But one personage appeared to know me, and dallied be-hind to call me out of the crowd, addressing me as follows:
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“You look poor, Mrs. Keith.”
At first I thought he meant my clothes, then realized that-he referred to my health.
“Yes,” I answered, “not much food now.”
“You like lice?”
“Yes.”
“You like Kce-or bled?”
This stumped me for a moment, then I answered “Both.”
“You hungry?”
“Yes. We have few vegetables, and little food now.”Meanwhile I was wondering whether I should grasp the op-portunity to complain, or follow the Spartan hne.
The personage, “You like fish?”
“Yes. We also like meat.”
(People about me whisper loudly, “Ask for eggs,” “Askfor potatoes,” “And pork,” “And milk.”)
I; “And we like eggs — and nulk.”
He, in surprise: “You have meat, and eggs —and milk —every day?”
I: “No! No! No! We never have! Only greens, and a littlerice. I say we like meat and eggs and milk.”
We both gaze at each other uncomfortably, and then heretreats. This business of being a humanitarian, and a con-queror, is confusing.
The search continues until two o’clock, by which time wehave headaches, and the Japs have more pens, pencils, foun-tain pens, marriage licenses, and snapshots of dogs, ships, andfriends, as souvenirs.
We had just been reminded with especial emphasis one dayto take our washing off the line, in order to make the camplook neat, to clean our barracks, to keep up our morals, tobe happy, to keep well, and to be clean. With which advice,our rations for the day were cut.
This concatenation of circumstances warned me that there
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must be either more Japanese generak in town, or Japanesegentlemen of the press, to enjoy the sight of our well-being,and help eat our rations.
Shortly after noon I was ordered to come to Colonel Saga’soffice. Here I was introduced to the editor of the Dovte^News, a man of perhaps forty years, large for a Japanese,with an impressive head, a strong chin, and eyes which werealmost Occidental in shape. He was very much a modemJapanese, and his maimers showed familiarity with Westerncustom. He spoke quietly and with dignity.
After we were introduced, Suga and Nekata left us alonetogether in the office, with the interpreter, which was un-usual. I wondered if the editor had asked him to do so.
Speaking through the interpreter, and sometimes directlyin poor English, he asked me to tell him “my thoughts,”which subject is a favorite with the Japanese. I always dis-liked volunteering anything, as it was safer to wait for directquestions, and then answer yes or no. However, I answeredhim that I hoped the war would end soon, which seemedquite harmless.
He answered that aU men felt the same about this. His wasnot the typical Japanese answer, which usually was, “Notuntil the British are beaten!”
He then said, “Please give further thoughts.”
I answer, “My principal thought is for my son, three and ahalf years old, who is here in camp with me, and about whosewelfare I am very worried.”
He replies, “Do you not think of your country?”
“I know nothing of my country now. I have heard nonews for two years. I pray for its welfare, I can do nothingmore. But with my cMd, it is necessary that I work for hiswelfare daily.”
He replies, “Japanese women authors forget everythingexcept their country, they forsake children and husband, andtravel every place, writing and working for their country.”
I; “I would be happy to travel and work and write for mycountry, but as I am imprisoned here it is impossible for meto do so.” Editor nods his head in agreement here, and Icontinue, “My country told my husband and myself to re-main in Borneo at our jobs before the Japanese occupiedBorneo. That was our duty to our country. This we did, andwhen the Nipponese arrived they interned us. We are stillhere, doing the only possible thmg to do for our country,which is to wait, with what patience we can.”
After this I become silent. Editor waits hopefully. I am de-termined not to volunteer anything about conditions of in-ternment, either good or bad.
So Editor and I sit silent, staring at each other gloomily,until both glances become glazed. He wipes his brow withhis hands, and says he is very fatigued from many interviews.I ask through the interpreter if, as Editor is very fatigued, hewould like me to leave. Editor quickly shakes his head, andrequests me to produce more “thoughts.” He then volunteersthat he has read Land Below the Wind, and that he likes it,and asks me if I am “poetist.” I say, no. He asks me whatform of writing I do. I say stories, articles, and a novel.
Again conversation languishes. Editor presses me again formore “thoughts.” I say I hope some time in the future hiscountry and my country will be friends. Editor then an-swers in very poor English as follows: “Your country is verygrasping, and the British grab many countries for themselves.But now Nippon needs those countries for herself. ThereforeNippon must fight your country.”
I ask Interpreter to ask Editor if I am correct in under-standing that he thinks our countries will never be friends. Atthis question Editor smiles, and hastily shakes his head, andreplies that he agrees with me that he hopes our countrieswill be friends. He then signifies that the interview is finished,and asks Interpreter to “tell Mrs. Keith that he likes her hopefor the future.” I leave, bovdng at the prescribed degree, and
The Enemy 197
leaving an Editor seemingly as exhausted by the interviewas I.
The next day I was again ordered to come to Colonel Suga’solEce, this time to brmg six children to “make pictures.” Iassumed that I was going to be sat down before some visitingofficer and ordered to record his features, receiving at best abanana. What part the children were to play in this scene Idid not know, but I always felt safer when children were in-vited, as it implied that the Japanese were about to demon-strate their well-known thesis of kindness to children.
I put on my “office dress.” This was not my best whitesharkskin, which was only used for the Japanese when Iwas under orders to “be neat and clean” — and they hadforgotten the order today —or for meeting my husband.I put on the “office dress,” a very hole-y, very shrunken,blouse and skirt which looked as an internee should look,worn and thin. It was better propaganda than wearing mybest.
Then I collected George, and eight others. It was difficultto limit the children as they all wanted to come; I hoped thatthe Japanese wouldn’t notice the extras.
At the office we were turned over to the news photog-rapher from Domei Ne'ws, and some Japanese newsreel men.They escorted us behind Suga’s office, to the bank of the pigpond, a very pretty location under the trees. Here a small easelwith a drawing board was put up for me, a stool was placed,and the children were grouped around me, their hands filledwith sweets. I was given some paper and crayons and told tosit down and draw “beautiful scene,” while my photographwas made, to illustrate “Artist at Play,” following chosenprofession, encouraged by Japanese protectors, in KuchingInternment Camp.
But my spirit was not in it — and I looked it. Speaking inEnglish and French, the photographers kept urging me:“Look happy, please. Please be happy! Not look sad! Not
look sad. C’est triste! Cest trtste! No good for pictxire now!Must be happy, please! Please be happy!”
For once I had the upper hand; they just couldn’t make melook happy. The children collaborated with them loo percent, eating, and laughing, and eating, and one of them fallingin the pond. But I just sat and looked sad, with much sat-isfaction.
A few days later Suga gave me one of the prints. I lookedsad.
The next day “The four most beautiful women” were sentfor, to quote the Japanese. These were Babs Hill, Betty Hop-Idns, Jo Chfford, and Marjorie Colley. They furnished thebeauty, and the rest of us contribu
ted make-up, hair-dos,shoes, costumes, and advice.
They were taken in an army truck to Colonel Suga’s gar-den, led out under the trees, their arms loaded with flowers,their expressions approved of. Then the cameras clicked, theirantics were performed, and their beauty and glee recorded.
The next day a lorry came to take mothers and children ona newsreel bathing party. The order was that we must wearbathing suits, and go in the water. The number was limited totwenty only. Most people wanted to go, so they drew lots forit. I didn’t compete as I’d had enough.
When the truck came the disappointed ones dashed out andtried to get on, too. Nekata and Suga, who were followingthe truck in Suga’s motor car, ordered that all should go whocould get on board. Double the originally specified numberwent. After they left I felt sorry for George, who was broken-hearted, and I thought that perhaps I should have gone.
The party came home in a few hours, full of thrills. Theyhad gone bathing in the pool in the Kuching Museum Parknear the Rajah’s Palace. As most of the women didn’t havebathing suits, a variety of combination garments had beenused, which hadn’t stayed on very well in the water. Jessie,who couldn’t swim, had carried two-year-old IsabeUe into the
pool. The bottom of the pool was slippery, and Jessie hadslipped, and shot off into deep water, letting go of IsabeUe,and sinking.
A Japanese guard from Formosa dove in and rescued Isa-belle, while the women pulled out Jessie. Meanwhile thecameras recorded it —Jessie ought to get a Japanese ironcross for this. Isabelle was O.K. immediately, but it tookfifteen minutes of resuscitation, by the Japs and the women,before Jessie became conscious.
When Jessie breathed once more, everybody sat down onthe edge of the tank, and drank very sweet coffee out of abucket.
We heard the next day that a party of Australian officershad been taken to the pool to be photographed, stood on theedge of the pool in Japanese-supphed bathing suits, photo-graphed stan^g and waving, photographed drinking fromcups; then taken home without going in the pool, or havinganything to drink from the cups.
There was one phrase that our ears were always awake to,whispered ever so gendy by a passer-by: “In the guardhouse— in the cells.”
The one condition that truly enlisted the sympathy ofevery other woman was to have your husband in the cells.They tried to keep it from you, you usually heard it last ofall, and when you finally knew, they said, “Don’t worry,”“He’s being well-treated, we’ve heard,” “The guard said hewas fine,” “Really, I’m sure they won’t beat him up.” Andthen, “We’U tell you honestly if we do hear anything bad.”
But they always knew, and you knew too.
Only one woman had ever been sent there. She was put infor six hours, for smoking a cigarette outside the barrack. Sherefused to talk about it afterwards.
But our husbands had told us about the cells. They were
like dog kennels, to be entered on your hands and knees. Onceinside you lived as no dog did, in your own filth. Only oc-casionally as a favor was a prisoner allowed to the latrine,and he could not bathe. His food was rice and salt. He had nomosquito net or covering, and the cell was damp and themosquitoes were bad.
Throughout the day the prisoner was made to kneel in themiddle of the cell, away from the wall, with his hands be-hind him, sometimes with a pole through his arms, in frontof his elbows. Soon the blood would not circulate in his legs,and he fell over; he was kicked upright by the guard; whenhe could not stay upright he was kicked down again; andso on.
The guard’s business was to mistreat the prisoner, and he at-tended very well to his business. Burning with cigarette buttswas only one of his minor jobs. The cells were punishment;there a prisoner lost any remnants of the right to protest any-thing. Prisoners had come out deafened, and without theireyesight.
All this we knew. The whispered word of “the cells” inconnection with our husbands turned cold any warmth in ourhearts.
On March 13,1944, at twelve noon when I came home fromwork in the field. Sister Frances Mary came to me and whis-pered that Sister Stephanie had seen Harry taken by on theroad, under guard, towards the cells. A weight d^cended onme.
That day there was nothing definite, and the next day some-body said that a Sister had seen him, when she was going upto the office to sew for the Japs, and that he was free. The nextday Doric came to me and told me that she had been informedofficially through the office that he was in the guardhouse.And the next day she told me he had been freed. And the nextday retaken.
After five days of rumor, Colonel Suga sent for me to cometo his oflice. It was 7 p.m. and he was alone; he had set the hourlate, so that he might be alone.
He told me that Harry had been sentenced to twenty-onedays heavy imprisonment in the guardhouse, “For being anaccomplice, and for assisting in the plot, in Sandakan, of theescape of the Australian prisoners of war.” He said that a let-ter and map had been found connecting him with the case.
He said he had kept Harry’s case from military court-martial, and under his own jurisdiction, and this accountedfor the light sentence, hut that he still feared that his sentencewould be overruled and the case taken out of his hands. ThenHarry would either be executed, or imprisoned for the dura-tion of the war outside of Borneo. Harry had requested himto keep these facts secret from me, but he, Colonel Suga,believed that I should know the exact truth, and he wishedto tell it to me himself. He then said, “Do not worry!”
I, knowing that Harry had felt a responsibility to stay clearof escape plots for the sake of George and myself, said, “Ido not believe the accusation is trae.”
Suga answered me, “Your husband has signed a confessionadmitting its truth.”
He then said, “I had liked your husband. I considered Mr.and Mrs. Keith to be my friends. For that reason I have riskedgreat trouble for myself, in order to save his Hfe. The Japa-nese Military Command would be very angry if they knewwhat I have done. I do not even know that I have saved himnow.”
He waited a moment, and then asked, “Why do you andyour husband have hostility for the Japanese? Why should heassist in a plot against them? You have told me that you donot have race prejudice.”
I answered, “I do not have race prejudice. But in war it iskill or be killed. Your people started this war. The war makesus enemies, although I would rather be friends.
The Enemy 203
“I do not know what my husband did, or why. He has toldme nothing. I only know that you accuse him of this.
“But I know that he is not hostile to the Japanese race, orto individual Japanese. But because the Japanese are his ene-mies, it is his duty as an Englishman to help the Allied cause ifthere is opportunity. Just as it is your duty to stop him fromso doing.”
Suga looked at me, and said, “I think you are hostile now,Mrs. Keith. Now you hate me, because your husband is hurt.”
I said, “No, I do not hate you. I hate war, which Trmkes usenemies. I hate the qualities which war forces on us. And Ibelieve that you also hate war.”
He was slow in answering me. While he hesitated, I feltbetween us the realization that we understood something ofeach other, that we had a desire to believe and trust eachother, that we were both sick of war, sick of hatred, sick ofkilling, sick of the harshness of this life. That we were sickof being wary with each other — but that we knew we mustbe. I felt that we would have liked to meet as two humanbeings, but we could not, because we were enemies.
At last he answered me, “I am a soldier, therefore I cannotsay what I think about war. Perhaps when the war is over —I can talk with you about it.”
But I knew and so must he, that the war could not end withboth of us alive. W^ith defeat or with victory, there would bedeath for one, and life for the other.
I said, “Whatever my husband did, he did because he feltit to be his duty to his country, not because of racial hos-tility. Unfortunately your duty and his duty conflict.”
He said, “You look very melancholy and you are very thin.You should take care of your
self. Please do not worry.”
Throughout all my contact with Colonel Suga I had neverasked a personal favor from him, although he had given memany opportunities to do so. I had made up my mind thatunless the time should come when it was vital to the life of
my husband or child or myself, I would never do so. Thiswas not all pride; but partly a feeling that I wanted to hoardup every generous impulse towards me that Suga might have,for the possible time of crisis.
I said to him now: “My husband is more dear to me thananything in the world except my child. I thank you for help-ing him. I believe that you have acted as a friend. You teUme he may yet lose his hfe, or be imprisoned in a cell for therest of the war — and then you teU me not to worry! I doworry! I beg you to do everything in your power to savehim. He is a prisoner and helpless; he is no menace to yourcountry now. You have told me many times in the past thatyou would help me, if you could. I have never asked you foranything. I ask you now to save my husband.”
He answered: “I promise that I do all I can do. But youimderstand it is dangerous to my position. I ask you not torepeat what I have said to you.”
I said, “I will never do so, while we are enemies.”
He then said, “I promise you to help your husband. I likeyour son George very much. Teach him to be sincere also.Teach him to feel as you do, and not to hate. I will give yousome biscuits, and two eggs for George.”
I went home then.
Three days later Colonel Suga called me. He said that hewished to warn me that he did not think he could keep myhusband’s case from going to a military court-martial, as themilitary police had reopened the investigation. In that case,he could not save Harry from execution. If I was questionedmyself, he asked me to remember my promise to bim not toteU of his intervention.
I told him that I would observe my promise to him. I askedif there was any chance to save Harry, in any way. He said,not if the military pohce reopened the case. I said, “Pleasekeep trying. This means more than anything in the worldto me.”
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