by Lees, Julian
‘‘Are all the big houses ruined?’’ Mabel said aloud.
‘‘Not all.’’ He made a face. ‘‘The Woo house was untouched. The bloody-crafty-buggers hired a team of armed guards to protect it.’’
Lu See stretched her face toward the sun. The day, with its clear, clean sunshine, seemed to echo her hopeful mood. She recalled Second-aunty Doris’s words: Remember, keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps the trembling leaves will stay away. ‘‘Well, at least now we can make a fresh start.’’
‘‘Fresh start is like a kite with the cord broken. We are at the mercy of fortune, meh?’’
‘‘I’ll plant cabbages and leeks and sweet potatoes. Mabel can help.’’
‘‘Be careful of eating too many sweet things, aahh. Bad for teeth and general health.’’
Lu See took her daughter’s hand, cushioning the girlish fingers in her own and led her inside. She felt Mabel grip her palm tight. She gave it a precious squeeze.
‘‘It’s so empty, Mama.’’
‘‘My friend, aahh, Chan Yee, the man with hair like a porcupine, remember? He died of too much sugar. Heart could not take it. Salt very bad too – look what happened to your Ah-Ba’s ankles.’’
Mottled light shafted through the grey windows.
Uncle Big Jowl fanned himself with a banana leaf, winced and then started complaining about his arthritic knees. There was a smell of damp coming from the walls. ‘‘Not much left of it, hnn?’’
‘‘They’ve taken everything, even the door handles,’’ said Lu See. Her voice echoed in the emptiness.
‘‘Not so,’’ Uncle Big Jowl boomed. ‘‘I found a crate of your father’s old English books.’’
‘‘All the encyclopaedia books?’’ When she was a little girl her father used to balance her on his knee and read from the Encyclopaedia Britannica. ‘‘Is his copy of The Household Physician there too?’’
‘‘I’m sure so.’’ He nodded. ‘‘I also discovered the old ancestral portraits stacked in a room at the back, aahh.’’
‘‘What do you mean, not the portraits of Grand-aunty Ying?’’ Lu See contorted her face to look like a witch.
Uncle Big Jowl started sniggering. ‘‘The original bride of Frankenstein.’’
‘‘Must’ve scared the hell out of the Japs when they first set eyes on her, she’s about as good looking as a basket of crabs.’’
‘‘Ai-yooo! Don’t be cruel to the crabs.’’
They laughed, clapping the air with their hands.
‘‘And what about those poor looters? Can you imagine what they must have thought, breaking in here in the dead of night and seeing those beady eyes staring down at them!’’
‘‘Must have pee-peed in their sarongs.’’
‘‘And turned to stone.’’ Uncle Big Jowl’s guffaw was rich and rolling.
As they bent double with laughter, the gloom retreated for an instant.
For the last three years Lu See had forced herself to be stoic. She’d closed her mind to the sleepless nights, the stories of Kempeitai arrests, the talk of raided homes and vanishing friends. Instead, she’d tried to make her home life as normal as possible; she made sure nobody missed a birthday, a dumpling ceremony or a Chinese New Year dinner, even if the shortage of sugar and eggs made the cakes less sweet and the dumplings less rich.
‘‘Your birthday’s not far away,’’ she said tousling her daughter’s hair. ‘‘Maybe we can clean up the house in time.’’
‘‘When is it your birthday, Mama? You never say and we never celebrate.’’
‘‘That’s because I don’t like being reminded of it.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Because I don’t!’’ Lu See cringed at the harshness of her own voice. She immediately smuggled the image of Adrian grappling up King’s Chapel roof to the back of her mind. ‘‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.’’
‘‘That’s okay, Mama.’’ Lu See smiled into Mabel’s eyes. When Mabel smiled back she really lit up. Lu See called her ‘my brave little pendekar warrior’ and she’d done everything possible to protect her from the horrors inflicted by the Japanese.
‘‘Children aren’t scared of a thorn bush until they get one snagged on their leg,’’ she said to Uncle Big Jowl at the height of the terror. ‘‘As long as I keep her out of sight, she’ll be fine.’’
‘‘But she has eyes; you can’t hide the ugliness from her. When two buffaloes fight it is the grass that gets trampled, aahh.’’
Her daughter was almost nine years old and throughout the entire war Lu See had seen her cry only once and it wasn’t even the day her grandfather died. It was the day they’d been forced from their home; the day Mabel’s childhood innocence ended.
Uncle Big Jowl used to say that what he loved most about Tamarind Hill was that it was so calming. But in 1942 the Japanese shattered that peace. They swarmed in from the north, from near the Thai border. They came overland, but rather than slink through the jungle they pushed down the north-south road on lorries and bicycles. And as they swept through villages and towns they frisked whomever they came across and relieved them of their cash and wristwatches. When they reached Tamarind Hill the soldiers told everyone to form a line and pulled the youngest female servants to one side and bundled them into the back of a truck. Lu See came dashing out to protest and immediately saw that it was a hopeless cause; the Japanese had fixed their bayonets in anticipation of trouble; there were already 18 to 20 village girls huddled together in the rear of the truck, all frozen stiff with fear. Some had bloodied noses and mouths. They would have seized Lu See too if Colonel Tozawa had not appeared on the scene soon after.
The Colonel stood on the seat of his open top scout car and to the ululating cries of the victims declared that only three girls per village would be acquired. ‘‘Staff sergeants, I want to make this clear. Keep a rein on your men. Any breach of this order and the culprits will answer to me personally. Three per village, no more, no less. We must maintain discipline!’’
‘‘Mama, they’re taking Ah Ling away!’’ bawled Mabel.
‘‘I know,’’ Lu See replied, trying to block out the wailing. White-faced, she wrapped her hands round Mabel’s shoulders and shielded her with her own body. ‘‘Look at the ground Mabel, look at the ground, don’t look up,’’ she said, struggling to keep the hysteria from her own voice.
From that day on, through to the end of the war, both Mabel and Lu See flinched each time they heard a truck pull up, their hearts skipping a beat or two.
Ah Ling was the kitchen maid; a young cheerful provincial girl. She was 23 years old. Lu See never saw her again.
With Tamarind Hill back in her possession Lu See worked from dawn til dusk; she ploughed the land, dug up the spent stalks of lemongrass and the last of the onions and sewed fresh seeds into the soil – easy crops like tapioca and sweet potato. Bit by bit she put the house back together. She aired the rooms, swept the floors of shattered glass, fixed up the bedrooms, put fresh sheets on the beds, set out rat traps and boarded up the broken windows. She also began bringing back items from the village tip which had been abandoned by looters, things like a dressmaker’s mannequin, old umbrellas and walking sticks, even a badly damaged sewing machine. They were things she hoped she could barter one day; trade for food perhaps? If anything, the Japanese occupation had taught her to be frugal.
Meanwhile, Peter and James used their carpentry skills to replace the damaged floorboards and door handles and erected a swing in the garden out of an old bicycle wheel. Mother made clothes from old curtains and cut slippers from ruined rubber tyres; the dresses Mother sewed for Mabel often even had pleats on them, like a window blind.
They were long, exhausting days and at night, streaked with dust, with the sun setting, Lu See would slip Adrian’s old wristwatch off her wrist and slump on a chair. The wristwatch had stopped ticking long ago but Lu See could not bear to dispose of it – not just yet. It was as if Adrian were still with her as long as she kept th
e watch close to her pulse.
For these brief moments, with the wristwatch loosened, Mabel rubbed palm oil into her mother’s rough hands to soothe the calluses and moisten the cracked skin. After which Lu See ran a comb through Mabel’s hair, teasing the knots out, before arranging it into a long plait.
Several weeks had passed since the Japanese surrender. Behind the big house, in the old vegetable garden, Mabel found Peter and James picking through the weeds as they pulled lemon grass shoots from the earth. Both wore oversize civil service shorts. As usual they were squabbling.
‘‘Certainly not. No, I won’t do it,’’ said James, eyes protruding like marbles. He started to perform jumping jacks and recite the book of Ruth.
Peter folded his arms across his chest and threw him a dark glance. ‘‘Well, I’m telling you the meeting is at nine tomorrow morning and you’re expected to explain what happened.’’
‘‘Are you deaf? I said I’m not doing it.’’
‘‘Well somebody has to account for why five hundred sheets were issued with the wrong overprint.’’
‘‘They’ll just have to classify it as printer’s waste.’’
‘‘Even so, somebody has to take responsibility.’’
‘‘I’m not doing it!’’ With a violent yank James jerked a handful of lemongrass over his head. Bits of soil and earth dribbled down his collar and the back of his neck.
‘‘Watch it! Clumsy!’’
‘‘Oh quiet!’’
Lu See appeared at Mabel’s shoulder. ‘‘What on earth are the two of you bickering about now?’’
Peter rolled his bulging eyes, shaking the dirt from his shirt. ‘‘Your genius brother here allowed the ‘Rebirth’ stamp series to be overprinted with Burmese Occupation all across the face. The Inspector General is furious.’’
Lu See tried to suppress a smile. ‘‘James, you nitwit, didn’t you check the proofs?’’
‘‘Look, I can’t be expected to work the new system.’’
‘‘And what system is that,’’ said Peter, shouldering his brother aside. ‘‘The one that sends letters across the world with postage stamps saying we’ve suddenly been overrun by the Burmese?’’
‘‘You’re the one in charge of quality control.’’
‘‘But you’re meant to check for imperfections.’’
‘‘And it’s your job to sign it off.’’
‘‘As Jehovah is my witness you are the most incompetent person I have ever worked with.’’
‘‘To be precise: so are you.’’
‘‘Well at least we agree on something.’’
‘‘Precisely.’’
‘‘But you’re still in the wrong.’’
James shook his head. ‘‘You are such a fan-tung. No wonder Irene Ting refused to marry you.’’
Lu See, stooping to tend some wild mint, waved her arms in the air. ‘‘Truce. Truce.’’
‘‘Only if James admits he’s wrong,’’ said Peter.
‘‘You always have to have the last word, don’t you?’’ shot James.
‘‘I don’t.’’
‘‘See?’’
‘‘See what?’’
After a while they threatened to glue each other’s mouths shut.
Giggling, Mabel glanced at Lu See and winked. ‘‘You know, Mama,’’ she said. ‘‘Sometimes I’m maximum glad I’m an only child.’’
‘‘Well, my maximum-glad only child, I have a job for you,’’ said Lu See. ‘‘The Japanese used the village church as a stable for their horses. Let’s grab some brooms and buckets and clean it up. And when we’re finished we’re going to go into the jungle and dig up some treasure.’’
‘‘What treasure?’’
‘‘It’s something that belongs to the church. You’ll see.’’
Several hours later, the church was looking and smelling like its old self. Lu See and Mabel had scraped and scoured and scrubbed away the stink of the horses. They also managed to restore the pipe organ console and pedal board to something like its former glory. Some of the stop knobs had gone missing and there were some hoof dents in the organ case but Lu See couldn’t complain.
‘‘There’s not too much damage,’’ she said, running a damp towel over the top panel.
Mabel stepped in and ran her fingers up and down the keyboard. ‘‘Why is there no sound?’’
‘‘For that we’ll have to go into the jungle and dig up the treasure.’’
With a cock of the head, Uncle Big Jowl grinned, toying with an earlobe. He was at the entrance to the church looking in. ‘‘Aahh! You have done wonders.’’
‘‘Well, somebody had to do it.’’
‘‘When will we collect the pipes? Maybe after the British regain full control?’’
‘‘Yes, let’s wait until law and order is fully restored. There are still looters about.’’
‘‘Your father would be proud of how you’ve restored not just the church but the house too,’’ he said, puffing on his cheroot.
‘‘If he hadn’t taken to the bottle and shot himself he could have seen the end product himself.’’ She detected only a hint of regret in her own voice.
‘‘Drinking hair tonic. Stupid-stupid, aahh.’’
‘‘Ah-Ba was ill by then. He wasn’t right in the head. But what do you expect? The Japanese forced him to sell the rubber estate at $50 an acre to the Mitsui Group. Before the war it was worth what, $300 an acre?’’
‘‘More like 400 dollah. Aahh, you know my friend, Perak Suan, aahh, he died last week of lung disease. Don’t ever smoke, very bad for you, tell your daughter too.’’
‘‘Why are you smoking then?’’
‘‘This not smoking, this keeps mosquitoes away. My grandfather smoked Sumatran cigars until he was 94.’’
‘‘And then he died.’’
‘‘No. He switched to using a pipe. Anyway, I never inhale.’’
Bemused, Lu See loosened the broken wristwatch on her wrist and gave the skin beneath a rub. She shook her head. ‘‘What were we talking about?’’
‘‘Japanese buying rubber estate from your father, aahh,’’ he said, cocking his head.
‘‘Yes, and then they seized his Bentley.’’
‘‘Which they had the gall-galls to call a gift to the Imperial Nippon Government.’’ The big man snorted, rubbed the tip of his head with cigar ash and shook out his shirt. ‘‘Gave him a certificate and called it a gift. Bloody robbers, aahh.’’
She remembered her father withdrawing deep into himself. By then they were living in the Chinese-style dwelling by the river. He barricaded himself in the wet kitchen with a revolver and drank. When he finished the whisky he went on to the last of the brandy, and then he turned to the hair tonic and aftershave, and finally to the gun. Huffed and puffed and blew his brains out.
When she was at her lowest ebb she’d think about this. She’d think about the day she found him with the top of his head blown off.
Lu See puffed her cheeks out. ‘‘You know, near the end, his hands shook so much he couldn’t hold his razor steady. I had to shave him myself.’’
Uncle Big Jowl placed his thumb and index finger to his throat. ‘‘Damn-fierce tragedy. Life is like this, without head or tail.’’
At the mention of her Ah-Ba a curious cold had flooded Lu See’s veins. Now she went outside and sat on the church steps. She shut her eyes and pressed her palms to them.
5
The following day, with the sun filtering through the tamarinds, Lu See and Mabel strolled down the windy road that led to the village. Mabel jumped and skipped behind her mother. ‘‘What are we going to buy from Mr Ko’s shop, Mama?’’
‘‘We’ll have to see what they have, my little warrior. There’s still very little we can buy. Everyone’s short of food supplies, so I thought I would barter these turnips. With school term starting tomorrow, you’ll need a new pair of shoes. I don’t know if those rubber-tyre slippers will last much longer.’’
‘‘Princess shoes? With bows on them?’’
‘‘Yes, your majesty,’’ Lu See said, walking backwards, bowing and whirling her hand showily as if greeting royalty. ‘‘Bows as big as wings.’’
Mabel spread her arms out wide and pretended to fly like a bird. ‘‘Mama, look at me. I’m a crow. Caw-caw!’’
They could see the toddy shop in the distance and the palms above swaying; a breeze running through the village had brought children out to fly their kites. Lu See shielded her eyes from the sun, blinking as she plunged from light to shade, and peered over her shoulder at Mabel who now hopped to grab at the vines that trailed from the eucalypti, which stood in silent ranks. Then she broke into a run. She came tearing down the road and skidded to a stop. That was when Lu See saw them through the trees, snaking through the leaf litter.
The guerrillas emerged from out of the jungle like ghosts; it was the first time she had ever seen them in broad daylight; they called themselves the Malayan People’s Anti-Japanese Army. Otherwise known as the MPAJA. Their uniforms were a mottled khaki and those that wore caps showed three stars on the rim. Leading them was a man in his late sixties with a face like cracked porcelain and lips as thick as sausages. Lu See noticed a young boy by his side with a Japanese service pistol stuffed in his belt; he couldn’t have been more than ten.
Someone from the pith wood shop began to clap and cheer, acclaiming them liberators; others, in quieter voices, branded them vigilantes. A dog tied to a coconut tree barked as they approached. The chickens scattered and the village goose honked. Grasping the handle of her turnip basket, Lu See watched the group strut down the main street, heads held high and shoulders thrown back. There were one or two Malays amongst them but the majority of the bedraggled-looking fighters were undoubtedly Chinese.
They barged into the toddy shop. After a short while they reappeared, dragging a man by the heels. His face was already swelling from numerous blows. The villagers gathered in the square. Almost immediately, Lu See recognized the white suit.
‘‘Japanese informer!’’ a woman shrieked, baring her teeth. ‘‘He’s the one that accused my husband of keeping a wireless radio, saying he listened to Allied broadcasts.’’
