Three Came Home

by Agnes Newton Keith

  But Anjibi and Herman, her husband, our Borneo gibbonapes, never forgave me. Anjibi, the big female, silver graywith black cameo face of velvet and eyes of beauty and sor-row, and small Herman, grown large now, had been oursfor years. They lived in a large wire house in the gardenbuilt around the great chempaka tree.

  Although we believed they were happily wedded, thesetwo had no offspring. Apes seldom breed in captivity, andthey saw no reason for our doing so.

  I wanted George to know them and love them, I wantedGeorge to not be afraid. On my visits to the apes now I car-ried a naked baby: when I held Anjibi’s limp black hand inmine, there was a pmk fist fastened to my arm; when I talked

  with her of mature groAvn-up things that we understood,there was a baby’s gurgle to interrupt; when I told her thatshe was beautiful, very beautiful, she knew that her beautywas nothing to me, compared to George’s mere being.

  Where once I had held Anjibi, I now held a small hairlessthing. This thing couldn’t move, act, or do the things thatAnjibi could; it wasn’t beautiful or strong; but she knew thatit was bone of my bone, race of my race, belonging to thegroup of men — and it was mine. Without one lift of itspowerless fist, this hairless soft thing had destroyed hercharm.

  And Anjibi remembered that something had once existedbetween herself and me — some bond, some tie, not of blood,but of sympathy and love. Was it there now still? This wasthe enigma of her existence. Anjibi didn’t think so, but shewas always trying to find out.

  One day when the door of her house was carelessly closed,Anjibi unfastened the gate and came out. She started to lookfor George. To the pram first in the garden to see; then, ashe wasn’t there, upstairs. Long, loping, silent steps and swings,through the house that once had been hers, into the bedroomshe had let me share with her, then across the hall to the otherside, and there he was!

  There was this hairless ape that had taken Anjibi’s place,but he was installed in a wire mosquito house inside thatroom. Now here was Jibi loose, and the baby captive in thecage! Jibi’s melancholy face presses against the wire of hiscage, her eyes black and questioning. George stares back. Hedoesn’t care.

  Then Jibi sings. The long, high melody sweeps the room.There is no other call like it in the jungle; it has the madnessand beauty and sadness of every living wild thing. It thrillsyou and frightens you, and takes your heart. George suckshis thumb. Anjibi sings.

  Arusap, Ah Yin, Harry, come running. Ah Yin calls, “Jibi’s

  loose! Mastah! Missee! Get Mistah Groge! She’ll hurt him.Go, Jibi, go! Bad Jibi! Bad, bad Jibi! Go ’way!”

  Harry to me, “Oh, you’re here, are you, Agnes? Better getJibi back to her house. I’ll take George.”

  So I am relegated to the apes again! I sulkily say, “I’ll takeGeorge. I’m his mother, not Jibi’s.”

  But then I am ashamed. I look at Jibi, now perched on topof the walled partition between the rooms. She looks at me;even if she could speak, there is nothing we could say. Poorbeautiful sad wild thing. Hers is the fate that comes to everyliving being, animal or human. The king is dead, long livethe king.

  In 1941 the Sandakan Junior League was formed. Its mem-bers met daily on the wide green lavra of Government House,where black and white trousered Chinese amahs pushed largeAustraUan perambulators bulging with the British offspringof Sandakan society. A casual visitor would have thought ourgovernor very prolific; in fact, I believe they did.

  Here in the ample Government House grounds, under thepleasant trees, surrounded by bright blooming balsams andcanna, was the place to be. This was the infants’ smart clublife, and the amahs’ mecca: this was society.

  Every afternoon Ah Yin put on her starched white trou-sers, her neat, tight, high-throated blouse, put George in hishandsomest breeks, placed him in the pram surrounded bystuffed elephants, zebras, rabbits the biggest she could find,said “Good-bye Missee, I take Mistah Groge Gov’ment Housenow,” and did.

  The participants in that swank club life were: Susan, Alas-tair, David and Derek, Sheena and Ranald, Carol and Michael,Edith and Eddie (the Chinese Consul’s children), Jimmy,Fenella and Fiona, Carlotto, and George.

  It was the year for birthday parties, too. The first one wasat Susan’s house in the garden behind the high hedge. The

  20 Three Came Home

  mothers came. Each child brought the best present it couldfind. We had ice cream, cake, sandwiches, sweets, and tea.The children were round and plump, well-fed and satisfied —they had to be urged to finish their plates. The mothers

  swapped stories. The amahs had their own party after wefinished eating. The children went to sleep in their prams.

  The biggest birthday party was at Alastair’s house. Hereon the hill was a beautiful garden; the native gardener cutlawns, hacked hedges and trees, but Teresa Mitchel, the Brit-ish hostess, made the flowers bloom there. Here were spec-tacular azaleas, orchids, roses, begonia, cosmos. Here Teresadug holes, said magic words over seeds, sprayed love and cau-tion where I sprayed insecticide, patted with charmed handsat the roots, and the next day came out and found a flowerthat nobody else could grow.

  Here in this garden Alastair celebrated his first birthday.

  That was September. All the children were invited, all theamahs, aU the mamas, and the poppas were to come and col-lect us and take us home. None of the mamas called eachother by their first names then. To each other we were stiUMrs. Mitchel, Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Cho, and so on. I hadn’tseen Mrs. Cho, the Chinese Consul’s wife, since she hadchanged Eddie’s food, and I asked her how he was doing onLactogen; she said he was doing fine.

  After the poppas came, we sat in the twilight and lookedout over the valley. “The Japanese will be sitting here look-ing out over this valley a year from now,” Harry said. Afterthat the party broke up.

  There was little formal social life now, men were workingtoo hard. Many younger men had enlisted despite regulations,and it left Borneo very short-manned. Government men wereworking all day on their jobs, and all night on emergencywar work. Our community was limited, hemmed in, cut off.We couldn’t get extra help, or supplies.

  No one dressed any more for dinners; no one gave dinners,we couldn’t afford to waste food. People dropped in for con-versation only, something they had never done before inSandakan. Men sat down with their shirt collars open. Every-body said, “Let’s never go back to the old formal life again.This is one good thing the war has done!”

  About this time I did the smartest thing that I ever did. Iordered from Singapore at great expense a concentrated formof haliveroU especially suited to infant feeding, and containedin very small vials. One small vial was a month’s supply, onedrop being the daily dose. I purchased sufficient dosage for ayear and a half, although I couldn’t believe that if the Japanesedid take Borneo they would hold it more than six months. ButI just thought I’d be safe for once. I also purchased three hun-dred calcium tablets. These, if we were cut off from properfood, would insure George’s teeth and bones. I packed thesesupplies away for emergency.

  Early in 1941 the American Naval Observer, Commander

  22

  Three Came Home

  Mxirphy, with his young secretary, Rogers, came. We as-sumed they were American Intelligence Service. This seteverybody by the ear. “If America is doing this, she must bescared! They must expect something soon. It won’t be long! ”

  Murphy and Rogers were very American; they iDoidd playgolf with their shirttails outside their trousers, just because itwas cooler. This was almost as upsetting as the war, in San-dakan.

  But in the end everybody agreed that they were grandpeople. Of course they were crazy, but then they were Ameri-cans. And what American Beauty cocktails CommanderMturphy mixed! And what heroic “small eats” they servedwith all their drinks — olives, anchovies, salted almonds, fisheggs, pdte de foie gras, all things that had to come out fromthe States now. We couldn’t get them at all, because wecouldn’t buy out of the sterling bloc.

  In the last months of 1941 Commander Murphy
became adisturbing element in Sandakan. He told the women theyought to get out, go home, leave the East — and soon! Unrestwas already in us, and he urged it on.

  Harry and George and I went down by the Baynain, atiny coastal steamer, to Dutch Borneo for a trip. That wasGeorge’s first boat trip and he liked it. We visited the oilfields at Tarakan. Every hill, nook, cranny, tree, field, hole,house, shrub, hid a gun; every inch was defended, or minedto be blown up, when the end came. The European womenhad been evacuated.

  The Dutchmen talked to us. “We are ready. We expectthem soon. We will fight for every inch, and then we willdestroy and burn until we are killed.” The iron was in theirDutch souls.

  Shortly after George was bom I had been asked to takean emergency job in Sandakan in order to relieve man powerfor war work. The men in responsible offices were over-worked and overworried. Their children at home in England

  were being bombed, their sons were being killed, their homesdestroyed. They had a real war, a much worse war thanHarry and I, who had our people on a safe continent.

  I didn’t want to do war work; I wanted to finish the Borneonovel which I had started. But with the world crashing aboutus I couldn’t sit and do nothing. I hated Red Cross, and knit-ting, so I took a war job instead.

  Now in Sandakan invariably when people met, both civil-ian and government, we argued the question of whether ornot women and children were going to be evacuated by gov-ernment order. Evacuation would remove the responsibilityfor the decision from us. As I was determined to stay, andfelt I had a good excuse now, as I had a job as well as a hus-band, I hoped that no evacuation order would be given. Itnever was.

  I believe, however, that this was wrong; I believe that thewomen and children should have been evacuated by order.The decision should not have been left to the individual. Inwartime the individual is not in a poation to know militaryor defense facts. Those who know these facts should take theresponsibility of deciding who may stay in a war zone. It isevading responsibility to refuse such a decision.

  In my own case I take full responsibility for staying. I wasunder no delusions about security. I knew the war was com-ing to the East, and that the Nipponese were coming toBorneo. The Japanese themselves had been writing pam-phlets for us in English (the Bulletin of the South Seas) andsending them to us for several years back, mentioning justthose facts. But what I did not know, or even dream of, wasthat the Nips would be in possession of Borneo for three andtwo-thirds years.

  At this time I also considered the possibility of hiding withGeorge in a jungle camp, beyond reach of the invaders, whenthe Japanese came. By this plan I would be able to stay on

  the job with Harry until the very moment of the country’ssurrender. The success of this escape theory was based uponthe supposition that the Japanese would not be able to holdBorneo longer than six months, or a year.

  With this in mind Harry and I established a jungle hide-outdeep in a forest reserve, and stocked it with food, medicines,bedding, and clothes. We also sent out a number of cases ofvaluable books, and some silver.

  I wrote an article telling of this jungle camp and my planfor escape to it, not giving its location. I sent this to the At-lantic Monthly, where, ironically, it was published the verymonth the Japanese took us captive in Borneo.

  Future events proved that if we had hidden away we wouldcertainly have been found and brought back to captivity.Our books and goods which we had Hdden were in time re-vealed to the invaders, and brought in to Sandakan and con-fiscated by the Japanese. If we had been captured likewise,our fate would have been problematical: time has disclosedtwo versions of what happened to people who tried to escape.In one version they are well-treated, but in more cases ill-treated, and in most cases murdered.

  As weeks went on and the war came closer I graduallyabandoned any idea of escape. Since I had chosen to stay inthe tide of war, it was futile to paddle with my hands againstthe flood.

  During this gradual descent of disaster I had two comfort-ing facts to hold to. First, I believed completely in the right-ness of my staying; it wasn’t unselfish, it might not be wise,it might prove a mistake — but it was the only thing for meto do.

  Second, I had a few good friends on whom I could rely.Two of these had chosen to stay, as I had, and were just asconvinced of their rightness as I. And whatever fate came tothe women after the Japanese came in, these two women andI would share. Neither of them had children, and both werevery good to George.

  Violet Rutter was George’s godmother. She was tall andstately, with a graciousness which came partly from tremen-dous faith in the goodness and rightness of people and God,and partly from being born and bred in the right places. Herash-blond hair was short and curly all over her head, her fairskin and blue eyes were all England. Her hands, long-fingered, sensitive-tipped, touched naturally and beautifullythe stringed instruments which she played, her violin, violon-cello, and viole d’amour.

  Her husband was a government man, brilliant and sardonic.He was much too subtle for Violet and me, we both agreed;Reggie was thinking circles about us while we were stilltrying to find the point from which he began.

  The other friend was Penelope Gray. Penelope spokethrough her garden. Her strong, green-tipped fingers madebuds and blooms come from every plant she touched. Pe-nelope had lived in more different government houses inBorneo than anyone else, and in every one she left a typicalg^den. People who came after her looked at the garden andsaid. Oh, Penelope Gray has lived here.” W^ith well-shapedbeds, and well-laid-out borders, in her garden flourished allthe sweet, deep-shaded, delicate-scented, fine-foliaged flowersthat liked the fogs and dews of England; somehow even inBorneo she fooled them into thinking they belonged.

  Penelope looked like her English garden and dressed like it.She was delicately made, fragile but resistant, fresh and brightand real. Every birthday, CHistmas, anniversary, would comea bouquet of English flowers from her to me.

  It was boat day, and mail day, and Monday. And it was theday after Pearl Harbor. Harry and I had heard the news at6 A.M. on the radio, while we drank early coffee. We toldAh Yin and the servants. Ah Yin said, “Maybe very good,Missee. Now America fight.”

  Then suddenly, “Missee! You take Mistah Groge and gohome! Singapore boat go today. If Japs come here, very bad! ”

  Harry and I went down to Sandakan to work that morn-ing. It was very hot, everybody was writing mail madly inorder to get it out on what would probably be the last Singa-pore boat. Also people kept an eye on the sky, and earscocked for planes. A few women were packing hurriedly;they were getting out by the boat.

  Would the boat leave, or not? Yes, it would. No, itwouldn’t. But it did leave as usual, at midnight. It was the lastboat to Singapore. It never returned.

  We setded down then to waiting, and listening to badnews. The Japs weren’t Japs, now, they were Nipponese Con-querors. They poured over the East like hot lava.

  Every time I met Commander Murphy he spoke his re-frain, “Get out, get out, get out.”

  And it still wasn’t too late to get out. Shortly before Christ-mas the small coastal steamer Baynain, the one on which wehad gone to Tarakan, was ordered to leave for the Dutch EastIndies, in order to keep it out of the hands of the Nipponese.It was made available to evacuate any local women who■wished to go.

  That was a hard week end. We went through the problemagain and again. I was determined to stay. The more I waited,the more I was determined.

  I met Susan’s mother, Alastair’s mother, Carol’s mother,Sheena’s mother, David’s mother, all of the mothers. The un-spoken question was there: “Axe you going? Axe you staying?Are you afraid?” But nobody spoke it. We wouldn’t put itin words.

  Then night came, and the Baynain sailed. Only six womenwere on her. That was the last ship out of port. After that,fate really closed down.

  Hong Kong fell. That was all right. We’d made up ourminds to that. Malay Peninsula sweated and trembled. Thatwasn’t so good. We hadn’t made up our minds to that. Singa-pore itsel
f seemed unsound. Oh, no, Singapore couldn't fall!

  The radio air was full of messages of condolence frona

  To Us a Son 27

  Home Offices to besieged garrisons and falling states thatwere crumbling to bits unaided: “Good-bye. Be of goodcheer. We are sorry we cannot help you. You are doing yourduty. God bless you.”

  The Japs took Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo on ChristmasDay. We smelled smoke and saw flames. Then they wentnorth to Miri. They didn’t get tired at all, just kept going, andwalked into Jesselton, North Borneo, our own state, in earlyJanuary.

  At home in Sandakan our government orders were: “De-stroy aU resources. Follow policy of denial and passive resist-ance. Remain at your posts. Meet the enemy, resist passively,do not co-operate. We cannot defend you. Good-bye!”

  So we destroyed. AU over the golf course went high-octane gas and petrol. Launches and boats were sunk. Ma-chinery was destroyed, sawmills were dismantled, saws weresunk in the sea. AU bridges were burned behind us, with noplace to go in front.

  Commander Murphy caUed up one night at midnight. Hisvoice was excited. Standing by Harry at the phone I couldhear Murphy’s voice as plainly as Harry’s:

  “We’re getting out tonight on a small boat. Will your wifeand George come with us? Get her out, I tell you! Get herhome! WeU, ask her. . . . She doesn’t want to come? WeU,I’m telling you, she ought to. I wouldn’t trust these Japs.Well, all right then, teU her good-bye. Tell her I wish she’dcome. If she doesn’t ... I don’t know! WeU, good-bye.Good luck. We’U come back for you with the Navy as soonas we can!”

  That was the last link with the outside.

  One morning in the middle of January Harry telephonedme. “There are some Americans in town. They escaped fromManUa on New Year’s afternoon, an hour before the Japsgot in. They came down to Borneo by native boat- They’rehere in my office. Come down and see them.”