Tears of the Dragon

by Jean Moran

  As such, his comrades in arms shunned his company. As a consequence he did more guard duty than they did, preferring to do something rather than sit alone. It was his job to keep an eye on all that was going on, while the others smoked and played card games out of sight of the commandant.

  Shimmy had taken a liking to the lonely little girl, who seemed to have aunties but whose mother was always tending the sick in the long single room on the ground floor that served as a hospital.

  While he guarded the women, Shimmy whittled pieces of wood. Dawn proved a willing audience, fascinated by the shavings, which she picked up and curled around her fingers. Rowena had not paid him much attention until now, her mind on other things, and nobody having mentioned his fondness for her little girl. On that particular morning she happened to see him from the ward window where she was about to draw down a blind to keep the sun off a patient.

  Alice looked over her shoulder. ‘Looks like Shimmy’s made your daughter a wooden doll. How kind.’

  Leaving his rifle leaning against the wall behind him, a smiling Shimmy was indeed handing the doll he’d made to Dawn, who looked very pleased.

  Rowena saw red. ‘Not from his filthy hands!’

  In a trice she veered away from her patient, from Alice and from the ward, and ran for the door.

  Dust kicked up behind her. ‘Get away from her,’ she shouted, as she ran towards him, waving her arms. ‘Get away from my child.’

  A look of surprise came to Shimmy’s usually bland face.

  Rowena grabbed the carved figure from Dawn and threw it at Shimmy’s feet, her eyes blazing. ‘She doesn’t want your doll. Leave her alone. Just leave her alone.’

  Dawn raised her arms, her fingers making clutching movements. ‘Dolly. Dolly.’

  ‘You’re not having it.’

  Dawn burst into tears.

  Rowena stood there, her chest heaving and hatred in her eyes.

  Shimmy, being of a conciliatory nature, spoke softly and when that didn’t work, brought out a soft leather wallet from within his uniform. From the wallet he took out a photo, murmuring in Japanese and inviting her to look.

  ‘Dr Rossiter. Doctor!’

  Marjorie Greenbank was bearing down on her. She was still an imposing woman, though she’d shed a good deal of weight and her round face was now haggard, her hair thinner and greyer than it had been. She stood between Rowena and Shimmy.

  ‘Doctor,’ she said, dropping her voice, ‘Shimmy is only trying to be friendly. He’s showing you his family photo. He misses them just as much as we miss our own families. He’s a kindly man and also barters for us. We’d all have been dead a long time ago if it wasn’t for him.’

  ‘If he’s that kind, why doesn’t he leave here and go home?’

  ‘Because he’s no choice and his wife would starve if he wasn’t here. His two daughters are apprenticed as geishas and his wife has moved in with his mother in a place called Hiroshima. Believe me, I’ve spoken with him and know that he’s desperate to go home. He hates being here.’

  Dawn’s wails attracted the attention of other women who, misunderstanding, picked up the wooden mannequin and gave it to her.

  The wails stopped.

  Rowena clenched her jaw and, aware of everyone looking at her and even patting Shimmy’s shoulder, she backed down.

  *

  ‘I hate this place,’ she said to Alice later.

  ‘We all do, dear. It’s just a case of muddling through until we’re rescued by our knights in shining armour. I only hope they bring a large steak with them. And a dozen eggs. I’d eat the bloody lot.’

  *

  Roughly a week later, Rowena was watching Dawn playing with the wooden doll, rocking it in her arms and continually wrapping and unwrapping it in a scrap of material that Alice had given her.

  Alice was encouraging her to sing ‘Rock-a-bye, Baby’.

  ‘Come on, darling. Rock the baby backwards and forwards like this. “Rock-a-bye, Baby, on the tree top...”’

  Alice sang so badly that even Dawn looked at her askance.

  ‘Alice, you’ve got a voice like a cracked drain,’ Rowena told her.

  ‘And you can do better?’

  ‘I prefer something a bit more classical...’

  ‘“Go to sleep, my baby, Close your pretty eyes...”’

  Her voice, so clear and strong, affected those standing around who stopped what they were doing to listen awhile.

  ‘Well, ain’t that a beaut,’ murmured one of the Australian nurses.

  Engrossed in her singing, only a few women had noticed the sleek car purring through the main gate and stopping in front of the bungalow once occupied by a senior executive officer of the British administration. As usual it was an Australian who took in the details and made a flippant comment.

  ‘What say we ask him for a ride out of here? Hey, Doc. You don’t happen to know him, do you? He’s looking directly at you.’

  On hearing the remarks, Rowena turned and looked to where they were looking.

  It was Kim.

  Her heart raced. He was looking directly at her. What was he doing here?

  Alice noticed too. ‘It’s the foreigner. My goodness, Doc, you must have made an impression.’

  Rowena turned cold as, with slow deliberation, Kim Pheloung took his hat from his head, clasped his hands together and bowed.

  The commandant’s right-hand man came out of the office and bowed almost reverentially to the tall, slender Asiatic, and the guards either side stood to immediate attention.

  Kim glanced once more in her direction, then disappeared into the commandant’s office.

  ‘Audrey’s right. He’s looking at you. Do you know him?’ Marjorie sounded curious.

  ‘I used to. His name’s Kim Pheloung. He has a house in Kowloon Walled City and an office in Nathan Road.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  She had no inclination to go into details, except one. ‘He killed the men who raped me.’

  ‘My word.’

  ‘He calls himself a businessman.’

  ‘Your tone suggests he’s a criminal. Did you know he was coming?’

  She shook her head. Now he’d seen her anything was possible.

  *

  Rowena looked down at the peaceful face of an elderly lady who had breathed her last. Her limbs were no thicker than twigs and she was the third to die that week. Familiarity with death didn’t make dealing with it any easier.

  ‘I need some air,’ she muttered to the Australian nurse, the one who had spotted Kim Pheloung’s car on his last visit.

  ‘Hey. It’s him again. The bloke in the pale green car. The one who stared at you so hard.’

  Rowena went to the window. It was definitely Kim’s car, but not him at the wheel.

  ‘I wonder what’s brought him back,’ the nurse added.

  ‘It’s not him. It’s another man driving.’

  Even though it was not Kim, she felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her stomach. She watched him take packages from the back of the car and carry them in to the commandant. Gifts intended to bribe, no doubt. Kim had to be doing business with the occupying army. One part of her was disgusted. Another understood that Kim Pheloung would indeed do whatever he had to not just to survive, but to prosper.

  The car left. The excitement was over.

  Rowena turned back to dealing with the dead woman’s meagre artefacts, looking for a home address so the relatives could be informed.

  The only item worth returning was a wooden box, containing tresses of hair – perhaps those of her children? Her husband? Letters, the writing faded, the corners curled.

  My darling Cynthia...

  She’d known the woman only as Mrs Creighton.

  ‘Mrs Creighton’s gone, then.’

  Alice was in the doorway, the body inside the baggy clothes reminding Rowena of dolls she used to make from clothes pegs – a stick of wood covered with scraps of material.

  She glanced at the fir
st line of the letter, folded it and placed it in a brown-paper bag along with other letters destined for relatives who didn’t yet know they were grieving. The distance between where they were and home was immense. ‘Her name was Cynthia. She used to be in her twenties and in love. We don’t think of old people having once been young. That’s why we instinctively refer to them formally, which means we never get close to them.’

  ‘You’re sounding a bit down.’

  ‘It’s been a long day. Did I see Marjorie’s been summoned to the commandant’s office?’

  ‘You did. Did you also see our friend Kim’s car? Somebody else was driving it. Looked as though he was making some kind of delivery. Whisky, I expect. Our dear commandant is very fond of highland dew. I hear Johnnie Walker is his favourite. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Do we have any?’

  ‘It’s a bit weak but by now it might have stewed enough to make a decent brew.’

  They sat down on two rickety chairs either side of an equally rickety table in a small alcove under the stairs. The rest of the ward was taken up with beds, mosquito nets and the small supply of medicine and bandages, which had to be boiled and reused. There were also a few surgical instruments that had to be kept scrupulously clean without the aid of disinfectants.

  ‘Wish we could get some of that Johnnie Walker,’ said Rowena.

  ‘To drink or to use as an antiseptic?’

  ‘Both.’

  It was while they were sipping tea without milk or sugar that Marjorie came in carrying a parcel beneath her arm. ‘I’m perplexed,’ she said, in a very affected manner.

  ‘Will a cup of tea help?’

  She sank onto a stool that had been a chair until they’d needed wood for a winter fire. Chopping the back off had been an acceptable compromise.

  ‘Dr Rossiter, may I speak to you alone?’ Marjorie seemed puzzled.

  The Australian nurse had left and only Alice remained. At first Rowena was inclined to say that Alice could stay, they had no secrets, but Marjorie, a woman of stout manner and clipped words, seemed unusually awkward.

  Alice saw her expression and got up. ‘I’ll go.’

  Marjorie sat down heavily and laid her hands over the cushion of brown paper.

  ‘Dr Rossiter. I know nothing about your history with the owner of the terribly smart car that’s just left, except that you said he’d executed the men who... attacked you. I don’t think I want to know anything else. But I’ve been asked to pass you this and to tell you to be ready for the car to pick you up at six this evening.’

  Rowena’s eyes flicked between Marjorie’s face and the brown-paper parcel that now lay on her lap. She frowned, then tentatively unwrapped it so the paper would not tear or crumple. Everything could be reused, included such a simple thing as this. It was a habit she was sure would remain with her.

  A swathe of heavy silk fell out of the parcel. She caught the rest with both hands, unfolded it and found herself looking at a red silk dress – a cheongsam embroidered with gold thread.

  ‘My word. It’s beautiful.’

  Rowena sprang to her feet. ‘This is ridiculous. It cannot be happening.’ ‘It seems that it is.’

  ‘I’m not going. I got away from him once. I don’t want to go back.’

  ‘Is he dangerous?’

  ‘Let’s put it this way. If he sees something he likes he takes it. He deals in opium. He deals in everything.’

  Marjorie frowned. ‘I suppose I could tell the commandant that you refuse to go, though I’m not sure it will do any good.’

  Rowena rubbed her forehead in an effort to quell the ache behind her eyes: a vision of Kim, his naked chest, his dark hair and his way of slowly insinuating control. It hadn’t been so evident while she’d been with him, but now, at a distance, she could hear the way he spoke, see the things he did – having her waiting at a time he had stipulated, his reaction to her having dared to eat when he hadn’t appeared. Now it seemed clear, but at the time she’d been confused, tired and in need of healing.

  ‘Where is he taking me?’

  Marjorie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You’re to be ready at six. That’s all I was told.’

  Rowena lowered her eyes. Kim had found her by chance. It must have surprised him to see her the other day when he’d taken off his hat and bowed from the waist. ‘I can’t go. I promised Dawn I’d read to her.’

  ‘You have no choice. I’ll read to her.’

  Then: ‘What will the others think?’

  ‘They’ll be envious.’

  She looked at Marjorie with pleading in her eyes. ‘I didn’t ask for this, Marjorie. I don’t want to go. What if he won’t let me come back?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think the commandant would allow that and... funnily enough, I think your friends, your true friends, will enjoy being party to your date with a handsome man, helping you bathe – if we have enough water – washing your hair, getting you dressed.’ She smiled. ‘It will be as though we all have a place at the table for your night out.’

  Every part of Rowena was very still, except her trembling hands.

  ‘Alice told me he bribed the Japanese to let you go,’ Marjorie went on, ‘and you lived in his house for a while. That must have been quite sumptuous compared to this. Please don’t think I’m prying, my dear, or judging you, but was there any particular reason you didn’t stay with him?’

  Rowena couldn’t help the sheepish grin. ‘His grandmother was jealous. One day she loaded me into the car, then we transferred to a rickshaw and she turned me in. I wonder whether she’s still alive.’

  ‘No matter. He obviously has a soft spot for you.’ She paused. Rowena thought she knew what was coming next and was instantly proved right. ‘If you can, see if he can get us a few little luxuries. A bar of soap would be nice. And medicines, of course, but that’s your domain. You’ve probably already considered it.’

  ‘You’ll look after Dawn if I don’t come back?’ Rowena blurted, her voice shaking.

  Marjorie’s eyes were full of compassion. ‘Some women say you’re indifferent to the child. I’m not one of them. Neither is Alice. We know what you went through and how hard it must be to both love and hate at the same time. You love her, but it’s hard to show it. In time you will, my dear. In time I’m sure you will.’

  *

  Marjorie was proved right. There was genuine excitement in helping the only female doctor in the camp get ready for a big night out.

  Leanne Kemp was a Eurasian girl married to a sailor she hadn’t seen for some time. Her hair was as long and thick as Rowena’s. ‘Wear these,’ she said, handing over three mother-of-pearl combs. ‘I’ll help you put your hair up if you like.’

  ‘They’re beautiful. Are you sure?’

  Leanne nodded. ‘Bob bought them for me. I can’t bear to wear them now. He was on the Repulse, you know, but was transferred before it was sunk. I don’t know where he is now.’

  Rowena thanked her. Another woman lent her a nub of soap consisting of bits and pieces she’d collected from everyone else and made into a usable portion.

  Marjorie was the last person she’d expected to own a bottle of French perfume.

  ‘Just a dab or two behind the ears, my dear. As you can see, there’s not a lot left.’

  Rowena regarded her reflection in a mirror. It hung on the wall and was far from perfect, a large crack running down the side, thanks to a bullet hole in one corner. Casting her mind back, she realised she’d worn the dress before, though she didn’t fill it as well as she had done then.

  Her hair was pinned up, her face made up and she no longer smelt of dried blood and medicine. The sight of her shining self was downright surreal. ‘I shouldn’t be going.’

  ‘Yes, you should. We all think so. And we want to know every detail. It’ll do us all good.’

  Alice nodded in agreement with Marjorie’s observation.

  At first Rowena had thought their interest shallow and schoolgirlish until Marjorie reminded her of the more serious a
spects. ‘It’s a means to an end, Rowena. That man could make our stay here much more comfortable, even if only for a little while.’

  *

  The car was on time, sweeping in through the gates and stopping outside the commandant’s office. Kim was driving.

  She stood there shivering, aware of the envious faces of the women and the lascivious grins of the Japanese soldiers, who exchanged wry looks with their colleagues, all surmising what might transpire when the two were alone in the car together.

  She blushed at the thought of what they were thinking, of what might happen. Everything about her, from her silky hair, to her silky dress to her shiny shoes, hinted at a pre-war life of parties, receptions and intimate dinners with officers and naval attachés.

  Kim got out, took off his hat and inclined his head, his eyes never leaving her face when he opened the front passenger door. He didn’t look any different – perhaps a little sleeker, a little more affluent. ‘Please. Get in.’

  She slid silently onto the lush leather upholstery, which was warm beneath her, yet she huddled beneath the Kashmir shawl borrowed from a woman who had spent some time in India.

  He put the car into reverse before making a tight U-turn.

  Unsmiling and afraid, she turned her head to face her friends.

  Their expressions for the most part were happy, though some looked more serious, even concerned. One small figure stood out in the crowd, the only child who wasn’t chasing a ball or playing chase. She was the only person to raise her hand and wave goodbye.

  The streets and turnings were familiar.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘For a spin, as the Americans say.’

  ‘That’s not a destination.’

  ‘Because there is none.’

  He drove very fast away from Fort Stanley and into such little of the countryside as there was in Hong Kong. As they hurtled along, rickshaws and people carrying panniers and piles of merchandise dived out of their way.