The child lay motionless too in the center of the street where the blast had thrown her. Her mother crawled to her side, calling her name, her face a mask of agony. She scooped the girl in her arms and sat in the center of the road, cradling the small body in her arms. The child’s arms and legs dangled haphazardly; her head hung limply. The woman gently rocked to and fro, sobbing uncontrollably. Sorrow lived in every wrinkle of her face; she looked as though her heart had been ripped from her body.
We hurried across the boulevard, joining a dozen others drawn by the blast. Some already assisted the injured, others cleared the road for emergency vehicles. I saw at least one doctor, his medical bag beside him. He briefly checked the child, muttered a word of condolence to the mother, and moved to other injured. Tears streamed down the woman’s face, trickling onto her black blouse.
I looked at the sea of injured and maimed people, wanting to assist but not knowing how. It was just like when Maggie had died. I hadn’t been able to help her either. I was stunned and overwhelmed, shocked and saddened. I started crying. I kept staring at the poor child. An agonizing look covered Lady Jane’s face, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes, trying to will them away.
“It’s just like my cousin,” she whispered. “A life ended before it began.”
Thomas knelt beside the mother. He spoke in Mandarin in a soft and soothing tone. He reached for the dead child, gently stroking her hair. He retrieved a doll that lay nearby and laid it in the lap of its lifeless owner. He rose slowly, first hugging the woman and then leaning over and kissing the child’s forehead.
I could see the compassion etched in his face. His actions were genuine and sincere. He was emotional, his eyes moist, his heart heavy.
When he moved away I approached the woman and expressed my condolences. I caressed the child’s head, saying a brief prayer. The wagon driver followed and lingered a minute, speaking to the mother in her own tongue.
Lady Jane moved towards the mother and hugged her tightly, wrapping her arms around her and the child. She did not let go, and for several seconds she provided a protective canopy, subconsciously shielding the woman from further hurt and harm.
I watched her curiously, perplexed by her behavior. I remembered she had vowed to be strong after her cousin’s death. She would never let anything like that happen again. But this was beyond her control, so she offered the only protection she could. Maybe Thomas was right. Maybe she was vulnerable. Maybe she wasn’t that strong after all. I felt for her, and I wanted to wrap my arms around her just as hers were wrapped around mother and daughter.
We made sure the injured were cared for, and then we returned to the wagon. A final glance at the tragedy showed others consoling the woman who clung desperately to her child as onlookers tried to take her away. As the wagon moved forward, I closed my eyes, no longer able to watch.
It was a terrible tragedy. The child was dancing in the wagon, laughing and singing and loving life. A second later she was dead.
“That poor woman,” Lady Jane said somberly. “It makes coming across the Indian Ocean to be jilted by your fiancé seem pretty trivial. Doesn’t it?”
I looked at her thoughtfully. I think that was the point that her healing began, and Balraj Patel began to fade from her life.
Our journey continued, our wagon moving slowly through the streets of Singapore, as cars and taxis, rickshaws and trucks moved past us. Street vendors returned to their displays, shoppers again gazed in windows and pedestrians wandered the streets just as I had seen so many times after the bombs had stopped falling.
We traveled the route we had taken when we met Chin, leaving the city and entering a rural area dotted with farms. We continued for an hour more, the journey much slower by mare than by car. Soon we reached the weed- strewn lane that led to the barn, and the driver traveled a hundred yards more and halted.
Thomas spoke to the driver in Mandarin, apparently thanking him, and handed him some money. He jumped to the ground and started walking towards the barn.
“I’ll round up Chin,” he said.
Lady Jane and I thanked the driver and removed the baggage from the wagon. We stacked everything under the shade of the tree and glanced at the landscape.
“Should we go and see what’s going on?” Lady Jane asked.
I hesitated. “Probably not. If he wanted us to follow he would have told us.”
“I think I’ll view Chin differently,” Lady Jane said. “Now that Thomas told us the story about his son.”
I studied the horizon. It was early afternoon, few clouds marred the sky, and for the first time in hours no bomb blasts could be heard. It was eerily quiet. I wondered why. Had the Japanese advance been stopped? Or merely suspended.
The door to the barn opened and Thomas waved us forward. “Come on,” he called. “Chin is here. And he’s willing to leave now.”
We grabbed our luggage and entered. Chin greeted us warmly, his face framed by a smile. He went into his office for a moment while Thomas brought us to the aircraft.
We glanced inside and saw the pilot’s seat and one beside it, and then twin seats behind them. A large wooden box with a hinged lid was immediately behind the passengers’ seat. The remainder of the plane was cargo space. The interior had horizontal slats situated at various heights of the fuselage. Rope was attached to this framework, designed to anchor cargo. Several wooden crates were stowed towards the rear of the plane. There was no sign of the mysterious crate that Thomas had brought previously. Chin must have already delivered it.
“It seems a bit dated,” I said warily. I had little experience flying and was somewhat anxious about the journey. Especially in such a small plane.
Thomas sensed my apprehension. “It may not look like much, but I assure you it’s flight-worthy. Chin flies to Batavia twice a week. And I’ve accompanied him many times.”
“I suppose it’s all right,” I said with some trepidation.
“How about you, Lady Jane?” he asked. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “I flew frequently in India. And in planes much worse than this. I’m willing to continue. I’m not afraid.”
She was braver than I was. I eyed the plane again, looking at the struts that supported the wings. “How many times have you made this journey?”
Thomas laughed. “Many times,” he said. “There’s no need to worry.”
Chin joined us a moment later. “Are we ready to go?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “But I want to go outside and make sure it’s safe. It’s so quiet, it’s unnerving. Why no sounds of battle? I’ll circle the barn for a quarter mile or so, up to where the vegetation starts, and make sure everything is all right.”
“I’ll load the luggage,” Chin said.
Thomas left while Chin grabbed our suitcases and the duffle bag. He secured them to the slats with rope, and then came back to where Lady Jane and I waited near the door to the barn.
“The plane was built in 1927,” he said. “It can reach speeds of about one-hundred and seventy miles per hour and has a range of eight hundred miles. Batavia is about six hundred miles away. But I as I said before, we’ll stop halfway so I can drop some cargo.”
“This all sounds routine to you,” Lady Jane said.
“It is, to an extent,” Chin said. “But we have the Japanese to contend with. It’s quiet right now. Hopefully we can get out of here before the bombing starts again.”
I looked at my watch. “I hope Thomas hurries.”
“He’s just being cautious,” Chin said. “There hasn’t been any activity here even though the Japanese are on Ubin Island, which really isn’t far away.”
“Do you think they’ll attack from there?” Lady Jane asked.
“I don’t know,” Chin said. “It may be a diversion. The British troops guarding the east coast could have been used on the other side of the island.”
“Thomas seems to know what the Japanese will do days before it happens,
” I said. I was curious to see how Chin reacted to my statement.
“He’s a smart man,” Chin replied. Then he smiled. “He seems to know what I’m going to do before it happens too.”
“How long have you known him,” Lady Jane asked.
“For a long time,” Chin said, his smile growing even broader. It was as if his mind’s eye was searching the past, watching a time that was much more pleasant.
“He seems like a good friend,” Lady Jane added. She was prodding, searching for information.
“You couldn’t ask for a better one,” Chin said. “I owe a lot to Thomas. I wouldn’t be what I am today if it wasn’t for him.”
“Really?” Lady Jane asked.
Her questions were intentional; they were manipulative. Not naïve or innocent. She wanted to learn about Thomas. And she found a way to do it. I wondered why she was so interested in him. Maybe he really was taking the place of Balraj Patel.
“Very much so,” Chin continued. “I was abandoned with a small baby. Thomas got me a job at the airport, cleaning the hangers. And he found a retired lady who helped me with the baby. I worked hard, learned to fly, and eventually bought this plane.”
I looked at Lady Jane, dumbfounded. She was as surprised as I was. Thomas had told us the story of Chin, but had omitted his involvement.
The door opened and Thomas came in. “I think we should get moving. There’s a patrol about five hundred yards north of here. I can’t tell who they are. They’re probably British, but I don’t think we should wait to find out. Especially since the military situation is changing so quickly. The Japanese may have landed from Ubin Island.”
“Get in,” Chin said. “I’ll do the engine checks and get started.”
We quickly climbed inside. Thomas withdrew two billfolds from his pocket, handing one to Lady Jane and one to me. “These are Swiss passports with false identities.”
“Is this really necessary?” Lady Jane said. She glanced at her picture and mumbled the alias that Thomas had chosen for her. “Marie La Favre.”
I looked at my new identity. “Jean Bassiere.”
“The Swiss are neutral,” Thomas explained. “If anything unexpected occurs, we won’t be treated as combatants.”
His statement magnified the danger, amplifying just how serious the situation was. I had fleeting thoughts of Alistair Duncan, and those at the Times office, and Henry Hyde at the Raffles Café, and of guests at the Victoria Hotel who I had talked to in passing. I wondered if I would ever see any of them again, or if they all would survive. I also gained an appreciation for the extensive preparations our journey demanded.
“These are excellent forgeries,” I said. “How did you get them?”
He shrugged. “I have friends.”
“I have friends too,” I said. “But they can’t produce fake passports.”
Chin completed his engine checks and closed the cowling. He moved to the barn doors and swung each open on their rusty hinges. He stepped outside and peeked around the corner.
“They’re coming this way,” he said when he returned. “I think they’re British, but why take the chance. We better hurry.”
He started the aircraft, and the engine roared to life. The old plane rolled slowly from the barn and across the fields, gaining speed as the pitch of the engine deepened. No one pursued us; no shots were fired. We would never know if they were friend or foe. Chin eased back on the throttle, and the plane jerked reluctantly into the air. I glanced out the porthole and saw that we were airborne, our distance from the ground increasing. Within minutes we were over the ocean, and soon the strangled city of Singapore began to fade from sight.
I stole one last glance at the city. I was still convinced it was a microcosm for what the world should, but probably never would, be. Singapore held the secret for mankind; maybe someday I would return.
CHAPTER 13
The sun was starting to sink on the western horizon, having reached and passed its zenith. We flew towards it at a low altitude, maybe a thousand feet, and then made a wide sweeping turn to the south.
I could tell from my knowledge of geography that we had gone in the wrong direction. Studying atlases as a bed-ridden child sometimes proved valuable. “Why did we fly to the west? Isn’t Batavia southeast?”
“The Japanese occupy some of the islands south and east of Singapore,” Thomas said. “We decided to go west and then south to avoid them. Just to be safe.”
He always surprised me with his specific knowledge of enemy activity, including their movement, strength, and intentions. He seemed to know more than our own military, at least given my limited exposure to them.
“How do you possibly know that?” I asked.
Chin cast Thomas a guarded glance, which didn’t escape my attention, and then replied. “I saw them yesterday when I returned from Sumatra, so I told Thomas.”
His explanation was plausible, although their behavior was odd. More important was the relevance of the information. If the Japanese now occupied islands to the south and east of Singapore, only a sliver of territory to the southwest, that which we had just flown through, remained unoccupied or uncontrolled by the enemy. The fate of Singapore became more tenuous with each passing hour.
“The Japanese are eliminating the escape routes,” I said. “Our army will be trapped unless massive reinforcements arrive.”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Thomas said. “Singapore is almost completely surrounded. But I think we already outnumber the Japanese by three to one. This battle was fought and lost psychologically. I told you that when we saw the soldiers. Defeat was in their faces. When you get to Batavia, the first article you write should describe your escape. There won’t be many more that get out after us.”
The coast of Sumatra appeared a short while later bathed in the crimson shadow of the setting sun. We flew along the northern edge of the island where vegetation grew to the water’s edge and then walked in elevation to the mountains that dominated the island’s interior. Since we were still flying at a low altitude, I could see the occasional hamlets tucked along the coast, clinging to the sea that provided their livelihood.
As I watched the scenery move by below, I thought of the contrasts to the urban landscape of London. Sumatra was half a world away, but it could be a universe away; it was so vastly different in geography, development, culture, and climate. I suddenly felt overwhelmingly homesick as fleeting images of the city drifted through my mind: dinner at the Sherlock Holmes Pub just off Trafalgar Square, tea at the Treasure Island Café, the Thames River, Sunday services, my family. And Maggie.
I remembered a time we walked along the Thames, returning from an American movie, The Maltese Falcon. All the while, Maggie imitated characters from the show, primarily Humphrey Bogart and Sydney Greenstreet, repeating the most memorable lines, mimicking their voices to perfection. It was a unique talent she possessed; I often felt like she should have been a professional comedian. I laughed all the way home. And even months later, half a world away and with Maggie in heaven, it still made me smile.
My life was so different then. I would have never left London if she were still alive. Now I was flying over Sumatra, the largest of the seven thousand islands that formed the Dutch East Indies. It was a Dutch colony with no parent, the mother country overrun by Germany. So much had changed in so short a time.
Lady Jane was busy chatting with Chin and Thomas, laughing and joking and flirting a bit. There was no evidence of any heartache, but I’m sure it was there. She was so unlike Maggie. Lady Jane was sophisticated; Maggie was practical. Lady Jane was wealthy; Maggie had grown up in the east London slums. Lady Jane spoke with a clipped, upper class accent; Maggie was pure Cockney. Lady Jane was reserved with a dry sense of humor; usually only the hint of a smile suggested amusement. Maggie was an extroverted jokester, bubbling with impulsive spontaneity, who frequently laughed hilariously, not caring who saw or heard. They were very different, yet somehow they were very much the same.
“I grew up in Paris,” Thomas was saying. “My mother was a saint. My father was a hard-working, heavy drinker.”
“That must have been a difficult childhood,” she said.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. My father was a tough man. But he did the best he could. It would be foolish to blame my faults on him, which so many people do today.”
“My family always had an after dinner drink,” Lady Jane said. “And they loved parties. We had a social occasion for everything. But they were just reasons to celebrate.”
“My father didn’t need a reason to drink,” Thomas said. “I remember when I got my first job. I was a teenager. And you got paid every day in those days. I came home from my first day of work, and my father was waiting for me on the corner of my street. He made me give him my day’s wages, and then he went straight to the saloon.”
“That’s terrible,” Lady Jane said. “What did you do?”
Thomas looked at her, his face grave and serious. “I found a different way home.”
They seemed to have developed quite a rapport. They were laughing and joking, chatting as if they had known each other for years. They had much in common from the books they read to the places they had been to their favorite foods. I couldn’t understand why or how or when they had become so close.
To Parts Unknown Page 9