by Derek Hansen
As soon as the patrol boat disengaged, Shimojo Seiichi began planning his next night-time incursion. As Mickey had predicted, the weakness in Lieutenant Commander Scriven’s strategy was about to be exploited. And exploited to the full.
It took a few days for reports of the Shoto Maru’s resumption of illegal fishing to filter through to Mickey, and by then it was too late. The Tsushima Maru had withdrawn from its position on the west coast and motored back south to the grounds off Taranaki. Its departure had caused Lieutenant Commander Scriven to pronounce his strategy a total success, and he was deaf to all intelligence to the contrary. Reports began to come in from fishing grounds all around New Zealand as the foreign fishing fleets woke up to the fact that the Navy had returned to its old, predictable strategy. The captains simply behaved themselves when a patrol boat came near, and returned to their poaching the moment it moved on. The radio waves buzzed with updates of the positions of the patrol boats and their headings. The foreign crews could hardly believe their luck.
Occasionally in foul weather a patrol boat would surprise a dory within the twelve mile zone but, under instruction, did little more than escort her back out to sea, warn the crew and wait to ensure they heeded the warning. Prevention not apprehension was the name of the game and the game plan could have been devised by the wool marketers. Lieutenant Commander Scriven saw the lack of arrests as proof of the success of his prevention strategy. Not for the first time, Mickey thought about resigning his commission.
Instead he collected and collated every report from his network of spotters, from local fishermen, from aircraft pilots and passing ships. He collected every report from every fishing ground. He thought of leaking the information to the press, but incursions and howls of protest had become so commonplace over the years that they no longer made news. Arrests and retribution were all that made news, and Mickey had none to give them. He decided to write a report of his own, not for the Staff Officer Operations but to go directly to the Commodore. Mickey thought he could come up with a snappy title, too. Arrest is Best, he wrote. Not a bad line to exit a career on.
Gloria remained the only light in his life, but his progress there was steady rather than spectacular. He had not yet bedded her and hadn’t pressed his claim. She had old-fashioned notions and he was inhibited by a shadow reaching across the Gulf from Great Barrier Island. When Red had called in to report on the activities of a longliner along Great Barrier’s east coast, he’d resisted the temptation to ask about Rosie or even ask Red if he could get her to telephone him. What would he say to her? Besides, there was another reason why he was loath to contact Rosie which he was ashamed to admit. He couldn’t help feeling that he was better off not knowing, better off if he never heard another word from Wreck Bay for the remainder of his life. But then, there’d always be the fear that one day there’d be a knock on his door and he’d find a smaller, younger version of himself standing there, holding out his hand and saying, ‘Daddy’. Sooner or later he’d have to face Rosie and find out the truth. It wasn’t a day he looked forward to with any relish.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
‘Tell me about the One-oh-five.’
‘Don’t do it, Rosie.’
‘It’s not doing you any good keeping it inside, Red.’
‘Please, Rosie, you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t understand.’
‘I understand all right, Red, and I want to understand more. You know you need help. I know you need help and what’s more, I’m the only person who can give it.’ Red would not meet her eyes. His elbows rested on the dining table and he stared stubbornly at the wall. The dinner plates had been cleared away to make room for the manila envelope Rosie’s father had sent her and its contents. ‘No one else cares about you like I do. You’ve never had anyone treat you before who cared about you. I know, Red, because it’s all here in your file. My father was supposed to oversee all the psychiatric patients in the Auckland area and take responsibility for their welfare. But he never even met you. He never took the trouble. He read your case card and doubtless commented on your treatment, but you were left in the care of others who obviously didn’t care any more than he did.’
‘You’ve no right to read my file.’
‘I have every right. I’m your doctor. You’re my patient.’
‘Says who?’
‘I do. And I have your file, so that rather tends to prove my case, doesn’t it? All I’m asking, Red, is that you give me a chance. Is that too much? Look, my father sent a note along with your file. He’s reviewed your case and according to him you should now be little more than a gibbering idiot. The fact that you’re not he attributes to his therapies finally bearing results. But we know otherwise, don’t we? You’ve developed your own therapies and they work better than any the doctors gave you.’
‘That’s right, Rosie. That’s my point.’
‘And that’s mine, Red! You’ve done a terrific job on yourself, one you have every right to feel proud of. You’ve beaten the system and beaten the doctors. You’ve done a terrific job but the job’s not finished. You know it isn’t! I know it isn’t. All I’m suggesting is that we work together with what you know works and we’ll see if we can find what else works. Imagine it, Red. Imagine what it would be like to be free of the demons, to be free of fear, to look back over the past, accept it for what it was but no longer live in its shadow. Isn’t that something worth fighting for? Isn’t it worth giving me a chance?’ She crouched down in front of him so that he couldn’t avoid looking at her. ‘Look at me, Red.’
‘You don’t understand, Rosie.’ He turned his head slightly so that he could look into her eyes. ‘You can never understand. You weren’t there. No one can ever understand if they weren’t there.’
‘Then take me there so I can understand. What happened at the One-oh-five? What happened to Archie?’
‘No, Rosie, no!’ He swivelled in his chair away from her and buried his head in his hands. ‘Don’t make me do this.’ He wasn’t asking her, he was begging.
‘All right, Red. All right.’ She put her arm around his shoulders. ‘I’ll do a deal with you. I’ll drop the One-oh-five for now if you tell me what happened to Yvonne.’ She waited for a response. ‘What’s it to be, Red? Is it a deal?’ She reached for the half-empty bottle of burgundy and filled both glasses. ‘Well?’
‘She died.’ Red stayed turned away, head hidden in his hands.
‘How?’
‘The Japs killed her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she tried to stop them killing her patients.’
‘Did you see them kill her?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Through the window in the ward door.’
‘Did you try to stop them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘They wouldn’t let me.’
‘Who?’
‘Archie and Steve.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
Silence.
‘Look at me, Red. Take your head out of your hands and tell me what happened.’ She pulled at his arm. He raised his head slowly, as if every inch cost him unbearable pain. Tears rolled from eyes that didn’t blink and saw things happening in another time.
‘Ah Jesus, Red!’ Rosie realised she’d lost him and could do nothing but wait until he came back. She wondered whether she was right to meddle, whether he wouldn’t be better off if she just left him alone.
‘Have a sip of wine, Red, and tell me what you saw. You hear me?’
The tears had stopped but he still stared blank-eyed at the table. She waited, neither patiently nor anxiously, but with a sense of resignation. Progress, if there was to be any, would be slow in coming. Her thoughts drifted back to the record of his treatment. It seemed to have been administered on a suck it and see principle, all reactive according to his mood swings with no long-term strategy in mind. She was stunned to read that he was once conside
red too violent and unpredictable to mix with other patients.
‘They were sick old men in Yvonne’s ward, civilians awaiting repatriation. I wrote letters for them and brought them bottles and bed pans. I liked to help.’
Rosie snapped her attention back to Red. His eyes didn’t lift from the table and his voice sounded distant and remote, as emotionally laden as a weather forecast. She reached for her glass of wine and took a long sip.
‘The Japs ordered them out of their beds and onto their feet. They began to scream and wave their rifles around. The poor old blokes couldn’t do anything. Some of them tried to swing their legs over the side of their beds but it didn’t get them very far. Most of them were bedridden. They couldn’t have stood for the national anthem. They couldn’t have stood if their arses were on fire. They should’ve been evacuated first, poor bastards.’
‘What were you doing at the doorway?’
‘Someone ran past my ward yelling that the Japs had arrived and were shooting. I was worried about Yvonne. I knew she was on duty and where she’d be. I wanted to help if there was any trouble.’
‘Go on.’
Red’s voice faltered and the muscles in his face began to twitch and tremble as his mind tried to find ways to protect itself from the horror of his memories. His expressions ran through endless permutations of emotions – anger, hatred, fear, revenge, bravado – but, as hard as he tried, none locked in. He’d been hurt and bewildered then and was clearly still vulnerable. Rosie’s heart went out to him.
‘Just as I reached Yvonne’s ward some Aussie soldiers came running towards me. They were pulling their uniforms on over their pyjamas and bandages. The Japs had already started to rampage through the wards. I wanted to go in but the Aussies grabbed me and held on. The Japs had their bayonets fixed and had begun prodding the patients to get them to stand up. Yvonne was screaming at them. She ran between one of her patients and a Jap sergeant. She pushed his rifle away as he was about to give one old bloke some hurry-up. He slapped her and she fell to the ground. She seemed stunned for a second, then got up and pushed the gunso’s rifle away again. Everything stopped. Soldiers and patients, they all stopped to see what would happen. The gunso screamed at her to stand aside. He held the bayonet at her chest. At first she refused to move, then she backed off towards the old bloke in bed, still staying between him and the Jap sergeant. Her face had turned deathly white and I could see she was scared out of her wits. The gunso ordered her to stand aside, but she still stood her ground. I must have called out because she turned her head towards the door. She saw me and I think that gave her hope. She started to smile. She thought I was coming to help. But the bastard just bayoneted her. He rammed his bayonet right through her. For no reason. No reason at all! Her mouth opened to scream but no sound came. She turned back to me, begging me to help. The gunso pulled his bloody bayonet out and stabbed her again. I started to shout but one of the Aussies had put his hand over my mouth. They pinned my arms behind my back and dragged me away as she slumped to the floor, still looking for me, still waiting for me to come to her rescue.’ His eyes looked up at hers, pleading for absolution.
‘The Aussies did the right thing.’ Rosie was now on familiar territory. She kept her voice matter-of-fact. ‘They were a lot smarter than you, Red. What do you think would have happened if you’d burst into the ward?’
‘I might have been able to do something.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘What were you wearing?’
‘My uniform.’
‘So a uniformed soldier bursts into a ward full of armed Japanese soldiers to rescue the lady in distress. What do you think the Japanese soldiers would have done, Red?’
‘I might have been able to do something, Rosie.’
‘Answer the question!’
‘You don’t understand!’
‘Bullshit, Red! I understand perfectly. Answer the question. What do you think the Japanese would have done?’
‘I dunno . . .’
‘Well, I do. They would have shot you dead before you’d gone more than a few paces. How would that have helped Yvonne? Instead of having one incredibly brave dead nurse, we’d have one incredibly stupid dead soldier as well. How would that have helped Yvonne?’
‘At least I would have done something!’ Temper now.
‘You would have done nothing, achieved nothing. Yvonne would still have been killed.’
‘I would have helped, Rosie! Yvonne wouldn’t have died disappointed in me!’
‘You would prefer that she died knowing she’d caused your death? Do you think Yvonne would have died happier knowing she’d killed you?’
Silence.
‘Answer me, Red.’
‘No, but . . .’
‘Then put down your cross, Red, you’ve carried it long enough. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing because there was nothing you could do. And there’s another point you should bear in mind. Yvonne made her own decision. She had a choice. She could have backed down. She chose not to. What she did was a wonderful, magnificent, courageous act of defiance but it was also futile. It was her choice, not yours. She did what she felt she had to do. Once she’d made that decision her fate was sealed, and there was nothing you or anyone else could have done to change things.’
‘She wouldn’t have died alone, Rosie. Nobody should be left to die alone.’
‘You’re right, Red, absolutely right. Nobody should be left to die alone if it can be prevented. But sometimes it can’t be. But I don’t believe Yvonne died alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious, Red? Who was she looking at when she died? She was looking at the face of the man who loved her and who was desperate to help her. Do you think she didn’t see the soldiers trying to drag you away? Do you think she didn’t see the hand over your mouth to stop you calling out? Do you think she didn’t find comfort in your being there? Come on, Red! Yvonne was an intelligent and perceptive woman. In her last moments on this earth, every single detail of the man she loved would have been etched into her brain. You were there, Red, reaching out to her, giving her the comfort of your love. You say she looked to you for help. I say she looked helpless. Put yourself in her position. She saw the agony you were going through and was powerless to help you. She was a nurse, Red, and your lover. She’d already demonstrated her selflessness by standing up for her patients. It was her nature to put others before herself. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that she’d do the same for you – especially for you?’
Rosie paused while Red absorbed her words. Clearly, he’d never thought to consider the events from her point of view. He’d been overwhelmed by loss, despair and guilt and had never looked beyond. Rosie let the minutes tick by as Red relived the terrible moment from another perspective. But a point of view built up over years isn’t changed in minutes, and Rosie was well aware of the hours and hours of work ahead of her. But they’d made a start. She decided to move on and try to get him talking again. ‘You were lovers, weren’t you, Red?’
‘Yes.’
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ Rosie smiled coquettishly. ‘I imagine it would have been hard to be alone in a ward with thirty other patients.’
‘Hospitals are full of beds, Rosie.’
She laughed. ‘Was Yvonne your first?’
‘First I ever cared about.’
‘Had there been many others?’
‘No.’
‘Were you engaged?’
‘Sort of, we talked about getting married after the war.’
‘She must have been a wonderful girl.’
‘She was.’
‘Do you ever just sit and think of the good times you had together and the special things about her that you really liked?’
‘I try not to think about her.’
‘Well, it’s time you did. If you really loved her, you owe it to her memory. Let her come to you, Red.’
‘I’m not sure .
. .’
‘Trust me. Let her come to you and give her a warm welcome when she does. Have there been many other women since?’
‘No. No one. No one except you, Rosie.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Rosie was stunned. It had never occurred to her that he’d gone without sex for more than twenty years. She was hard pressed to know what shocked her more – his story or his admission of chastity.
‘It’s not easy, Rosie. The war changed everything. Nothing means as much as it did.’ Red squirmed, embarrassed, as he tried to find words to express his thoughts. ‘Feelings aren’t the same. They don’t seem to mean as much. Sometimes they don’t mean anything.’
‘That’s a common enough sentiment among people who endured the sort of horrors you went through. It must have been absolutely appalling. But you have to adjust. And the people who adjust best are those who make a conscious effort to let go of the past.’
‘It’s not easy.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t. But your mind can be your ally if only you let it. It has a wonderful capacity to heal. You have to let your mind do its job now. You have to allow it back on your side to deal with all of your terrible memories. I can help you do that.’
‘You don’t understand, Rosie. You’re making the mistake they all made.’
‘For God’s sake, Red! What is there to understand? You lived day to day, lucky to survive until the next. Starvation, deprivation, disease were your bedmates, the things you lived with every second of every day. Death, torture and endless drudgery. Slave labour under impossible conditions. People survived and wrote books about it. They’ve made films about it. We’ve all read the books and seen the films. It was disgusting, degrading and unforgivable. It was the worst, most horrifying experience anyone could undergo. What is there to understand?’
‘You weren’t there, Rosie! You can never understand!’ Red kicked his chair back and stood shouting, every muscle in his body tensed, veins sticking out and throbbing, fists clenching.
‘Damn you, Red, I do understand!’ Rosie had had enough. It was time to stand up to him. Time for him to face up to his responsibilities to himself. She stood, kicking her chair so that it also crashed backwards onto the floor. ‘I do understand! Get that through your thick skull. Now sit down!’