bare it had been when I’d first arrived. Now, even with the mattresses stripped and the equipment packed away, warmth filled the room through the personal touches that had accumulated over time. The assortment of cups and saucers on the shelf above the sink. The floral curtains stitched by Sister Bernice. The ink drawing of her profile done by one of the old Japanese patients who’d been at the hospital for a week with bronchitis. Delighted with it, Sister Bernice had pinned it to the wall, and every day I went to the hospital, the re-created sister gazed into the distance, forever noble, forever serene. I pulled the door shut and turned the key.
We started towards the police station, less than ten minutes walk away. We formed an awkward procession, with Cowie in the lead, holding one of my bags. Taylor and I followed him. I held one suitcase in each hand while Taylor flanked me, gripping my upper arm with one hand and carrying my fourth bag in his other. He was determined to keep hold, no matter how quickly I walked.
Just before we reached the next street, I looked back. White paint flaked from the walls of the hospital, exposing the sun-bleached wood beneath. I noted the patchwork of different-coloured metals on the galvanised-iron roof. A strange feeling came over me. I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself to look away.
It was done now.
The late-morning sun shone with ferocity, as if it knew its moment of glory would be short. Light reflected on the surface of the muddy puddles and on the glistening leaves of pandanus palms beside the road. I strained to isolate the landmarks I saw every day. The elegant poinciana tree that hugged the curve of Napier Terrace and whose limbs children climbed like a ladder. The rickety sign that pointed to Weld Street. I tried to memorise them, but no matter how hard I tried I knew I wouldn’t be able to truly recall them later—they’d be filtered through my memory and warped by time.
‘We picked up your friend Harada today; he’s in gaol with a few others,’ C
owie said.
‘Is he all right?’ Harada’s body had grown weak in the previous few years. He caught simple colds that turned into nasty infections.
‘He’s a bit frail, but he seems fine. He asked about you.’
The buildings of Japtown rose up ahead: a long line of metal shacks with deep front verandahs that jutted onto the street. Signs such as T. Weng Tailor, Ang Pok’s Laundry and Tonan Shokai General Store sat atop each verandah, as proud as peacocks on display. The first time I’d laid eyes on Japtown, I had been shocked by the state of decay—the dilapidated buildings, rusted signs and dusty lanes well past their prime. This is my new home? I had thought. But as the weeks and then months passed I recognised Japtown’s dynamic nature, fed by the constant human activity that swelled and waned with the seasons. I liked nothing better than to close the hospital on a Saturday evening in August or September, when it was still light at five-thirty but not too hot or sticky, and stroll along Napier Terrace towards the low-slung roofs of Japtown, surveying the area as the sky turned silver. During my first year, when few people knew me, I strolled unimpeded, observing the men smoking on the verandah of the gambling den, Mrs Yano on the second floor of her boarding house snapping out her sheets, and the children who played hopscotch in the back lanes, their legs coated in dirt.
On the day of my arrest, however, it was clear that the struggle between destruction and renewal, man and nature—whatever one wishes to call it—was drawing to a close. Although a few figures strolled along the main road, without the Japanese population and their businesses, the town was a shadow of its former self. The rusty signs, broken railings and faded curtains in the windows of the restaurants and stores—those elements that had once stood as examples of the town’s life force—had become relics of a glorious past. I knew then Broome would never be the same.
We reached the edge of Japtown, and people stopped to stare at us. The sun, so bright and clear, continued to shine. Mr Ong was standing outside his store and saw us. Suddenly self-conscious, I ducked my head. Taylor saw me and smirked. Someone called out my name, and I looked up and saw it was Billy, the Malay who’d got into a fight with the Japanese diver my first year in Broome. He was on the upper verandah of Mrs Yano’s boarding house, crouched over a washing pan. He waved and shouted something at me that I couldn’t understand. I nodded and smiled, conscious of Taylor’s grip on my arm.
We turned onto the dusty expanse of Carnarvon Street, where scattered iron-roofed buildings baked in the sun. There was only a short stretch of road until the police station. On our left was the Japanese Association; the hedge of pink and white oleanders that bordered the verandah was in full bloom. Ahead of me, on the far side of the road, was Ellies’ cafe. I remembered when Sister Bernice and I had had our surprise encounter there on the day of the Emperor’s birthday. I remembered the rhythmic thunk of the fan overhead and the sweet smell of malt. The smoothness of her skin. The way it crinkled around the corners of her mouth. Those memories converged and overwhelmed me, and that is the only explanation I can think of for what I did next. Nostalgia got the better of me, and without thinking I veered off course and started towards the cafe.
I do vaguely remember hearing someone shouting behind me, although for some reason I didn’t think it was directed at me. I was in a kind of trance, at the mercy of my desire to go inside one last time—a desire so strong it was almost primal. I suppose I thought if I looked at it again I’d be able to preserve the moment in my mind—a memento of my time with Sister Bernice. I continued across the street at what seemed to me a regular pace, but I was told later I had actually broken free and run from Taylor and Cowie.
I was almost at the shop’s verandah, the black, curlicued sign just discernible, when I felt a force on my back. My legs buckled. Pain shot through my left shoulder and dirt invaded my mouth. Someone—Taylor, I found out later—was upon me, cursing in my ear. ‘Don’t you try to get away from me. Quit moving, you bloody Jap!’
It’s possible I suffered a concussion when I hit the ground, for when I lifted my head everything swayed. I recall fragments of images—a man’s chin, the surprised eyes of a woman staring down at me, someone’s sun-pink hands disturbing the collar of my shirt. There must have been quite a crowd. Then something hard struck the side of my face. Warm metallic liquid flooded my mouth. Time stretched out, like ripples on the surface of a lake. I later learned I was only unconscious for a few seconds, but into the space images floated up, one after another, enough to fill an hour-long reel of film. My mother’s grey-streaked hair. Kayoko’s ebony comb on her dressing table at home. The rich red sand of Roebuck Bay. Lily-white folds of fabric.
We did the right thing, didn’t we? Harada’s question came back to me, an echo in that silence.
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Loveday
1942
I woke on Saturday to the chatter of men. The walls of the hut creaked and the windows glowed white. Two glorious days without work stretched ahead of me. At the last minute, Hayashi had offered to do my shift on Sunday, the day of the baseball final. ‘You deserve it. You’ve been working harder than anyone else.’ I had refused at first, but he’d insisted. ‘Wasn’t the baseball competition your idea? It wouldn’t be right without you there. You can cover one of my shifts another time.’ So I thanked him for his generosity and promised to return the favour. During my two days off, I planned to tend the garden near the Buddhist altar. I’d planted some purple-tinged long grasses that I’d picked up on our trip to the river several weeks earlier, and I wondered how they were coping with the frost. I also needed to check on the baseball trophy—I’d asked Sawada and a few of the other craftsmen to make something for the winners.
On the hut doorstep, I stretched my arms. A brisk wind tugged at my jacket and lifted my hair. I looked up. The sky was opaque. It was a strange colour—a shade I’d never seen before. Murky, like the river on an overcast day. I wondered whether a storm was approaching, but there were no discernible clouds in the sky. A haze seemed to hang in the air, making everything appear pale and blurry. Beyond the fence, the trees seemed to quiver in the distance.
I heard a shout from the gate. An army truck trundled into camp, lurching to a stop on the other side of the birdcage gate. Men spilled from the back and fanned out along the fence. Johnny and the others had returned from Melbourne. I was eager to know if their appeal had been successful. They’d want to celebrate, if so. I wondered if Yamada would allow them to have some of the sake hidden beneath the latrines.
The men began filing into our compound. I cut across camp to meet them, weaving between the few remaining rows of tents, the canvas flaps jerking in the wind.
Johnny, Martin and Andy were the last to enter. They trudged along the path, shouldering their rucksacks. I was about to call out to them in greeting, but then saw the expression on their faces. Their mouths were slack, their eyes downcast. Johnny’s swagger was gone; his shoulders were slumped. Their appeals must have been rejected, but I couldn’t imagine why. Surely at least one of them would have been granted a release?
I caught up to them on the path. ‘How was it?’
Johnny didn’t look up. Andy frowned. Martin glanced at me, his mouth tight. ‘Not now . . .’ He shook his head.
‘You weren’t successful?’ I asked.
Johnny’s head snapped up. ‘What do you think, Doc?’ He glared at me.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
‘It was a bloody waste of time. Those frocked-up arseholes were against us from the start.’ He strode away, each footstep raising a cloud of dust.
‘He’s been in a foul mood since the decision,’ Martin said.
‘What happened?’
‘We were in there for about fifteen minutes each and they asked us about ten questions. At the end of it, they told us they couldn’t deal with our appeal as we were Australian-born and not aliens. They said we had to go to a different tribunal—one just for British subjects who are i
nterned. Except there is no tribunal like that.’ Martin rolled his eyes. ‘The usual claptrap. I guess we should’ve known.’
‘No one got a release?’
‘Only old Ito.’ Martin nodded to one of the other internees. Back bent, he swayed from side to side as he shuffled along the path. I recognised him from the infirmary—he was frequently admitted with various ailments due to his old age. ‘Now that it’s over, I couldn’t give a shit, but Johnny’s really taken it to heart.’
Johnny’s silhouette skimmed the horizon as he walked back to his hut. Even from a distance, I could see the force of his steps and the way his body angled forward as he walked headlong into the wind.
For the rest of the morning, I stayed in my hut. I wanted to wait for the wind to settle before I ventured to the garden. It showed no signs of abating, however. Now and then, a strong gust blew outside the window, sounding like a muffled shriek. The walls tinkled with the sound of particles pelting the hut’s iron exterior. I wondered how Harada and the other TB patients were coping in the rough weather. I took out a piece of paper and a pen to write a letter that was long overdue.
‘Dear Mother,’ I began. ‘Please forgive my silence of the past few months. So much has happened since my telegram informing you of my transfer to Loveday. Winter has set in here at camp. The days are chilly and the nights freezing, but you will be pleased to know there is no snow. Tsuyu must be over in Tokyo. How are you coping in the summer heat?
‘I received your telegram informing me of brother Nobuhiro’s death. I regret I was unable to perform the duties expected of me at the funeral, but every day I pray for Nobuhiro’s wellbeing in the afterlife. I hope that Megumi and her family can give you comfort during this difficult time.’
I tried to think of what to write next, but everything I came up with—the names of my friends at camp, the farce of the tribunal—was in danger of being cut by the censors. I thought of Johnny’s conduct that morning. I hoped he calmed down before the baseball match—Major Locke would not tolerate such behaviour.
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