The Orchid Tree

by Siobhan Daiko

  She leaves her room and marches down the corridor to the front stairs. Leo is in the hallway. ‘I’m just going to see Uncle,’ she says. There’s something she needs to tell him, and she’d better get on with it before he finds out from someone else.

  ‘Give him my regards, won’t you?’

  Sofia opens her mouth in surprise. Leo has never expressed anything other than disdain for Uncle in the past. Come to think of it, he hasn’t been nasty to her for ages, either. ‘When you get back,’ Leo says, ‘I’ll show you those kung fu moves you keep asking about.’

  She’s been dying to learn from him. She’s watched him practising - kicking and punching the air as he fights imaginary enemies. She’s begged Father for lessons, but he says it isn’t seemly for a girl. ‘You could show me now.’ She can barely contain the eagerness in her voice.

  Leo’s brow creases. ‘Later. ‘I’ll be on the front terrace at four o’clock.’

  Her shoulders sag, but then she remembers her mission to visit Uncle.

  The iron gate clangs shut as she steps onto the pavement. It’s Natalia’s afternoon off, otherwise she’d be with her like she always is. Normally, Sofia wouldn’t go out on her own. There are too many desperate people on the streets. Starving people who’d rob her and throw her body into a ditch. Is she being rash? No, what she has to tell Uncle is far too important to wait. The risk isn’t that great, anyway. Not in broad daylight. Perhaps she should have telephoned him to say she was coming? It’s too late now. She’ll just have to surprise him . . .

  She hails a passing rickshaw and jumps in. The rickshaw puller is so, so thin. How can he stand on his own two feet, let alone pull this cart? Thankfully, she doesn’t weigh much. They get to the last, steep part of the road. She climbs out, pays the man his full fare plus a generous tip, and walks on. At Uncle’s door, she knocks. No answer. Where can he be? He’s usually at home in the early afternoon and, in any case, his houseboy should have opened.

  Sofia goes down the alleyway at the side of the house. The gate might be unlocked. She lifts the latch and lets herself in. Rather careless of Uncle’s staff not to have bolted it. Tall bamboo shades the small patch of land. There’s a smell of damp vegetation, and the path is mossy beneath her feet. There’s Uncle! He’s on the patio with two Chinese men, surrounded by boxes. Sofia stomps up to him. ‘What are you doing?’

  Uncle gives a start and drops a lumpy-looking package. ‘How did you get in here?’

  ‘Someone left the gate open,’ she says, surprised at his tone. She points at a packet of white pills. ‘Who are those for?’

  ‘Nobody with whom you should be concerned.’ Uncle takes her arm and practically drags her indoors. She glances around for his servants. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Cook and amah have gone to the market.’

  ‘But I’m here,’ says a voice from the pantry.

  Sofia lets out a gasp. What’s her governess doing spending her afternoon off at Uncle’s? ‘Why?’ Sofia asks, in English.

  Uncle’s English is heavily accented, but Natalia doesn’t speak Chiu Chow and Uncle doesn’t know any Russian. They continue in the language of Perfidious Albion, as Natalia likes to refer to it. ‘I’ll tell you why I’m here later. First of all you’ve got some explaining to do. You know you’re not allowed out on your own. It’s far too dangerous.’

  ‘I wanted to let Uncle know about Leo.’ Sofia crosses her arms. ‘But I suppose you’ve already told him.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That he’s getting married to Michiko.’

  There, she’s said it. She plants her feet firmly apart. Uncle slams his fist down on the kitchen table, his face puce, and his fat cheeks wobbling. ‘Collaborating with the enemy, I’d call that.’

  ‘Actually, I really do believe he loves her. He’s been different lately.’

  ‘How can your father agree to this?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him that yourself. He won’t say anything to me on the subject. He says I shouldn’t concern myself. I’m fed up with being told I shouldn’t concern myself. It’s all you and Father say to me these days.’ She’s so annoyed, she’s in danger of sulking.

  Uncle blows out a sigh. ‘Natalia, take the child home. I’ll leave it up to you to fill her in with what she needs to know. I trust your discretion, but you should have told me yourself.’

  ‘We only found out this morning,’ Natalia says quickly. ‘I was about to tell you. You know I tell you everything . . .’

  ‘Tell him everything?’ Sofia grabs her governess’ hand. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come along,’ Natalia says in a brusque tone. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’

  They walk down the hill towards the Avenida. There’s a bench underneath one of the banyan trees and Natalia sits, motioning that Sofia should do the same. ‘You know your uncle is a communist, don’t you? He was recruited to spread Anti-Japan and Save the Chinese Nation propaganda years ago.’

  Sofia bats away a fly, buzzing by her ear. ‘So?’

  ‘I met him when he visited Shanghai shortly after your mother died. I was working for the Party too, in a very minor capacity, mostly distributing leaflets when I was a freelance translator.’

  ‘You? A communist? I thought you left Russia because of the revolution . . .’

  ‘That’s the story I let people believe, not the real one. I was regretting my decision to leave the mother country, thinking I could have done more at home. Then I met your uncle, who suggested I come here to keep an eye on your stepmother and her nationalist connections.’

  ‘Then you’re a spy?’

  ‘Not really. I’m your governess first and foremost. In fact, I hardly tell your uncle anything, as there hasn’t been that much to tell. I merely let him know when Siu Yin’s family visits. You’re my main priority these days, Sofichka.’ Natalia strokes her hand. ‘The Party has taken second place in my heart for years.’ Natalia has called her by her pet name, and Sofia feels her governess’ warmth through her fingers. But all this subterfuge? It’s the stuff of espionage novels, not everyday life. And there she was, thinking Mr Kimura was a spy when all along it was Natalia. ‘Who’re all those boxes for?’ She’s fighting another attack of the sulks. How can her beloved Natalia have been deceiving her all these years?

  ‘Your uncle is helping the anti-Japanese guerrillas smuggle medicines into the POW camps in Hong Kong. It’s a wonderful thing he’s doing. You should be proud of him. And you must never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone.’

  ‘I won’t.’ And she definitely won’t. Father would be upset. And Leo? Leo would go back to being horrible to her and that’s the last thing she wants.

  ***

  A month later, Sofia is standing at the entrance of Macau cathedral. She runs a hand down the white silk of her bridesmaid dress and clutches a posy of pink roses. Leo is waiting by the altar with Father. Michiko is due to arrive at any minute now. Sofia glances at Natalia. Her governess is standing next to her, dressed in a dark red suit. Red like her political affiliations.

  Sofia remembers the story of how her parents met. Father had fallen for Uncle’s favourite sister, Sofia’s mother, on a visit to China, and brought her back with him to Macau. He provided Uncle with a fleet of junks in compensation. Uncle more or less sold Mother to Father, but that’s the way things are done in China. For the past month, ever since she found out about her governess, she’s wondered if Mother was the intended spy in Father’s household, substituted by Natalia after Mother’s untimely death. Then she’s told herself not to be silly. Uncle wouldn’t have used his own sister like that.

  Leo is standing tall and handsome, his thick black hair styled like Cary Grant’s, her favourite film star. Will Leo stop teaching her martial arts after he’s married? There’s still so much she wants to learn. Leo has been patient with her, just like he used to be while he taught her to swim. The old Leo back again. It was Siu Yin who poisoned him against her. Her step-mother was furious when Father decided to
give Sofia equal status to his legitimate son, in spite of the fact he never married Mother. Sofia can feel eyes burning a hole in the back of her neck. Siu Yin is glaring at her, hatred in her expression.

  A limousine pulls up in front of the church. Sofia grips her flowers and goes to help the bride. Father insisted the Japanese girl converted to Catholicism. He likes to be seen as a good Catholic and benefactor of the various religious orders in Macau. Sofia has been brought up in the faith, but for her it’s more a tradition than a conviction. What does Michiko make of the sudden change in her life? Sofia studies the girl and she’s reminded of one of the pawns on her chessboard. She pushes the thought away.

  Michiko is wearing a traditional white gown, on Siu Yin’s insistence. It’s the way all Catholic women get married in Macau. The Japanese girl resembles one of those figures on top of a wedding cake. She places her hand on her father’s arm, and Sofia falls in behind them. They progress down the aisle. Mr Kimura looks from left to right, and smiles at the congregation. His daughter keeps her eyes downcast.

  At the altar, the Japanese man bows to Leo, and he returns the bow. Hysteria bubbles up inside Sofia. She claps a hand to her mouth; she must keep quiet. Her eyes water with the effort, her shoulders shake, and a muffled giggle escapes. Why is she laughing? She should be crying. She’ll have a Japanese sister-in-law and Japan is the enemy. Leo, towering over his future father-in-law, shoots her a thunderous look. She’s really ruined things now . . .

  11

  Charles is staring at a plate of cold rice and turnips, practically all he’s been given to eat for the past six months. The American air-raid last October raised such false hopes of freedom. Conditions in the camp are worsening by the day. The pets people brought in with them have all disappeared; the dogs and cats have either died from starvation, or they finished up in someone’s cooking pot. Another thing, and it’s odd, but he doesn’t hear the croaking of frogs anymore.

  He thinks about Kate. She’s not the giggly, sparkly Kate of before. Will he ever hear her laugh again? As a form of self-preservation, he’s become almost immune to the awfulness of everything and, by the dull look in her eyes every time he sees her, numbness has seeped into her soul as well. Her mother’s death has crushed her.

  Charles glances at Pa, sitting opposite him and so thin his rib bones jut out over his concave stomach. Pa fiddles in the back of his mouth and pulls out a piece of molar. ‘Blast! I’ve broken a tooth. Must have been a bit of gravel left in the rice. Bugger! I thought I’d rinsed it all out before we cooked it. And here’s a black too.’ He gingerly picks up a piece of cockroach dung. ‘What a pong!’ Pa opens his mouth.

  Charles staggers to his feet. ‘Don’t eat it!’

  ‘Might as well.’ Almost jauntily, Pa crunches on the offending morsel. ‘It’s the only protein I’m likely to get.’

  Half-digested rice rises up in Charles’ gullet. He rushes out of the room and onto the balcony. Although he’s starving, he can’t make himself eat such things. His guts twist. Last week, Pa caught a rat behind their quarters. Ma cut it up and pan-fried it for their supper. She lied to him and Ruth, saying it was chicken.

  Chicken, ha! Charles found out later. A long, grey tail was left at the bottom of the rubbish bucket and he’d rushed out of the room then too.

  A shout echoes, and he eyes the path below. Bob is waving at him; he waves back. ‘Just a minute. I’ll come down,’ Charles calls out, glad of the distraction.

  ‘Japs are looking for someone ta’ repair their radio in the prison.’ Bob’s voice is barely above a whisper. ‘I remember you saying you’re a radio ham. Do you think you can manage it?’

  Charles built his set himself. Of course he can manage it, but does he want to? He’s been in that prison once before and doesn’t fancy setting foot in the place again.

  ‘Might be useful to have a contact,’ Bob says. ‘Someone neutral like you who can speak the lingo.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job. Why should we help the Japs?’

  ‘The men who escaped and were captured last summer are from the police. We need ta’ find out how they are.’

  ‘The problem is I’ve already had a run-in with the guards.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Over a year ago.’

  ‘The guards in the prison are a new lot.’

  Charles thinks for a moment. Might as well. It would distract him from constantly fretting over his next meal and worrying about Kate. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ***

  The following morning, Charles presents himself at the prison gates. A bandy-legged sentry looks at him with a narrowed gaze. Charles explains the purpose of his visit, and the guard takes him to an office at the side of the main building. He introduces him to a Chinese man, Fung, an electrician, who is tinkering with the radio.

  ‘You show him how to repair set,’ the guard barks, turning on his heel and striding out of the door.

  Fung has a box of spare valves and Charles explains how to replace the faulty one. He chats with Fung in Cantonese. Fung is probably in his mid-thirties, is balding, and has a mole on his cheek with a long hair growing out of it. He keeps referring to the Japanese as Law Pak Tau, and says he’s allowed out of the prison every Friday morning to go into town and visit his wife. He also tells Charles he’s seen the police officer prisoners; they’re so emaciated they’re probably dying.

  The guard comes back and escorts Charles to the prison gate. Bob is waiting at the top of the main road. ‘Alreet?’

  ‘I got on well with the electrician,’ Charles says, then explains about Fung’s weekly visits into town.

  ‘I wonder if he’ll agree ta’ smuggle some food in for us.’

  ‘I could wait for him on the main road the next time he comes out and ask him.’

  ***

  On Friday, Charles spends the whole morning meandering up and down the road, on the off-chance he’ll bump into Fung. One of Bob’s contacts has written a note in Chinese, which Charles will pass to Fung. It’s highly dangerous, as Fung might well be a Japanese spy, but a feeling in his gut tells Charles that Fung is anti-Japanese.

  At about eleven, Fung comes out of the prison gates. Charles walks up to him and deliberately stumbles. Fung bends down and helps Charles up, his mole hair quivering. Charles quickly slips him the note.

  The following week Charles bumps into him again, praying the Japanese on the hill are looking the other way. It might be considered one stumble too many. Fung passes Charles a slip of paper.

  Bob is waiting for him on the village green and Charles gives him the message. Although he speaks fluent Cantonese, he can’t read or write it. But one of Bob’s fellow policemen can.

  ‘Fung agreed,’ Bob says the next day in the supper queue. ‘He’ll hang a towel out of his window in the prison just before he leaves on Fridays. You’ll be able ta’ see it from your balcony and get down ta’ the main road in time ta’ meet him.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’ve managed ta’ arrange chocolate fortified with vitamins sent in from outside. It’ll be packed in small flat tins you can easily give ta’ Fung.’

  ***

  For three months, every Friday, Charles casually passes Fung on the main road. He pulls a couple of tins from his pocket and drops them into a bucket carried by the Chinese man. Clammy sweat breaks out over Charles’ body. At the same time, he finds himself becoming increasingly addicted to the adrenalin rush.

  In late July, Fung announces that he’s leaving for Macau. Will his replacement carry on with the ruse? The new electrician, a man called Lai, meets Charles the following Friday. ‘How much money you give me?’ the man asks.

  ‘Sorry?’ There’s something fishy about Lai. Fung never asked for payment. Charles shoves his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. ‘No money.’

  ‘Then no can do,’ Lai says, skulking off.

  Charles shrugs. Good riddance, but what about those poor policemen?

  ***
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  Charles’ summer task is to help with the gardening. Fortunately, they’re now able to grow their own vegetables; otherwise all they would eat would be rice, rice and more rice.

  Last winter, Pa cleared a small patch in the scrub on the other side of the pathway from the Indian Quarters and planted tomatoes, lettuces, carrots, peas, and even celery. Others in the camp have done the same and these days everyone participates in a thriving seeds trade. The adults exchange them for food and cigarettes and give the rest to friends. Pa grew his first crops from the pips saved from early fruit and vegetable rations.

  Now the plants produce their own seeds, and Charles spends the evenings with Ruth helping sort them into old envelopes. Instead of proper gardening equipment, they use sticks and improvise hoes and rakes by hammering what nails they can find into them.

  ‘The tomatoes are nearly ready for picking,’ Pa says.

  Charles collects a rake. ‘I don’t need to queue for any fertilizer, do I?’ Whenever the septic tanks are cleaned out, long lines form of people wanting the excrement for their allotments. Those who are first get the best bits - the ones that are firmest.

  ‘No, son. We don’t need any at present.’

  Pulling up the weeds, Charles grumbles to himself. Sweat runs down the back of his neck and he’s dizzy with tiredness; he should be taking a nap like Ma and Ruth.

  He lets out a heavy, pent-up breath. He hardly sees Kate now that school has broken up for the summer. And in the autumn he won’t be going back to class, as Professor Morris said he’s taught him everything he can. Soon he’ll have to join one of the working parties with the other men in order to earn more rations for his family. He’ll never get the chance to spend time with Kate then.