A man of about my age pushed his way through the crowd and crossed to the other side of the room. He was beaming.
‘Kariya Masaru,’ Locke said. The next man let out a cry of delight as he joined his friend.
Locke continued reading out names. The numbers facing us swelled. I noticed many standing before me were from Borneo, Surabaya and Java in the Dutch East Indies. My feet tingled.
‘Ichiro Mori.’
Whispers broke out as the mayor made his way to the other side of the room. A new mayor would have to be elected. My palms felt wet. Thirty or forty more names were called, and then Yamada’s name was called out, too. Those around me whispered their congratulations as he stepped forward. When he reached the other side of the room and turned to face us, his expression was full of glee. My shoulders sagged. Despite my own mixed feelings about returning to Japan, it didn’t seem fair that Mori and Yamada were lucky enough to be chosen.
Space had opened up between the people on our side of the room. I shifted from foot to foot. The air felt heavy, as if it were about to storm. Locke turned the page. There was only one more piece of paper. As he read out more names, I took comfort in the prospect of life at camp without Yamada or Mori.
‘Tomokazu Ibaraki.’
My head snapped up.
‘Congratulations, sensei,’ someone said. I felt a hand on my shoulder, urging me forward.
My head felt light as I made my way across the floor. Was I really going back to Japan? I wondered if my ties to the laboratory had anything to do with my name being chosen.
Locke read out a dozen more names, then said, ‘That’s all, I’m afraid.’
Two-thirds of the camp population remained on the other side of the hall. But as I looked across at them, they seemed like the minority. Some hung their heads, as if they had done something wrong. Others tried to smile, but I could see the disappointment in their tight mouths. I felt ashamed to be included on the list—I didn’t deserve it, not after how misguided I’d been at camp.
In the weeks following the announcement of the prisoner exchange program, the atmosphere at camp was tense. Those who hadn’t been chosen to return to Japan brooded over their continued confinement. Small matters, such as rearranging the beds and creating a new chore roster, threatened to erupt into disputes. A divide opened between those who were leaving and those who had to stay. As I was one of the lucky ones, I did my best to tiptoe around the others. At mealtimes, I avoided conversations about the exchange, and only packed my bags when no one else was around.
Yet sometimes the issue was impossible to evade. Soon after the announcement, Ebina approached me in the hut. ‘Sensei, not you, too?’ Our hut had a large number of people who’d been chosen to return. When I nodded, tears sprang to Ebina’s eyes. Seeing him before me, his face drawn and his shoulders hunched, I realised how troubled he felt. Not only would he lose some of his closest friends at camp, he would also remain separated from his wife and children, whom he missed dearly.
At the infirmary one afternoon, Dr Ashton pulled me aside and asked me how the news of the prisoner exchange had been taken at camp.
‘Most are coping well, but some are experiencing prolonged distress.’ A few men in my hut seemed unable to recover from their melancholy. They sat on their beds for most of the day, complaining about their misfortune, and refused to return to work. Some openly wept.
‘Do me a favour and keep an eye on them, would you?’ Dr Ashton said. ‘More suicide attempts are the last thing we need.’
Although I knew I was lucky to be leaving, the thought of returning to Japan filled me with dread. I slept fitfully at night, my mind consumed with what lay ahead.
In a welcome reversal of fortune, only Johnny and his friends were happy to learn that they would remain in Australia. While rumours of the internee exchange had swirled, they had been worried they would be sent to Japan against their wishes, even though they were British subjects. ‘They locked us up in here, didn’t they?’ Johnny had said. ‘Who knows what they’ll do to us next?’
When the gang discovered none of them were on the prisoner exchange list, they celebrated. After Locke and the other officers left the mess hall, Ernie brought out a bottle of rum he’d bought from one of the guards and started passing it around. They continued drinking after lights-out in their hut, becoming so rowdy their hut leader threatened to kick them out.
One evening a few weeks later, Johnny approached me after dinner in the mess hall. He told me that he, Charlie, Ernie, Martin and Dale had applied to transfer to Woolenook woodcutting camp, several miles away on the banks of the Murray River. It was a much smaller camp, with only two hundred internees. ‘McCubbin said there are a few Aussies there like us, so hopefully we won’t get as much grief.’ The weak electric lights threw shadows on his face, making him appear drawn. I would miss him, I knew. With the gang soon leaving, there was nothing left for me at camp. Yet a part of me wanted to stay.
The day before my departure, I visited the infirmary one last time. My heart was heavy as I entered the dim corridor, knowing I would never again see the familiar faces of the staff and patients, nor hear the building’s creaking floorboards. I bent my head and hurried past the room where Stan’s bed had been. In the tuberculosis ward, sunlight streamed through the windows, forming patterns on the floor. Harada was asleep. I touched his shoulder and his eyelids fluttered open.
‘Come to say goodbye?’
I nodded. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s too bad. I’ll miss you, old friend. You’re like a brother to me. I feel like I’ve know you a lifetime.’
I squeezed his hand. Harada had regained some strength in the previous month, and his appetite had increased. His face appeared fuller in the morning light.
‘You make it sound as if we’ll never be in contact again. I promise you, I’ll write.’
He shook his head. ‘No use. I’m going to die in here.’
My smile faded. ‘Nonsense. You’re not going to die here. Why would you say something like that? Just last week you put on two pounds, and your breathing has improved.’
But he didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I’m going to die, I know it. And I’ll never see Minnie again. I can’t even contact her—she’s with her family somewhere.’
I grew troubled as my thoughts turned to Kayoko. I hadn’t heard from her in years and wondered whether our silence would continue after my return.
We gathered along the fence to say our last goodbyes. A bitter wind buffeted my face and brought tears to my eyes. A collection of suitcases and sacks were at my feet. My luggage had swelled in the six months I’d been at camp. Sawada had made me a puzzle box as a farewell present, its different-coloured panels sliding in a series of movements to reveal the internal cavity. Ebina and the rest of the baseball team had given me a notebook filled with their memories of our time together. I also had a number of letters and wooden keepsakes from many left at camp who’d asked me to forward them to their families in Japan.
A line of trucks waited on the other side of the birdcage gate, ready to transport us to Barmera station. From there, we would board a train bound for Melbourne, then we’d begin the long voyage home.
Mori stepped forward, his glasses flashing white as they reflected the overcast sky. He gave a short speech, thanking everyone for their support and welcoming the new mayor, Abe Denkichi from Borneo. ‘Against all odds, we’ve been able to make a happy life here. I trust this will continue under Mayor Abe’s leadership.’ I curled my lip at his affectation. I had to endure several more weeks with him and Yamada on the voyage. I consoled myself with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to harm anyone else at camp.
As I waited at the fence, Johnny came up to me and extended his hand. He no longer wore bandages, as his cuts had finally healed. Wearing a knitted jumper, his hair wet and falling over his eyes, he looked like the young man I had known in Broome.
‘Look at you, you lucky bugger. You can finally go home
. You’re one of the few who really deserves it. Can’t say the same about some of the others.’
‘Johnny, I will miss you. You have become a good friend. I only wish we had become friends sooner—not only at camp, but also in Broome. I should have trusted you earlier.’
He nodded and looked away. His eyes glistened.
‘Start filing out, one at a time!’ the guard called from the gate.
Charlie, Ernie, Martin, Andy, Ken and Dale wished me luck and patted my back. I bowed to Ebina, Sawada, Ohmatsu and the other men from my hut one last time. As I fell into line, a feeling of panic gripped me. I looked back at the hundreds of men waving goodbye. Let me stay! I wanted to cry.
The guard marked my name off a list and I stepped onto Broadway for the last time. As we walked along the wide street, our friends in 14C followed us inside the fence. ‘Goodbye!’ they yelled. ‘Don’t forget us!’ Tears were streaming down Ebina’s face.
We reached the junction at the middle of camp and I looked back. The blur of my friends pressed against the fence. The sweep of ochre dirt. The rows of galvanised-iron huts. The guard tower rising up beyond the fence. It was bleak, but it was home. A place where I belonged.
On the other side of Broadway, the Germans in 14D and Italians in 14A had gathered along the inside fence to see us off. ‘Lebewohl!’ they called ‘Addio!’ I heard music and thought it was a record playing in one of the compounds, but as we walked past the Italian compound I realised it was a live band. A four-piece on guitar, mandolin, accordion and tambourine played us a parting song. Men clapped and sang around them, cheering as we went by.
We reached the birdcage gate and passed through it for the last time. McCubbin waited on the other side. His cap was pushed back off his face. He grinned, and a crease formed along the scar on his cheek.
‘Glad I didn’t miss you. I just wanted to say goodbye. It’s been a pleasure. I’ve got your address in Japan. Let’s keep in touch. You’re one of the good ones—I hope you know that.’ He held out his hand. It almost swallowed mine. He brought his other hand on top.
‘Thank you for everything. I won’t forget—’ My voice faltered.
‘Hey, cheer up. No need for that. Aren’t you happy you’re going home?’ But his own eyes were wet.
We dragged our luggage to the line of waiting trucks and loaded it inside. I stepped into the back and sat on the bench. The engine coughed into life. The truck jerked forward and a cry escaped from my throat. I craned my neck to watch the scenery shrinking away through the canvas opening at the back. The long stretch of barbed-wire fence. The squat buildings of the duty guard camp. The guard towers, shining silver in the bleak light. Clouds of dust billowed across the track. Then we turned a corner, and it was gone.
SS City of Canterbury and Kamakura Maru
1942
We boarded the train at Barmera and travelled through the night, reaching the outskirts of Melbourne the next morning. Through the carriage window, I saw heads of wheat swaying in the dawn light. Beyond them, the sun spread on the horizon. My heart ached. I would miss the sunrises and sunsets in Australia—the vivid wash of light.
We disembarked at Port Melbourne a few hours later. A line of ships spread out before us. Among them was the City of Canterbury, the British naval ship that would take us halfway home. The long grey vessel huddled at the water’s edge, ready to slip towards Lourenço Marques, where the prisoner exchange would take place.
On the train, the atmosphere had been lively; we’d played card games and whispered through the night. But once we stepped outside, blinking against the sudden brightness, we fell silent. The guards marched beside us as we walked towards the foreshore. I was struck by the paradox: although I’d been released from camp, I’d never felt my enemy status so keenly till now. Ahead of us, a small crowd of onlookers was gathered at the top of the stairs. From a distance, they looked like a typical group of sightseers there to admire the ships, a handful of children among them. But as we neared, their mouths set hard. We were nearly on the gangway when one of the men shouted, ‘You should kill them!’ ‘Yeah, shoot the bastards!’ a woman cried. My chest felt tight. I thought back to the train journey to Loveday, when I’d seen the woman with the little girl on the platform—the expression on her face.
Before leaving the port, we were joined by more Japanese internees and officials, including the Japanese ambassador to Australia and the consul-general. Soon we numbered more than eight hundred. The diplomats and officials would travel in the first-class cabins on the upper deck and eat in a separate dining room staffed by the crew, while the remaining internees were to sleep on hammocks on the lower deck and cook for themselves from the ship’s supplies. About seventy women and children also boarded the ship, and it was a relief to hear women’s voices and see children again. I had been living among men for far too long.
We finally left Melbourne, launching from the port with a single shrill of the whistle. We stopped at Fremantle to pick up more passengers and supplies before embarking on the long journey across the Indian Ocean. I stayed at the stern as we slipped through the sapphire waters, watching the land shrinking behind us. When we had travelled half a day, I noticed a difference in the quality of light—the sky seemed thinner, the colours less bright. I realised we had finally left Australia, and something broke within me and drifted away.
I had been embarrassed to discover I was one of the few people assigned to cabins on the lower deck, along with Mori, Yamada and several businessmen. At pains to free myself of their association, I spent my days wandering the deck and mixing with the rest of the internees. Mori and Yamada didn’t seem to notice my frequent absences as they cooked with and conversed among their privileged coterie.
The days passed without incident. Surrounded by the ocean again, I regained a measure of calmness after the turbulence of the previous few months. I spent many hours wandering the decks and looking through portholes. Sometimes I saw whales in the distance, their backs like oil slicks on the surface. Despite the cramped quarters and the freezing night-time temperatures, the atmosphere was genial. I became friendly with a group of men from the Dutch East Indies who’d been held at Hay camp, and shared many meals with them.
Over stew one night, as we sat in a circle with blankets around our shoulders, talk turned to the diplomats on board the ship.
‘I heard Ambassador Kawai’s a strange sort,’ one of the men said. ‘Have you met him, sensei?’
‘Briefly, yes.’ I had treated one of the other diplomats for seasickness, and was introduced to the ambassador while I was there. ‘Kawai didn’t strike me as strange, exactly—more circumspect, I’d say.’ I leaned forward. ‘Apparently, Kawai has four white boxes in his cabin containing the ashes of the naval officers who died in Sydney Harbour. The Australian government gave them to him to return to the families in Japan.’
The men around me exclaimed in disbelief. At camp, we’d read about the midget-submarine attack in one of the newspapers smuggled from the guards’ barracks. The submarines had only hit a depot ship before they sank, but I was astonished they’d gone so far down the east coast. Mori had organised a big celebration at camp, with camp-brewed sake at each table. When I later learned that the Australian authorities had given the Japanese officers a funeral with full naval honours, I was shocked. They seemed to treat their enemies with more respect than their own people, I thought, with Johnny in mind.
As we sat on the ship’s deck, scraping out the last of the stew from the saucepan, the discussion turned to the dead men.
‘To think, those men went into the water knowing they’d never return alive,’ someone said. ‘I couldn’t do such a thing.’
Goto, a rubber planter from Borneo, put up his hand to signal he wanted to speak. His voice was a whisper. ‘To give one’s life to one’s country, for the greater good of all—it’s the greatest sacrifice. They’re true heroes,’ he said, shaking his head. Everyone around me nodded.
But as I thought of the men in thei
r metal coffin, their final breath escaping from their lungs, I imagined them at peace with themselves, knowing what they had done. It is much harder to descend to the depths of suffering and then find a way to keep living. I know, because that is what I have done.
A memory comes back to me from my time at the laboratory. It was from those final traumatic weeks when our baby had died and Kayoko had left me.
Shimada had called me into his office to discuss the schedule for the dissection demonstration, which was to be held in two days’ time. Soon after I had reported to his office, an officer appeared at the door and told Shimada that Kimura wanted to talk to him. He excused himself, promising to return soon. There was a manila folder on his desk. Thinking it was related to the dissection demonstration, I picked it up and flipped it open. The title read: ‘Hydrogen cyanide toxicity by inhalation’. I began reading the report. ‘Subject A: Female 26 years. Subject B: Infant 22 months. Experiment began with 1000 mg of HCN released into 5 cubic-metre enclosure. At 50 seconds, “B” showed signs of disturbed breathing, despite attempts by “A” to cover respiratory tract. Convulsions in “B” began at 1 minute 40 seconds. “A” collapsed at 4 minutes. Lay on top of “B” to little effect. Convulsions began thereafter. “A” displayed signs of flushing on face and neck and foaming at the mouth. Convulsions continued sporadically until 17 minutes. At 21 minutes, respiratory signs ceased. Experiment was terminated at 30 minutes. Both subjects were pronounced dead.’ I closed the file, my hands trembling.
A few days later, after Kimura dismissed me, I had less than an hour to say goodbye to my colleagues and gather my belongings. Before I left, I slipped into the storage room one last time. I frantically searched for the specimen, praying it hadn’t been incinerated yet. At last I found it. The boy’s corpse had been returned to one of the jars and stored on a shelf. Guts spilled from the stomach cavity, but the face was untouched. Eyes closed, his expression was serene. I removed the lid and reached in to slip the wooden tag from around his neck.
After Darkness Page 24