The thought came to me, I should say Thank you. I shouldget up and bow. Or I should say Get away, you’re too close!Or I should move away myself. What is he? A jailer, or aSweetie-Pie?
The guard hesitated, giggled, and shuffled his feet —andthen bent quickly over me, ran his two hands roughly downmy breasts, over my thighs, and forced them violently up be-tween my legs. The gesture so astounded me that I wasparalyzed. I could think of nothing but. Well, it’s fortunate Ihave on slacks.
WTiat followed then was unpleasant, a kind of unpleasant-ness that a woman resents more than any other, and whichhurts her as much psychologically as physically. The soldierwas strong and rough and crude and nasty, and he enjoyedhumihating me; his ideas of pleasure were new ones to me;had they been familiar I still could not have liked them. Ihated everything that he represented; but that was super-fluous, for that was endowing him with human faculties, whenall that he represented at the moment was an animal.
I was not strong enough to combat him, and did not havethe power to escape him, but circumstances were with me.To debauch a captive thoroughly even the jailer needs timeand quiet; he should have chosen the latrine or the bathhousefor his assault. The scuffling, the pawing and groveling, thatwe made, plus shouting on my part, began to arouse my neigh-bors. They were worn-out and sleep-sodden, and they hadlong ago learned to mind their own business where soldierswere concerned; stfll, the noise and struggle aroused them, andthey began to stir and call out. The soldier relaxed his em-
braces for a moment, and I swung on him, taking advantage ofhis distraction and an unprotected stomach area, and almostknocked him down. He stumbled backwards down the stairs,and there he hesitated as to what to do: whether to or tokill, or to pull up his pants and go.
I was on my feet and shouting, “Get out! Get the hell out!”and a lamp was approaching us from the Sisters’ barrack acrossthe way, and our barrack was awakening, and I guess he’dlost the primary urge. He picked up his fallen rifle, and wentsourly dovm the path.
I stood wearily in the doorway in the darkness: the starswere still dim, the dawn not yet come, the Sisters still praying;I had not even seen my assailant’s face.
My neighbors slowly aroused themselves. Shihping Chocrawled out of her mosquito net and asked me what the troublewas, Maureen called across to me and said “What’s up? ” — and
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Mary said sleepily, “I thought I heard a noise.” I told them thata guard had been impleasant to me, and they accepted myreply without discussion. We had learned in camp to ask noquestions, and give no answers; each person’s trouble was herown affair; she must bear it, or otherwise, as best she could.
We were captives, we were helpless, our life was unbear-able, and we had to bear it. We cried out “I can’t stand it!”— and we stood it.
A captive has no rights: I knew that one. I felt now thatthere was no further way for me to demonstrate it. But Iwas wrong.
I got my morning mug of tea, and even took some sugar init: I needed something to stimulate me, and sugar, when oneis unaccustomed to it, will do almost as much as whiskey.
As I drank tea, and thought about the happening of themorning, I became apprehensive. Only yesterday we hadbeen moved to the new camp, last night the guards had saton women’s beds, laughing and talking until late, today I hadbeen attacked. Would the new camp, because of its isolationfrom the Japanese officers’ supervision, repeat the same con-ditions of unwelcome intimacy under which we had sufferedon Berhala Island? I felt that, at this stage of fatigue and strain,it would be unbearable to put up again with the intimate an-tics and unwelcome familiarities of guards. The thought mademe desperate.
Since we had been moved to Kuching we were under con-stant supervision, and regulations were numerous, but thelife had been one of reason and consistency compared toBerhala. Within the boundary of our camp we had com-parative security, and persecution was official, rather thanpersonal. The contrast in our treatment in the two campsconvinced me that it was not the intention of the JapaneseCommand that women prisoners as a sex should be subjectedto indignities by the guards.
While still drinlang my tea, and worrying about the futurein our new camp, I heard a commotion near by, the order
Kutski! was shouted, and the people about me struggledto their feet. The toy-soldier figure of Colonel Suga, veryimmaculate, fresh-shaven, clean-shirted, appeared down ouraisle between children and pots. He was alone, had come ap-parently to inspect the new camp quarters, and as usual hadcome to the children’s barrack first. It was easy, I thought tomyself, to smile benignly upon us, with a stomach well-filled,and a body well-soaped, and the odor of Shanghai perfumeseeping out of every pore.
I bowed as he came to my place, and on the impulse ofanger and worry I said, “Colonel Suga, I wish to complain.”
He stopped in surprise, and said politely, “Yes, Mrs. Keith?”
I told him then that a soldier had behaved indecently tome. I described the incident in unequivocal terms, and endedby saying, “Although I am a prisoner, I believe I have theright to live decently, even in prison. I believe that you in-tend us to do so. For this reason I report this occurrence toyou, and as your prisoner I ask you for protection. This bar-rack is the only place we women have to live. I request youto forbid the guards to enter our quarters.”
His reaction to my words was unmistakable: he wasshocked. He looked at me in blank amazement, and said,‘Terhaps I do not understand you. Please repeat.”
I repeated my words, while he listened carefully, and thenanswered, “If another person had told me this, I would notbelieve it. But I know you, and I believe that you are anhonest woman. Come to my office at ten o’clock, and I willtalk with you. I am sorry that this has happened.”
Since we had been moved to Kuching, Colonel Suga and Ihad had many conversations. He had recently ordered me towrite for him, and had read the first chapters of “Captivity.”I believe that each of us had become convinced of the desirein the other for sincerity — but each knew also that he was
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dealing with the enemy, and must be wary in order to savehimself. Still, we wished that it might have been otherwise.It was this effort for mutual respect which had made himsay, “I believe you are an honest woman.”
I went up the hill to his office at ten o’clock, and repeatedmy story, telling him that I feared a repetition of BerhalaIsland conditions, from which so far we had been free inKuching. He requested me to describe these conditions. Idid so, and ended by saying, “The Japanese accuse Europeanwomen of immodesty, but such conditions do not allow us tolive with modesty, decency, or honor.”
He then surprised me by sa5ting, “My soldiers have ordersnever to enter the women’s barracks, unless there is a dis-turbance inside. I am shocked! Japanese soldiers are honor-able. ... If I did not know you myself, and believe youto be an honest woman —I would not believe what youtell me.”
I answered, “I am not a girl, I am not flirtatious, I have donenothing to attract this soldier — in fact he could not see mein the dark. If he could, I am sure he would not have chosenme. He came to me because he wanted a woman, and I washelpless and a prisoner. I know that Japanese men are notattracted by Western women —but they enjoy humiliatingus.”
He looked at me silently for some minutes, pressing hisclean delicate finger tips carefully against each other; then hesaid again, “I believe what you tell me, Mrs. Keith. I am verysorry that this has happened. I apologize to you on behalf of aJapanese soldier.”
He asked me then to identify my assailant, but I said t-hatI could not do so because of the darkness. He called for Lieu-tenant Nekata, and asked me to repeat my story to him, Ne-kata listened, obviously did not believe me, became obviouslyvery angry with me. He said that if the soldier had embracedme as I described I must know who it was. Then he said, how
did I know that it was a Japanese soldier? Said it might havebeen a Chinese loiterer from outside, or a P
OW.
I replied that in all Kuching only a Japanese soldier had arifle, boots, and a uniform, and all these my assailant had.
I remembered then that Nekata was always jealous of Suga’spower, and jealous of his own position in the Kuching camps,and that they never liked the same people. In appealing toSuga I had made the mistake of passing over Nekata. But hadI appealed to Nekata first I believed he would not have al-lowed the appeal. Because Suga Hked me, Nekata disliked me,and disbelieved me. In telling Nekata of the affair it becamenot only an xmpleasant episode but a nasty, dirty, grubbypiece of lechery — on my part.
The interview ended with Suga repeating his apology to mefor the incident. At that, I could feel Nekata squirm.
The next morning at ten, Nekata sent for me to come to hisoffice, some distance from Colonel Suga’s. At my request,Dorie Adams accompanied me, and Wilfred was present.
Nekata first told me to repeat my story, which Wilfredwrote dowm. He then said, “You are lying.”
“I am telling the truth.”
“I say that you are lying! I say that you accuse this Japanesesoldier of attacking you, in order to revenge yourself uponthe Japanese for the humiliation which I infficted upon youthree days ago.”
I looked at him with surprise, and asked, “What humiliationdid you inflict on me? ”
“I punished you for being late, on the day that you movedto the new camp. I made you stand in the square in the sun,where your husband and others could see. You were angrywith me that day, I could see that. Now you tell me a lie abouta Japanese soldier in order to revenge yourself on the Japa-nese!”
As Nekata raged, I recalled my mood of exhaustion and
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perversity that day in the square, and I saw that coincidencewas against me. From his point of view Nekata had a caseagainst me, perhaps even believed himself that I was lying,especially as I could not identify my assailant.
I answered him, “You punished me because I was late; thatwas your duty as a soldier. But my duty was to my child, whowas iU, and whose illness made me late. Therefore your pun-ishment did not humiliate me: it was just, it gave me no causeto revenge myself on you.”
Nekata listened, unconvinced. He ordered Wilfred to typeout a copy of my statement, and have me sign it, saying, “Ifthis story proves to be false, it is serious. It is a death offenseto conspire against a Nipponese soldier.” We then wentthrough it all again, he demanding that I identify my assailant,and saying that I was lying, and I reiterating that I was tell-ing the truth. He demanded that I produce witnesses to mystory, and I assured him that the women in the barrack nearby heard my shouts and the struggle, and I gave him theirnames. He dismissed me, and Dorie and I returned to camp.
That evening. Poker Face, the sergeant major, brought inthe soldiers of the guard, one after the other, demanding thatI should identify someone as my assailant. There were ap-proximately twenty who had been on duty amongst thecamps, and it might have been any one of them. They had allbeen beaten by their officers for slackness now, and theywere determined to make me name a culprit. Time and againI repeated my statement that it was impossible for me toidentify the soldier because of the dark. In fact, even in thedaylight and after several years of association, most Nip-ponese soldiers still looked a good deal alike to me.
Meanwhile, I learned from an Indonesian prisoner thatColonel Suga had departed suddenly from Kuching that eve-ning, to be absent for an unknown period. My only hope wasgone.
The next day at ten o’clock Wilfred comes for me again,and orders me to the office, telling me to come alone, with-out the camp master. At the office, I find Sergeant MajorPoker Face, a guard, and Nekata. W^ilfred is dismissed, andI am seated in a chair in front of Nekata’s desk, and a type-written document is placed before me, which I am orderedto sign. I read this through and find that it purports to be astatement made by me, in which I admit that I have falselyaccused a Japanese soldier of attacking me, in order to revengemyself upon Lieutenant Nekata and the Japanese for thehumiliation which recent punishment by them has causedme. I “confess” to having lied about the whole matter, andsay that I am sorry.
Nekata orders me to sign this. I reply that it is impossiblefor me to sign it because it is not true, reminding him thatI have given him the names of several women who can wit-ness to the truth of what I say. Nekata says never mind aboutwitnesses, sign that. Again I refuse.
He turns to the sergeant major, and speaks rapidly inJapanese; and then he, Nekata, leaves the room. I think tomyself, “Can it be over this easily?”
The sergeant major looks at me with the coldest eyes thatI have ever seen, and his tight lips fold over like a creasedbrown paper. I feel there hatred, contempt, dislike; behindthat cold face I see subconscious memory of the years whenwe and our race have shown contempt for him and his race,when our power and strength have humiliated him. I see yearsof resentment resolving themselves now in his complete powerover me. If he hates me as much as he seems to do, I admirehis self-control in not murdering me.
He speaks to the guard in Japanese, and walks to thefarthest doorway in the room, and turns his back on me. Theguard comes close to me as I sit before Nekata’s desk, and Ilook up at him in surprise. He takes hold of my left arm,and twists it backwards so violendy that I cry out with pain.
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He pulls it back further, and twists it time and again, lettingit relax and then jerldng it again, and the pain becomes sick-ening.
I call out to the sergeant major, I cry out again and again;but he remains standing at the door with his back to me. Sub-consciously I know that he will not help, that this is going tohappen to me, that I can do nothing — but I caimot stop call-ing to someone for help. The guard proceeds with his treat-ment.
Many times in my mind, since imprisonment, I have livedthrough such scenes vicariously; I have almost expected some-thing like this to happen today — still, the surprise and theshock are great, now that it happens. It is the sort of thingwhich occurs to other people, but not to oneself.
Bearing pain before people who hate you is not like bear-ing it before those who admire you and expect you to bebrave; there is no stimulus here, no standard for you to liveup to. When the enemy hates you and hurts you and you cryout, it is what he wishes you to do, and he hkes it; and ifyou don’t, he just hurts you more. Nothing is any avail then.You become too weak to be shamed by your weakness, orto attempt to be bold. It takes great courage, or much phlegm,to stand torture, and I have neither. I can behave like a heroinefor a moment, but I can’t just sit and take it.
The guard continues his work on me, and I think that Imust be making too much noise, for the sergeant major sayssomething suddenly in Japanese, and the guard lets go of myarm. When he releases me I am so faint that I slide forwardout of the chair onto my knees. He shouts at me in Fnglish toget up, and as I try to do so he pushes me back on my kneesagain, then kicks my knees, and I faU flat on the floor, and liethere.
Now another surprise comes, although I have seen this hap-pen often enough to soldiers. The guard kicks me heavily withhis boot in the left side in the ribs a number of times, and then
in my shoulder several times, and very hard. I cover my breastswith my hands to protect them, and roll onto my stomach. Hekicks me then again and again, muttering to himself while Icower under him. Then he stops kicking, and just stands andmutters. I cannot tell if the scene is just beginning, or ending,but I am too frightened to move.
Then the guard walks away from me, and nothing elsehappens. I turn over and look cautiously up. The sergeantmajor has disappeared completely, and the guard is lookingout of the window as if none of this were any concern of his.
I lie still for a few minutes, there is an acute pain in myribs, my left arm and shoulder ache badly, and I am sore allover, and worse than the pain is the shock.
In time, as nothing else happens, I pick myself slowly upfrom the floor, and sit in the chair again. I try to straightenmy clothing and hair
, but am trembling too much to do so.The guard pays no attention. The thought in my mind is,Just a minute, wait a minute, before you do anything more!
The sergeant major comes into the room again, and helooks at me. If he wanted revenge for old humiliations, he hasit now; he should be satisfied now, but he shows nothing onhis face, and says something to the guard which might equallywell be “That’s enough!” or “Give her the works!”
Then Nekata comes back and sits down, pretending to bebusy, and not looking at me. The thought goes through mymind that I should protest to him at the guard’s beating, fol-lowed by the thought that I have done too much protesting.Well, perhaps in time I vdll learn about these people, but notsoon enough.
Nekata leans over and pushes his version of the “confession”towards me on the desk, and for the first time looks at me, andsays, “It is a very serious matter to accuse a Japanese soldier.It is better for you to confess the truth.”
My instinctive reaction is to agree to anything in order toescape. I understand now why people confess to crimes they
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are guildess of, and I know that I can never again criticizeanyone who does anything under physical stress. But I havethought this matter out beforehand, and, distraught thoughmy body is, my mind still tells me. How can it help you tosay that you have lied? Be careful. Keep your wits. The truthmay still save.
I reply to Nekata, “I cannot sign this. It is not true. I havetold you the truth.” But my voice trembles, and I do notpresent a convincing picture. Nekata busies himself again athis desk. I have the feeling that the situation has gotten thebest of aU of us. I imagine Nekata thinking to himself, “Damnthe woman, why couldn’t she let herself get raped, and keepstill about it! ” I mentally agree with him.
But the feeling that Nekata is also at a loss what to do givesme courage. I reach out and push the confession away fromme, and say, steadily this time: “I have told you the truth. Iam a decent and self-respecting woman, and it is very badthat I should be insulted by your soldier. You are a Japaneseofficer and a gentleman, and you know yourself that this ac-tion is very bad. I tell you this story in order to ask for yourprotection. This is all I can say.”
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