by Rory Marron
‘Oh, Juliette! I could never do that!’ Kate was curled up on her bed in a pair of pink silk pyjamas. Her hand was over her mouth and she was blushing furiously.
Juliette was sitting cross-legged in a short nightdress on her own bed across from Kate, her extended thumb held up for the demonstration. ‘Now I’ve told you, aren’t you a little bit curious?’
‘No! Well…not with someone I didn’t love. I just couldn’t. Not for money.’
‘Umm, I see,’ Juliette said nonchalantly. Then she got up and jumped on to Kate’s bed, pulling her up on to her hands and knees. ‘Then there’s this one. Comme les chiens!’
‘Another one?’ Kate craned her neck as Juliette positioned herself behind her, placed her hands on her shoulders and then began to bounce playfully against her raised buttocks. For a moment Kate was open-mouthed but then she started giggling. Seconds later they both collapsed on the bed, convulsed with laughter.
Juliette went back to her bed, pretending to be vexed. She opened a jar of moisturising cream and began rubbing it on to her legs. ‘Kate, you’re a bad student! I’m not going to show you any more!’
‘I’m sorry, Juliette,’ Kate said giggling. ‘Sometimes you are so funny!’
‘Well, I’m doing my best,’ Juliette sighed. ‘You know I haven’t got the…the equipment.’
More laughter exhausted them. They drifted into another short, dreamless sleep.
On the sixth day, five hairdressers worked all morning cutting and styling their hair. As a tonic, it was almost as good as food. In the afternoon there were manicures and pedicures. Afterwards a smiling Helga led the bewildered but willing group to an upstairs landing, where she opened doors to two large rooms. Each was crammed with rails of dresses, skirts, blouses, underwear and shoes. Many still carried their pre-invasion boutique price tags.
Helga clasped her hands like a schoolmistress pleased with her class. ‘Tonight, ladies, we are dressing for dinner. Enjoy yourselves!’ Her charges needed no prompting. Shrieking with unsuppressed delight they descended on the looted clothes.
That night Helga confessed she found the transformation astonishing. ‘Ladies,’ she said sincerely. ‘You look beautiful!’ They sat basking in her praise until Helga pulled a sad face. ‘Unfortunately, in three days you will be leaving us.’
Her audience quietened immediately but she ignored their worried looks. ‘From Friday you will have your own lovely rooms here in Semarang, Magelang or in Surabaya. In a few minutes you will meet a potential employer.’
Her audience shifted nervously. Helga carried on. ‘You will start work in a few days. It is really very simple. You are to be dance partners and companions, “hostesses” as the Japanese call it. Let us be quite clear about things. Certainly the Japanese officers will ask you to go to bed with them. If you accept, you can make money. With it you can purchase food and medicines for your families. If you refuse an invitation when you are ‘available’, I regret you will be sent back to your camp. Now, has anyone changed their mind?’ She looked about her slowly, confident that few would want to return to the hunger, squalor and disease. No one spoke.
After dinner they rose and stood in an embarrassed, fidgeting line as the first of the employers was introduced. A jovial, middle-aged Japanese woman wearing a cream kimono embroidered with designs of purple peonies greeted them warmly. ‘Kiriko desu-wa, hajimemashite.’—I’m Kiriko. I’m pleased to meet you. She bowed.
The women returned it. Kate had never felt so self-conscious of her appearance.
Kiriko walked down the line once fairly quickly, then began to walk back again, much more slowly.
Kate felt her knees go weak. The events of the last few days had seemed almost a dream but now she knew it was very real. Oh, God! I’m for sale, she thought cringing. She held her breath as Kiriko stopped in front of Juliette, looking at her appreciatively up and down. Kiriko tapped Juliette’s arm lightly with her fan and nodded to Helga. Then she moved on.
Kate felt a stab of panic at the thought of being separated from her friend. Then Kiriko turned back and considered Kate again. Helga whispered something in Kiriko’s ear and her eyebrows lifted slightly, She peered at Kate and then gave her arm a tap. Kate felt relief sweep through her. Juliette’s hand squeezed hers.
Kiriko chose five women then left. Kate, Juliette and the three others were asked to move into another room. Two of them, both blondes, were from another camp and Kate did not know them. Rukmini was the fifth. She came over to hug her sniffling. ‘Are you scared, Kate?’
‘We’re alive, Ruki,’ replied Kate, trying her best to sound strong. ‘That’s all that matters.’
Djatingaleh, Semarang
Ota spent several tense days until Nagumo finally told him he had news of Kate. ‘I had to spend a small fortune,’ he teased.
Ota shot him an impatient look.
‘All right, I’ll tell you!’ Nagumo grinned. ‘Kiriko says she has five new girls starting on Saturday night. Four are white and one is a half.’
‘And the Akebono?’
‘Six starting on Saturday but you needn’t bother, she’s at the Sakura.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ota pressed him.
‘Yes. I popped in last night and I asked Kiriko about new girls. She described them to me to whet my appetite. Anyway I saw her name and description in Kiriko’s book.’
‘You’re certain?’
Nagumo looked pained. ‘Yes! “K-a-t-e”, just as you wrote down. Age nineteen, blonde, 160 centimetres, volunteer from Tjandi Camp III.’
Ota relaxed and let out a slow breath. ‘Nineteen… Sorry, and thank you. Where is she now?’
‘Up in the hills at the Swiss pimp’s place. Tomorrow she goes to the Sakura. By the way, Kiriko complained the prices she paid were extortionate, so take all your cash.’
On the Saturday evening Ota and Nagumo were at the Sakura by five forty-five. Ota was very nervous, pacing back and forth. Nagumo sat smoking, thoroughly enjoying his friend’s discomfort. ‘You remind me of a high-school boy on his first visit to a Yoshiwara whorehouse! Relax will you!’
Just before six o’clock, two other young officers from a different regiment arrived. They greeted Nagumo but kept to themselves. Ota kept staring at them and at the door of the Sakura. Finally in frustration he sat down next to his companion. ‘Shit! Do you think they know about the new girls?’
Nagumo’s eyes rolled. ‘Probably. After all, we are outside a brothel! But I don’t think you need to worry about them.’
‘Why?’ Ota asked eagerly.
‘They’re queer!’
‘Eh?’ Ota’s eyes widened then closed in despair as he saw Nagumo’s smirk. ‘You sod!’
Contrite, Nagumo held up his hand. ‘All right! They’re regulars here and at the Otowa. Twice a week, so they haven’t got much spare cash and won’t want to blow it on an overpriced, one-off screw. They’re only here early because they’ll be playing mah-jong later.’
Ota looked exasperatedly at Nagumo, and then stared at the two officers, desperately hoping he was right.
At six precisely the Sakura’s doors opened and two smiling and bowing Japanese women wearing bright, floral kimono ushered them into the opulent reception. Nagumo led Ota to some buttoned-leather Chesterfield settees and ordered beers. Moments later Kiriko appeared and greeted them. ‘Irasshaimase! Ah, Nagu-chan! Domo! You’re very early. Don’t tell me you’re here for one of my new girls?’
Ota made to speak but Nagumo was quicker.
‘Oh, no, they’ll be too expensive for us,’ he sighed heavily, his regret only partly false.
‘Nonsense!’ Kiriko chirped. ‘You can at least have a look, then tell me what you think.’
As she spoke a dark-panelled door opened and Ota saw a blonde girl in a red, knee-length silk dress, stockings and delicate evening shoes bringing their beer on a tray. She was half way to their table before he realised it was Kate. He stared open-mouthed.
Kate approached bashfully, head do
wn. When she saw Ota her eyes bulged and she began to blush furiously.
Kiriko detected Ota’s interest in the blink of an eye. ‘Oh, this is Kate-chan,’ she said casually. ‘Isn’t she lovely? Nagu-chan, see how your friend has embarrassed her by staring like that!’ Kiriko’s eyes sparkled, sensing this was money in the bank.
Kate put the tray down, bowed with her palms pressed to her thighs, and then poured the two glasses of beer as she had been trained, holding the bottle in both hands. Ota and Nagumo held the bases of their glasses, tipping them slightly to make it easier for her to pour. Kate’s hands were shaking so much she kept hitting the neck of the bottle against the glasses. Kiriko struggled to hide her irritation at her lack of grace. Kate bowed again, and left. Ota stared after her.
Nagumo, admitting defeat, let out a long breath. ‘I think Lieutenant Ota quite likes her.’
‘Ha! I can see that!’ Kiriko fluttered her fan to hide her avaricious grin. ‘Such a sweet little thing…and only a thousand yen!’
It was three months’ pay. Ota’s eyes widened.
Nagumo gasped. ‘A thousand yen for a fleshless, clumsy amateur! How about six-fifty?’
‘Na-gu-mo-san!’ Kiriko’s snapped her fan shut testily. ‘Not only is she a lovely young woman she is a virgin. Naturally there is a premium and—’
The door opened and four kenpei entered, one of who was Shirai. Ota’s mouth went dry. His eyes signalled a warning to Nagumo.
Kiriko saw Ota’s look, glanced at the newcomers and smoothly pressed home her new advantage. ‘—and, perhaps, interest elsewhere?’
Ota swallowed hard. ‘All right, one thousand!’
‘There, now!’ Kiriko cooed, fanning herself again. ‘Here’s a man who appreciates quality.’ She beckoned to one of her staff and whispered instructions. The girl bowed and scurried away.
Kiriko rose. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a delightful partner, too, Nagu-chan. Please take your time with your drinks and go through when you are ready.’ She indicated a pair of large polished teak doors at one end of the lounge. She left them.
Ota was halfway to the doors before Kiriko had finished her bow of welcome to Shirai’s group.
Nagumo caught him up. ‘Take it easy!’
Ota hardly heard him. As he reached the doors he realised his heart was pounding. He knocked far too loudly. A Javanese girl dressed in a turquoise kebaya and sarong opened the door. A white bougainvillaea flower adorned her hair.
Ota barely noticed her. He entered hurriedly, looking for Kate. She was standing in a corner among a small group of Europeans. Their eyes met briefly before her gaze went to the floor.
Nagumo came in cheerfully, greeting those girls he knew. Yuki looked expectantly at Ota but he ignored her and walked over to Kate. She was still looking down. He bowed and held out his hand. ‘Please, Miss Kate,’ he said as gently as he could, still afraid she would refuse him.
Kate looked at him weakly. For several seconds she did not move. She glanced anxiously at Juliette, and then slowly, Kate took Ota’s hand.
‘Omedeto!’—Congratulations! ‘At last…’ Nagumo muttered sarcastically, his eyes already drawn to Juliette.
As she had been schooled, Kate led Ota silently out of the room. She did not look at him. He noticed her shoulders were trembling. In silence they went up two flights and halfway along a hallway.
He heard her take a deep, nervous breath as she opened a door and bowed for him to go first, again her hands flat on her thighs. Once inside she moved quickly away from him. He gave her a reassuring smile and went to open the shutters.
When he turned round she had already slipped off her shoes and was undoing the buttons at the back of her dress. Startled, he lifted his hand to stop her. She looked at him nervously. He tried to put her at ease. ‘I don’t want you to do that.’ His slow, but fluent American-accented English caught her by surprise.
‘What—What do you want?’ she whispered.
He shrugged. ‘For you to go back to Tjandi.’
‘I can’t do that, not now.’ Her face was pale. ‘I owe you a lot, Lieutenant. May I know your name.’
He bowed, grateful for the shield of formality. ‘My name is Kenichi Ota. I am very pleased to meet you, Kate.’
She bowed back. ‘My name is Kate van Dam. Thank you for so many things, Lt Ota.’
‘Here you can call me Kenichi…or Ken,’ he added quickly. It was what his family called him.
For a few seconds Kate seemed undecided but then she gathered herself and looked him in the eye. ‘I’m glad it’s you tonight, Ken.’ Her hands rose to her shoulders, slipping off the dress. It fell around her ankles and she stood before him in a white lace brassiere and knickers. She saw him force himself to look away.
Ota sat down heavily on the end of the bed, looking fixedly at the wall. ‘Kate, please understand. You do not have to do this. If I say you changed your mind and refused me they will send you back to the camp. Nothing will happen to you.’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘I will die there,’ she said coldly.
He turned to her. ‘No you won’t. I promise I will give you food and medicines like before. I was sent away unexpectedly. Trust me, please!’ He saw she was wavering and pointed at her dress. Shyly she pulled it back up.
‘Please sit down,’ he said gesturing for her to sit on the bed. She hesitated then complied.
Before he could speak she turned swiftly to face him. ‘Why did you leave the food? Why choose me?’ The words came out angrily, almost as a challenge. She regretted them instantly.
‘I—I’m not sure,’ he said uncomfortably, unprepared for her question. ‘I see no reason to imprison women. Japan is…I have a sister, she is—’ He looked away in frustration. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t explain. I don’t know the words.’
Kate’s expression softened. Keen to make amends, she changed the subject. ‘What is your sister’s name?’
Much of the tension left his face. ‘Haruko.’
‘It’s a pretty name. What does it mean?
‘Spring child.’
‘That’s lovely. How old is she?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Oh, she’ll be eighteen now. I haven’t seen her for nearly four years.’
Kate did not let him dwell on thoughts of home. ‘Well, I didn’t expect you to speak English.’
He laughed diffidently. ‘I only speak a little. An American missionary lived in my village for a few years. I have not spoken English for a long time.’
She frowned. ‘A missionary? Are you a Christian?’
‘No,’ he replied quickly. ‘But my mother was baptised,’ he added softly.
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know there were any Christian Japanese.’
‘Oh, there are tens of thousands,’ he said relaxing at last. ‘Most of them live in a city called Nagasaki. There are many old Dutch-built houses there.’
She looked at him for a few seconds. ‘You are very kind and patient, Ken,’ she said quietly.
Her words threw him and for a long time they were silent. When he looked at her again she was fighting back tears. He sat helplessly as they splashed over her tightly crossed arms. From his pocket he took a white handkerchief and laid it on her arm.
She gripped it and began to sob. ‘I don’t want to be a whore! I tried to be brave, like Juliette. I really tried but I can’t….’
Unsure of what to do, Ota gently put his arm around her. She collapsed against his shoulder, unbalancing him. He fell back on the bed with her nestled against him. He was aware only of a feeling of contentment. Gradually her sobs subsided into sniffles. He closed his eyes, surrendering to his own nervous exhaustion.
‘O-sore!’—That’s it! ‘O-sore!’ Nagumo crooned, repeating the folk-dance chorus. As he sang, he raised an open fan in one hand above his head, turned his body one hundred and eighty degrees, then stamped his bare feet. He finished by striking a dramatic, hands-raised pose but wobbled, and narrowly avoided tripping over one of the
small tables he had moved to make a space.
Juliette, red-faced with laughter, was gamely trying to follow his lead. ‘Oh, merde!’ she giggled, ‘I’ve gone wrong again!’
They were both wearing white- and indigo-checked nemaki sleeping robes. Juliette had long since given up on the fan and wore it tucked into her cotton belt. Neither of them was in total control of their movements. A half-empty bottle of anuck palm spirit lay on the rumpled silk bedclothes. Next to it lay an English-Japanese dictionary that Nagumo had borrowed from Kiriko.
For the hundredth time that night Nagumo attempted to guess what Juliette had said. ‘Kantan na… It’s a simple dance performed by farmers. It’s not difficult!’ he teased in Japanese.
Juliette understood his tone. ‘Oh, you’re just making it up,’ she pouted.
Nagumo ignored her and started another verse about harvesting the rice crop. Juliette tried the steps again and this time kept up with him, surprising them both.
‘I did it!’ She laughed delightedly.
Nagumo applauded warmly. ‘Hmm, yokatta!’—Well done! Laughing, he continued in Japanese. ‘But your clothes aren’t quite right. Back home the women don’t cover their tits when they’re working in the fields!’ He reached over and yanked open the left side of Juliette’s robe, exposing her breast and shoulder.
‘That’s better!’ He spoke with such obvious satisfaction that no translation was needed.
Smiling, Juliette shook her left arm completely out of the wide sleeve as Nagumo came to an unsteady stop. He glanced down at his front. The tip of his penis was jutting out from his robe. ‘Ora!’—Hey! He exclaimed, ‘Aka Fuji da!’—Red Fuji!
Juliette was taking a swig from the bottle and burst out laughing, spraying her drink down her front. ‘Oui! C’est un petit Fuji-yama!’ Her knees went and she collapsed in a fit of helpless giggles on the bed.