Tears of the Dragon

by Jean Moran

  The sounds from outside, guns firing, shouting and screaming disturbed a normality that was too fragile to hold onto. Everyone did their best to get on with what they had to do, sometimes freezing in the process of turning down a sheet or changing a dressing.

  The nurse standing nearest the door had a good view of what was happening outside. She stood as though frozen, her face as white as the clean sheet she carried over her arm.

  Rowena felt her fear and the rising tension around them. ‘Nurse. What is it? What’s happening?’

  The nurse turned back to her colleagues with frightened eyes. ‘They’ve taken the doctors away.’

  ‘Did you see where they went?’

  The nurse shook her head.

  Suddenly there were screams as the double doors to the ward crashed open. Faces stiff with fear, those nurses who had been in the opposite ward barrelled into them, closely followed by half a dozen Japanese soldiers.

  Rowena counted how many heads. Six nurses left of those who had been outside. With a sinking heart she remembered there having been more than that.

  Orders were snapped out aided by the butts of rifles dividing Chinese from Europeans.

  The Red Cross armbands so lately distributed were torn from their arms with almost enough force to pull joints out of sockets.

  Two soldiers pushed the Chinese women towards the exit.

  ‘We’re being set free,’ one whispered.

  Rowena staggered as she was shoved with the rest of the women, all herded to one end of the room.

  Patients unable to get out of bed and defend themselves lay there helplessly, their faces contorted with fear. The man who couldn’t see was the only one lying completely still – except for his lips as he silently said the Lord’s Prayer.

  Even in the depths of winter, Hong Kong was never cold. Rowena could smell her sweat, though felt no heat. Fear covered her body like an icy cloak – or a shroud.

  More soldiers swung through the doors, their faces twisted with unfathomable expressions, their arms lunging forward as they moved through the ward to the first bed, the first patient, one after another, bayoneting chests, stomachs, even eye sockets.

  ‘No!’

  It was an exclamation, but Rowena said it only softly, her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

  Men were hanging over the sides of their beds, blood staining the once-white sheets. Only the blinded man seemed at peace, his head on the pillow, his arms close to his sides and a hint of a smile on his face.

  Rowena felt Alice’s arm slide through hers. ‘Don’t let them separate us. Please. I’m so scared.’ Her eyes were squeezed half shut and her chin was trembling.

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’

  Bayonets already slick with blood gained more as the bodies of those already fatally injured and the dead were stabbed again and again.

  This was bloodlust. She’d heard of it but now bore witness to what it really meant: warriors drunk with power and revelling in the act of killing, the sight of blood.

  Was Connor dead?

  Fear and terror, small screams, gasps of horror.

  They could keep close but there was nothing either of them could do to stop this. Alice was close to breaking point. Lies were as good a reassurance as anything. She winced with each thrust of a bayonet, each battering of a man in his bed, but Rowena kept her eyes open so that she wouldn’t forget, the images imprinted on her mind as they would be on a camera, a record for the time of retribution or judgement.

  The soldiers stopped the slaughter when an officer, with a stocky body and wearing glasses, entered the ward. Not having seen him, those at the far end of the ward finished off the man in the last bed before coming to attention.

  The women kept close together as the officer strode stiff-legged, glancing at each bed in turn grunting and jerking his chin each time his accompanying adjutant said something.

  An interpreter, thought Rowena. That man has to be an interpreter.

  Stout legs parted, hands behind his back, the officer stood in front of them, like a fighting cock come to collect the prize hens.

  Rowena was as scared as any of the others – most were trembling, some close to tears. She and one or two others held their heads high. Most of the European women were taller than the stockier Japanese, which meant the officer was forced to look up at them.

  The officer’s face stiffened, his chin jutting out further than his nose. ‘You will bow to your Japanese conquerors.’

  The women looked at each other.

  When they didn’t respond, the adjutant stepped forward and slapped the nearest woman on the cheek, her head jerking to one side with the force of the blow.

  ‘Bow to Japanese officer.’

  The other women gasped in horror. Only Rowena stayed silent, her mind reeling. Her compatriots were afraid. She also sensed their loathing, which might lead to disobedience, which in turn could lead to death. ‘Bow, ladies,’ she said, taking the lead and bending from the waist. Through clenched teeth, she added, ‘Bow to the victors.’

  Their reluctance was tangible, but slowly they followed her lead.

  ‘For now,’ she whispered to herself.

  The officer eyed the nurses. Despite everything, they were still neat and tidy in their uniforms. His gaze settled on Rowena. His fingers felt the collar of her white coat. ‘Why you not wear nurse uniform?’

  ‘Because I’m a doctor.’

  ‘Doctor? Woman doctor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She kept her eyes lowered. She knew she had to appear submissive, at least when he was facing her. That was how it was in his society. Women were objects and had no power. All the same, an insane sense of pride had stopped her denying her profession.

  He eyed her with interest. ‘I speak English very well, yes?’

  Breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t taken offence, she nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How well?’ He tapped her face, the precursor to a slap.

  ‘Very well. Yes.’

  Their watches were taken, even the ones the nurses wore pinned to their breasts. After that came wedding rings, necklaces and earrings.

  She tried to hold on to it, but a gold crucifix was torn from a Dutch nun who had fled to St Stephen’s for shelter. Blows rained down on her but she kept it in her fist until one side of her face was battered and bruised, her eye beginning to close.

  ‘This is intolerable.’ Rowena kept her voice down, but could not ignore what was happening. She stepped forward, her limbs trembling as she bowed so low her head was level with the officer’s waistline. ‘Please. The woman is hurt. Will you allow me to tend her?’

  ‘No.’

  Rough hands, accompanied by shouted orders she did not understand, and she was pushed back into line. Lucky, she thought, but felt for the poor nun who was dragged off by two soldiers on the orders of the officer.

  More barked orders, more pushing, shoving and prodding with rifle butts.

  The women gasped but maintained a kind of calm as they were divided into threes.

  ‘Out! Out!’

  ‘Please keep close,’ murmured Alice, as they were herded into the corridor that led to the old classrooms at the back of the building.

  Rowena clasped her hand and that of Tansy, another Australian, the third member of their trio.

  One last push and they were in a small room, perhaps a staff or study room for a teacher or student.

  The door closed behind them and they heard a key grating in the lock.

  Alice almost swooned with relief. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, hands folded beneath her racing heart. ‘Oh, my God.’

  With a shaking hand Tansy took a cigarette from a crumpled packet. Her hand shook further when she tried to light it with a match.

  ‘Here. Let me.’

  Oddly the soldiers had failed to search the pockets of the white coat that, as a doctor, was her only uniform. Rowena took out the lighter and lit Tansy’s cigarette.

  ‘What do you think happened
to the nun?’ said Tansy, the smoke exhaled with a deep sigh.

  Rowena shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  In the depths of her pocket she felt the silver of the lighter grow warm with the rubbing of her fingers. She was in no doubt of its value should she need to barter it for food, water or even her freedom. For now she regarded it as a talisman, something that had survived the first phase of their incarceration.

  The fate of the senior doctors was preying on her mind. There was no way of knowing where they were, though she still hoped that as doctors they would be respected.

  Tansy nodded at the pocket containing the silver lighter. ‘How come they didn’t get that?’

  ‘They seemed only to take what they could see. It was in my pocket and they would have had it if the officer hadn’t arrived.’ She took it out and studied the Chinese characters etched on the bottom. Another world, another night. A gift from the man she knew as Kim Pheloung.

  A scream followed by the sound of sporadic gunfire brought her back to the present. The killing continued, but sounded now as though it had speeded up and was coming from the direction of where the dark brown tents had been erected on the lawn.

  Triumphant shouts followed.

  ‘Banzai! Banzai!’

  ‘Bastards!’ muttered Tansy, head hanging over her cigarette.

  Alice slid to the floor, her back against the wall and her face buried in her hands.

  There were shouts from the living soldiers. ‘Bloody Nips, killing wounded men.’

  More expletives shouted in an Aussie or British regional accent. She strained to listen for an expletive delivered in an Irish accent, but none came.

  Instantly more gunfire. More screams.

  Alice clamped her hands over her ears.

  Tansy puked into a wastepaper basket.

  Rowena shuddered, still waiting to hear Connor bawling at the enemy, though it would be more sensible if he kept his mouth shut. The only other reason for his silence was that he was lying out there with the others, unable to sing or shout ever again.

  ‘Can’t anyone do anything to stop them?’ Alice implored, out now from behind her hands.

  ‘Not yet. Not today, not tomorrow or even next year. But they will. Eventually.’

  She wanted to believe that the main killing spree was over and the survivors, men, women and children, would be taken as prisoners of war.

  Tansy pushed sweaty tendrils of reddish brown hair off her face. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘No need to be. I’m just about holding mine back.’

  Neither of the nurses had asked her what she thought might happen next and she was grateful for that.

  Time went on. Nobody came.

  The windows were closed and the room was getting hotter.

  Alice slowly dropped her hands from her ears. ‘Do you think we could open a window?’

  ‘I don’t think it would be wise. At least the blinds are down. With the sun streaming in we’d roast like turkeys.’

  ‘I was looking forward to Christmas dinner – even though it was chicken and not turkey. I made some paper hats, not enough to go round, but still...’ Tansy’s voice trailed away.

  Rowena thought about taking off her white coat, but decided against it. Perhaps holding on to some symbol of status might be advantageous.

  There was nothing to do but wait.

  She studied Tansy’s taut expression and the way her clasped hands tightened, released, and tightened again. She was holding on, but it wouldn’t last. She clasped her own hands together. They felt icy cold, as though there was no blood left in them.

  She decided against giving a pep talk because she was as scared as they were at what might happen next. But it made sense to take their minds off their fear… ‘I’m thirsty. We’ve been in here for, what, two hours?’

  ‘I’d tell you the time if I still had a watch,’ Tansy said grimly.

  ‘They took mine too,’ Alice said.

  ‘No matter,’ said Rowena, getting to her feet. ‘We need water. Food too.’

  ‘What about the lavatory?’

  ‘Use the fire bucket or the wastepaper bin.’

  Rowena hammered on the door. ‘Hey! Can anyone hear us? Somebody!’

  She hammered again, aware that Tansy and Alice were staring at her back with frightened eyes.

  ‘Should you be doing that?’

  ‘You’ve just said it yourself. We’re thirsty.’

  ‘But...’

  She guessed they felt safer with a door between them and the enemy. She did too, but they had to have water.

  ‘They’re coming.’

  The tramping of boots heralded the unlocking, then swinging open of the door. Two soldiers entered the room. She stepped back, wondering if it was appropriate to bow. One of them pushed hard at her shoulder and shouted something she didn’t understand.

  ‘We need water,’ she said, making a cup shape in front of her mouth. ‘Water.’

  They didn’t speak English but understood her action, if their mimicking of it was anything to go by and the shared laughter that followed.

  One went away, closing the door behind him. The other remained, studying each woman in turn, standing in front of one, moving to another with steady measured footsteps, smiling all the time as he moved his bayonet in circles around their hearts and stomachs.

  When they shrank away from him, he laughed and repeated his actions, with little stabbing movements, making them jump back each time he did it. Only once did he lower his bayonet to reach out and touch Tansy’s luxuriant hair, the colour and texture seeming to fascinate him.

  Alice gasped when he placed his hand on her breast and looked about to push him away.

  ‘Don’t.’

  Rowena’s hushed warning stilled Alice’s hand but diverted his attention to her.

  She flinched when he laid the cold steel blade against her cheek. A little more pressure, the skin would break and blood would flow – as it would with a scalpel. Fashioned from the same substance, hard steel, yet the scalpel was used to heal and prolong life, the bayonet to intimidate, maim and kill.

  He grinned and muttered something, increasing the pressure of the steel against her cheek. A small nick, a sharp pain and, as she’d feared, blood trickled warmly down her face.

  Holding back a scream wasn’t easy, but logic told her to keep her head and hold it high.

  Over his shoulder she saw Alice thrust a fist into her mouth, eyes wide with terror. Tansy was retching though there couldn’t have been anything left in her stomach.

  His grin vanished and something else came to his eyes. The bayonet retreated. He waved it at her in a downward direction and barked an order. She knew he wanted her down on her knees.

  Alice whimpered, both hands now covering her face.

  Tansy was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving.

  Rowena had no choice. She sank to her knees, looked up at him and gulped as he reached for the front opening of his trousers.

  Just as what she most feared seemed imminent, the door opened. The original guard and the adjutant appeared, carrying enamel pitchers. The adjutant set down a pitcher and ordered the guard to set down the two he was carrying.

  The guard who’d drawn blood from Rowena’s face sprang to attention.

  The adjutant looked at her and frowned. ‘What is happening?’

  She wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand and, without waiting for permission, got to her feet.

  The adjutant’s head jerked round from her to the guard. He asked a question. The guard gabbled an answer that might or might not have been the truth.

  Whatever he’d said was badly received. The adjutant slapped his face on one side, then the other. His glance at her bloodied face was uncompromising in that he did not care for the guard’s explanation but neither did he wish to draw things out. ‘You have water,’ said the adjutant. ‘Imperial Japanese Army is merciful towards women and will be more merciful when your generals have surrendered
.’

  Rowena gulped. The garrison had not yet surrendered. She dragged her thoughts back to the immediate, the here and now of their continuing existence. ‘And food. When can we have food?’

  An odd silence fell on them all, three members of the Japanese military and three female medical staff.

  The adjutant’s eyes fell on each of them in turn.

  Rowena’s jaw hardened. She wanted to ask him to explain how torturing and bayoneting patients in their beds was merciful but knew better. Instead she asked the whereabouts of her fellow doctors.

  The adjutant’s look hardened, his eyes like two black beetles beneath his brow. ‘Officers. Not doctors.’

  He turned on his heel, leaving her stunned and speechless.

  When she turned, Tansy and Alice were drinking from the pitchers.

  ‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’

  They stared at her. Then Tansy said, ‘It’s terrible. But there’s nothing you or any of us can do. Drink, Dr Rossiter. Even if they’re dead, we have to survive.’

  ‘Yes. To tell the tale. If we survive.’

  ‘Do you think they’re dead? The doctors?’ asked Alice.

  She gently bathed Rowena’s bleeding cheek with water and her own handkerchief. Her voice sounded as though it were coming from the bottom of an oil drum, hollow and empty as though all the life had been sucked out of it.

  Rowena brushed her hand away. ‘How the hell would I know?’ She drank from one of the pitchers.

  Alice winced.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rowena, her palm flat on her brow. ‘The tension’s got to me. I really thought...’ She gulped back the ugliness of what might have happened if the adjutant hadn’t arrived to stop it. ‘I’m truly sorry.’

  Alice looked away. Tansy muffled her sobs with a thick strand of hair she pulled across her face.

  The room had no furniture, just a desk, the bin and the fire bucket. The three women perched on the desk, their backs resting against the wall.

  ‘We should try to get some sleep,’ said Rowena. ‘We may need it. I don’t know about you, but I’m losing track of time.’

  ‘It’s Christmas,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve always been happiest at Christmas.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Presents, plum pudding and roast potatoes,’ murmured Rowena.