“Guides!” Miss E. calls when, a few minutes later, she walks into our hut. I hear something forced in her voice. I wonder if it’s possible that for all these years Miss E. has just been pretending to be cheerful, the way I know she is pretending now.
“Miss E.!” We all rush to her, grabbing hold of her at the same time. Her shoulder bones feel as brittle as sticks.
“Don’t squeeze me too hard,” she says. “Or I might break.”
Even if it’s a joke, Miss E.’s words worry me. What would happen to us if Miss E. broke?
THIRTY-ONE
It’s Jeanette who insists that Miss E. take a nap. “I could read to you,” Jeanette says once Miss E. is settled on the sleeping pallet. “From the Bible.”
“I’d like that,” Miss E. says, closing her eyes.
Dot gets Miss E.’s Bible from the trunk. The Bible has a lovely silk ribbon that marks the page Miss E. was on. Dot hands the Bible to Jeanette, who is sitting on the edge of the mattress. Jeanette opens to the page where the silk ribbon is.
“Now the Phil…” Jeanette has trouble with the word.
“Philistines, dear,” Miss E. says, without opening her eyes.
“Phil-i-stines,” Jeanette continues, “gathered together their armies to battle, and were gathered together at Shochoh.” She is reading the story of David and Goliath. I know because I’ve always loved that story. “They pitched between Shochoh and Azekah, in Ephesdamm…”—Jeanette stumbles over the words.
“Here, let me help,” Miss E. says. Jeanette leans closer to Miss E., who sits up a little and reaches into her apron pocket. When she does, I see her swallow hard. I know why. She has remembered about her glasses.
Miss E. reaches for the Bible and peers into it. Then she brings it even closer to her face, so close the yellowed pages almost touch her nose. “I can’t see a thing,” she mutters to herself.
“Where are your glasses?” Cathy asks Miss E.
Miss E. laughs. “My glasses?” she says. “Those pesky things. I’ve gone and lost them.” Miss E. laughs again. Underneath the laugh, I hear what sounds like a sob. And I don’t think I imagined it.
“In that case, we’ll help you look for them,” Jeanette offers. “Right, girls?”
“Of course we will,” the other girls say. But Tilly and I exchange a look. We don’t know what to answer.
“There’s no point looking,” Miss E. tells Jeanette. “I’m quite sure they’re gone.”
“But how will you manage without glasses?” Jeanette asks. “I heard you say you can’t read a single word without them. And we all know how much you love to read.”
“I’ll manage,” Miss E. tells her. “There are worse things in the world than losing a silly pair of reading glasses.” Though Miss E.’s voice sounds peppy, there is something hollow in her tone. As if, for once, she really is thinking about worse things in the world. I feel sorry for Miss E.—and also afraid. What if Miss E. really does break? What if she can’t keep pretending to be cheerful? Then what will happen to us?
“If you don’t mind,” Miss E. tells Jeanette, “I really could use a little nap. Without reading. We’ll try again tomorrow when the light is better in here. Then I won’t miss my glasses one bit.” I know that isn’t true. Better light won’t make a difference. “A little quiet time will do me good,” Miss E. continues. “Why don’t you girls go and get some fresh air?”
I don’t say what I’m thinking. That between the mugginess, the dust and how close we are to the latrines, there’s nothing fresh about the air at Weihsien.
But because Miss E. asked us, we head outside and sit on the stoop.
“The commander stomped on Miss E.’s glasses,” I tell Jeanette and the other girls. I don’t know why I tell them, but I don’t regret it. Not even when Jeanette’s eyes get big.
“Why would he do something like that?” she asks.
“Because he can.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize that not too long ago Tilly said the same thing to me. I never imagined that one day I would sound like Tilly.
“We should find a way to turn it into a game,” Jeanette says.
“Turn what into a game?” Tilly asks her.
Jeanette squeezes each of our hands. “A game of Miss E. not having her glasses. It could be like blindman’s bluff. I’ve always loved that game.”
Maybe it’s the innocence in Jeanette’s voice when she says I’ve always loved that game. Maybe it’s the hopefulness in the way she is squeezing my hand.
Or maybe it’s both.
Whatever it is, it makes my blood begin to boil.
“Can’t you just shut up?” I say, shaking my hand loose so violently that Jeanette falls backward to the ground.
“Stop it!” Cathy says, but I don’t pay any attention.
Even Tilly is shocked by what I’ve done. She starts to say my name, but I cut her off. I’m not finished. And I don’t care that Jeanette is struggling to get up. “You can’t make a game of what’s happened to Miss E.’s glasses! That’s as stupid as making a game of what’s going on inside this awful place. We’re not sojourners, Jeanette. We’re prisoners. And the Japs aren’t happy simply starving us to death. They want to break our spirits.”
Jeanette has gotten up, but she moves away from me—as if she’s afraid I might smack her. “Well then,” she says, “we shouldn’t let them.”
“Don’t you see, you idiot, there’s nothing we can do to stop them. Nothing!”
I don’t know what comes over me then. A tsunami of rage I’ve never felt before and did not know I had inside me. Maybe it’s the way Jeanette moved away from me that spurs me on. I make a fist and shake it in Jeanette’s face. So many thoughts are going through my head. Albertine in her bonnet. My parents abandoning me in Chefoo. Matthew pretending not to know me. But mostly Jeanette and how she thinks we can make a game of Miss E.’s blindness. Blindman’s bluff. Jeanette’s the blind one. She’s the one who’s being bluffed. As for me, I’m sick and tired of being bluffed, of being blind.
In my thirteen years on planet Earth, I have never hit another person. I’ve never even thought of hitting someone. But now I swear it’s like I can’t stop myself any more than I could stop a tsunami.
I feel my knuckles make contact with the side of Jeanette’s face. I feel warm liquid. Is it tears—or blood? I don’t know, but I’m still angry. I’m even angrier.
I can’t stop myself.
Cathy and Dot pull me off Jeanette. Tilly tells me to calm down and that I should be ashamed of myself.
Only I’m not ashamed of myself.
That comes later.
Then the Japanese soldier—the one who is my friend—is suddenly there, hurrying up the gravel path toward our hut. His eyes are full of sadness and understanding.
He gestures that he has something to show us. He uncurls his hand.
It’s a pair of reading glasses.
“Where did you get those?” Dot asks.
He shrugs. He doesn’t understand Dot’s question.
But in Weihsien, those glasses come from the same place as everything else, whether it’s shoes, boots, pants or an old tattered shirt. Those glasses must have belonged to a prisoner who died here.
THIRTY-TWO
I don’t usually cry, but now I can’t stop. In the same way I couldn’t stop myself from getting angry before. Giant, noisy sobs that make my whole body heave.
I’m crying because I’m sorry I hit Jeanette and shouted at her and called her an idiot. I’m also crying because of the reading glasses. See! I want to tell Tilly! He is our friend. But I am crying too hard to make words.
Jeanette is crying too and stroking her cheek. The skin is red and swollen, but I don’t see blood. Those must have been tears I felt before.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I’m really, really sorry.” I want to explain that something terrible came over me, but I can’t because I can’t explain it to myself.
Cathy examines Jeanette’s face. Ti
lly has squeezed herself between Jeanette and me, as if she thinks she might have to block me from hitting Jeanette again. “I’m sorry,” I say, this time to Tilly’s back. “Please forgive me.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you.” Jeanette half sobs the words. “But I’ll try. Why do you think she went crazy like that?” she asks Tilly. She means me, of course.
I don’t expect Tilly to have an answer. I don’t have it myself. And though Tilly doesn’t usually go around quoting Miss E. the way I do, she does that now. And what she says makes sense. “Remember what Miss E. says: Anger is sadness turned inside out.”
I look down at my worn Girl Guide uniform. I’d never wear it inside out because the stitching would show. The stitching holds my uniform together. Without the inside there’d be no outside. Is it the same with anger and sadness?
Because right now there’s nothing left of the white-hot anger I felt when I hit Jeanette. All that’s left is a sadness so deep I think I may never be able to climb out of it.
“The glasses,” Jeanette says. “We have to bring them to Miss E. To see if they’re a good fit for her eyes.”
I follow the others back inside our hut. Miss E. is wiping the sleep from her eyes. Does that mean she slept through my outburst? I pray the other girls won’t tell her what I did. I know it’s wrong to waste a prayer on a selfish thought, but I can’t help it. What would Miss E. think of me if she knew that I hit Jeanette, who is the gentlest and kindest of all of us? Would Miss E. ever look at me in the same way?
For a split second I catch Jeanette’s eye. I can’t look at her cheek. Please don’t tell, I say, mouthing the words.
Jeanette meets my gaze. Her expression is blank, but then she nods. She isn’t going to tell on me.
I don’t know if I’d have done the same if she’d hit me.
We go to stand by the pallet where Miss E. is still resting. The soldier hands the glasses to Miss E. Like the ones the commander destroyed, these glasses have wire rims.
“Oh my!” Miss E. says. “Reading glasses. How very, very kind of you. I’m so moved I don’t know what to say…”
When she puts the reading glasses on, they slip down to the tip of her nose. The soldier unhooks the glasses from behind Miss E.’s ears, then bends the wire arms. He hands the glasses back to Miss E. They fit better now.
“Here,” Jeanette says, opening the Bible to the page Miss E. couldn’t read before. “Can you make out the words?”
We wait for Miss E.’s verdict.
“They’re a little blurry,” she says, “but yes.” Miss E. turns to the soldier. “Arigatou gozaimasu.”
Then the soldier does something I’ve never seen a Japanese soldier do before. He bows down low—to Miss E.
I wish the day could end right there. On this hopeful note. That’s where I would end it if I was the one telling the story. But not all days go like that.
The soldier is leaving when we hear men’s voices outside the hut. They are speaking Japanese, but also some English.
Two Japanese soldiers burst into the hut. Dr. McGregor is with them.
Miss E. removes the glasses and stuffs them into her apron pocket. I hope the soldiers don’t notice.
One soldier shouts something when he sees our visitor. The other soldier grabs hold of our friend. That’s when I realize I don’t even know the man’s name. Why didn’t I ever think to ask him when he lifted me and Tilly above the stone wall or when he warned us about the bloodstains behind the hut?
“What’s going on?” Miss E. asks Dr. McGregor.
The doctor looks down at the floor, then back up at Miss E. “It’s Mr. Liddell,” he says. “He passed.”
Miss E. crumbles. There’s no other word to describe it. Her chin sags to her chest, and her shoulders shake. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone cry without making a sound.
I want to comfort her, but I know I can’t. Not with the Japanese soldiers standing so close.
I don’t need to understand Japanese to know that now the two soldiers are interrogating our friend. They want to know what he’s doing in our hut. He points to the empty honey pot. Maybe he’s telling them he has come for a spot inspection.
I can tell from their angry voices that they do not believe him.
One of the soldiers lunges toward Miss E. “Don’t hurt—” I start to say, but Miss E. shoots me a warning look and I stop myself.
But this soldier isn’t trying to hurt her. He gestures at her apron. He must have noticed that she hid something there before. He wants her to show him what it is.
Miss E.’s face turns whiter than snow.
She can’t turn this into a game.
She takes out the reading glasses.
Our friend doesn’t resist when the other two Japanese soldiers drag him out of the hut.
No one could call our friend a sojourner.
Like us, he’s been taken prisoner.
THIRTY-THREE
Our friend’s name is Corporal Hashimoto. Dr. McGregor tells Miss E., who tells us. She also tells us that Corporal Hashimoto is being held in a small cell in the guardhouse.
I am waiting for Miss E. to say we should think positive thoughts, or for her to distract us with a lesson or a game, but she doesn’t. That scares me as much as the idea that Corporal Hashimoto will be severely punished, maybe even killed, for bringing Miss E. those eyeglasses. By doing so, he has proven himself to be a traitor to the Imperial Japanese Army. For the Japanese, there is no greater crime.
Tilly thinks Miss E. is depressed. Not only because she must feel responsible for Corporal Hashimoto’s situation, but also because she is mourning Mr. Liddell. “I think she was in love with him,” Tilly says. “Mr. Liddell wasn’t good-looking, but he was an Olympic champion.”
“That’s impossible. I heard Mr. Liddell had a wife,” Jeanette chimes in.
“So what? Miss E. could still have been in love with him. And him with her,” Tilly says.
“A person doesn’t have to be in love with another person to be sorry that they’re gone,” I say. I am thinking about Matthew. I am too young to be in love, but I miss everything about him—his dark eyes, his smile…even the way he sometimes laughed at me. I miss that most of all.
I also think about the time I overheard Miss E. and Mr. Liddell chatting behind the mess hall. I wondered then if they had planned to meet up. I remember how they were discussing the awful things the Imperial Japanese Army did in Nanking. Which makes me worry all over again about Corporal Hashimoto.
Jeanette is worried about him too. “You don’t really think they’d hurt him, do you?” she asks Tilly. Even though I apologized, Jeanette has not spoken to me directly since the incident. I don’t blame her. Her cheek is less swollen, but now it’s got a bluish-yellow sheen. My stomach turns sour with guilt every time I see it.
“Who do you mean by him?” Tilly asks her.
“Corporal Hashimoto.”
Tilly sighs. “Of course they will hurt him. That’s what the Imperial Japanese Army does best. Hurt people. It’s a way to show their power and create fear. People who are afraid cause less trouble. They don’t try to escape.”
I nearly mention Nanking—but then I change my mind. “In that case,” I say instead, “we have to find a way to help Corporal Hashimoto.”
“What are you planning?” Jeanette asks. I’m glad she’s finally speaking to me. Except then she adds, “Maybe you think it might help to sock a Japanese soldier in the face.”
“I said I was sorry,” I tell her.
“There isn’t anything we can do to help Corporal Hashimoto,” Tilly says. “We’re just a bunch of girls. If you ask me, they’ll probably kill him. Of course, they’ll torture him first. Then they’ll behead him and display his severed head on a pole. To make a lesson of him to the other soldiers. To show them what happens if they are the least bit kind to any of us.”
Tilly’s words send a chill up and down my spine. I hadn’t thought about the Imperial Japanese Ar
my wanting to use Corporal Hashimoto for a lesson, but what Tilly said makes perfect sense. Yet there is one part of what she said that I disagree with.
“We’re not just a bunch of girls,” I remind Tilly. “We’re Girl Guides.”
“Well then, what’s your plan?” Tilly asks.
“I don’t have one yet.”
“That isn’t very good news for Corporal Hashimoto,” Tilly points out.
Jeanette has a plan, though it has nothing to do with Corporal Hashimoto. She wants to make an infusion for Miss E. to drink that might improve her mood.
The three of us go to the infirmary to see if Dr. McGregor can help us. He recommends something called fog tea. It’s made from an herb grown in eastern China, and he happens to have a small sample in his supply cabinet. “It’s sometimes used to treat melancholy,” the doctor tells us. “There’s no harm in letting Miss E. have a cup.”
It’s when the doctor uses the word harm that I begin to hatch a plan. I need to find a way to prevent Corporal Hashimoto from being harmed. There’s no harm in fog tea. But there are other herbs that can cause harm.
It was Miss E. who taught us about wolfsbane.
A pretty blue flower that is part of the buttercup family, wolfsbane doesn’t look poisonous. Neither does the snow-white amanita mushroom, which, when eaten raw, is the most lethal mushroom.
“Wolfsbane is also known as monkshood,” Miss E. told us during one of our biology lessons. “My uncle Edward, the chemist—I told you how he had a mustache a little like a rat’s—well, he taught me that. Uncle Edward was very interested in herbal cures, and, for that matter, in herbal poisons too. It’s called wolfsbane because it was believed to ward off werewolves. Isn’t that fascinating, Girl Guides? Wolfsbane slows the pulse, acting like a sedative. There’s loads of it around Weihsien. Why, I’ve seen bunches of it growing behind the watchtower. But be sure never to ingest wolfsbane, because that lovely blue flower can kill a grown man in no time.”
The Taste of Rain Page 12