‘Half-Indian. My father was British.’
She hadn’t meant to speak the truth. She flushed, thinking to cover her mistake. ‘That is…’
‘It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone.’ His gaze fixed on his flute. ‘I see. Born between two cultures. Difficult, isn’t it.’
Without hesitation, she nodded. ‘Yes. Sometimes.’ And suddenly she knew. It was there in his words and the tone of his voice. Genda Shamida had also been born between two cultures.
He fingered the flute and blew a few notes, not tunefully, but purely as though he was considering what to say next. Although he was trying hard not to show it, she realized he was nervous.
‘I know how that feels,’ he said. ‘Being born between two cultures.’
‘Your accent… were you born in America?’ She feared she might have overstepped the mark asking him such a question, but he didn’t seem to mind.
He nodded, raised his eyes slowly and looked into her face.
‘So why…’
‘None of your business!’ he exploded.
‘I’m sorry.’ Fearing the thunderous look on his face, she bowed and stayed in that position, watching his thudding feet raising the dust from the floor.
She shook so much that the knot at the front of her sarong shivered like a buffeted flower. He must have noticed. Was it bad manners? Her questions might have been.
Purposefully, he sat in a chair beside the window. Her heart stopped fluttering and she dared to raise her eyes.
He nodded in a casual way, as though he really saw no point in telling her. ‘Let’s just say I got caught up in things.’
It was instilled in her, in all of them, to despise the enemy and to maintain a barrier between them. Major Shamida had caused hers to slip. There was something about him that invited trust, despite the uniform he wore. She eyed him curiously but not without apprehension, watching as he passed the flute from one hand to the other as if trying to guess its weight.
‘I’m to be interpreter between you and the colonel when you are alone together.’
Nadine’s mouth dropped open. ‘Alone with the colonel? I don’t understand.’
‘Madam couldn’t bring herself to tell you that you will not be auctioned off.’
‘I won’t?’
Setting the flute aside, he shook his head, stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill and threw it out of the window. ‘No. Colonel Yamamuchi’s orders. You should be very happy he has chosen you. Unfortunately, Madam Cherry is not.’
She licked the dryness from her lips. The She-Dragon had been in a bad temper this morning. Her considerable income depended on her relationship with Yamamuchi. His interest was wandering in Nadine’s direction and Madam Cherry had been forced to make a deal! Nadine was terrified.
‘What if I refuse?’
She detected a tensing of the jaw that he tried very hard to hide, without success. Face empty of emotion – suspicious in itself – he straightened and reached for his flute.
‘You are honoured. Be thankful.’ Now there was warning in his tone. He turned away. ‘We’d better get some practice in. A fast tune or a slow one? Which would you prefer?’
The lonely notes drifted like smoke, spiralling up and down, around and about. Slowly, she raised her slender arms, fixed her eyes on his face silhouetted against the window, and began to dance.
The news he’d brought her regarding the colonel was not welcome. What would he do when he realized he’d been duped and that she was far from being a virgin? Would he laugh and think it a huge joke? Not likely. He would be furious. Would madam give him his money back? Not likely. She recalled hearing a phrase… Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Madam was businesslike but also jealous. Whose fury would be greatest? she wondered and shuddered. There was little to choose between them.
The major’s eyes were closed, as lost in his music as she usually was in dance. The air was filled with tension and when he suddenly opened his eyes it took Nadine’s breath away, such was the intensity of his gaze.
A flapping of wings heralded the arrival of a chicken breaking the log-jammed atmosphere. Feathers flew everywhere as it crashed into the major’s shoulder, causing him to drop his flute.
‘Damn!’
The startled bird fled to the window ledge. The major clouted it.
In a flurry of feathers, the bird flapped away.
The major reached for his flute which was now in two halves.
‘Would you look at that? Hell. If it’s broken, I’ll wring the necks of the whole scrawny lot! That bloody woman too!’
Nadine clapped both hands over her mouth to smother her laughter.
It wasn’t until he’d put the two halves back together that Major Shamida realized what he’d said and, more to the point, how he’d said it.
Smiling shyly, he rubbed one palm on his trousers.
Nadine eyed him quizzically, weighed him up and threw in a question. ‘How did you feel about Pearl Harbor?’
His face clouded over. He looked away. ‘That is my business. You are a prisoner. I am a Japanese officer. Bow when you speak to me.’
Nadine jumped to attention at his sharp words and bowed quickly and deeply.
‘No! I didn’t mean that. Don’t bow!’ He groaned, shaking his head.
Holding the flute in both hands, he stood with his back against the window and eyed her as though he were as wary of her response as she was of his.
‘Goddamn it! Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to eat you,’ he said.
Nadine almost laughed out loud. He’d sounded less like a Japanese officer, more like an American in a pre-war film.
She uncurled her bare toes. The bells around her ankles tinkled slightly as the tension left her body.
‘Thank you.’ Without being asked to, she bowed again. She could no longer think of him as a turnip-head. Major Genda Shamida didn’t fit into that category and she understood why. He was American educated but of Japanese extraction – a person between worlds, just as she was.
He was taller than most Japanese. She glanced at his legs. They were muscular, straight and strong.
She felt embarrassed and almost guilty. She should not have looked at his legs. He was the enemy, and yet that accent, that instantaneous outburst, made her curious to know more about him. She bowed her head, aware that he was studying her and watched a cockroach skitter into a slit in the floor.
‘Hold your head up.’
He sounded angry. Her father used to turn angry when wishing to hide his shortcomings.
His thumb dug into her chin as he lifted it. She let him do it and boldly looked up into his eyes which for a moment smouldered with warning.
‘You will not tell anyone that I spoke like that,’ he said, his voice softer now. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Shamida-san.’
His sharpness persisted. Pointing his finger at her forehead, he said, ‘I will shoot you if you do.’
She imagined the finger replaced by a gun barrel and closed her eyes. ‘Yes, Major Shamida.’
Slowly, very slowly, he dropped his arm. ‘That’s good.’
His chest expanded and contracted with each deep breath until the familiar aloofness returned. He nodded silently before raising the flute to his lips.
The nod was his signal for her to resume dancing. The tune was mournful and slow. She immersed herself in the erotic symbolism of the ancient dance of India. It wasn’t easy. If it weren’t for the fact that she had to concentrate so hard, her legs would have given way.
In the final steps she sank into a heap on the ground, hands seductively posed, head bowed, eyes lifted.
The music stopped. When she looked up the major was staring at her, an entranced look in his eyes. For a moment he was a man chipped from marble. Without saying another word, he sprang away from the window, his flute tucked beneath his arm.
Nadine got to her feet. ‘Are you going now?’
‘I have to.’
‘I wish
…’ She paused, not sure she should say what she so wanted to say. ‘I wish you could stay longer. I have many steps to practise.’
His eyelids flickered. ‘I wish I could. I have other duties.’
‘Today you have other duties.’
‘I always have other duties.’
‘Will you play for me again?’
He paused at the door, turned and looked at her.
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’
The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice said it all. Something had shifted between them, something that neither of them had planned to happen.
Chapter Eighteen
Escape! The word haunted her dreams and she could taste it in her mouth. She’d seen the commandant’s eyes following her in the relative safety of Madam Cherry’s company. But it couldn’t last. Money and jealousy fought for dominance in the She-Dragon’s eyes.
Nadine knew she had to escape before her lie was discovered – before she died.
Death was all around. An elegant Eurasian girl, who was rumoured to have been the mistress of royalty, had been caught with her fingers in the till. They were all summoned to witness her punishment. A gasp had gone up as the colonel had taken out his sword and cut off the little finger of her right hand. That night, although in terrible pain, she was still forced to give her body to whoever wanted her. By morning she had killed herself. As with Kochi’s death, it cast a shadow of depression over those in the Bamboo House.
Nadine sighed, turned over and tried to sleep. Sheera’s fate, as well as her own impending encounter, were occupying her thoughts. Little over a week remained until Madam Cherry was to sell her finest prize.
The auction had been cancelled but it was only a matter of time before Yamamuchi claimed his prize.
By day she occupied herself in an effort to keep her fears at bay. At night she had difficulty sleeping, staring into the darkness and wondering how many more such nights she would see.
Through the window she could see a crescent moon pinned like a paper cut-out against an ink-black sky. Shanti, her sadly neglected mother, had once told her that wishes made upon a crescent moon always came true.
‘I wish I knew how to get out of this,’ she whispered.
The women in the Bamboo Bridge House were also apprehensive. Their fears that a whole army was about to arrive and occupy the many huts erected on the other side of the high fence were proved unfounded with the arrival of women and children – prisoners of war.
Talk about the new arrivals and what would happen next bounced backwards and forwards between the residents of the Bamboo Bridge House.
Up until then, Nadine had been sipping quietly at a cup of weak tea. There was no milk and little sugar to be had, but Rosalyn and one of the Malay girls had concocted some kind of rice cake that they’d flavoured with treacle purloined by Nadine from the She-Dragon’s store.
Nadine refused a cake.
Peggy noticed and eyed her quizzically. ‘You OK?’
‘I’ve got a problem,’ whispered Nadine.
‘Well, you don’t really need it, do you,’ said Rosalyn, snapping the tin shut before anyone could argue and grab an extra portion.
Nadine ignored Rosalyn and confided in Peggy. ‘I’ve got a problem. A big problem. Yamamuchi is expecting a virgin.’
Peggy’s chin dropped to her chest. ‘Oh!’
‘Perhaps he won’t notice if you cry out a good deal,’ said Peggy, her face pinched with concern.
Lucy shook her head. ‘Some men like to wave a bloodied sheet like a flag, evidence of their undoubted prowess.’
The women fell to silence.
The two Australian nurses whispered something. Betty got up and went over to their few belongings that they kept in a battered brown suitcase, whispering as though they were about to unveil a very big secret.
‘OK!’ said Peggy, sitting down close to Nadine. ‘We’re going to come clean.’
A smug-faced Betty sat down beside her. Lucy leaned closer so she could take in all that was being said without everyone knowing.
Betty sang what resembled a fanfare. ‘Da-da! May I present…’
‘We, Betty and me, may we present… It belongs to both of us.’ Peggy dug her elbow into her friend’s side. ‘Well, go on, you silly cow. Show them.’
Betty unclenched her fist to reveal a single red balloon.
Lucy eyed it blankly. ‘Are you going to have a party?’
Nadine frowned. ‘It’s a little perished?’
Peggy smiled. ‘It is indeed. Left over from our Christmas party. Something the Japanese didn’t bother to steal from us. Just a party balloon.’ Her eyes misted dreamily. ‘My, but we had such bloody good parties on our ward. Dancing and drinking from dawn till dusk – parties to be remembered.’
‘This is no time for a party,’ Lucy pointed out.
Peggy touched Nadine’s shoulder. ‘You’re a pretty astute girl, Nadine. I think you’ve guessed the plan. Fill it with blood, slide it carefully up inside you and when he… well… you know… the balloon bursts and you run with blood. He’s satisfied, the She-Dragon’s kept him sweet and taken his money, and you get to keep your life. Seems all square to me!’
‘Peggy, if it works I could kiss you.’
Peggy pretended disdain. ‘No need to get physical!’
Lucy, sitting facing the door.
‘An officer’s arrived. He looks as though he’s looking for a girl.’ Her voice trembled.
Those sitting opposite scrambled to their feet in readiness to bow.
Peggy smiled. ‘It’s only Shamida, the flute player.’ She straightened and spoke in a pleasant tone. ‘Hi, there, you miserable young sod. How the devil are you?’ She said it with an ingratiating smile before lining up with the others and bowing low. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ she whispered to Nadine. ‘Even if he did hear, he doesn’t speak much English so can’t have understood much either.’
Nadine didn’t answer, but saw just a hint of a smile. She wondered how long he’d been there.
‘Women making too much noise,’ he said, entering into the charade by speaking halting English. ‘Women be quiet now. Be obedient to Japanese masters. Bow. All bow.’
Feet shuffled into position and the women bowed.
Nadine only half-bowed. Her eyes followed him to the door where he paused, turned round and winked. ‘I will see you tomorrow. Same time, same place.’
* * *
Major Shamida was already at Madam Cherry’s house when Nadine returned to her quarters.
As usual he was staring out of the window and smoking, the repaired flute cradled against his arm.
‘Major Shamida-san.’ She bowed low.
He didn’t turn round.
‘Colonel Yamamuchi is going to be very busy pretty soon. More of the huts you see across the way are going to be occupied. The first prisoners have arrived. There’s going to be a lot more women here, children too.’
Perhaps he had sensed her concern and therefore restrained a detailed depiction of what he truly meant. Perhaps it was just the Japanese way, sow a seed in the mind with a few words from which greater detail would grow. Whatever the reason, she knew what he was trying to say. He would not have so much time to play the flute when she danced.
The balloon she’d poked into the waist of her sarong stuck damp and limp against her skin, an uncomfortable reminder of what was to come.
She managed to slide it out and hide it among the vivid silks and chunky jewellery which she used in her dance. Tying the rope of tiny bells around one ankle, another rope of bells around the other, gave her time to think about what to say next. Shamida pre-empted her.
‘The colonel is determined. Some guys will do anything for a taste of juicy tail.’ He sounded so American.
‘What you mean is, the She-Dragon is furious?’
He fixed her with a very direct look. ‘The She-Dragon? Is that what you all call her?’
Nadine smiled. ‘She breathes fire – sometimes.’
Nadine stood looking at him, trying not to tremble. She was sure she could hear her knees knocking.
‘Good! I’d like to be out of here.’
He scratched nonchalantly at the back of his neck where the black hair was coarse and cut close to the skin.
‘You could be out a lot quicker than that if this business with the balloon fails to work.’
Nadine opened her eyes wide. ‘You were listening.’ Her fear intensified. Shamida was charming, but he was still a major in the Japanese army.
He shrugged.
‘Why were you there?’
He grinned. ‘Why is any man there?’
She shook her head. ‘Not you. The girls say you never do. So why?’
He looked at the floor, out of the window, then back at her. ‘For you?’
‘You’re asking me, not telling me.’
‘OK. For you. I went there to see you. I like watching you dance. I like playing the flute. It takes me out of myself – away from this awful place.’
‘I’m flattered.’ She bowed. ‘I bow respectfully to Japanese officer.’
Her sarcasm was obvious.
‘Cut it out.’
She frowned. This was not the speech she expected and somehow she was sure an opening had occurred between them.
‘Where are you from?’
The disarming smile faded. ‘Here and there.’
‘Japan and America?’
He sighed and lifted a foot onto a pretty little table with brass inlay, his arm resting on his knee.
‘I lived in California from three years old and was educated there, grew up there. The All-American Boy!’ He spread his arms to emphasize the point.
‘So why are you in the Japanese army?’
‘I was over visiting my grandparents. I got caught up in events. My grandfather was taken ill. I overstayed my visit and ended up getting called up.’ He paused and looked at the ground. ‘That was back in 1939. I did well in the army, got promotion.’ He shrugged again as though the memory was painful. ‘First I went to China. Two years later there was Pearl Harbor. I found myself on standby close to the Malay Peninsula, it was obvious what was going to happen.’
East of India Page 18