Tears of the Dragon

by Jean Moran

  ‘That’s crazy! Why not?’

  Marjorie cleared her throat. ‘I was ordered to see Dr Anderson first, then you. You’re to pack your and Dawn’s things and report outside the commandant’s office in one hour.’

  With increased dismay, she saw what was going on. ‘It’s him. Kim Pheloung. I refused to go with him and now he’s trying to force me. I won’t go.’

  Marjorie looked perplexed. ‘Is that what this is about? I thought that perhaps you were being moved to another camp, one that’s a bit more comfortable – if there is such a thing.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going. No man is going to force me to do something I don’t want to do ever again!’ She turned on her heel, her jaw set, Marjorie trailing along behind her. Usually the older woman had a brisk stride, but today Rowena was faster.

  ‘I don’t think the commandant will listen, but if you want to give it a try, I’ll go with you.’

  ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with it myself.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You don’t speak Japanese or Cantonese fluently, do you? No, I thought not. That’s the advantage of being married to a diplomat. You get posted all over the place so have to make use of your time. I occupied myself with languages.’ Marjorie was keeping pace with her now. ‘You’re looking rebellious, Rowena, and that’s dangerous here.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’m not going. Some time ago, after I lied to the soldier with crabs, I was thinking I wasn’t up to being a doctor, that I’d broken my oath to do no harm, but now I’ve decided I am a doctor and that I’m needed here. I will not abandon ship.’

  ‘You may have to.’

  Marjorie’s tone had changed. Rowena looked up and saw why. Two guards had entered the ward and they were heading her way.

  There was no need for Marjorie’s interpretative skills. They wanted her to come with them and she knew better than to disobey. They’d been known to injure or kill a patient if a doctor did not do as they were ordered.

  Feeling sick, she went with them.

  The day was bright and at first she squinted after leaving the shade of the ward. Using her hand to shield her eyes, she saw his car had arrived. Kim Pheloung had come to claim her, regardless of whether she wanted to go with him or not.

  ‘I’ve brought your things. They told me to pack them for you.’

  It was Alice with Rowena’s few belongings wrapped in the brown paper the dress had arrived in.

  ‘This is nonsense.’ Rowena rubbed her aching temples. ‘I don’t want to go. I won’t go.’

  ‘Rowena...’

  Alice’s voice was gentle, but the finger that pointed to Kim’s open-top car was shaking.

  Rowena saw what she was pointing at and gasped. One of Kim’s men was acting as chauffeur. Kim was sitting in the back, one arm around Dawn, who was standing on the leather seat next to him.

  ‘Mummeee!’ The little girl waved. She sounded excited.

  Rowena was scared. Her brave talk about refusing to go with him melted away. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

  He was holding Dawn more tightly now, though from her smile, the little girl hadn’t understood that.

  Kim was not smiling but wore a challenging look, inviting her to test his resolve even though he would have things his way.

  ‘That’s it, Dawn. Wave to your mother and tell her to hurry up. We’re waiting to go. We’re going on a long drive away from here and if Mummy doesn’t hurry up we’ll have to go without her.’

  She felt Alice pressing the brown-paper parcel against her clenched fist. She had no option but to accept it, no option but to go with him or he would take her daughter anyway.

  She made her way to the car, his eyes fixed on her. A Japanese guard opened the rear door and she stepped in, trembling as she sat on the soft leather seating.

  The door closed after her with a hushed thud – like a prison door. She felt she had entered a cage.

  He did not relinquish his hold on Dawn, but rested his chin on the child’s head. His smile was stiff and lacked warmth. His eyes were obsidian.

  ‘Now we can go far away from here, your mother and I, safe within the walls of a house that has been standing for centuries. We will all be happy there because I, Kim Pheloung, insist on it.’

  *

  She sat silently during the car journey, then the sea crossing from Hong Kong to mainland China, her spine poker stiff.

  ‘Fresh air,’ he said loudly, waving his hat into the wind as the boat ploughed the troughs and rose on the peaks of a choppy sea. ‘Is this not fun, Dawn?’

  Dawn agreed that it was.

  Clenching Rowena’s wrist, he encouraged Dawn to run free. ‘Show your mother you have good sea legs, Dawn. Go on, little girl, run all over the deck, if you like. Your mother and I will be watching, and then we will go below for some tea. Would you like that?’

  ‘No! She’s just a baby. She could get swept away in this sea.’

  Kim stepped between mother and daughter, catching Rowena’s wrists and twisting them slightly. ‘I insist she is allowed to run free. You Westerners have a tendency to overprotect your children. Asian children are allowed to roam at will. Some as young as five work in the paddies or on the street from dawn till dusk.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Go on. Run away from us. Hide and we will try to find you.’

  Rowena was terrified. ‘But the sea!’

  ‘She is coping. Come. In here.’

  He pushed her towards the companionway that led down into a small saloon for the use of passengers. Ordinarily they would have taken a ferry from Hong Kong to the New Territories, but they were heading for Jiangsu, the province in which Shanghai was situated. It was a longer sea voyage but avoided driving along roads manned by Japanese soldiers of little education and a peasant background. They were likely to kill anyone regardless of whether or not they had a pass.

  The saloon was empty of any other guests because Kim owned the vessel and used it for various purposes. His car had been lifted aboard by crane, the operation watched with amazement by the occupying army, who knew the man was important and wealthy, and gazed enviously at the car once it was firmly secured on the foredeck.

  A servant wearing traditional garb stood ready at the door, his head bowed as though Kim was an emperor, not the criminal she knew him to be.

  Kim clicked his fingers and pointed to the door.

  The servant, his thin goatee beard almost reaching his chest, bowed his way out and shut the door behind him.

  Rowena faced him with blazing eyes and a feeling that she was no more than a rabbit in a trap. ‘I do not want to be here.’

  ‘Irrelevant. It does not matter what you want. I want you to be here.’

  ‘Then let me out to see where my daughter has got to. She might have fallen overboard. You saw that sea. This boat is leaping around. The sea is rough.’

  ‘The child is enjoying herself, let out at last from the camp. Would you deny her the freedom she has never known? Can you believe it is better in that stinking camp, with its privations and diseases, than here with me? No longer will you lie on a bug-ridden mattress. No longer will you dress in washed-out rags.’

  He indicated the dress she was wearing. ‘I won’t insist you change now, but you will before we touch land. You still have the dress I gave you?’

  ‘Yes, but... I’m sorry, I can’t take this in properly when my daughter is outside.’

  ‘We will play hide and seek,’ he said, throwing his arms wide, encouraging her to feel that all was well and she had nothing to fear from him. ‘She will enjoy that. You will enjoy it, as will I.’

  ‘Can we go and find her now?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I think we’ve given her enough time to hide. Come. Please...’

  She did not protest when he put his arm around her and guided her back onto the deck. The wind was fresh and feathery puffs of spume were blowing across the deck. Every so often the bow dipped into the waves and water flooded towards them, not enough to knock them off their feet, but enoug
h to topple a child – or drag her into the sea.

  The boat was no more than a hundred feet long, big enough to go to sea and only just big enough to take a sufficient amount of cargo to make its journeys pay. He was holding her tightly, but when the boat slewed forward then reared up, she broke free and raced to the forepeak where Dawn had run.

  ‘Rowena!’

  He sounded angry behind her, but her shoes were without heels so she ran quickly.

  In front of her was the car and in front of the car’s sleek bonnet she saw the driver. His back was towards her, but when she shouted he turned. Dawn was tucked in front of him. His hands were on her shoulders but he was holding her only loosely.

  ‘Dawn!’

  As her mother sprang forward, Dawn escaped the driver’s clutches.

  Kim was right behind her, reaching out, his hands landing claw-like on her shoulders.

  ‘There. I said she was all right. Ching was with her.’

  He said something in Cantonese to which the driver replied.

  ‘He said he saw she was going forward and he stopped her. It was lucky he was here.’

  Unsure whether to believe him, Rowena smoothed her daughter’s hair back from her face and held her close. ‘Dawn, stay with mummy. There’s a good girl.’

  Her daughter nodded solemnly.

  The sea calmed, but not once did Rowena leave her child alone. During this journey at least, she would forget the circumstances of Dawn’s conception. She had a duty of care, much as she did towards any human life. She would protect her, keep her distance from Kim as far as she could, though in time she knew there would be a price to pay. If it came to it, she would sacrifice herself for Dawn’s safety.

  21

  The scariest thing Connor O’Connor knew about the Pacific Ocean was that it covered almost a third of the earth’s surface and their chance of hitting land was slim. That they had no provisions contributed to the hopelessness of their predicament.

  ‘Don’t move. Don’t speak.’

  ‘I know. Unless strictly necessary. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.’

  ‘Too many words already.’

  Words and moving used energy they could ill afford.

  Their long hair kept the worst of the sunburn at bay though their lips were cracked, their shoulders red and sore.

  Connor awoke each morning at the same time, his eyes checking the sunrise and finding they were still travelling in a southerly direction. Hopefully they would eventually arrive at Bali, though any island would do, a small atoll with or without water. If there was no fresh water, they could set up some kind of collecting system for when it rained. Until it did they would avail themselves of coconuts hanging in clusters and filled with milk. Their main preference was that the island was not already home to a battalion of enemy soldiers.

  Their lips were blistered, their bodies dehydrated, and their spirits were failing until an overnight downpour.

  Torrential rain overnight caused pools of water to collect in the central door panel held there by the band of metal that formed its frame.

  While it rained, Harry filled and refilled his tin mug and they drank. ‘Now perhaps God might furnish us with dinner,’ said Harry, once the rain had stopped and the sun was like a burnished doubloon in an azure sky.

  ‘God, must have been listening,’ Connor declared, when a trio of flying fish leaped on board.

  Harry was just about to eat one raw, but Connor stopped him. ‘Save the sashimi for the Japanese. We’re cooking tonight.’

  He fumbled in his pocket for the lighter which was still wrapped in a square of canvas. It took a few attempts, but luckily the lighter had escaped the worst of the water. On the fourth attempt a yellow flame sprang into life with which he seared the silvery flesh, and they ate it between them, bones and all, then opened the other two and laid them to dry in the sun.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give for a slice of pork and roast potatoes cooked in goose fat. Our cook did the best roast potatoes ever. Did I ever tell you that?’ Harry sounded tired, and Connor felt pretty much the same. From midday onwards was the hottest time of day but all day the sun shone and that was when they slept. At night they tried to stay awake, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of a light – a light on land, a light from a fishing boat, a light from a warship. They didn’t much care about the nationality of a rescuer – any flag would do.

  It was around midnight. The moon was high and the night still when Harry slumped onto the wet metal, throwing his arms over his face. ‘Damn it. My eyes are falling out. There’s nothing out there, old chap. Nothing at all. We’re going to die. That’s it and all about it.’

  Connor made no comment but stared silently ahead of their surprisingly sturdy vessel.

  He got out the lighter. There wasn’t much fuel left, but perhaps it might be enough to attract attention. With that in mind he lit the lighter, stood up and began waving it above his head. ‘For Christ’s sake, come and rescue us!’

  Harry looked up at him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Light travels a long way at night when you’re at sea. Somebody might see us.’

  ‘It’s a false hope, old chap, and only a small lighter.’ Harry’s voice cracked with dryness when he laughed.

  ‘It was my own angel gave it to me.’

  ‘Then I should hold onto it, old boy. We’ll be meeting with a few more before very long if we go on like this.’

  The lighter went out, but Connor remained standing, his eyes narrowed and sudden hope rising in his breast. ‘I saw a light.’

  ‘You’re hallucinating. We’ve had it.’

  ‘Like hell we have! Come on. Use your hands. Start paddling.’

  Hearing unmistakable urgency in Connor’s voice, Harry struggled onto his knees and began using his hands as paddles on one side of their raft, Connor doing the same on the opposite side. Although he knew that their efforts weren’t likely to improve their speed by much, Connor thought it might keep Harry focused and help boost their jaded morale.

  By the time dawn broke, their shoulders felt as hard as granite and their arms were shaking with tiredness. Their biggest worry was that the water that had gathered in the belly of the door was no more than an inch deep.

  A day and a half went by when all they had to eat was the last half of the last fish.

  ‘Come on, flying fish,’ Harry shouted across the water.

  Connor rubbed the nape of his neck where his aching muscles had knotted, hard and sharp. His eyes were sore from staring into the darkness but he willed himself to keep looking, scared that if he glanced away, he might miss something.

  ‘Are you sure you saw a light?’

  ‘Yes. There’s something ahead of us. Wish I had a pair of binoculars.’

  ‘I’ll look too, old man, just in case you miss something.’

  Harry was on all fours, peering ahead as dawn pushed back the darkness.

  Half an hour of the encroaching dawn and Harry finally agreed with him. ‘There is something! I’m sure I can see a hump of land.’ He dragged himself into a sitting position and gazed straight ahead. ‘How far do you think that is?’

  Connor calculated. A sailor had once told him that the horizon was twenty miles away. The current was fast-moving, four knots at least, perhaps even six. He opted for five. ‘Another day. We’ll take it in turns to paddle. I’ll go first.’

  By nightfall the last of the fish was gone and no other fish had obliged them by jumping on board. What water they hadn’t managed to store in the mug had evaporated.

  ‘So close yet so far,’ said Harry, as he slumped back after taking his turn to paddle.

  ‘See?’ Connor pointed. ‘Closer. Look. There’s a light.’

  By the time Harry looked it had gone. ‘I’m tired of looking.’ He sounded fed up.

  ‘Look, damn you!’ shouted Connor, his patience running out. He grabbed a handful of Harry’s filthy hair and thrust his head round so he was facing forward.

  Harry b
linked, then wiped the salt from his eyes. ‘There’s a light.’

  ‘Is it moving?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it’s not a light from a fishing boat.’

  The light blurred into mist as dawn approached in a pale beige sky laced with indigo. The light was gone. In its place a mauve shape divided the sea from the sky, closer than the horizon, its colour changing from pale to deeper mauve the closer they got. The current was taking them there.

  ‘One more day,’ whispered Connor, his mouth parched, his face blistered.

  They paddled furiously, their hands wrinkled and sore from continued immersion in salt water. Slowly the land mass, the island they hoped would be unoccupied, came closer.

  ‘I wish I could tell what island it is by the shape of those hills, but I can’t. If it’s deserted, all well and good. If not, that’s good too.’

  ‘But if the Japs are there we could be shot.’

  ‘Don’t be a pessimist. Look on the bright side and believe it’s unoccupied – or if it is occupied, pray that the Americans have taken it.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  Connor stopped paddling. He looked at the water. ‘Let’s leave the sea to get us there. We need to preserve our strength now. There could be obstacles to overcome. We might need to climb rocks to get ashore. We might need to swim. So get some sleep and we’ll explore afresh tomorrow. Tonight we get some rest.’

  *

  As it always does in the tropics, night fell like the black back curtain of a splendid theatre, blocking out the sun and the blueness of the sky just as it would blot out the hand-painted scenery.

  Some hours later, Connor woke, aware that something had changed. Hungry, thirsty and fatigued, he eased himself into a sitting position, his eyes narrowed and his ears alert to the sound that had awoken him. He gave Harry’s shoulder a shake. ‘Harry. Wake up. Do you hear that? Harry!’

  Groggily Harry propped himself on his elbows and listened. ‘Thunder? Faraway thunder?’

  ‘Surf.’

  Connor shook his shoulder again, joyfully this time. ‘Surf! It’s the bloody surf we’re hearing, which means it’s running onto a beach.’