The Taste of Rain

by Monique Polak

I decide not to involve Tilly or Jeanette in my plan. Not because I couldn’t use their help, but because I know that any prisoner caught trying to poison a Japanese soldier will be executed on the spot. I am willing to risk my own life, but not my friends’ lives. Not that I want to die.

  From what I can tell there is only one soldier in the guardhouse keeping watch over Corporal Hashimoto. My plan is not to kill the soldier who is keeping guard—only to sedate him long enough for Corporal Hashimoto to escape from Weihsien. When I imagine Corporal Hashimoto’s escape, I see him meeting up with Matthew and Benton—and then the three of them join forces and find a way to release all of us from captivity here in Weihsien.

  But there’s no point in thinking about those things now.

  The first thing I have to do is find some wolfsbane.

  The clump of pretty blue flowers is exactly where Miss E. said it would be. Behind the watchtower. The blue petals would be perfect for pressing inside a book and then, when they were dry, using to decorate a greeting card.

  Because I don’t know how much wolfsbane I need to sedate a grown man, I pick as much as I can. The stalks leave a trail of green markings on my fingers. I’m careful not to touch my lips. Who knows what could happen to me if I accidentally swallowed some wolfsbane.

  Would I die on the spot?

  I don’t want to die.

  I want to live to be a grown-up.

  I want to be like Miss E. and Corporal Hashimoto.

  I want to do good turns—and not only to earn more badges.

  But what if a person has to do a terrible, evil thing in order to do a good turn?

  THIRTY-FOUR

  According to Dot, the Japanese soldiers have a lot of rules when it comes to tea. They only drink green tea, and the water has to be the perfect temperature. Dot boils the water in a pot, but then she has to let it cool for exactly three minutes before pouring it over the tea leaves. The tea also has to be the perfect color. Dot calls it turtle green.

  We’re all thinking about tea this afternoon.

  Jeanette has made a fog-tea infusion for Miss E. Dot, the tea expert in our hut, helps serve it to Miss E. Dot also helps Jeanette prop Miss E. up on the sleeping pallet so she can take small sips. “How do you like the taste?” I hear the girls ask her.

  “It’s…interesting,” Miss E. answers, which is how I know it must taste awful. But Miss E. would never say so.

  “Dot, since you’re helping Jeanette look after Miss E., I was wondering if it would help if I took over your work detail at the guardhouse,” I say. “You’ve told us so much about preparing the green tea for the Japanese soldiers, I’m sure I could do it for you. Turtle green and all. Then you could stay here and help Jeanette.”

  “I’d be happy to get a break from the guardhouse,” Dot says. “Are you sure you don’t mind filling in?”

  “It’s the least I can do. For you…and for Jeanette.”

  Jeanette turns to look at me. Because I want her to think I’m doing Dot and her a favor, and not planning an evil deed, I add, “I was also thinking that if I took over Dot’s work detail and she was around to help you, well, you might feel more like forgiving me for…” I am about to say what happened, but then I decide it’s better to acknowledge what I did. “For smacking you.”

  “I have forgiven you,” Jeanette says.

  I’m so glad to hear this that for a minute I forget all about my plan. But then I remember. “Okay then,” I say to Jeanette and Dot, “you two keep looking after Miss E. Dot, I’ll take over at the guardhouse. You don’t even need to come and check on me.” I look into Dot’s eyes when I say this so she’ll understand that she shouldn’t come anywhere near the guardhouse. If anyone suspects a soldier has been poisoned, I have to be the one to take the blame.

  I don’t believe in premonitions. At least, I’ve never had one. But on my way to the guardhouse, I have the strangest experience.

  It starts with the smell of lavender. And then I see her—my mother. She looks the way she always did. Her hair piled on top of her head in a neat bun. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. When I look into her eyes, I can tell that she has come to warn me about something.

  Does she know about the wolfsbane in my pocket?

  Is that why she’s come?

  I rub my eyes. Mother can’t be in Weihsien. She’s at the other end of China with my father, doing missionary work. But even when I rub my eyes, she doesn’t go away. I take a few steps closer. Maybe it really is her.

  “Mother!” I call out as I open my arms and rush to her.

  “Don’t,” she tells me. “Don’t.”

  And then, just like that, she’s gone.

  Where did she go? And what was she trying to tell me?

  Don’t what? Don’t try to poison the Japanese soldier who is guarding Corporal Hashimoto?

  I think about Corporal Hashimoto and all the good turns he did for us. Now I think of something else. Was it Corporal Hashimoto who gave the boys the ladder they used to climb the wall and escape Weihsien? And are the other Japanese soldiers wondering that too?

  I don’t have a choice. If I don’t try to save Corporal Hashimoto, who will? I have to do something.

  I pat my pocket where the wolfsbane is. That helps me stay focused on what I need to do.

  The guardhouse is eerily quiet. No Japanese soldier is standing guard outside. There’s no soldier in the front room. I take a deep breath and walk in. The tea things are exactly where Dot said they’d be. There is water in a pot on the stove. I light the burner.

  There’s a metal canister with loose tea leaves in it on a shelf by the stove. I look over both of my shoulders to make sure I’m still alone. My heart thumps in my chest. Do it now, I tell myself. Don’t, I hear the woman with my mother’s face say.

  That woman was just part of my imagination. Maybe the wolfsbane that stained my fingers got into my blood system and is causing a mild hallucination.

  I reach into my pocket and add some of the blue flowers to the tea leaves. Not too many, not too few. I want to call out and tell Corporal Hashimoto that it’s me, that I’m here to rescue him, but I know I can’t draw attention to myself—or to him.

  I concentrate on preparing the tea. I pour the water over the leaves. My hands shake a little, but that could be because the pot is heavier than I expected, and I don’t want to burn myself the way Dot did. I pour the water into a small, squat porcelain teapot.

  I worried the wolfsbane might have an odor, but it doesn’t. Will the tea turn turtle green or might it have a bluish tint? If it does, my plan could fail, and the Japanese soldiers will know what I’m planning.

  Someone’s at the door. When I turn and look to see who it is, I nearly gasp.

  It’s the Japanese soldier whose dog had the piece of glass in its front paw. The same soldier that Tilly said she saw kicking his dog.

  If he recognizes me, he doesn’t show it.

  The three minutes is nearly up. It’s time for me to serve the tea.

  I know I can’t look at the soldier. I focus on what’s inside the porcelain teapot. Turtle green, I think to myself, please be turtle green. It is. Perfectly turtle green without any blue at all.

  The Japanese soldier grunts as he approaches me. Four porcelain cups are lined up on the counter. They don’t have handles like my mother’s teacups do. They must be very hot to hold. What if the soldier burns his hands?

  That thought nearly makes me laugh out loud. Why am I worrying about the soldier burning his hands when I am about to poison him?

  The soldier taps his ears, then slowly brings his hands down to his shoulders. He juts out his chin as if he is asking me something.

  “I don’t understand,” I start to say, but then I realize what it is. His gesture is meant to indicate Dot’s long hair. He wants to know why she isn’t here, making him his tea.

  I pat my belly. “She has a tummy ache,” I say. “Ow.”

  I think he understands because he nods, then lifts his chin toward the r
ow of teacups. He wants his tea.

  I reach for the teapot, letting it hover over the first teacup. I didn’t need to worry so much about the color of the tea because the inside of the cup is dark brown. The tea has the lovely earthy fragrance of green tea.

  The soldier doesn’t move. He is waiting for me to hand him his cup. I bow low to show that I understand. So there is a chance that my fingers will get burned.

  I don’t want to kill this soldier—even if he has mistreated his dog. I only want to conk him out long enough for me to help Corporal Hashimoto escape from his holding cell. But there’s a chance that my wolfsbane infusion will be fatal.

  I take a deep breath. The teacup is even hotter than I expected. So hot I can’t grip it with all my fingers. “Oh no,” I say as I let go of the cup and it crashes to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. There is green tea with wolfsbane in it everywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer, reaching for a cleaning rag I spotted by the stove and bending down to mop up the mess.

  The soldier steps right over the porcelain shards. I hear them crunch under the weight of his black boots. He opens the door to the adjoining room, which must be the holding cell.

  From my spot on the floor I can see everything. The holding cell is about the size of the closet in our bedroom at the boarding school in Chefoo.

  I see signs of a scuffle. A pail lying on its side. A military jacket with a torn sleeve. One glistening black boot.

  At first I think the holding cell is empty.

  But then my eyes land on a crumpled figure at the back of the cell. I see the matching black boot at the end of a leg in khaki-colored pants. There is something strange about the position of the leg, the way it is flung to one side at a right angle. No person would ever lie down in such an uncomfortable way.

  That is not Corporal Hashimoto, I tell myself. Not any more than the pig with its hammered-in skull and slit throat was Albertine. That is only Corporal Hashimoto’s body.

  I let out one dry sob. The Japanese soldier turns to look at me. He points to the mess on the floor, and I get back to my cleaning.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “What’s going on?” Miss E. asks me. She is outside our hut. The color is coming back to her face.

  “Are you feeling better?” When I ask the question I realize I’m doing what Miss E. does: changing the subject to avoid a difficult discussion.

  “Jeanette’s fog tea did the trick,” Miss E. says. “Of course, I’m sad—we’re all sad about Mr. Liddell’s passing. But he would want us to carry on and stay hopeful. That performance you girls did for him—I know he was deeply moved by it. I wanted to thank all of you for being so wonderful—always. Now if you could tell me, Gwen, what’s going on? Have you seen Corporal Hashimoto? You were over at the guardhouse preparing tea, weren’t you?”

  Part of me wants to tell Miss E. everything. How I tried to poison the soldier, how at the last second the teacup slipped out of my hand and how I saw Corporal Hashimoto’s corpse on the floor.

  “Tell me everything, Gwen.” The way Miss E. says it—insistent yet gentle—makes me wonder if she can read my thoughts. Does she know how torn apart I am inside?

  Another part of me says, No, don’t tell Miss E. everything. Miss E. doesn’t need to know that Corporal Hashimoto is dead.

  There are chinks in Miss E.’s armor. She is not always 100 percent brave, positive, cheerful and hopeful. That’s just what she wants us to think. I heard the fear in her voice when she was talking about the Battle of Nanking. And I saw the sadness in her eyes when she was lying on the pallet earlier. It was a sadness that doesn’t just disappear—not even with the help of the most magical tea in all China.

  And so, though I know it’s wrong to lie, that Girl Guides are always supposed to tell the truth, I decide to tell a lie. A big one. Because in the same way that Miss E. has been trying to protect us, I realize that now it’s up to me to try to protect her.

  I look Miss E. in the eye. I nearly turn away, but I stop myself. I need her to believe what I’m about to tell her. I suck in my breath. “Corporal Hashimoto,” I say after I exhale, “escaped.”

  Miss E. shuts her eyes tight. I don’t know what she’s imagining, but the dimple in her cheek makes me think it is something wonderful.

  “Oh, Gwen,” she says, “what excellent news!”

  Miss E. pulls me in for a hug.

  I feel a twinge of guilt. Lying is wrong. Girl Guides don’t lie. But sometimes we have to lie to protect people we love. It’s something I learned from Miss E.

  The problem with a lie is that a lot can go wrong. If the others hear that Corporal Hashimoto has been killed, I will have to get them to agree not to tell Miss E. And what if Lu hears the news and tells her? Though it feels wonderful to have Miss E.’s arms around me, I am already thinking about all the people I will have to talk to, to make them promise not to share the news of Corporal Hashimoto’s fate. I will explain that in a strange reversal of the order of things at Weihsien, it’s our turn now to protect Miss E.

  “Why don’t we sing a song together?” I whisper into the nape of Miss E.’s neck. It’s exactly what she would suggest if we needed cheering up.

  Miss E. hugs me tighter. “Yes,” she says, “let’s.”

  Miss E. picks the song. “O happy day, that fixed my choice,” she starts to sing. I recognize the British hymn and sing along. It’s a lovely, hopeful tune, and because it’s a hymn I know the choice must have something to do with faith. After all the things I’ve seen in Weihsien, I’m not sure I’m still a believer. But if there is a God, I hope He will forgive me for all the things I’ve done wrong. For having unkind thoughts, for being selfish, for smacking Jeanette, for nearly killing a man and for lying to Miss E.

  After the song is over I decide to go to the lending library. That’s because Miss E. told me Tilly and Jeanette went there to choose books. I need to tell them what happened to Corporal Hashimoto and how it is now up to us to protect Miss E. I hope they’ll play along.

  But my friends aren’t at the lending library. I also don’t run into them on the way over. Since I’m here, I decide I might as well scan the wooden crates to see if there’s a book that catches my eye. I can’t tell you the kind of book I’m looking for. I only have the feeling that when I spot it, I’ll know. I wonder if, in that way, choosing a book from a lending library could be a little like falling in love.

  There are several new-old religious tracts. One is called Treasury of the Christian World. Another is called The War Against Sin. Those are definitely not the books I’m in the mood for.

  A threadbare navy-blue book spine catches my attention. Because the book’s title is in blue too, I have to lean in to read it. It’s Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne.

  The books on the shelf are tightly packed together, so I need to tug hard to pull out the book. It’s the one Matthew borrowed. I recognize the serious-looking men and women on the cover. I press the book to my chest. It’s a little like having Matthew back at Weihsien.

  Though I’ve never been a fan of adventure novels, I decide I’ll read it from cover to cover, without skipping a word. Maybe then Matthew won’t feel so far away.

  I flip through the yellowed pages, and when I do a slip of cardboard falls to the ground.

  It’s an old library card with columns running across it and several black ink stamps. When I turn it over, my heart skips a beat. It’s a message. Though it isn’t addressed or signed, I know it’s for me and that Matthew wrote it.

  I’m sorry for not saying a proper goodbye and for ignoring you in front of the others. You will understand that I had my reasons. Do everything you can to protect the dancer. Perhaps one day we shall meet again. I hope so.

  I read the note over and over again, so many times I can say it by heart without looking at it. The dancer is Miss E. So I did the right thing by protecting her from the news of Corporal Hashimoto’s death. Even more important, Matthew hopes we’ll meet again.
/>
  THIRTY-SIX

  There won’t be a funeral for Mr. Liddell.

  “The Japanese have disposed of his body” is all Miss E. will tell us. “May he rest in peace.”

  “That’s probably what they did with Corp—” Tilly begins to say, but then she remembers the promise she made to me, and she stops herself.

  “Corporal Hashimoto?” Miss E. asks.

  And just like that, the lie I told to protect Miss E. is exposed.

  “But I heard,” Miss E. says, and she crinkles her forehead the way she does when she’s confused, “that Corporal Hashimoto escaped. Gwen”—she spins around to look at me —“you’re the one who told me about Corporal Hashimoto.”

  There’s no point denying the lie. “I wanted to protect you.” My voice is calm, but my insides are fluttering. What if Miss E. gets angry with me? “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Protect me? Protect me?” Miss E. has raised her voice. So she is angry! “Protect me from what exactly?”

  “From the truth.” I can’t think of a better answer. And then I add, “The way you’ve been protecting us.”

  Miss E. does not understand my thinking. “I don’t need protecting!” She puts her hands on her hips and leans down so she can look into my eyes. “What did they do to Corporal Hashimoto? Tell me! Tell me right now!”

  I don’t have the heart, or maybe it’s that I don’t have the courage to tell her what I saw—the signs of a scuffle and Corporal Hashimoto’s crumpled body on the floor.

  Tilly answers for me. When she speaks her voice is flat and calm. “They tortured him. Then they killed him. Gwen saw the body. She begged us not to tell you.”

  “Do you mean to say you’re all in on this…this deception?” I didn’t know Miss E.’s eyes could get so wide or that she could get so angry.

  Jeanette raises her hand. “For the record,” she says, “I was against it. But you know how Gwen is.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask her.

  Jeanette bites her lip.

  “Well, what does it mean?”