by Rory Marron
Before she left her plot, she made a point of re-tying and placing the sack exactly where she had found it in case the unlucky smuggler returned. Then, almost skipping with joy, she left the garden and went to the mandi. In the evening she returned to unearth one of the tins and found the sack was still there, apparently untouched. The next day it had gone.
Four days later she found another sack, this time deep amongst her plants. At first she supposed that it was the same one but as soon as she lifted it she could tell there was something inside. There were others working in the garden, so Kate knelt while she took a quick peek inside. As well as a tin of fish there were two small bottles, one of vitamin C, the other half-full of sulphonamide anti-infection tablets.
Kate was stunned. Vitamin C was valuable enough but the sulphonamide was worth its weight in gold. Nervously she looked around, certain now that she was intercepting goods meant for someone else. A sudden, chilling thought came to her. What if it were a trap set by the guards? It had been done before….
Punishment for smuggling was a shaved head, a public beating and a week in the cells. Kate shivered at the thought of it but even as she weighed the risk she was pocketing the bottles and burying the tin of fish. She left the garden quickly. For the rest of the day and night she was on edge, waiting for the sudden inspection by the guards. It did not happen. Gradually she allowed herself to relax.
A few days later another sack appeared. And so it went on. Her mystery benefactor regularly left tins of fish or meat and fruit. Every three weeks there would be sulphonamide or vitamin C and a small bar of soap.
Extra food and medicines brought quick results. Within days, her mother’s condition had markedly improved. Kate herself also felt stronger and fitter. Over the weeks her hair regained its lustre, her nails stopped splitting and her gums stopped bleeding. More dramatic proof came when she had her first period for three months.
Slowly, Kate dared to dream that she might survive Tjandi. She did not question her good fortune. For a while she convinced herself that one of her father’s former employees had followed them to Semarang and was sneaking food into the camp. But the tins carried Japanese labels and this fact troubled her. Though she tried to put it out of her mind, she soon came to the uncomfortable but inescapable conclusion that the gifts were left by a camp guard, one of the Javanese administrators or, even worse, one of the hated kenpeitai. Only they could come and go as they wished. One night it became clear that her mother’s curiosity was returning along with her health.
‘But who’s it from, Kate?’ Marianne asked quietly.
Kate hesitated. ‘Oh, one of Dad’s workers.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know…’ Kate replied, truthfully.
‘You must have some idea,’ Marianne persisted.
‘No, whoever it is sneaks in at night’.
Marianne looked imploringly at her daughter, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Promise me, Kate. Tell me you’re not doing what Inge did….’
Inge Witsen was the wife of a Dutch airman. In the chaos of the invasion her husband had escaped to Australia but had left his new bride. A delicate, fastidious woman, Inge had been unwilling to face the camp’s deprivations. When one of the guards had offered her extra food in exchange for sexual favours, she had accepted. In late 1944, Inge had given birth to a healthy Dutch-Japanese baby boy. Ostracised by many, Inge remained unrepentant and eventually went to live with the guard. ‘They are quick to judge me, Kate,’ Inge had once said to her. ‘But they are also quick to die. I will not be buried here as a reward for following their rules!’
As the food shortages worsened and sickness and the number of deaths began to rise, other women had accepted similar proposals. Kate had sworn that she would never let Inge’s fate befall her. Yet now she knew her own life and that of her mother depended on the extra supplies. She was trapped and would not—could not—give them up. Sooner or later she would have to pay the price.
Marianne was staring at her, waiting.
‘No, Mother,’ Kate said trying but failing to meet her mother’s gaze. ‘I’d never do that.’
Increasingly, Kate found herself watching the Japanese for a sign of recognition. Often she was rebuked or slapped for her arrogance in daring to look them in the eye.
The women of Tjandi had given the guards nicknames such as ‘Sloppy’, ‘Specs Jap’, ‘Flatfoot’ and ‘Dopey’. ‘Small Whacker’ or ‘Big Whacker’ were two who were particularly violent. The one who helped himself to their vegetables and fruit was ‘Johnny Tomato’. Collectively they were referred to as ‘Japs’, ‘Nips’ or ‘the Bastards’.
Once Kate had felt forced to take a serious interest in the guards, she had been surprised at the physical differences among them. Not all were Japanese; some were Korean or Formosan Chinese. Most were short but not all. She had been amazed at the range in their facial features and skin tones. From observation and experience she knew they were not all brutes, especially when they were alone. One or two had even been known to turn a blind eye and let the women eat from the crops while working in the fields. Nearly all of the guards seemed to like small children. But when a child misbehaved, they almost always punished the mother, usually with a beating.
Try as she might, Kate could not understand these men who treated them so callously and with such contempt. The thought of having to give herself to one of them depressed her more each day. Jokes about the guards rang hollow and she listened uncomfortably to bitter gossip and insults about women kept by Japanese. Inge’s defiant words continued to haunt her.
Gradually, Kate became obsessed by the need to discover the identity of her benefactor. A solution came to her while she was burying the food tins; she would hide in the vegetable garden and see whom it was. For three days she was on tenterhooks. Then, finally, the night came. After lights out at eight o’clock she joined the steady streams of people heading for the latrines. On her way back she slipped unobserved behind the hut and ran quickly to the vegetable garden. She settled down behind a tall patch of peppers opposite her plot to wait. She prayed she wouldn’t see any snakes or rats. The sky was clear and she decided to pass the time and ignore the mosquitoes by naming the constellations. But her mind played tricks on her. All she could visualise were the faces of the guards and kenpei.
Kate had compiled a list of her ‘preferred suitors’. Her first choice was a guard in his mid-thirties who was often on duty by the main gate. She thought of him as her ‘older man’. He was well groomed and always had time for the toddlers. Kate liked that and thought he had kind eyes, a little like those of the young officer.... She cast a glance at the window of the guesthouse. There was no light visible.
‘Kate van Dam,’ she said aloud, ‘if the nuns at school could see you now!’ With an effort she moved on to ‘Number Two’. He was a much younger guard, perhaps no more than twenty, who regularly supervised the preparation of food in the Japanese kitchen. He always looked bored but he was never violent.
There were eight more men on the list but Kate had to admit that there was not much going for numbers three to ten. Then there was her other list. All those on it frightened her, for it was a list of the most brutal and callous. One truly scared her. That was Shirai, the kenpei major who always seemed to take great pleasure in the punishment beatings. She had often noticed him staring at her and other girls when he carried out the snap searches for hidden radios and ‘spies’. There were also rumours he visited women in the punishment cells.
A soft scuffling sound made her duck and tense but it was only guards on their rounds in their rubber-soled boots. They passed the entrance every hour but never ventured into the garden. Kate began to nod off.
Just before dawn a soft rustling roused her. Kate’s hair stood on end. At last, she thought, it’s him! She held her breath as a shadowy form darted from plot to plot. When the figure finally stepped from the bushes and turned towards her, Kate was stunned. It was Anna! In dismay she watched her friend stealing
half-grown green beans and red peppers. Anna left as quietly as she had come.
Upset now, Kate waited. By sunrise insect bites were all that were keeping her awake. Birds were singing and cicadas were chirping. It was time to go back to the hut. Tired, disappointed and stiff, she started to get up.
A moving curtain at the guesthouse stilled her. It was the young officer. Kate was happy somehow in knowing he was still there. She stayed hidden as the window opened and he climbed out on to a small balcony. He wore only a white loincloth and began some push ups and stretches.
For some time Kate watched him a little wistfully. She was about to leave when he stopped exercising and reached inside his room. When he turned back he was holding a sack! Kate’s heart skipped a beat. Hardly daring to breathe she watched him hold it over the balcony, gauging its weight as it swung, then let go. The sack landed with a soft thud in the middle of her plot.
Kate was almost giddy with relief, her pulse racing. She could only stare open mouthed. After a few more cursory stretches the officer climbed back into his room and closed the curtain almost to. It occurred to Kate that it was timed for just before her usual visit to the garden. He had probably watched her take the food and bury it every time!
For a moment she tried telling herself that since the officer had nothing to do with the camp he could expect nothing from her but she knew her reasoning was faulty. She reminded herself guiltily that she would be his sex slave not his lover. This thought sobered her until she remembered the weeks of worry and sleepless nights over the men it could have been. She suppressed a shudder. No, she decided calmly, she was very fortunate—but what now?
She walked to her plot wondering what to do. On a whim she looked deliberately at the window then bowed formally. Then, without looking back, she buried the tins and left the garden.
Up in his room Ota was reeling. Kate’s appearance had left him stunned. Elation and embarrassment surged through him in equal measure. In the end he had done nothing and peeped as she hid the food. How long had she known?
He began pacing around his room. ‘I must be out of my mind,’ he said aloud. Now the secret was shared the danger to them both was doubled. If Kate were ever caught with the food he had no doubts the kenpei would quickly force her to talk. That meant certain execution for him but what of her?
Gradually he calmed down. He had considered the consequences weeks before. It doesn’t matter, he thought. One way or another his life was forfeit. He accepted that as a matter of course but he found it ironic that in trying to help Kate he was also endangering her.
Why am I being so reckless? Because of a few tomatoes and a pretty girl’s tears? In frustration he kicked out at a chair. ‘Kuso!’—Shit!
His expression softened as he imagined another desperate, crying girl. Would the gods heed his prayers, he wondered, and move an American soldier to do the same for Haruko when the battle for Japan was over? He would never know.
Lucy Santen noticed the steady improvement in Kate’s health and often asked her to help with the night rounds in the infirmary. The twelve beds and forty mattresses were usually the last stop for the sick before the cemetery. Circumstances had forced Lucy to extend the ward so that it took up the entire top floor of one wing of the old school building.
It was unpleasant and tiring work but Kate made the best of it. The only perk for her and the other helpers was being able to sleep on the brick parapet between the school’s towers. It was cooler than down in the huts, much cleaner and almost insect free.
Juliette was the other regular. As they scrubbed floors and washed sheets they spent the time speaking in French and English, correcting each other along the way. Talking about the camp was not allowed. Instead, they fantasised about shops and restaurants in Paris, Amsterdam, London and New York. They became very close friends, sharing confidences and some of Kate’s extra food. The one thing Kate kept from Juliette was the source of the bounty.
‘Je suis fatigue!’, Juliette sighed as she lugged her mattress on to the parapet. ‘I keep thinking I can’t get any more exhausted but I do.’
Kate did not reply straight away. She was pensive, sitting and looking at the thick blanket of grey clouds. Two more young children had died that day. Her gift of medicines had made no difference.
‘When I’m up here,’ Kate said gazing up at the sky. ‘I know I’m higher than the fence. Higher even than the guards in the watchtowers. I feel free of them. Do you think that’s silly?’
‘Not at all,’ Juliette answered with a yawn. ‘We all need to escape somehow.’
There was a brief break in the cloud cover. Kate watched the moonlight playing on the smooth, neat roof-tiles of the school and nearby houses.
‘Oh, it’s so humid,’ sighed Juliette, pulling her slip over her head and standing naked. ‘There! Tonight I sleep like a mistress on the Rîve Gauche!’
Kate giggled. ‘Juliette! The guards might see you and get ideas! Have you no shame?’
Juliette gave a shrug and sat down beside Kate. ‘Shame? About my body? Non.’ She looked at Kate mischievously. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. When I was a poor student in Paris I helped pay for my tuition and rent by dancing at parties. I mean private parties for men. I danced the “Seven Veils”. Do you know what I mean?’
Kate’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘Striptease!’
‘Certainly not! Juliette huffed, pretending to be affronted. ‘I was an artiste, I “interpreted” ancient dances!’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’ Kate floundered.
Juliette tittered, rocking back holding her knees with her hands. ‘Oh Kate, you’re so innocent! I started posing for painters when I was fourteen. But painters never have money, only passion. Those dinner parties paid very well and I met some wonderful and generous lovers!’
Kate, still a little uncomfortable with Juliette’s carnal candour, reddened slightly. Her gaze went to the floor. ‘Juliette…’ she said hesitantly. ‘When you were my age, had—had you already...?’
‘Oh, la la!’ Juliette laughed again but not at Kate. ‘I was sixteen. He was forty. A painter of course! We were lovers for two years then he moved to a Pacific island, thinking he was another Gauguin. I stayed in Paris. You never forget the first! Even now the smell of oil paint affects me!’
They both laughed. Then Juliette looked pityingly at Kate. ‘I feel sorry for you little Kate. So young and pretty and stuck in here. Has there been anyone? A boy at school? A Javanese prince perhaps?’
Kate blushed a little and lowered her head. ‘No, never….’
‘Oh, my poor Kate,’ whispered Juliette. She reached out and stroked Kate’s cheek tenderly. ‘All we can do here is dream.’
Kate tried to change the subject. ‘What do you dream of?’
‘Food, then love of course!’
They both laughed again. Then Juliette looked at Kate questioningly.
‘And you, quiet, secret Kate. What is your dream?’
Kate blushed a much deeper red.
‘Aha!’ Juliette smiled. ‘Love then food! Tell me quickly, who do you dream of?’
Kate tensed, embarrassed under Juliette’s scrutiny. Her need to confide in someone was suddenly very strong. ‘I—He’s a soldier. I never see his face,’ She did not want to lie but knew she had to. What will Juliette say, she agonised, if I confess to her that the face is Japanese?
‘Oh, I understand your dream!’ Juliette declared warmly. ‘You want a knight in shining armour to ride up to the castle and save you from the evil Japanese dragon!’
‘Yes, that must be it,’ Kate whispered, forcing a smile. During the day, Kate could almost convince herself that the Japanese officer was her enemy as well as her gaoler, and that she was taking from him without obligation. But at night her thoughts were different. In the moments before sleep she could not hate him.
Juliette sighed and leaned towards her. ‘Bonne nuit, ma petite.’
Kate lifted her cheek for the kiss. Instead, she felt Juliette’s moist, op
en lips brush her own. Before she could react, Juliette rolled away to curl up on her own mattress.
Kate lay down, unsettled, looking at Juliette’s perspiration-dotted back and telling herself that the kiss was an accident. No-one had kissed her that way before, not even Pete Muiden. It was, she thought, the way a man would kiss….
She looked at Juliette again but saw from the easy rise and fall of her shoulders that she was already asleep. Kate stared up at the stars but she found no peace. A cool, moist trace of the kiss remained on her lips. Guiltily she slid her tongue to it, willing the sensation to return. She closed her eyes, picturing herself with him in a place far away where there was no war.
Chapter Four
Sadakan, Central Java
Lamban awoke just before dawn, eager to start his most important day. He slipped quietly out of the house and took the dusty track towards the main road that ran about a mile away from the village. It was almost light when he reached the road, so he waited cautiously listening for vehicles. At that time of the morning a patrol was unlikely but the Japanese were getting increasingly nervous about spies and he did not want to have to explain his movements to the kenpei.
The road was clear so he darted across and was soon on the narrow trail to Taruna’s home and workshop. It was still gloomy in the forest but he made good time. He had taken the trail several times a week for over ten years, often before and after classes at the pesantren. Today he would bid Taruna farewell.
