Red Day

by Sandy Fussell

  I stand up. “I’m going to take Kenichi on a tour of the farm.”

  I’d risk staying if I thought I’d learn something, but even Aunt Mandy won’t tell me what happened.

  “Grab two water bottles from the fridge,” Mum says. “It’s hot outside.”

  Kenichi swipes the last biscuit and follows me to the kitchen. I hand him a water bottle but don’t bother with one for me.

  “We had to leave. Mum and my Nana Ruth don’t talk to each other. Whenever Aunt Mandy tries to discuss it, Mum gets super angry.”

  Angry enough to forget about number four.

  “Why don’t they speak?”

  “I don’t know. Our family is complicated.” My tone makes it clear. I’m not discussing this. I walk faster.

  Before Eli died we were like any other family and there were lots of sleepovers for him and me at Nana Ruth’s house. Then Eli had whooping cough and he was in hospital for two weeks. Aunt Mandy told me Nana Ruth was there until the end, holding his hand. Why would Mum be bitter about that?

  I shake my head and snort to dislodge the question and focus on where I’m going.

  Kenichi looks at me, puzzled.

  “A fly flew up my nose.”

  He covers his nose.

  “You’ll be right. It hardly ever happens. First stop, the orchard.” It’s one of my favourite places. The trees are always happy. In the orchard, I show Kenichi the apple and plum trees, and the lone cherry tree.

  “Only one?” he asks. “I read there were lots of cherry trees in Cowra.”

  “Aunt Mandy planted eight. The rest didn’t make it. Cherry trees grow all the way along the road from the Japanese Gardens to the cemetery. Further down the highway in Young, there are orchards full of cherry trees and they even grow cherries for export. The only place cherries don’t grow around here is in Aunt Mandy’s garden.”

  We walk over to the chicken coop where Aunt Mandy’s baby calf is sleeping in the sun.

  “This is called a poddy calf because it wouldn’t drink from its mum and Aunt Mandy has to feed it with a bottle. Sometimes we have to feed lambs like that too.”

  “I wish I lived on a farm,” Kenichi says, patting the calf that opens one eye and licks his fingers. He laughs. That laugh again that makes me feel unsettled. “Maybe Coralie will let me feed a baby lamb.”

  “I’m sure she’d be glad to let you help. It’s not all cute animals and coffee and biscuits. Mostly it’s hard work.”

  He takes pictures of every farm animal we see – the calf, chickens, pigs and even the horse in the distance – and immediately posts them on Instagram, along with his picture of the magpie. It’s a bit lame, but his enthusiasm makes me smile.

  “Can I see the barn where the soldier was hiding?”

  “You don’t have a choice. Mum would be disappointed if I didn’t show you the farm’s most famous landmark.”

  “I don’t like to think about our countries fighting each other. My great-grandfather died in World War Two.” Kenichi takes a drink of water and a deep breath. “I am not proud, but I’m not ashamed.” He takes another drink and a deeper breath. “His plane crashed on an island off the coast of the Northern Territory. Our government sent a letter saying he was a hero, sacrificing his life for the Emperor.”

  “War doesn’t let ordinary people make choices.” I want Kenichi to know I don’t blame Japan or his great-grandfather.

  “Your country would say my great-grandfather was a war criminal.”

  “Not anymore. Last year one of the survivors from the Prisoner of War Camp came to visit. Everyone wanted to meet him and shake his hand. He was treated like a celebrity, even interviewed on the national news.”

  “It’s good our countries are friends now.”

  “Some people, like my Great-nan Elsie, were friendly even during the war.”

  As we walk, Kenichi looks across the paddock, saying nothing.

  “My great-grandpa was in the war too.” I keep talking, filling the gaps. “He fought in Europe. When he came home he married Great-nan Elsie and they worked this farm. My nan, my mum and Aunt Mandy were all born here.”

  Why am I telling him this personal family stuff? He suckered me in with that story about his great-grandfather? I need to be more careful what I say.

  “Here’s the barn.” Straight ahead, it’s impossible to miss.

  The barn is a big, old, wooden hay shed. Aunt Mandy told me it was rundown even in Great-nan Elsie’s time. The sun is diamond-bright, reflecting against my glasses. My vision blurs. I suck in my breath and push against the heavy door. I slide back the rusted iron bolt.

  “Let me get that.” Kenichi reaches to open it.

  I move just enough to block his arm. I don’t need his help. I’ve already spilled too much personal stuff. The best thing he could do to help is go home.

  Another shove and the door inches open, just wide enough. I slip through the gap.

  I walk quickly to the back of the shed where the hay bales are stacked. Kenichi hurries to catch up with me, our feet stirring the hay dust into geometric patterns on the floor. The smell is grassy, sweet and gritty inside my nose. Kenichi sneezes and rubs his eyes.

  In the barn, everything is yellow. It’s not like a yellow day. Colour feels different in different places. Here, it feels like history.

  “The soldier told her his name was Himura Shin. Great-nan Elsie found him hiding in the hay bales.”

  Kenichi presses a piece of straw between his fingers. “It wouldn’t be very comfortable to sleep on this.”

  “I think he would gladly have burrowed into it to stay warm. It’s hot today, but it’s bitterly cold in August. He didn’t have a jacket and Great-nan Elsie couldn’t bring him a blanket or her parents would have noticed it was missing.”

  “They wouldn’t help him?”

  “They would’ve called the Camp Commandant. People were afraid, but not my Great-nan Elsie.”

  “So how was he found?” Kenichi sits on a bale.

  “The hay made him sneeze and one of the work girls heard him while she was working nearby. A bunch of girls from town came out every day to work on the farm because all the men were at war. My great-great-grandfather called the Camp straight away. My great-great-grandmother was kinder. She gave him tea and scones while they waited for the soldiers.”

  I watch Kenichi take photos of the barn and sneeze twice more. Maybe he’s allergic to hay too.

  The air pokes at my skin. My face flushes as I realise what’s happening. History has opened a window into my world and I’m helping Kenichi climb through it.

  My phone buzzes with a text message. It’s Lucy.

  what’s up?

  at aunt m farm. showing k the barn

  A row of emojis rolls grinning and winking across the screen.

  NOT MY TYPE, I respond.

  Just seconds later, my phone beeps.

  good. ring me tomorrow.

  Kenichi gestures for me to sit on a hay bale, pointing with the camera. I don’t want him to take my picture. I don’t want anything tying us together. When his visit is over, I just want to forget all about it.

  “Shin gave Great-nan Elsie a photo of himself,” I say to distract him, as I walk away. “You’ll see it on display in the Visitor Centre.”

  “Wait. If I was an escaped prisoner, would you hide me?”

  I hesitate. The prisoners made a pact that no civilian would be killed. They kept their word, but Australian soldiers were considered a fair target. Three of them were murdered violently. I don’t like to think about that.

  “It depends. Are you dangerous?”

  Kenichi laughs. “Do I look dangerous?”

  It’s that laugh again, the one that makes me laugh with him, even when I don’t want to.

  I look away.

  “We should head back. Mum’s probably ready to go.”

  On the way home, Kenichi is glued to the car window again. “If I lived in Australia, I’d definitely want to live on a farm.�
��

  Three rosellas fly over the car as if someone has written them into a travelogue script especially for him. This countryside knows how to show off.

  “Running a farm is a demanding job,” Mum says. “I was up early this morning to feed the sheep and there’s more to be done this afternoon. Not even weekends are days off for a farmer.”

  “I’ll need help wheelbarrowing wood when we get home. I’m behind on my winter stockpiling.”

  I groan. It’s the worst job ever.

  “Can I chop the wood?” Kenichi asks.

  Mum shakes her head. “Sorry but I’m not allowed to let you do anything dangerous.”

  “Can I bottle feed a baby lamb?”

  “You can feed three, after we get the wood.”

  Kenichi looks pleased with that. I’m over it. Sure, they’re cute but milk splashes everywhere and I’ve been drowned enough times over the years.

  “What would we see if we were driving down the street where you live?” Mum asks him.

  “Lots of apartment buildings packed close together and one very small elm. Trees are a luxury in residential areas.”

  Mum told me his dad works at the US Embassy in Tokyo as a diplomat and his family lived in America for two years. That’s probably why his English is so good. I wonder how much a diplomat earns? Enough for an expensive apartment in a street with a tree. Heaps more than a single mum sheep farmer. I’ve got a dad somewhere, although Mum doesn’t talk about him either. We’re a family of secrets. Although I care heaps about Nana Ruth, Dad’s absence doesn’t bother me. He left the day I was born. He didn’t want me or Eli so I don’t want him.

  The pain punches with the force of a closed fist, grinding full strength into the soft muscles of my stomach. My temples tighten and a drum solo thumps, gaining speed until it’s a frenzy of pounding noise. I groan out loud. I am never, ever eating pizza again.

  Breathe and count.

  “Are you okay?” Kenichi asks.

  I turn away. Didn’t he get the message last time? I don’t need his sympathy.

  “Do you want me to pull over?” Mum asks.

  “I’m not going to throw up,” I snap.

  Mum sighs. “Maybe spicy lamb pizza wasn’t a good choice. It’s your favourite and I read on the Internet lamb is popular in Japan.”

  “The pizza was delicious,” says Kenichi.

  Mum glances in the rear-view mirror and I force a thin, teeth-gritted smile.

  The pain stops as Kenichi ignores me and touches my arm. This time a nauseous dread fills my gut. If it’s not my appendix about to burst, maybe we’re going to have an accident. My imagination skitters around like a feral kitten. I need to get a grip and stop thinking all this manic stuff. I’m synth. I’m not psychic.

  My head still hurts. Now it’s a slow pulsing ache, like one of Mum’s taiko drumming albums playing in a loop. I squeeze my eyes shut. Behind my closed eyes, empty paddocks blur into buildings, paths and barbed wire fences. Nothing like this ever happened before. Being synth has never let me look backwards into history. I’m nervous. I don’t trust this. Criss-cross roads divide the Camp into four compounds where men in maroon uniforms lean against hut walls and gather in groups. I know this picture. It’s from the Visitor Centre display, except there it’s black and white. Inside my head it’s vivid with colour and embellished with small details that I’m sure aren’t visible in the photo. A frayed shoelace. A missing tooth. A scarred hand.

  A good imagination and synaesthesia is a dangerous combination, especially after dodgy lamb pizza and being jammed into a space too small for my long legs.

  I keep counting. I keep breathing. The image dissolves behind my tightly squeezed lids and I’m calm again. By the time Mum turns into the house paddock gate, it’s as if it never happened and I feel like I could run a quick two kilometres.

  I wake just before midnight and lie in bed watching the darkness turn soupy grey as it heads towards morning. My brain is too stretched to sleep. Even that late run without Kenichi hasn’t slowed my brain. I wander out to the kitchen to check inside the fridge. Moonlight silhouettes Kenichi sitting at the table, his journal in front of him. He flips it shut when he sees me. That’s a bit rude when he knows I can’t read Japanese anyway.

  I should cut him some slack. Maybe he’s homesick.

  “You can’t sleep either?” I ask. “If you feel like talking, I’m a good listener.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair as he leans back.

  I wait while he chooses his words.

  “It’s about your stomach pain this afternoon.”

  What’s that got to do with him? I’m the one lying awake worrying about what’s going on with that.

  “It hurt while it lasted.” I’m determined to be nice.

  He taps the end of his pencil on the table. “Did you notice it happened in exactly the same place both times? After we passed the Prisoner of War Camp.”

  “Yeah. That was a weird coincidence.”

  “Did you feel anything after the pain went away?” he asks.

  “Like what?”

  I watch him hesitate, shifting awkwardly. “I felt nervous. Worse than nervous. I felt like something truly terrible was going to happen.”

  “Maybe the pizza did affect you.” I don’t want to discuss what I felt with him. My synaesthesia is none of his business. I can work this out by myself. “I just had mild food poisoning made worse by being squashed into the back of Mum’s car. That’s all,” I pretend.

  Kenichi looks at me like I’m stupid. “Food poisoning doesn’t start in exactly the same place and suddenly stop after the same period of time, twice in a row. It’s more than a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

  “When two things happen together that no one expects to happen at the same time, that’s the definition of a coincidence. It’s nothing to stay up all night being melodramatic about.”

  His fingers grip the journal tight and he stands up. His eyes flicker with controlled anger.

  I’m not stooping to respond to that. I say nothing.

  “I’m going to bed now. I know something strange happened today even if you won’t admit it. Good night, Shallot.”

  I watch the kitchen clock for fifteen tedious minutes, waiting for him to come back and apologise for being obnoxious. When he doesn’t, I stomp off to bed. The wooden floor echoes with my anger, but Eli’s bedroom door stays shut. There should be a list for exchange students too. Number one would be “Don’t pick a fight with your host’s kid”.

  “This’ll be fun.” Mum’s voice is bright and chirpy as she drives too fast down the dirt road to the main road. She’s a good driver and would never do anything unsafe but I still think it’s a good idea to stick to the speed limit, even if hardly anyone else uses the road.

  I brace myself against the seat. “I don’t see why we have to go sightseeing today. Kenichi and I are visiting the same places on Wednesday with school.” The last person I want to talk to today is him. I was up even earlier this morning so I could run without Kenichi. I wonder what he thought when he discovered I hadn’t waited.

  As we pull into the Visitor Centre car park, I complain again. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I’ve got other stuff to do.”

  Mum gives me her look that says “That’s enough, Charlotte.”

  She’d asked Kenichi what he wanted to do today over breakfast this morning. She didn’t ask me. Of course he said he’d like to go to the Visitor Centre, the Japanese Gardens and the War Cemetery – everywhere she had suggested. What a total waste of time.

  The Visitor Centre is right in front of McDonald’s. You can get a Big Mac with a side serving of Cowra history and a rubbishy souvenir.

  “Not with stomach problems.” Mum intercepts my gaze. “It’s too early for fast food anyway.”

  “It’s always too early for fast food.” Kenichi holds the Visitor Centre door open for Mum and grins at me.

  She smiles while I scowl. Mum should be on my side. I didn’t
want McDonald’s anyway. I just happened to look in that direction.

  The Visitor Centre is one long room, stocked with the usual junk for tourists to buy – tea towels, stuffed toys and postcards. Even snow globes. Every now and then it snows in Cowra so someone has enshrined that highlight in tacky plastic forever.

  At the back of the room is the Historical Society display about the Prisoner of War Camp. Most of the space is taken up by a small curtained area where a hologram plays almost non-stop. I’ve seen it so many times I’m not watching it again. No matter what Mum says. It’s pretty lame. A simpering 1940s girl in a party dress tells the story of the breakout. Her name’s Peggy Sue or Carol Ann or something girly like that. They should have someone gutsy like Great-nan Elsie, who wore overalls and baled hay.

  “The show will begin in two minutes,” the girl behind the counter announces.

  Kenichi and Mum head off to see that. I shake my head when she waves to me to follow.

  My phone blips. Oops, I forgot to ring Lucy yesterday.

  are you doing anything? m can drop me over

  sorry. tourist stuff with m and k all day. you have to wait till mon to meet him

  not what I meant. just wanted to hang out. ring later

  I send her a grin. I’m her best friend. She can’t fool me.

  My screen fills with smileys poking out their tongues.

  The photo collection is larger than when Mum dragged me here last year. She thinks it’s important for me to appreciate local history, but I’m not into that. I count ten new photos of Japanese airmen playing cricket and baseball. There are new pictures of Italian prisoners too. Not even soldiers. People who lived here before the war but came from a country fighting on the other side. They had their own section of the Camp and helped out on local farms. None worked at Great-nan Elsie’s farm. Her father didn’t trust any prisoners, no matter where they came from.

  Mum and Kenichi emerge from behind the hologram curtain.

  “Show Kenichi Himura Shin’s photo.” Mum’s proud of her donation to the display.