Eden

by Peter Watt

  Satisfied with his disguise, Fuji set out. He had two missions in mind and within the hour found himself on the outskirts of Keela’s village, which stretched out into the sea on stilted wooden houses. Part of the village was on land where mangy dogs and scrawny pigs scrounged amongst the piles of garbage.

  The Japanese sailor had been trained well and waited patiently, observing movement to and from the village. Eventually he spotted the track through the bush being used by the villagers to go to the beach where he had met Keela. As for Keela, he could not see any sign of her among the groups of young girls sitting and gossiping under the houses ashore and could only guess that she might be in one of the huts perched over the sea.

  Afternoon came and Fuji retrieved from his bilum a piece of dried fish. He was also thirsty but ignored the craving for water.

  Eventually a young boy sauntered down the track on his own and Fuji risked leaving his hide to confront the startled youth, who was about eight years old. The boy stood petrified at this stranger who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

  ‘I will not hurt you,’ Fuji said in Motu. ‘Do you know the woman called Keela?’

  The terrified boy nodded.

  ‘I will give you a penny,’ Fuji said with a reassuring smile and stretching out his hand with the copper coin, ‘if you go to her and tell her that Fuji will be waiting for her just after the sun rises at the place they met.’

  The boy hesitated but the sight of the Australianminted coin overcame his fear. As the stranger looked like his clanspeople and had not tried to hurt him, he accepted the coin, staring wide-eyed at the stranger.

  ‘If you tell anyone that you met me,’ Fuji threatened, ‘I will come in the night and slit your throat.’ He produced the knife he always carried. The boy’s mouth gaped at the terrifying blade and he nodded his head vigorously. ‘Good, now go and tell Keela the message I have paid you to deliver.’

  The boy nodded once again, turned on his heel and ran back towards the village. Fuji prayed that his threat would be enough and made his way back to his hide near the beach, where he slaked his thirst from the water canteen he had brought ashore as part of his survival supplies.

  Night came and Fuji slept fitfully with the pistol in his hand. Had he been betrayed he would not be taken alive but would fight to the death, keeping the last bullet for himself.

  After what seemed an eternity the sun rose and Fuji stood to gaze down on the beach from his hiding place in the scrub. She was there! He had not expected his message to be delivered but Keela was wading in the shallows, holding up the hem of her long, wrap-around skirt. Her breasts were exposed in the custom of her people and she had a flower behind her ear.

  Fuji did not immediately identify himself to her lest she had been followed and he walked into an ambush laid by either her kinfolk or the Australian military. Instead, armed with the pistol, he scouted the area very cautiously to make sure she was alone. Satisfied that she was, he stepped out onto the beach. Her back was to him as she stood in the gentle wash of waves.

  ‘Keela,’ he called softly.

  She turned and ran to him. ‘I have waited for you,’ she said and looked down shyly. ‘You said you would return for me.’

  ‘I could not immediately return because I am a warrior of the Emperor and had important things to do,’ he replied stiffly. ‘But I am here now to say that you are still my woman.’

  ‘Our baby grows in me still,’ Keela said, looking up at Fuji. ‘And you look silly pretending to be one of us,’ she added mischievously.

  ‘I must pretend to be of mixed race,’ he answered in an indignant tone. ‘If I am betrayed I will be killed.’

  ‘Have you come for me?’ Keela asked.

  ‘I will come for you when we have defeated the Australian and American barbarians. I will return to Papua and we will build a house here. Then I will take over my father’s boat business when the peace comes.’

  ‘I always knew that you would be my man,’ Keela responded. ‘Our baby will be born a strong warrior like his father.’

  Fuji stood uncomfortably in Keela’s presence. He knew he was letting his heart overrule his mission. But it had been so opportune that he should be put ashore so close to Keela. Remembering his primary purpose for being there, Fuji asked, ‘Do you know what happened to the Chinese trader, Kwong Yu Sen?’

  Keela frowned as she had wanted her man to talk more of his feelings for her. ‘Who cares,’ she answered with a pout, and was startled when Fuji gripped her shoulders.

  ‘Do you know what happened to the Chinese trader?’ he repeated fiercely.

  ‘I heard from the market that he was killed by the army men from Port Moresby and that they then burned down his house. The people who worked for the Chinaman have all disappeared, and at the market some say they ran away in fright.’

  Fuji released his grip and stepped back.

  ‘You hurt me,’ Keela accused. ‘I thought that you came back to see me.’

  Realising how threatening his manner had been, Fuji shook his head. ‘I am sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I am tense from being in the land occupied by my enemies. I did not mean to harm you.’

  Appeased, Keela stepped forward and took his hand. ‘I think we should go to the bushes,’ she said. ‘It has been a long time and I have missed the feel of your body against mine.’

  ‘That will not hurt the baby?’ Fuji asked, ignorant of such matters.

  ‘The old ladies say it will not,’ Keela replied with a flash of a shy smile, leading him away from the beach.

  It was a day that Fuji wished would never end. He half-heartedly hoped that the submarine would never return for him as, spent from their day of lovemaking, they lay on their backs watching the crescent moon rise in the tropical sky. For the moment, the war was a long way away. They whispered to each other as lovers do and the night would become Fuji’s most treasured memory for as long as he lived.

  Keela protested her lover’s insistence that they not meet again as she could not truly comprehend the danger the Japanese sailor was in every minute he remained ashore. For the Motu woman danger was simply a way of life as her village still remained under threat from other clans and tribes. Despite the coming of European law to contain tribal fighting, raids were still made for women and for the payback of grievances.

  In the morning Keela returned to her concerned relatives, telling them that she had felt ill and decided to sleep out in the bush. The glowing expression on the young woman’s face did not fool the older women who sat around on their grass mats cackling that she had found a lover from another village. Or was it the Japanese man who had once killed the young man Keela was supposed to have married? The latter supposition had more scandal attached to it and was thus accepted as being the fact.

  Mounted on a horse, Police Sergeant Ian Groves was on a routine visit to one of his outposts beyond Port Moresby to inspect the contingent of native police under the command of one of his trusted native sergeant majors. He liked the visits because they took him out of the bombed township and into the bush. This journey would take him a day and his saddlebags were filled with the necessities of life camping out. Accompanying him on foot, with his police carbine slung on his shoulder and a bandolier of .303 rounds across his broad chest, was one of his constables, who spoke Motu and could act as an interpreter if required. They were on the track in the vicinity of the Sen residence in the early afternoon when they were hailed down by an old bearded native man who hobbled over to meet them.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Sergeant Groves asked.

  ‘He say that he see a Japanese man called Fuji Komine hanging around here,’ the constable replied. ‘Say he saw him this morning.’

  ‘Komine?’ Groves repeated. ‘Is he sure he saw the little bastard?’

  The constable turned to the old man and asked questions, most of which the police sergeant could follow with his basic knowledge of the language. From what he could understand the old man had worked at Sen’s house as a gardener,
and when his Chinese employer had mysteriously disappeared the house had been razed to the ground by the army. He had been forced to return to his village on the coast and it had only been because he had returned to his former place of employment to see if anything was worth scrounging from the ruins that he noticed the young Japanese man. Although the Japanese man had attempted to disguise himself, he did not fool the old man, who had known Fuji from when he was a young boy working with his father, the Japanese boat builder. The old native had not approached Fuji because he had heard the Australians were in a big tribal fight against Fuji’s relatives from somewhere called Japan. The old man could only think that Japan must have been up in the highlands because he knew of the fierce reputation of the stocky little men from that region.

  ‘Ask him if Komine was with anyone,’ Groves said, convinced that the old man knew what he was talking about.

  After a matter of a few seconds the police constable turned to the Australian police sergeant. ‘He says he did not see anyone else with him but it has been gossiped by the old native women in his village that the girl, Keela, is going to be the mother of his child,’ the constable answered in pidgin.

  Ian Groves had a lot more questions at the report of Fuji being sighted in the area. He had been with the party that had gone to Fuji’s parents’ place on the coast and taken them in for internment somewhere in Australia as enemy aliens. The sergeant had not really believed that the old man and his wife were any real threat to national security, and it had not been a pleasant task at the time to force the two from their home. Sergeant Groves was also aware that their son was a member of the Japanese navy and had read the report of his clash with young Lukas Kelly. He also knew that at the time of the clash Fuji had been operating out of a submarine; and the fact that he had been seen alive in Papua in the last twenty-four hours seemed to contradict the RAAF Beaufighter pilot’s report that he believed that he had sunk the submarine now confirmed as the I–47.

  Ian Groves pumped the old man for as much information as he could give and leaned down from his horse to pass him a generous twist of dark tobacco. The reward greatly pleased the old man who beamed a betel-stained smile at the police sergeant, showering thanks and praises on the policeman before hobbling away, cackling to himself over his windfall.

  Ian Groves took a deep breath. He knew that he must make a decision. The information about the Japanese sailor was of great importance to the military in Port Moresby. The presence of the Japanese sailor ashore could only be to gather intelligence or carry out acts of sabotage. Either way, Komine had to be found. Should he initiate a search for Fuji with his constable or go for help? Ian Groves was a sensible man and considered his options; he would need reinforcements if he was to attempt to locate the Japanese sailor and knew that his visit to the outpost would have to be postponed. He withdrew a notebook from his pocket and scribbled down the necessary facts. ‘Constable,’ he said. ‘You are to take this report to HQ at Port Moresby and tell them where I am.’

  He tossed his constable a couple of cans of corned beef from his saddle-bags and wheeled his horse around to ride on to Sen’s former residence. The police sergeant was nervous but had to weigh his fear against the search for the Japanese sailor while the trail was still fresh. He was armed with his revolver and had a .303 rifle in the saddle bucket by his knee. He hoped that he also had the element of surprise on his side. He did not underestimate Fuji. Not all the sweat running down his body was from the tropical sun’s shimmering heat.

  As he waited for the submarine to return for him Fuji was blissfully unaware that his presence on Papuan soil had been noted. Nor was he aware that the Allies had the ability to monitor the naval codes of Japan and that they were also aware of his submarine. What they did not know was its whereabouts.

  Fuji had made another visit to inspect the deserted ruins of Sen’s house in the hope that he might find some clue as to what had happened. Keela’s story did not make sense. The Australians might be the enemy but they played by a strict sense of British justice. No, something was wrong, and Fuji was slowly forming the suspicion that the Chinese man was in all probability a double agent, now working for the Allies.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The winds were in the Independence’s favour. It was sailing under a full canvas to the location designated by military HQ, arriving mid afternoon off the beach south of Sen’s house and land.

  Lukas reported that he had reached his destination and was informed that a RAN frigate was on its way to assist him. The news made Lukas feel a little easier about the situation. To be allocated the task of searching for any signs of a Japanese submarine armed with nothing heavier than a .50 calibre machine gun and some grenades, which were no real deterrent should a sighting result in the submarine electing to sink him, was worrying. Lukas stood on the deck scanning the jungle-covered shoreline. Iris would be at Sen’s home, Lukas thought and felt compelled to go ashore and ensure that all was well at the Chinese trader’s place.

  ‘Momis,’ he called. ‘Make sure the boys are fed. And I want you to organise a lookout for this afternoon. I am going ashore for a short time but will be back before sunset. If you see a submarine you are to radio Moresby and fire a shot to alert me. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Masta Lukas,’ Momis replied proudly. Lukas had taught him how to use the powerful radio, and the fact that the masta had given him the responsibility of looking after the schooner puffed his ego.

  The dinghy was lowered and Lukas rowed ashore, taking a revolver and a water canteen. He knew that he could reach Sen’s house along the track from the beach within the half hour on foot and possibly visit Iris before returning to his schooner. Looking back over his shoulder as he rowed away from the schooner, he was struck by just how familiar the Independence was to him – maybe like living with a wife, he smiled. There had been bad times and there had been good times.

  Sergeant Ian Groves could feel the short bristles of his grey hair rising. He sat astride his police mount, gripping the Lee Enfield rifle. The place was deserted and eerily silent. The blackened timbers and smokestained sheets of corrugated iron spread about were a sad reminder of how grand the Chinese trader’s residence had once been. Sen had always provided hospitality to him on the occasions that his patrols had brought him to this part of the district.

  ‘Bloody waste,’ he muttered, surveying the ruins. ‘Bloody army.’ His horse shifted under him, snorting, and Ian Groves felt his heart pound in his chest. An instinct born of years patrolling the dangerous tribal areas where warriors still met intruders with long bamboo arrows warned him he was not alone, and he forced himself to very carefully scan the bush at the edge of the ruins. He knew not to fix his attention on the bush as much as force himself to focus through the scrub. Sure enough he saw movement and the rifle came up to his shoulder, his finger slipping to the trigger while he brought his sights to bear on the figure who had emerged from the scrub to stand with an expression of shock fifty yards or so away.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ the sergeant muttered, lowering the rifle. ‘You almost got yourself shot.’

  Lukas was not as surprised to see the police sergeant as he was to see the ruins. He walked towards the man on the horse. ‘What in hell happened here? Are you blokes responsible for this, Sergeant Groves?’

  ‘Not us, young Lukas,’ Ian Groves said, the rifle against his hip. ‘Your mob, the army did this when the Chinaman disappeared.’

  ‘What about the woman who was staying with him?’ Lukas asked. ‘What has happened to her?’

  ‘If you mean Iris,’ Groves replied, ‘she was shipped out to Australia a few days ago. That Major Shaw, who used to be in the police back in Australia, was in charge of putting her aboard. I hear she is all right.’

  Lukas shook his head in bewilderment. Things happened so fast during war. ‘Why did they burn the place down?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Groves replied, allowing himself to roll a cigarette when he had replaced the rifle in the leather rif
le bucket. ‘If you ask me, the bastards who did this should have been locked up. Army people or not, it makes no sense.’ When he had completed licking the edge of the paper and was satisfied it would not fall apart he lit the cigarette and puffed a long snort of smoke into the air. ‘What are you doing around these parts anyway?’

  ‘Thought I might pay my respects to Sen,’ Lukas answered. ‘I don’t suppose you know where he is now?’

  ‘About as much clue as you have,’ Groves replied. ‘But I do know your old mate Fuji Komine was spotted around here only a few hours ago by a native. That’s why I am out this way. I hope to have some help by the morning.’

  Lukas blanched. Fuji! So he was not dead. ‘Then you are going to need a hand right now,’ Lukas said. ‘I have known Fuji since I was a kid and I know how cunning he is. If he is hanging around here then he may have already seen us.’

  ‘Thought the same thing myself,’ Groves said. ‘I was just praying to hell that, under the circumstances, he would rather hide than fight. But I also learned that he has knocked up a local meri from the village just up the coast from here. Might be that he has dropped in from God knows where to see how she is going.’

  Lukas was puzzled why Fuji would be ashore. Last thing he knew of the Japanese sailor was that he was part of a submarine crew. Why was he here? The possible answer chilled him. Submarine! Was it that his sub was even now sitting off the coast with its periscope trained on the Independence? Lukas’s first reaction was to immediately return to his schooner. However, he also realised that there was nothing he could do right at this moment and it seemed that Fuji was within their grasp. It was an agonising decision to make but Lukas felt that capturing – or killing – the Japanese sailor took precedence.

  ‘You all right, young Kelly?’ Groves asked when he noticed how sickly the normally robust young man appeared. ‘You look like you have seen a ghost.’