‘Smarten up, chaps.’
Caps were slung on, jackets adjusted, shoulders straightened. Harry nodded almost to himself and stepped out of the hut. The wooden jetty creaked, protesting the weight of the four men. The sliver of ultra-modern marine engineering slowed as it approached the jetty. Its engine, impressively quiet, became silent as it pulled up expertly, barely brushing against the old boards. Harry waited. He was coiled and still. If this was an ambush and a trick, he was a clear target. He stood facing the boat, his hands by his side, the other officers in a phalanx behind him.
A uniformed sailor leaped off the boat and secured it. Harry’s eyes were on the men standing, also in silence, on the shiny deck. Their uniforms were immaculate, their dark eyes betraying as little as his own. The Japanese army officers disembarked, taking their first unofficial steps on to what was officially British territory.
Harry stepped forward and bowed slightly.
‘Sir.’ The senior Japanese officer bowed and responded. He held out his hand, in which there was a letter. Harry reached and took it. The transfer was efficient and precise.
‘Thank you.’ Two more small bows and the Japanese turned back to their boat. They were gone as smoothly and silently as they had come. Harry and his colleagues stayed exactly where they were until even the wake had disappeared. Water lapped against the struts of the jetty. Mosquitoes took advantage and fell upon their prey. Not one of the men moved to brush them away.
‘Well done, men. Thank you.’ Harry’s voice split the buzzing of the orgiastic insects. The boat was out of sight. The whole encounter had lasted three minutes. The men fell into a frenzy of mosquito killing. There was laughter and relief. But only Harry knew that the letter was a formality: the demands in it were never going to be acceptable and this exchange would not hold off the invasion by even a minute. It had been a necessary rendezvous, but would only ever be an easily forgotten footnote in the endgame of Japanese military ambitions in the Far East. He knew too well the subtle weave of etiquette that served as an excuse for barbaric behaviour. His time in Japan as a military exchange student had been revelatory as well as personally thrilling. And of course he understood the importance of his experience to a British military command with little or no knowledge of the East. But he also understood how little weight should be placed on the Japanese need to have been seen to follow the diplomatic line of engagement before continuing with its imperialistic expansion. It was only a matter of time.
In the aftermath of her dismay at Yang’s disappearance Lily had persuaded Stevie that the safest place for all of them would be at her uncle’s house, and she and Hal were drawn without question into the embrace of Lily’s family. They opened their door, offered their food, set out a mattress on the floor among their own and expanded their hearts enough to allow them in.
That second night, in the half-dark, there were sleeping bodies everywhere on the floor. The noise of the shelling had increased, unbroken now for hours. Stevie lay awake under a window. Hal was asleep, tucked tight next to her. Her hand lay gently on his little chest, rising and falling with the life in him. There were occasional flashes as explosions lit the night sky. Then a terrifyingly loud blast and the window above them shattered. Stevie instinctively covered Hal with her own body. As the shocks receded, Stevie lay for a moment among the glittering glass splinters. The fear was terrible.
Smoke, shouting, chaos. The night was dark but for the white lights of explosions. They were high on the Peak among the sweet-scented shrubs. Soldiers ran in and out of the billowing smoke. Harry had lost sight of Ken almost immediately. They had been fighting for hours and it was no longer clear how many Allied soldiers were left on their feet. He could hear his own breathing magnified under the noise of the bombardment. The smoke cleared for a moment. Harry’s face was distorted by a yell and then he fell.
The sky was alive with stars. It was beautiful.
It was the fourteenth day of the battle and in the courtyard of the family compound, Lily sat cross-legged on the ground in the shade of the gnarled tree. Hal was lying on a blanket in front of her and she was dangling a twig with a leaf on the end of it just out of his reach. He was enthralled. There was a stillness and quiet in the courtyard. The only movement came from where Stevie was working. Hunched over a sheaf of paper, she was furiously writing in longhand with a pencil. Her wrist ached. If they hadn’t been carrying Hal, she thought, they could have brought her typewriter. Shamelessly, she determined that as soon as the bombing was over she would get back to the apartment and reclaim her typewriter. And her shampoo. She hunched over further to reread what she had written.
She felt consumed by a raw and urgent need to bear witness.
The gate was flung open. Everybody looked up. The exhausted and filthy figure of Chen almost fell into the courtyard. His mother, Mrs Li, who had braved the bombardment to cross the harbour from her Kowloon home as the Japanese approached, rushed to him. Lily instinctively picked up Hal. Chen pushed his mother aside and came to Stevie, who had abandoned her writing and stood up. Papers fell to the ground.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. His voice was hoarse.
Chapter Seventeen
When Stevie stepped out of the compound the streets were eerily quiet. There was a communal holding of breath. Those few who dared to go out scuttled through the rubble, barely taking the time to notice which buildings had taken the hardest hits and which stood bizarrely unscathed. The city was a mouth with broken and missing teeth. It even reeked of a new putrid scent. An ominous aeroplane buzzed low over the harbour, its engines half-drowning out the message that came through a loudspeaker from Kowloon and drifted on the wind across the harbour. ‘Home Sweet Home’ was being played over and over again and was interrupted by the occasional announcement delivered in perfect standard English:
‘English soldiers, think about your wives and children. Surrender and you can go home. Give up and the Japanese will protect you. Trust in the kindness of the Japanese army.’
Stevie stumbled as she half-ran, half-walked through Central Hong Kong. She noticed details as if she were watching a film – a gutted building, a table ready for a meal, open to the elements on the first floor as if on a stage set; a bottle of Rose’s lime cordial lying unbroken in the middle of the pavement; a stocking tangled around the wheels of a shattered car, a flimsy warning flag in the harsh daylight.
She could think of nothing except the mantra she was repeating over and over under her breath: ‘Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right.’ Her mind was numb but for that hope.
She had not fainted when Chen brought the news. But her legs had folded under her and she had slipped to the ground of the compound. Unable to speak, she felt as though she were in a nightmare in which she would never find her voice again no matter how loud she shouted. She mouthed ‘No’ over and over again. It was Lily who, having thrust Hal into the arms of Mrs Li, had grabbed Chen by the shoulders and assaulted him with questions, not waiting for an answer.
‘Where is he? Is it bad? What’s happened? How do you know?’
Chen shook himself free of his sister and knelt down in the dust near Stevie. He took her hands in his and spoke quietly. He spoke as a man of authority and not as the sulky youth of previous meetings.
‘There was a disastrous battle on the Peak above Repulse Bay. Many men died, we have no numbers yet, and we don’t know how many were taken prisoner. Major Field was very bad when we found him. He was handed to the Red Cross.’
‘How bad?’ She felt she was screaming but he heard a hoarse whisper.
‘Bad.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No. I heard his name and spoke to the comrade who brought him in.’
‘How do you know it was him?’
‘Major Field is well known to us. He is one of the few my comrades would recognise.’
‘You’re sure?’
Chen nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
Stevi
e had slipped into another dimension. One in which time flowed quite differently. She felt as if she were forcing herself through deep mud; every inhalation and exhalation required an enormous effort and appeared to be taken in slow motion. Simultaneously her mind was moving so fast she could hear the wind it created as it sprinted through the possibilities.
Chen went on. ‘They didn’t listen to us. We told them there was no point in defending the mainland and they should concentrate on the island. We knew the Japanese had maps of everything. We knew they planned to split the island east to west. We had clear information. They wouldn’t listen. They think they know everything and that we’re just another useless band of native troublemakers. They don’t understand. To dismiss us is to make a very big mistake.’ He tightened his grip on Stevie’s hands. ‘They should have listened.’
Stevie struggled to her feet. Chen helped her.
‘The Red Cross?’ she asked.
Chen nodded again. Stevie turned away and started for the gate of the compound. Lily grabbed her by the arm.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To find Harry.’
‘You can’t go out there. It’s madness. What are you thinking?’
Stevie gently freed herself. ‘I’m going to find him.’ Her voice was so firm and clear that Lily stepped back. They all watched her go.
It was only after she had closed the gate behind her that Hal started to cry.
‘Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right.’ Stevie had not stopped since she had left the compound. She was wet with sweat and a raw blister had opened up on her heel where her shoe was rubbing. Her limbs were heavier than seemed possible and even when the ear-splitting shrill of the air-raid siren knifed through the streets she didn’t falter. ‘Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right.’ When she finally registered the siren she ducked inside the first door she saw. She spun in the revolving doors and in the sudden gloom half-recognised the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank.
A round, flushed face loomed towards her. Mr Evans, Senior Bank Manager, was holding the fort single-handedly. An imperious voice on the telephone from London had insisted that someone from senior management should man the building. It seemed he was fully expecting large-scale looting by the savage Chinese population at the very least.
‘What are you doing? The bank’s not open.’
‘I heard the siren.’
He could hardly deny her a haven but if he could have, he would. The last thing he wanted was responsibility for some random person, and a woman at that.
‘Why are you out in the streets? For God’s sake, madam, it’s not safe.’
‘I’m going to medical headquarters.’
‘On official business?’
‘To see Dr Clarke-Russell.’
He glowered at her suspiciously. It occurred to him that he had seen her somewhere before. Of course here on the island that was extremely likely but – suddenly his tone changed to indignation.
‘Wait a minute. I know you. You’re that – that woman.’
‘Probably,’ she conceded.
The fat man moved to bar her way into the building. A shell hit nearby. Windows shattered around them. Mr Evans was not having his finest hour. He was intent on showing his disapproval of the scandalous woman in front of him, one who had dared to bring a British officer and therefore the entire British Empire into disrepute. It was a stand-off. The revolving doors spun again.
‘Miss Steiber. What are you doing out and about?’ Stevie saw the lofty figure of Dr Clarke-Russell and at the time it didn’t seem at all strange. It was absolutely as it should be. Later she learned that this apparent miracle wasn’t so very amazing. The administration office of the medical services had been established in the bank building for its central location and sturdiness. She leaned into him. Her voice was the whisper of despair.
‘It’s Harry. You have to tell me.’
Evans spluttered with rage. It was bad enough that she was here in his bank on his watch but now she was shamelessly – utterly shamelessly – mentioning her lover’s name! He turned to Dr Clarke-Russell for support.
‘I’ve already told her to go home. It’s ridiculous. Running around town as if nothing were happening.’
Clarke-Russell interrupted. ‘It’s all right, Mr Evans. She’s with me.’
The bank manager’s eyes widened in surprise as the Chief Medical Officer of His Majesty’s Colony of Hong Kong put his arm around ‘that woman’s’ shoulders and led her towards one of the bank’s precious leather armchairs.
The building was set apart in its own grounds. Again there was that strange calm. Again the held breath. Trees and grass. Serenity and silence, broken when the ambulance skidded to a halt outside the building. The passenger door opened and Stevie climbed out. She ran across the gravel and up the steps to the imposing entrance. Once inside, she felt the sudden cool of the wide lobby. She stopped – there was nobody to ask. She hesitated for a moment before running up the big marble staircase, taking two steps at a time. At the top she ran into a nurse carrying a pile of laundry in her arms. Stevie, panting and impatient, asked her a question and then she turned and ran back down the stairs, slipping on the smooth steps. She had to catch on to the ornate balustrade to keep her balance.
She turned to the right and sped along a corridor. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum. At the end there was another staircase. She ran up this one, turned left at the top and stopped. She put her hand on to her heaving chest as she fought to regain her breath. There was blood on her ankle from the blister which had now burst. She kicked off her shoes and left them there as she walked, more soberly and not limping any more, along the corridor. She glanced into each room as she passed.
‘Please let him be all right. Please let him be all right.’
Every bed was occupied. Men and boys lay in various degrees of brokenness but she hardly took any of it in. She was intent. In the fourth room she came to, she saw through a sliver of open door the familiar sandy head of Sergeant Ramsay. She stepped back to recover herself a little, through the treacle of slow motion. She smoothed down her wild hair. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
There were only two army cots in the small, light room. Ken Ramsay lay in one. He shouted out, tossing and turning, unconscious but delirious. He threw off the thin sheet and Stevie’s eye was drawn to where his left leg should have been.
Unable to register any shock at the sight, her eyes bored intensely into Harry. He was covered by a sheet. His face had lost all colour. His skin was polished and shiny like wax. His eyes were shut and he was absolutely still. Stevie stood right by him. She leaned over until she was so close to his skin she could feel the very slight, shallow breath of him. In one movement she pulled the sheet off. Someone had clumsily put him into hospital pyjama bottoms but his torso was white with bandages. One of his arms was bound in tightly across his chest. There was a timeline of blood seepages – the older ones already rusty, the new vivid. But his limbs were all there.
‘For goodness’ sake, what’s going on?’ The young doctor stood at the door, stunned at the sight of this dishevelled, bare-footed woman holding the sheet off the body of one of his patients. Stevie dropped the sheet and flung herself into his arms. She clung to him as if she were drowning.
‘What’s wrong with him? Will he be all right?’
The doctor awkwardly shuffled Stevie towards the door. They might have been dancing. He lowered his voice.
‘You’re his wife?’
Stevie was still clinging on. ‘You must tell me.’
‘The paralysis is due to the bullet shaving the nerve.’
‘Paralysis?’
‘There’s hope that when the shock subsides the left arm might regain some movement. There is also a slight infection in the wound but we’ll see.’
‘He’ll live?’
‘I’d hope so. It’s too early to call.’
The doctor stepped away and Stevie swayed. He steadi
ed her. ‘Look here, I think you’d better sit down.’
‘You can’t make me leave him.’
‘I’m not sure anybody’s supposed to be here just now.’ But even as he said it he brought a chair in from the corridor and put it beside Harry’s bed. Stevie sat. She had barely taken her eyes off Harry’s waxen face. He looked strangely unlike himself – inhabiting a limbo in which she could not reach him. Dr Roger Holroyd, twenty-five years old and dealing with his first casualties of war, was dumbstruck by the expression of anguish on her face. It was his first intimation of the pain that would rain down on them all.
He left her, not that she noticed his departure. When he returned an hour later she was asleep where she sat, her head against the wall.
There was hellish chaos all around. Everywhere people were running and screaming, their clothes on fire, their flesh peeling from their bones. Stevie was trying to run but she was carrying Hal and an enormous tin of porridge oats. Both were slipping out of her grasp.
She woke up shouting. At the first sight of Harry in the narrow bed she thought she was still dreaming. In that moment she felt all the fear fall away and the relief was a thing of wonder. She half-stood, a smile coming. Then she smelt the sharp tang of bleach and medicine. Sinking to her knees, she clutched a handful of hospital linen and felt the iron bar of the bed cutting into her chest. Harry stirred but was still again. Her throat was more constricted than she could bear. Refusing the tears, her whisper was intense.
‘I damn well hope you can hear me, you bastard. This is why I didn’t want to love you. You made me love you and now look. Now look. I love two of you and what can I do for either of you? Nothing. Nothing. I’m all used up by useless love.’
She flung the handful of sheet back on to the bed and pulled herself to standing. Nothing had changed. He was there and she was there and this is how things were. She walked to the window. In the formal gardens the rose bushes were ludicrous and lush. Irritated, she turned back into the room. Harry’s eyes flickered open. He caught sight of her.
The Harbour Page 15