Red Day

by Sandy Fussell

  “I know. You’re already hanging with the cricket team and you’ve got a new name.”

  “Lucy explained it’s good when an Australian makes your name shorter. It means they like you.”

  It’s the moment when I should say he can call me Charlie and I’ll call him Ken, but we’re not friends. Friends have interests in common. All we share is a problem and instead of working on it with me, he’s off chasing girls and cricket balls.

  But I like having someone my own age to talk to at home. Being an only child sucks sometimes. Mum and I get along but she’s a parent first and a friend second. Nana Ruth is always a shadow between us.

  I lie flat against the stone floor. “Is school different in Japan?”

  “Today I didn’t have to remove my shoes and I’ve got no homework to do tonight.”

  “I read all the library books even though I’ve got heaps of homework. I also found out there’s some extra stuff stored at the library about the Prisoner of War Camp.”

  Now he knows who’s been doing all the work and who’s been wasting time playing around.

  “I’ve been busy too. I went to the school library today. I looked up synaesthesia and made some notes.”

  That’s a surprise. I sit up to listen as Kenichi takes his phone from his pocket and opens an app.

  “Some researchers believe it’s a neurological condition caused by sensory systems crossing over. Any sensory system can be involved. There are over eighty types and scientists are finding more. Some people can even see time. Responses take years to develop, others instantly react to a trigger, which might explain why all this started when I arrived.”

  “How?”

  “I’m a new trigger and now you see, feel and hear new things.”

  “More than ever. I saw the Camp again earlier when I was reading one of the library books. No pain, only sadness and that sense something awful was going to happen. I felt that the first time going past the Camp too,” I admit.

  “You said you didn’t feel anything.”

  “It was different then. I wasn’t sure what was going on and I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I definitely don’t have synaesthesia. I took a basic test on the Internet. But I’m definitely more sensitive around you, especially if we touch.” Kenichi gets up and paces the verandah. “I have to help you with Shin. But to do what? We don’t know if it was really Shin who gave the photo to your great-grandmother. The cemetery plaque said he was dead by then.”

  “Maybe it’s not even him in the photo.” I sigh.

  It’s so hopeless. We don’t know much at all.

  “Sit here, mate,” Adam calls.

  Kenichi makes his way to the back of the bus. I shove my bag under the seat and wedge in beside Lucy. I’m not in the mood for talking so I let Lucy ramble on about how painful her little brother is. Whenever there’s a gap in the tirade, I nod as if I’m listening.

  My head is packed tight with questions this morning but, for once, it’s not about being synth. It’s all the other stuff to do with Shin or whoever is in that photo. Even running isn’t helping with that. I ran three laps this morning.

  “What’s up?” Lucy asks. “Spill it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve hardly said a word and you’ve been picking at your fingernails ever since you sat down.”

  I look down at my hands. I hadn’t realised I was doing it. I attempt a smile and a shrug.

  She narrows her eyes. “I’m not even sure you were listening to me. I thought the exchange thing wasn’t turning out too bad.”

  “It’s not that.”

  There are only a few things I can’t tell Lucy, but I don’t think she’d believe history is giving me stomach pain and I’m hearing the voices of dead Japanese soldiers, all because of a photo. Last week, I wouldn’t have believed me either.

  “What then?”

  I sort through my other troubles looking for one I can share.

  “I’m thinking about visiting Nana Ruth.”

  “That’s wonderful. What made your mum change her mind?”

  “She didn’t and I’m scared to ask her. You know what she’s like. That’s the problem because suddenly it seems really important to visit.”

  “Of course it is. Your nan is really old. It would be awful if she died before you had a chance to see her again. How old were you when you last saw her?”

  “Four. You’re so lucky. You can see your nan whenever you want to.” I feel a pang of jealousy. Nana Ruth lives near the library; I could walk there from school but I’m not allowed to. It may as well be the edge of the universe. Lucy’s nan lives across the road from her. She’s the best sponge cake maker in town. Every year she wins first prize at the Cowra Show.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Lucy has a strange look on her face, like she’s the one hiding something. She blinks twice, really fast. I know what that means. She’s trying not to cry.

  “My nan passed away earlier this year.”

  I reach out and touch her hand. A tear drips onto my finger. I struggle to hold on as her sadness floods through me, ice-cold and paralysing. My mouth feels frozen and my words taste brittle. Lucy is my best friend and I wasn’t there to comfort her.

  “When? How come you didn’t say anything?”

  “It was just after Christmas, in the school holidays. I didn’t want to remind you of other bad memories. I didn’t want us both to be sad.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I wish you told me. Do you want to talk about it now?”

  “Nan said she was feeling strange and floaty so Mum took her to Cowra Hospital. One day she was there and the next day she was gone forever. Her heart stopped.”

  “What did the doctors say?”

  “Heart attack.” Lucy scrounges in her bag for a tissue and pretends to blow her nose when she’s really dabbing her eyes. “The doctors said there was nothing anyone could do.”

  I hate hospitals. Eli was transferred from Cowra to Orange Base Hospital, because it’s bigger and there are more doctors. But it’s an hour-and-a-half away so no one took me to see him. Then he was gone forever, too. I never got to say goodbye.

  It’s getting harder to keep his memory bright and shining. Every year I feel him fading, just a little. Even being synth can’t help me. That’s why I wanted his room to stay untouched and the door shut forever, keeping everything in its place. I’m holding on to his room because I’m afraid if I let it change, my brother won’t exist anymore.

  “When Eli broke his wrist, Mum took him to Cowra Hospital. They gave him a lollipop and he said it was the best place ever. He wanted to break his other arm and go back the next weekend.” I try to smile.

  Lucy squeezes my hand this time.

  “Mum and I made a scrapbook about Nan. It helped a lot.” She zips her bag shut. “Maybe you could do the same for Eli.”

  I can’t remember the last time she said his name. It hangs in capital letters in the air between us.

  “We haven’t got enough pictures. Just a few Nana Ruth took.” Our camera left with Dad and Mum never bothered getting another one.

  “You can always add other stuff, like memory things. Mum and I pressed Nan’s favourite wildflowers.”

  “For Eli, I would need empty Cheetos packets and chocolate bar wrappers. His favourite things were connected to his stomach,” I say. It feels good to talk about Eli with Lucy.

  “You don’t have a choice. You have to visit Nana Ruth,” she insists. “I bet you haven’t got any pictures of her.”

  I shake my head.

  “You have to ask your mum about going to see her.”

  “I will. Thanks Lucy. You’ve helped a lot. I wish I was there to help you.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

  I nod. I’ll tell her everything soon, I promise myself. I love her like a sister.

  But it’s still not the same as having a big brother.

 
The end of school hooter sounded ten minutes ago, and I’m looking at my watch impatiently, waiting for Kenichi. My legs are cramping sitting on the grass. What’s keeping him?

  “I might come to the library with you this afternoon.” Lucy dumps her school bag on the grass beside mine.

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it. Are you trying to ditch me?”

  “No.” I really mean yes. Despite my promise, I still haven’t told her about my synaesthesia, let alone the trouble it’s causing Kenichi and me. “I think you’ll be bored. You never liked World War Two history when we did it in class.”

  “Neither did you. It’s a lot more interesting now.” She turns away from me to look towards Kenichi who is running towards us.

  “He goes home on Sunday. It’s hardly worth the effort.”

  “I’ll decide whether it’s worthwhile or not.”

  I feel Lucy study my face. “Are you sure you’re not interested?”

  “Definitely not.” I’m hiding something, but it’s not that. “Go for it.”

  She gets to her feet, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “I will, but you’re right about the history stuff. I’ll give the library a miss. Find out if Ken likes me and text when you get home. Don’t forget like last time.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” Kenichi says. “I had to tell Luke I couldn’t attend practice this afternoon. I don’t think I’ll ever be a good cricketer.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Lucy glows bright pink. “You’ve got great reflexes, Ken. Look how you rescued Rhiannon.”

  Kenichi grins, his cheeks turning red.

  I pretend to be distracted by the buzz of my phone. It’s embarrassing listening to them.

  Meet me in the supermarket carpark in two hours. I’m shopping. Mum x

  Only Mum can spend two hours shopping for three people. There’s lists to tick, catalogue prices to crosscheck and a running total to be tallied, all hooked up to a spreadsheet in cyberspace. I do anything I can to avoid going with her.

  “Let’s go. Mum’s clock is rolling,” I tell Kenichi. “See you tomorrow, Luce.”

  A block from the library, I unhook my backpack and clutch it to my chest. “Race you.”

  We arrive at the same time. I lean against the railing, breathless and flushed. In the mornings I run to clear my head, but I love the physical side too, pushing every muscle to the max. Kenichi isn’t even breathing hard. He looks like he could easily do it again. As if he runs every single day. Like me.

  It seems we’ve got something in common after all.

  The first thing I see when I open the library door is Miss Beadle. She hasn’t changed one bit from last year. A small birdlike woman, she’s sitting at the loans check-out desk, ramrod straight, eyes on the door, ready to defend the shelves from an onslaught of borrowers. Her aura is an unusual paper-white beige. I don’t often see that colour at all.

  I’m not much of a library person. Mum got me a library card, but I’d rather download a movie on Netflix than read a book.

  “Good afternoon, Charlotte. I saw you arrive. Young people aren’t usually in such a hurry to get to the library.”

  I’m surprised she recognises me, although I do look a lot like Mum and Kenichi is currently the only Japanese kid in town.

  “Hi, Miss Beadle. This is Kenichi, who’s staying at my place. Mum said you might have some information for us about the Prisoner of War Camp.”

  “We’re here to find out more about Himura Shin and whether he really was the man who gave Shallot’s great-grandmother the photo hanging in the Visitor Centre,” Kenichi says.

  “Or if it’s really him in the photo,” I add.

  Miss Beadle grins. “I’ll put my Historical Society hat on. I’m sure the answer will be in our records somewhere and I’ve got some first-hand accounts out for you to look through.”

  We follow her through a narrow door hidden behind the loans desk. It opens into a long dark corridor. Like archaeologists on an underground treasure hunt, we wind our way single file into the heart of the library. The corridor ends in a small dingy room, three walls lined with old metal filing cabinets, the floor covered in cracked olive-green linoleum.

  The library is bright and shiny on the outside. In its depths, it’s ageing and grey. The air is thick with the fusty smell of years wrapped in paper and knowledge stacked in dusty piles. Kenichi wrinkles his nose, but I love the way the smell feels like forever. I take a deep breath to steady myself.

  A table runs along the fourth wall and at its end sits a computer, ancient enough to be a piece of history.

  “This is where the Historical Society meets,” announces Miss Beadle.

  She presses a button and the computer slowly whirrs to attention.

  “I’d join the Historical Society if I lived in Cowra,” Kenichi says.

  Miss Beadle beams as if she would look in every book in the library to find any little thing he wanted to know. That’s good. We need all the help we can get.

  “How are you enjoying your visit?” she asks.

  “I’m enjoying it a lot. Cowra is very different to Tokyo.”

  I bet that’s a massive understatement.

  A search window opens slowly. “What makes you think the photo is labelled incorrectly? The Society is very particular about authenticating its historical objects.” Miss Beadle types Shin’s name into the search box, but she doesn’t press the enter key. I cringe inside. I can tell she wants to talk and we’re a captive audience.

  “When the Australian Government sent POW lists back to Japan, they thought they were being kind, letting families know where their loved ones were, but the prisoners were ashamed to be captives, so they gave false names. So all our photos have been carefully cross-checked. I’m certain we have accurate records.”

  “We don’t necessarily think the photo is labelled wrong. We’re not sure if it was Himura Shin who gave it to Great-nan Elsie. Kenichi found a plaque in the cemetery lawn that said Shin died on the night of the breakout.”

  “How exciting. I do love a local history puzzle. Imagine finding a new one right under our noses.” Miss Beadle makes a funny clicking noise with her tongue and finally taps the enter key. She peers at the screen. “The photo was verified based on an existing photo in the official Camp register and was later checked against Japanese military records.” She nods, pursing her lips. “It’s definitely him. Someone else must have given Shin’s photo to Elsie.”

  But who? How did he get Shin’s photo and why did he give it to Great-nan Elsie?

  “If we had a picture of that other soldier when he was recaptured at the farm, we could match it against the Historical Society records,” Kenichi says.

  There’s no way I would have thought of that. Kenichi is a good lateral thinker. That’s going to be useful.

  “That’s an excellent idea although I doubt one exists. Our government didn’t want anyone knowing escapees were turning up at surrounding farmsteads so they wouldn’t have allowed a photo like that to be taken.” Miss Beadle’s eyes narrow. “Unless you know where one is, Charlotte.”

  Her gaze is almost accusing, as if I might be involved in some covert operation to hide artefacts from the Historical Society.

  I meet her stare without flinching. “Mum did tell me a reporter took a photo for the Cowra Guardian, but it was never published.”

  “Hmmm. The army might have confiscated the negative for their records. I’d like to get hold of a copy for our display.” Miss Beadle scratches her nose. “In my opinion, everything about the Camp and its inmates should be kept in Cowra in a specially built local museum, where it belongs.”

  “It would be safer here, where people care,” Kenichi agrees.

  Soon he’ll have Miss Beadle totally charmed, just like Mum.

  Miss Beadle beams again, even brighter than before. Her eyes dart like excited craneflies.

  “I’m determined to solve this,” she says. “Of course, if we find anything, it will be the pro
perty of the Historical Society.”

  I knew it. She’s got her own reasons for helping us.

  “I’ve got a contact at the National Archives in Canberra.” She opens her email. “If anyone can find a missing photo, Jayne will be the one. I’ll ask her now.”

  I’m surprised a computer that old can even connect to the Internet.

  “Did you know, Charlotte, your great-nan and my mother were good friends? They went to school together.”

  “I don’t know much about Elsie at all. Just the Japanese soldier story,” I say.

  I’m not interested in schoolgirl stories. I want my problem sorted.

  Miss Beadle clicks her tongue again except this time it’s obviously disapproving.

  “My mother said Elsie was an exceptional woman, way ahead of her time.” Miss Beadle prods at a key and the email is on its way. “She managed that farm much better than her father did. And to think, if it wasn’t for all the lads off serving the country, she would never have had the chance. It’s a different world for women now, thank goodness. My niece Nina is a lawyer in Orange. I convinced her family to let her go to university. They wanted her to stay in Cowra.”

  “You must be very proud. She’s fortunate to have such an encouraging aunty,” says Kenichi.

  Miss Beadle smiles. You can catch more flies with honey and, apparently, more historians too. Except I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not the only ones spinning a web.

  “While your friend searches for the missing photo to identify Great-nan Elsie’s mysterious soldier, we still need to find out more about Himura Shin and his family,” Kenichi says. “Even if he wasn’t the man Shallot’s great-nan met.”

  “Unfortunately, I have to head back to the library. I’d love to stay and help. I’ll log you in. This is the Historical Society’s computer and it’s not connected to the network. If you want to look up anything else, you’ll need to use a library computer. You can use my login. There’s a list of prisoners. That would be a good place to start.” Miss Beadle looks at Kenichi. “Come and get me straightaway if you find anything. Anything at all.”

  I wait until I’m sure she can’t hear me. “I wouldn’t be in a hurry to tell her what we discover. She’s too interested and too pushy.”