by Lees, Julian
She got a piece of her ankle between her nails and pinched.
‘‘What are you doing?’’ asked Adrian.
‘‘It’s finished. It’s all over. Months of studying wasted.’’
She pinched the tender, underside of her knee and winced.
‘‘What the hell are you talking about?’’
‘‘All my plans are ruined. There’s no way Girton will take me now.’’
‘‘Will you please tell me what’s going on?’’
‘‘Adrian,’’ she said. ‘‘I think I’m pregnant.’’
14
Mid-September and the arrival of autumn brought a carnival of browning leaves to mop up the rain.
It was five o’clock in the morning and there had been a steady two hours of drizzle. Adrian, dressed in black to make him less conspicuous in the darkness, dug his fingertips into the cracks in the stone and made certain of his footing. He still couldn’t believe he was going to be a father – the idea thrilled him, sent a warm surge through his bones. ‘‘A baby,’’ he called out, his voice deep and solid. ‘‘We’re going to have a baby.’’ If it was a boy he was going to call him Vladimir – or maybe Vlad – after Lenin. His eyes brimmed with pride. He reached a hand to his face and felt one smooth warm tear sneak down his cheek. He stared straight out towards the Cam, the king of all he surveyed.
He was over a hundred feet up.
Advancing he gave a quick questioning glance at the coarse cloth in his grasp and suddenly was angry with himself. What he’d intended to do was drape the banner across two of the chapel roof turrets and then secure them with thick string, but he’d miscalculated. Its weight was becoming too hard to handle.
This was a two-man job – he needed a second person to take hold of one end of the strip of canvas as he held the other. The gusts of wind and rain weren’t helping either; the gale blowing in from the coast turned the stone slippery, making him wish he’d worn a different pair of shoes, the ones with the scuffed leather soles. Instead he had to get by in his plimsolls, which made each step feel as if he was being forced to walk atop a slick rubber gangplank. Bracing himself, he pulled on the cord with all his strength.
Clouds wheeled overhead, blotting out the moon. Adrian was perspiring from having to heave and control the weight of it. Huffing and straining he fought to raise it like a sail against the wind. The cold rain stole through his clothes and into his body. His forearms and shoulder muscles ached.
Finally, it looked as if he’d done it. The long strip of canvas was in place, the string secure, the knots tight, the elevation as level to the ground as possible. Swaying in the breeze, tied with string to several steeples, the banner furled and unfurled, swaying like a pendulum, hanging on by a single knot. Its message was hand-painted in red. ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOOSEY!’ The canvas snapped in the wind.
Upside down.
He’d hung it the wrong way up and would have to start all over again.
Effing and blinding, he wiped his wet hands against his jacket to dry them, breathed on them for warmth and after that began to work the knots loose.
Using his thumbs and teeth, he undid the gnarls, pulling on the parallel strands, making certain they were free of kinks and kept well away from his legs. The string tasted bitter and smelled of dank earth. Reaching up he stretched to grab hold of more of the splice. The string came loose with a tug. The canvas buckled and billowed as one end broke free from its lashings. Adrian took a step to the side to avoid the tangle of string.
And then his foot slipped.
15
In the kitchen, with dark circles under her eyes, Sum Sum plopped a pair of eggs in boiling water and grilled several slices of bread. Having suffered through three straight weeks of interrupted sleep she was exhausted. She mumbled an oath and rubbed her engorged tummy.
As she buttered her toast, she heard a knock on the door, polite yet urgent.
With Mrs Slackford at market, she opened the door herself.
It was Lu See.
The cool air nipped at Sum Sum’s knees. ‘‘You want breakfast? I’m cooking eggs.’’
Lu See shook her head no. She felt nauseous and a little dizzy. She sat at the kitchen table. ‘‘Well, the good news is the pipe organ was shipped yesterday. It’s on its way to Malaya. Brinkley & Fosler kept their promise. The organ will be in Po On Village by Christmas, in time for Tak Ming’s memorial.’’
‘‘And bad news?’’
Lu See rubbed her eyes. ‘‘Well, I wouldn’t call it bad news but I haven’t seen much of Adrian recently.’’
‘‘Meh?’’
‘‘He’s busy with his thesis. He came to bed at ten but was up again at midnight. I heard him moving about, working in his study but when I woke this morning he was gone.’’
‘‘What, he out already?’’ Sum Sum eyed her friend. ‘‘Are you feeling all right, lah?’’
The smell of Sum Sum’s buttery toast made her feel sick. She nodded without conviction. ‘‘By seven, he’d already left the house, but I didn’t hear him go. He must be at the library.’’
‘‘Pietro says library not open until nine o’clock.’’
Lu See’s face was smiling before her mouth could shape the words. ‘‘I just received a call from my doctor with my results. Adrian’s going to be a father.’’
Sum Sum’s eyes almost burst from her face. ‘‘You are pregnant with baby?’’
‘‘The doctor confirmed I’m two months in.’’
Sum Sum almost fell off her chair as she rushed to embrace Lu See, throwing her arms around her neck. After a while Sum Sum asked, ‘‘But what will happen with studybooks?’’
Lu See shrugged, trying to sound upbeat. ‘‘I’m not sure what Girton will say. I haven’t been accepted yet … hell, I haven’t even sat for the exams.’’
‘‘This man better start spending more time with you and less on his books or I give him one hell of a earboxing.’’
‘‘I’m sure he will.’’
‘‘Well, tomorrow your birthday. He will spend all day with you for sure, lah. No more of this–’’ Sum Sum opened her mouth to say more but stopped herself.
Lu See stared at her friend. ‘‘What were you about to say?’’
‘‘Me? Nothing.’’
‘‘Say it.’’
‘‘I have nothing to say, lah.’’
‘‘You think he’s doing his nightcrawling again, is that it?’’
‘‘Maybe, lah.’’
‘‘He promised me.’’
‘‘Sounds like he break promise. Either that or he goes and visits floozy-woozy woman after you fall asleep.’’
‘‘Don’t.’’
‘‘Sorry.’’ Sum Sum raised an apologetic hand. ‘‘Only joking, lah.’’
A minute’s silence.
‘‘Do you really think he has a floozy woman?’’
‘‘Aiyo, I was only joking.’’
‘‘Or maybe you were right the first time, maybe he’s scaling rooftops again.’’
‘‘Maybe.’’
‘‘God, I hope not.’’
‘‘Aiyo, don’t worry,’’ Sum Sum said, appeasing, ‘‘Adrian not stupid. And when he knows you are having his baby, no more climbing for sure, lah.’’
Lu See strummed her fingers on the table, pensive. A moment later there was another knock on the door. ‘‘That must be Adrian. I’ll get it,’’ said Lu See, watching Sum Sum bite into a square of toast.
She checked her face in the hall mirror before reaching for the doorknob.
A stranger in uniform confronted her. ‘‘Mrs Woo?’’ Lu See hesitated before nodding her head. She still wasn’t used to being addressed as Adrian’s wife. The police constable removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. He was a young man, nineteen at most. It was his turn to hesitate now. ‘‘It’s about your husband.’’
‘‘Is something wrong?’’
‘‘Yes, I’m afraid so …’’
‘‘Has he got into som
e kind of trouble? If he’s gone and got himself arrested for climbing, I’ll be livid.’’
‘‘It happened early this morning.’’
‘‘I told him he’d get into trouble.’’
His face was hard. His voice was gentle. ‘‘There’s been an accident. Your husband …’’
That was when she spotted Adrian’s library card in his hands. She blinked at him, bewildered, and then slowly turned to look at Sum Sum. Beyond her, the eggs kept boiling, bubbling on the stove, the white albumen coagulating, seeping out of the cracked shells like bleached blood from broken skulls.
‘‘He fell from a great height, Mrs Woo.’’ Lu See took a small backward step. There was a sudden snatch at her heart. ‘‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’’
She heard her mouth repeat those unbelievable words. She turned away and stumbled against the wall. The light went out in her eyes.
Part Two
1945
1
Before the invasion of Malaya in 1941 there had been anti-Japanese demonstrations in George Town, Penang. Fueled by news reports of Japanese barbarity in Nanking, the local Chinese grew increasingly worried that the Imperial Army would extend their savagery into Malaya.
Lu See signed a petition drafted by the Chinese Chamber of Commerce calling for the deportation of Japanese expatriates. It was presented to the Resident Councillor who politely had it filed away in a bottom drawer.
Nobody suspected Tokyo of employing spies disguised as rubber buyers, barbers or timber merchants. No one guessed that they might be recruiting locals to flash secret signals out to distant ships. Few people thought a full-scale invasion was on the cards at all. The Governor of Singapore had assured everyone in Malaya that the allied troop build-up was nothing to be alarmed about, that the increase in Australian and Welsh and Scottish soldiers was purely to protect the supply of rubber and tin.
‘‘Singapore is impregnable,’’ the British said. The naval batteries and thirty-inch guns aiming out to sea were testament to that. ‘‘The Japs would be mad to attack us. You’ll be better off here than anywhere else.’’
On hearing this, hundreds of British families crowded Penang harbour to board ships sailing for Singapore. There was a sense of relief when they climbed aboard. But the Chinese knew better. Many believed that the Japanese wouldn’t meet the might of Singapore full on, but would attack from the east coast, nullifying the British guns pointing the wrong way. They would come overland.
As soon as Lu See heard rumours that the Japanese had beached on the north-eastern shores of the Malayan Peninsula, she got to work. She began dismantling the organ pipes at the new Anglican church, carefully disassembling them one by one.
‘‘Why are you doing this?’’ asked Uncle Big Jowl. ‘‘Shouldn’t we be hoarding rice or filling baths with water to combat fires instead?’’
‘‘It’s the copper,’’ she said, watching the heat of the sun crawl across the church floor. ‘‘The Japs will have it melted down and used for their war effort. I’m not going to let that happen. This organ means too much to me.’’
‘‘What will you do with them? Aahh! There are how many pipes?’’
‘‘There are five ranks. Sixty-one pipes per rank.’’ The veins of her neck strained as she prised a pipe from its neighbour by loosening the slotted screws. ‘‘We’re going to bury them in the jungle and mark the spot with a gravestone.’’
Together with her uncle’s help she marked each pipe, indicating where it belonged, and wrapped it in lengths of oiled canvas.
Lu See lost track of time. The sweat thickened on Uncle Big Jowl’s shirt like moss on a temple wall.
‘‘Ai-yoo!’’ he complained, cocking his head and flexing his sausage fingers. ‘‘Who are you and what have you done to my niece? Who turned her into this pucker-mouthed do-gooder, nah?’’
‘‘Almost done, now,’’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘‘Almost done.’’
Afterwards, she drove one of the estate trucks to transport the load to the periphery of the jungle. They took turns digging a ten-foot trench. Whilst Lu See worked the shovel Uncle Big Jowl kept watch.
‘‘Who am I supposed to be looking out for?’’ he asked.
‘‘I don’t know: Japanese spies, opportunists, the Woos.’’
Two hours later Lu See turned around and gazed into the distance to take her mind off her aching back and arms. Perspiration left pink lines on her dusty face. Her hands were raw with painful sores. ‘‘Whole body feels like hell,’’ she exclaimed.
The horizon was obscured by mist. In the darkened forest to her left the trees cast mottled shadows across the ground. All of a sudden she saw something stir. She rose on tiptoes to peer out of the ditch. ‘‘What the hell is that?’’ She pointed.
‘‘Hnn?’’
‘‘There, in the clearing.’’
Where the jungle emptied on to an expanse of elephant grass she was sure she caught a wrinkle of movement.
Blinking, she strained her eyes and thought she saw the figure of a man. A man with one shoulder higher than the other. She remained very still. It was like being in the presence of a snake. She didn’t dare move. When she blinked again he was gone.
‘‘I don’t see anything, aahh!’’
‘‘I’m sure I saw somebody.’’
Uncle Big Jowl regarded her sideways, registering the fear that was written in her face. Had she imagined it? She shuddered; a tremor emanating from some primitive part of her. Her eyes raked the elephant grass once more. She started to feel stupid. Hurriedly, she laid the pipes to rest.
Two months later, on 16th February 1942, Lu See picked up a copy of the Straits Times and saw a photograph of General Arthur Percival signing surrender documents and presenting them to General Tomoyuki at the Ford Motor Factory in Singapore.
Word arrived from KL that the Japanese had looted from banks, churches, mosques and temples.
The capitulation was complete.
‘‘Jo-san, Miss Lu See.’’ The shopkeeper set his palms on the counter and leaned forward. ‘‘And jo-san to you, my little friend. What should I call you?’’
Lu See placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. ‘‘Tell him your name.’’
The little girl bit her top lip and mumbled, ‘‘Mabel.’’
The shopkeeper smiled. ‘‘Gwai-lah! She so pretty, same-same her mother. Now, what are you looking for today?’’
Lu See eyed the bare shelves. ‘‘Do you have any white sugar, Mr Ko?’’
The shopkeeper wagged his head. ‘‘No have, sorry.’’
She looked over her shoulder. ‘‘I’m prepared to pay.’’
He wagged his head again. ‘‘Even if you can pay me in diamonds, I still have no sugar. Our Dai Nippon brothers are holding everything back.’’
‘‘Look, please.’’ Her voice hissed. ‘‘There are no government agents about. Anyway, this is for the Colonel. His weekly supply truck seems to temporarily have run out of sugar. I’ll pay whatever price.’’
‘‘Aiya, Miss Lu See.’’ Mr Ko made a face, feigning hurt. ‘‘If I have, of course I sell to you, but I have none.’’ He then twitched his chin toward the door and lowered his voice. ‘‘But I know this man, a friend, hnn?’’ He looked sideways at her. ‘‘He can get for you.’’
‘‘How much?’’
‘‘Aiya, this man a swindler. He charge way too much.’’
‘‘How much?’’
He clicked the beads of his abacus. ‘‘This swindler, he wants something like $35 per katty.’’
‘‘That’s absurd. Last year you were selling tins of sugar at $6 a katty.’’
‘‘This man, he is a swindler I tell you. I advise you not to buy.’’
She extracted a fistful of Japanese Military scrip from her purse but he threw up his hands. ‘‘No, do not pay now. I cannot guarantee he can deliver. You come back tomorrow.’’
Lu See returned the next day. ‘‘This fellow, he a true devil. He says sugar
now $37 a katty. I advise you better not buy.’’
She knew shopkeeper Ko’s friend didn’t exist, that his hidden loot of sugar was stored under the floorboards. ‘‘Look, stop playing games. If it’s $37 a katty then so be it, but I’ll need a receipt for the Colonel.’’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘‘This fellow a real swindler.’’
She paid him and left with a tin of sugar tucked under her arm.
Once outside Lu See cupped a hand and shielded her eyes from the glare. She looked up and saw the Hinomaru waving in the breeze, the flag of the rising sun unfurling like a shroud over the village square.
She hated having to buy goods over the black market, but she no longer had any choice. She’d got used to it; just as she’d got used to everything else brought about by the occupation.
In an effort to wipe away the last traces of British power, the Japanese printed a new military currency, issued postage stamps announcing the ‘Rebirth of Malaya’ and even pushed the clocks forward to conform to Tokyo-time. There was also an attempt to make Nippon-go the common language of the region – Japanese was taught in schools and the ‘Aikoku Koushinkyoku’, a military marching song, blared across the airwaves at all hours of the day.
She crossed the street, into the main square of Po On Village, scattering a clutch of chickens scratching the ground for grubs. All about Lu See the shop signboards were in Katakana; the hawker stalls, too, advertised in Japanese script; and every road sign and traffic marker saw Katakana superimposed over the English original.
A pair of Mitsubishi Zeros flew by overhead, resulting in an onk-onk complaint from the village goose.
Not long now, you bastards, she muttered, staring at the retreating fighter planes. For months she’d heard whispers of the American successes in Iwo Jima; the retaking of Rangoon; the liberating of Manila; the air raids over Osaka and Yokohama. Each time someone dared speak of an Allied victory her heart jumped and sang. Now, as she moved through the town, she heard talk of the RAF dropping arms and radio equipment into the Johor jungle. Not long before the British take back control, she thought. But in the meantime keep your head down and your mouth shut. Stick to your own business.
