“Did you ever think this would happen?” I asked a Caucasian gentleman, hoping he spoke English.
“No, never,” he said. His Dutch accent was thick, his vocabulary limited. His face was consumed with sorrow; his eyes were lit with an anxious fear. “My daughter is in Surabaya. I can’t reach her. I don’t know if she’s all right.” He turned and walked away.
I noticed a woman by the curb. She was middle- aged and well-dressed; her clothes hinted of wealth and sophistication. I approached her, my notebook drawn.
“It’s a horrible day,” I commented.
She studied me for a moment, her eyes moist. I sensed she was apprehensive, wondering if she could speak freely. She glanced at the notebook.
“I’m a reporter,” I said. “I’m from London.”
“Why come here?”
She had a point. “I wonder myself sometimes,” I said softly.
She nodded; maybe she shared the same thoughts.
“I came from Amsterdam. Two years ago. To flee the Nazis. ”
“Only to face the Japanese.”
“I had nowhere else to go. And the Japanese may not be as bad as the Germans.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
“If you were a Jew, you would know what I mean.” I looked in her eyes and saw the pain, the quiet agony of someone who had suffered more than most can imagine. I had heard rumors of what the Nazis did to Jews. Everyone had, but no one seemed to know the facts.
“What was it like?”
She hesitated, afraid to reveal the truth. “They steal your belongings. They steal your family. Then they steal your dignity. And finally, they steal your soul. If you’re lucky enough to survive, you’re just a shadow.”
She nodded politely and walked away.
I watched her depart and was overwhelmed with anxiety. What intrigued me most was that only a few weeks ago I was in London. Before I left for Singapore, I had sat in the Sherlock Homes Pub and had Yorkshire pudding and a pint of Boddingtons with my sister Angie and her husband Tom. And just before that, I had enjoyed an afternoon playing chess with my father, walked along the Thames in the winter fog, and helped clear rubble from the buildings bombed by the German Luftwaffe.
Only a few months ago I had held Maggie in my arms. Now everything was different. The war had changed the world. And it had changed me.
I went to theLondon Times office after the Japanese marched into Batavia. The populace was returning to its normal routine, wary and fearful, and the streets had once again become a throng of humanity. Only now a sprinkling of enemy soldiers were mixed among the city’s residents.
Harry Simpkins sat behind his desk, the office’s only occupant. His wisps of white hair were a bit frazzled; his pale blue eyes were dulled and defeated. He was obviously despondent. He had a pad of paper before him, and, as I sat in front of his desk, I saw that it contained a few scribbled notes.
“It’s a sad day for Java,” he said. “Somehow I had convinced myself that Batavia would not fall. Denial is a dangerous trait for a reporter.”
“Then we all suffer from the same shortcoming,” I said. “I came to the Pacific to see the Allies turn the tide, to fight their way back to victory.”
“And you were proved wrong.” He sighed. “Look at the world we’ve given to our children.”
“If there’s even a world left to give them,” I said. I tried to imagine what was to come. I suppose the Japanese would take Australia; the Germans would conquer Russia, then turn their attention to America. It was a horrific vision.
“I received some disturbing news a few minutes ago,” he said. “And it affects both of us. I’m told the Japanese will intern over one hundred thousand people, including government officials, civic leaders, businessmen, and journalists.”
I was alarmed. Somehow I thought I could continue to write but with limitations imposed by an oppressive society. I had hoped that if I peacefully existed and didn’t threaten the new regime I wouldn’t be bothered. I should have known better.
“What do you plan to do?” I asked.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “My family has a small ranch in the mountains. I think we can live there without being harassed. It’s remote and self-sufficient. So the real question is what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m traveling with some friends. We had hoped to escape together.”
Simpkins jotted directions on a scrap of paper. “This is where the ranch is. It’s near Bayah, on the southeast coast. You and your friends can go there if you have to. But you need to get out of here.”
Feeling defeated and depressed, I wandered into the taproom the first evening of the Japanese occupation. Thomas sat at a table near the center of the room, waving his arms and relating one of his wild tales. Van der Meer was beside him with a smug smile pasted on his face.
"Where have you two been?" I asked.
"To the east,” Thomas said as he looked at Van der Meer. “We wanted to see the invasion."
I looked at him like he had lost his mind. What type of man watched an invasion for entertainment? “What was it like?”
“Ruthless.”
I studied the look of disgust on his face. It took a lot to affect him. Especially that noticeably. “What happened?” I asked softly.
Van der Meer looked at Thomas and then began his tale. “We saw a small military hospital maybe thirty miles from the edge of the city. I guess it had about two hundred beds in it. The Japanese captured it.”
“There were no guards or soldiers or machine guns,” Thomas said. “It was just a simple medical facility.”
“We never saw anyone carrying a gun,” Van der Meer said. “It was filled with wounded soldiers, doctors, and nurses. There were men on crutches and in wheelchairs, doctors with stethoscopes around their necks, nurses in starched white uniforms. But not much else.” “And the Japanese systematically bayoneted every single person to death,” Thomas said coldly.
I gasped. “My Lord! Are you serious?” “Absolutely,” Van der Meer said.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Thomas looked at Van der Meer. He didn’t reply. Sir Gregory and Lady Jane then entered the restaurant. We made room for them at our table.
“Have you given any thought to leaving Batavia?” Lady Jane asked. “The sight of the Japanese marching down the boulevards should be our hint to depart.”
“She’s right,” I said. I was still shaken by Thomas’s story, but I didn’t want her to know it; I didn’t want to frighten her. Instead, I shared my conversation with Harry Simpkins and described Japanese plans for the internment of some citizens.
"What do you propose, George?" Thomas asked. "Obviously we’re not safe here. I just hope it’s not too late to leave.”
"No, we'll manage,” he assured me. “What do you think of my island sightseeing plan?”
I again wondered what motivated the man. I couldn’t sail around the southwest Pacific, playing a game of hide-and-seek with the Japanese. I didn’t understand why he wanted to do that. But then, his real motivation might be to see exactly where the Japanese were.
“I don’t think that will work,” Sir Gregory said. “We should make plans to get out of Batavia and go to Australia. It’s the safest course of action. But we need to leave soon. Life, at least as it’s known in Batavia, is about to change drastically.”
As if his prophetic statement had been heard, the ambiance of the room was shattered by a loud command in Japanese. Six soldiers stormed into the restaurant, the heels of their boots echoing off the floor. Two officers strutted in just behind them.
CHAPTER 30
The first officer strode to the center of the room and stood defiantly, his hands on his hips. The six soldiers flanked him, three to a side. Then the second officer, the higher rank given the medals and braids that adorned his uniform, moved next to him. He spoke to his aide softly. The restaurant was silent; all eyes were trained on the enemy.
&n
bsp; "Hij is Algemene Hakkan,” the second officer said in Dutch, pointing to his superior. “He is General Hakkan." Van der Meer grasped Thomas’s arm. “Don’t do it,” he whispered.
Thomas’s face was taut; his eyes burned with anger.
He was so tense the muscles in his arms bulged, the veins visible. But I couldn’t explain his reaction. Everyone else in the room was terrified.
The general stared around the room, daring someone to defy him. His soldiers stood behind him, weapons poised.
"Dit hotel zal ons hoofdkwartier zijn,” the second officer said. “This hotel will be our headquarters."
General Hakkan gazed at a middle-aged woman a few tables away. She was well-dressed, wearing a pearl necklace and diamond earrings. He turned to his assistant and spoke in Japanese.
The second officer strutted to the woman, sneering with contempt. He pointed to her earrings and held out his hand.
She was indignant. “No, you cannot have my earrings. You heathen.”
The officer reached forward and savagely ripped the right earring from her ear. She gasped, her lobe torn; blood dripped onto the shoulder of her white silk blouse.
The room buzzed with anger as her gentleman companion stood in protest. The officer withdrew a pistol and held it against his chest. He quickly sat down, and those in the room quieted.
An elderly lady seated beside the woman nervously helped her remove the left earring. The Japanese officer took it, eyed it carefully, and then gave it to the general. The woman cried softly, holding a napkin to her ear.
I looked around the room. Most people didn’t understand what was happening. They were frightened and confused. They hadn’t realized that a conqueror takes what he wants, that anything they had was no longer theirs, but I think they understood now.
Hakkan observed the room’s inhabitants, searching each face. He was enjoying the effect his actions had on the crowd. He wanted those in the room to be terrified. It amused him. His eyes came to rest on Lady Jane.
She turned away, averting her gaze. He walked towards her, his leather boots pounding the floor. I took her hand and squeezed it.
The general stood beside her, so close that his body brushed against hers. He touched her hair, caressing the blonde locks between his fingers.
“Stop!” I demanded, reaching for the general’s arm.
I saw the butt of the soldier’s rifle coming towards me, but I couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid it. It hit me on the head, and I crashed to the ground, dazed and disoriented. My vision clouded, and the lights dimmed. I felt blood trickle from my head, wetting my hair.
“Enough of this nonsense,” Sir Gregory said angrily. He rose from his seat but got no further.
A soldier placed a rifle barrel in his face about an inch from his nose and motioned him back to his seat.
Lady Jane used the distraction to rise and spin, pushing the general away. She stood and faced him, firm and defiant. Her lip was quivering, her hands on her hips. A fiery glare consumed her eyes. She refused to be intimidated.
Thomas loudly emptied his pipe into an ashtray, banging the bowl repeatedly. The noise attracted everyone's attention, including Hakkan’s. Once again, Van der Meer touched his arm as if to restrain him.
The general looked at him. Briefly forgetting Lady Jane, he moved around the table towards Thomas.
He then issued a harsh command, which his assistant interpreted. "Uw documenten!”
Thomas pretended not to understand even though I knew he spoke Dutch. He sat with a quizzical look on his face.
"Paspoort!” the assistant clarified.
Two soldiers moved to the general’s side. Two more guarded the door. Their weapons were drawn. The room was silent. The people were afraid even to breathe.
Lady Jane moved to the floor beside me and tenderly touched the welt on my head. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.
My head was swimming. “I think so,” I said. “Are you?”
She nodded, moving closer.
The perplexed look on Thomas's face had changed to one of vague understanding. He nodded politely and withdrew the forged passport from his pocket. He handed it to the Japanese officer.
The general studied the document. Then he laid it on the table.
Montclair filled his pipe with tobacco. He lit it and puffed a few times, directing the cherry smoke at Hakkan’s face.
The general spoke to his aide.
"U bent Zwitsers?” the officer asked.
Thomas didn’t reply. He looked at the general’s aide with a faint smile.
"Parlez vous Francais?" the aide then inquired.
"Mais oui!" Thomas replied.
Lady Jane whispered in my ear. “We have to stop this!”
I tried to rise but was stopped by a soldier, his rifle poking my temple.
Thomas stared at the general, his eyes burning with hatred. Neither blinked; neither flinched. The general withdrew his pistol from the holster. He opened the chamber, spun the cylinder, and emptied five of the six bullets into his hand. Then he closed the chamber and whispered to his aide.
“Laten we eens kijken hoe gelukkig je bent,” the aide sneered. “Let’s see how lucky you are.”
General Hakkan placed the barrel of the revolver against Thomas’s forehead. He waited a few seconds, ensuring the entire room could see what he was doing.
Then he pulled the trigger.
The click of the empty chamber ricocheted around the room. The patrons, frozen in fear, gasped collectively, then sighed in relief.
Thomas never blinked.
Hakkan laughed, motioning first to Thomas and then to his men. Once prompted, they laughed, also.
Thomas still didn’t move. He continued to glare at Hakkan.
The general turned towards the door followed by his contingent. His objective, to instill fear and terror into Batavia’s inhabitants, had been successful.
Van der Meer patted his friend on the back. "Thomas, that was some display of nerves!"
"And you saved Lady Jane," I added with a tinge of jealousy. If only I had reacted differently. I would have gladly given my life to save hers.
“How?” he asked innocently.
“You diverted the general’s attention from her,” I said.
“Jane, darling, are you all right?” Sir Gregory asked. He hugged her, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
She sighed with relief and sat down. “I’m fine,” she said bravely. She reached for her wine, her hand trembling. Then she raised the glass to her lips and drained the contents.
"That’s the first of many encounters," Van der Meer warned. "The Japanese can no longer be avoided."
His statement, combined with meeting the enemy, sparked our interest in leaving the island. We discussed our escape for the next hour.
Few of the other patrons departed. I suspect their conversations were similar to ours, focused on their safety in a society dominated by the Japanese. The choices were obvious: endure the enemy or escape.
After we discussed some proposals, Thomas said, "At dawn we'll go to the harbor. We’ll book passage wherever we can."
“What about Bennie?” I asked. He seemed to be just the type to aid our escape.
“He’s not available right now,” Van der Meer said.
“We’ll need a different plan.”
"We can't take luggage," Thomas added. "Maybe a small bag but nothing more. We won't check out of the hotel either. We have to act like we're only leaving for a few hours. The Japanese are already watching the guests."
“Is that acceptable to everyone?” I asked.
“It is to us,” Sir Gregory said, speaking for both he and Lady Jane.
I looked at her. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. I was beginning to understand the cage she had described.
Considering the late hour and our early departure, we chose to retire. When I started for my room I saw sentries posted at the hotel entrance. We were wise to leave. The longer the Japanese were in Batavia,
the stronger their hold would become.
Later that night I was awakened abruptly by someone banging on my door. I turned on the light and looked at my watch. It was 2 a.m. I put on a robe and stumbled across the room, expecting disaster. Were the Japanese commandeering my room?
I opened the door to find a distraught Lady Jane standing in the hallway. She was crying.
"George!" she shrieked. "You've got to help me!"
CHAPTER 31
I ushered her into the room and closed the door. I was confused. She was in some sort of trouble, but she had come to me for help. Not to Sir Gregory. And not to Thomas.
She wiped her tears away and folded her arms protectively across her chest.
"Tell me what’s wrong," I said.
She bit her lip, tried to compose herself, but only cried harder.
I held her shoulders. "Lady Jane, I want to help you. I really do. But you have to tell me what happened."
"The Japanese general," she said.
"What about him?"
She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself.
"When I went in my room he was waiting for me." "Waiting for you? Why?"
"He had a knife. And he demanded I take my clothes off."
I felt the blood surge to my face. "The bastard! I'll kill him!"
She grabbed my arm. "You don't have to."
"Why? He deserves to die."
"He's already dead."
I stopped, my hand on the doorknob. "He’s dead? How?"
"He tried to force to me to lie on the bed,” she said.
“I stopped in front of the nightstand where I kept a pair of scissors. As he approached me, I grabbed them and... and...”
"You stabbed him?"
She nodded. She was trembling.
"Are you sure he's dead?"
"I think so."
I paced the floor, trying to plan our next move. It was difficult to think. My head was throbbing; the butt of the rifle had left a large knot beside my ear. But I had to concentrate. Something had to be done with the general, and we had to get out of Batavia.
"We better tell Thomas," I said.
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