Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms

by Anita Heiss

  Mary is smiling to herself when she sees her mother looking in her direction. Joan is aware that Mary has done the food drop off, and links her daughter’s beaming face to the man they’re hiding. Joan would like to do the drop offs herself but she knows, they all know, that there is more suspicion to be raised by an adult walking back and forth around the place than a young person. The young people are always out and about.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ she asks Mary.

  ‘Sitting on our verandah smoking with the other men,’ Mary answers calmly, not wanting to give away the fact that her heart is still beating too fast for the rest of her body to catch up.

  ‘Okay, let’s play,’ Marj says authoritively, bringing everyone’s attention to the game and dealing the cards.

  As usual, it’s more of a gossip session than anything else, and before the first game is over, Marj begins in her standard way: ‘You know I’m not one to gossip.’ She says it so seriously she almost convinces the others it’s true. Marj looks at her hand, then at Ivy and Joan. She lowers her voice and leans into the table, almost whispering, as though someone outside might hear her. ‘But I heard on the grapevine that there’s a woman in town who is pregnant to an Italian soldier.’ Marj shakes her head in disapproval. ‘Apparently he did her gardens and taught her how to make spaghetti for her rabbit stew.’

  ‘Sounds like he did more than her gardens.’ Ivy chokes with laughter as she speaks. Joan chuckles but Marj isn’t impressed.

  ‘What’s spaghetti?’ Mary asks. No one really knows as they’ve not tasted it before.

  ‘Obviously they’re not married but apparently they’re in love.’ Marj shakes her head in disapproval again. ‘Silly girl. Why would you bother falling in love with a soldier from another country, and who’s a prisoner of war?’

  That last line makes Mary’s ears prick up. She starts to worry, and wonders if Aunty Marj knows about Hiroshi; after all, she seems to know everything about everyone else, on and off the mission. She tries not to react in any way and pretends to be focused on entertaining the smaller girls, who are playing with dolls. But she keeps one ear on the conversation to see how the other women, especially her mum, react.

  Ivy wears a cheeky grin that she is trying to force into a serious face so as not to annoy Marj, who is scowling. ‘Yes, I did hear the same thing,’ Ivy says, ‘but to my mind, the Italians seem like very happy men, and that would be an attraction for any woman.’

  ‘They are philanderers!’ Marj states aggressively, as if she is the judge, jury and executioner. ‘Sid doesn’t like them either. He says they are doing the farming out at Mulyan and the vegies from there go to Edgell’s, so they are taking jobs from locals. And he says they are too smarmy.’ No one believes what Marj says about Sid, because he’s the nicest fella, but they are careful about contradicting her. Not many people argue with Marj.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Joan says, not wanting confrontation, but also knowing that the general feeling around town is that the Italians are trustworthy. ‘Most people say the Italians can be trusted, they don’t even have any supervision most of the time.’

  ‘That’s right! No supervision, then girls get pregnant.’ Marj tut-tuts and places a card on the table aggressively.

  ‘And what about that one fella who got back to the camp too late and the gates were locked and he was knocking to get back in,’ Ivy pipes up, laughing as she talks. ‘Have you ever heard of anyone trying to break in to a prison camp? Never in my life.’ She slaps her thigh.

  ‘They sound like a funny lot.’ Joan is chuckling with Ivy but Marj isn’t buying into the humour of the situation. ‘And I’m told they can sing too.’

  ‘So can our men. Isn’t that right, Mary?’ Marj says, attempting to garner support away from the table.

  Mary smiles. Everyone knows the Williams men can play guitars and banjos and sing up a storm.

  Joan jumps in: ‘No one can compare to our fellas, but I have seen some of the Italians in church. They sing beautifully and they are also okay on the eye.’

  ‘Mum!’ Mary says, thinking it’s wrong for her mother to even joke about looking at other men.

  ‘What? My girl, I’m at church when I see these God-fearing men – at least they’re Catholic. Did you know they have their own chaplain in the camp? They get to go to church more than I can.’

  Mary knows now that her fears about Hiroshi being Japanese, a soldier and not Catholic are well founded. Her smile has disappeared as she thinks about how many obstacles they will face when the war is over and they want to be together. All of a sudden it seems nearly impossible.

  Mary’s thoughts are interrupted when Marj continues, ‘Someone else told someone else who told me that rumour has it that the Japanese had threatened to castrate the Italians if they didn’t participate in the breakout.’

  Joan looks at Marj and nods in Mary’s direction, wondering if her daughter knows what castrate means, and hoping she doesn’t have to explain it.

  Ivy is chuckling again. ‘Well, that would’ve been a tragedy for the Italians, wouldn’t it? I mean, if they are philanderers and all.’ She laughs harder and Joan manages a giggle too.

  ‘I thought we were playing cards,’ Marj says in a serious voice, cutting off the conversation.

  The Williams family are sitting down to breakfast on Easter Sunday, eating quietly as Joan is saying the Rosary. She won’t go to Mass today because only white people go to church on Easter Sunday and Christmas Day.

  Mary waits till dark, when the women are playing cards again, to take the food to Hiroshi. She’s tells her mother she’s going to bed early to read, but Joan knows what that means. Although it’s not a full moon, Mary still searches for the rabbit he has told her about. She tells herself she can see it, because she so desperately wants to. To see the rabbit once more would connect her to Hiroshi via the sky again. She wants to experience his culture. She wants to experience the rabbit in the moon again, but the only rabbit close right now is the stew she carries with a potato for him. There is a little more than usual so she feels like it’s a hearty Easter celebration, even though he doesn’t celebrate Easter. She wonders if he will kiss her again. She hopes so. There is a feeling that the kiss creates that nothing else does and she wants to feel that again. But there hasn’t been the chance till now. Mary has been paranoid not to draw attention to her infatuated self, but tonight, she is filled with anticipation.

  ‘Hello!’ she says when she reaches the bottom of the ladder. ‘Happy Easter!’ Mary cheerfully hands over the food, trying to get the official side of her visit out of the way so they can really talk.

  ‘Arigat-o,’ he says, taking the parcel from her hands, holding his glance a little longer than is usual, and making Mary blush. ‘Mary,’ he says softly. ‘Sometimes I sit here at night, counting the hours down until you will come back, and it is hard to believe that in the middle of this war, so far away from my family, hiding down here . . .’ He pauses. ‘I can’t believe . . .’ He stops. ‘You make me smell cherry blossoms when there are none here,’ he continues eventually. ‘When there is only dirt and dampness.’ He pauses again, takes a breath and says, ‘Arigat-o. Thank you for the food, but for so much more.’

  Mary likes that Hiroshi looks at her with a new warmth and hopefulness in his eyes. But she blushes at his words and tries to camouflage the awkwardness with talk. ‘I know you’re not Christian but does anyone in Japan celebrate Easter? Do you know what it is?’

  ‘My family does not celebrate Easter, but those who do call it fukkatsu-sai.’

  ‘Fukkatsu-sai,’ Mary repeats.

  ‘It was a long day waiting for you,’ Hiroshi says softly. ‘I mean, longer than usual.’

  Mary understands but doesn’t know what to do next or what to say, and is there any point? Why couldn’t Hiroshi be Italian? she thinks suddenly.

  ‘I really can’t stay,’ she says nervously, more conscious than ever before of how it will look to the outside world if she is found walking ar
ound when she told the women she was going to bed. She has become worried about everything: the neighbours finding out about Hiroshi; her parents finding out about their kiss and her feelings; her dreams about marrying Hiroshi not coming true. Heat rushes up her neck and over her face. ‘I must go.’

  Hiroshi takes her hand gently and says, ‘If I cannot be in Japan, then this is where I want to be.’

  Mary cannot think of anything to say. Could it be true that a man would rather be under the ground at Erambie with her if he had the chance to be somewhere else? No one has ever said such things to her before, but she believes him and her heart sings because of his words. She leaves, feeling a level of contentment she has never known before.

  ‘Mum, Mum, Mum!’ James flies into the room and straight to his mother’s side. ‘There’s the biggest spider in the world in Cowra and it’s eating chickens.’ He’s talking so fast and is so scared he nearly loses his breath. ‘It’s a lady spider and Uncle Kevin said it could eat little children too.’

  Kevin strolls in as if on cue as Joan tries to calm James down. ‘Don’t go scaring the goothas with silly stories, Kev.’ Joan isn’t happy that her brother-in-law has frightened her son to the verge of tears. ‘You know there’s enough of our own stories to keep them in line without chicken-eating spiders too.’ She shakes her head, never surprised at the lengths he will go to entertain, scare or educate the local kids.

  ‘It’s no story, Joan,’ he says, handing over the paper he picked up at Ryan’s Place, where he’d stopped for a yarn. ‘Look,’ he says, pointing to the headline, CHICKEN-KILLING SPIDER IDENTIFIED AS A GIANT FEMALE TRAPDOOR. He raises an eyebrow and runs his fingers over James’s head, pretending to be a spider. The child jumps right back up onto his mother’s hip and almost out of his skin.

  ‘Stop it!’ Joan yells. ‘It’s not funny to scare kids like that. I’ll have him awake with nightmares because of you.’

  Chastised, Kevin leans over and takes the lad from his mother, swinging him up on his shoulders. ‘He’s all right, aren’t you, little man?’

  ‘Look, Mum, I’m taller than everyone!’

  Joan reaches her hand out to touch her son’s cheek and goes back to reading how a spider had mauled two chickens on a Cowra farm, leaving her with worry on her mind. The only reason she is happy about this story is that it’s taken her mind off the war.

  April the twenty-fifth is Mary’s birthday, but it hasn’t been a big deal since she was a little girl. It’s also Anzac Day, and that is a big deal in Cowra. Many of the Erambie families walk into town to watch the march to show respect for those who served in the First World War. There are dawn vigils, memorial services and two-up games. Joan says an extra prayer and lights a candle when she goes up to the church on Anzac Day.

  Mary is at the Smiths’ when the march is on because it’s also Carmichael’s birthday and she is helping Mrs Smith bake a cake and some Anzac biscuits. Mrs Smith doesn’t know it’s Mary’s birthday too. Mary isn’t concerned about whether anyone knows, or even about a cake for herself, but she would really like to take a biscuit to Hiroshi if she can. And she’d rather not have to steal it.

  ‘It’s my birthday today too,’ Mary says as she mixes the ingredients just as Mrs Smith has shown her many times.

  The woman looks surprised, almost suspicious. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I’m eighteen,’ Mary says with pride. ‘I’m nearly an adult.’

  ‘Actually, you won’t be an adult until you turn twenty-one, Mary, and that’s a few years off but I think you are a very mature young lady,’ Mrs Smith says as she places the tray in the oven.

  Mary is grateful for Mrs Smith’s words. She thinks she’s a mature young lady too and is ready to make decisions about her own life, especially about Hiroshi.

  There’s a knock on the door and Mary moves swiftly to open it, flour still on her hands and a little on her face. ‘Hello,’ she says to Raymond, who is standing there with a grin. He starts to chuckle.

  ‘What?’ Mary asks.

  ‘You have flour on your nose.’ He rubs his own nose.

  ‘Oh, we’re making Anzac biscuits.’

  ‘I thought you might be and I’ll bet they’re delicious. I reckon you’d be a great cook,’ he says walking in. ‘Hi, Mrs Smith,’ he says. ‘Dad says hello.’ He breathes deeply. ‘Gee, Mary’s biscuits smell good.’

  ‘I’ll have some for you next week when you come with the delivery, all right?’ Mrs Smith says, turning him back towards the door.

  ‘Gee, thanks, Mrs Smith, I’ll be off then. See you next week, Mary.’ Raymond lingers a few seconds then sees himself out.

  As Mary prepares to leave later that day, after the Smiths have had their dinner and Carmichael has had his cake, Mrs Smith gives Mary three biscuits in some cloth. ‘Bring the cloth back,’ is all she says gently. Mary knows that if Mrs Smith weren’t married to John Smith she’d probably be a really nice woman.

  Mary walks so fast towards the shelter she almost trips. She’s being less cautious than usual about checking if anyone is watching. She slides the corrugated iron sheet across as she has done dozens of times before and rushes to get in and down the ladder. Hiroshi is her pot of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow.

  She hands him some damper as a smile grows on her face, then she hands him the three biscuits. She hasn’t eaten any herself.

  ‘I helped make them,’ she says proudly. ‘Sometimes I bake with Mrs Smith.’ She urges him to take a bite of the sweet biscuit. ‘We made them for Carmichael’s birthday, and Mrs Smith gave them to me because –’ She hesitates, not wanting to make a big deal of it, because birthdays have never been a big deal for her family because they are so poor. ‘It’s my birthday too.’

  ‘Tanjoubi omedetou,’ Hiroshi says, handing the biscuits back. ‘Happy birthday, but these are for you.’

  Mary sits down, and Hiroshi follows. ‘Let’s eat them together,’ she says with a level of excitement and birthday joy she has never experienced before. It was a romantic suggestion too, but she doesn’t consider the forwardness of it as they indulge in the treat. The kerosene lamp fades and it is just the two of them in the dark, hearts beating so fast and loud they can hear the other’s.

  Hiroshi does not want to break the bond of trust he knows has been placed on him by those who send Mary down each evening, but what he feels in his heart and his body cannot be ignored. His mouth is dry from nerves and the biscuit, but nothing would be sweeter than her lips and he fumbles in the dark to find her face to kiss her. She has crumbs around her mouth.

  Mary is thrilled, her heart racing and her body heating up. And her mouth, her mouth is glued to Hiroshi’s and she never wants it to come unstuck.

  15

  ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you . . .’ James is singing the loudest even though it’s his own birthday.

  Mary is happy to see her baby brother enjoying his birthday. He is too young to understand that his is the only one that is ever celebrated this much. He’s the baby of the family and all his sisters spoil him with hugs and kisses. Joan has given the girls some coloured pencils from the church and a sheet of paper and they have made a pretty card with a picture of a little boy that’s supposed to be James on the front.

  ‘Sticky men, sticky men,’ James squeals as his father hands him two carved figures made from wooden rods. The sticky men are traditional toys at Erambie. ‘Sticky men, sticky men go to war,’ he says again as he makes the toy men fight each other. It’s clear to Banjo and Joan that their son has not missed what has been going on around him, or that all little boys seem to like to fight like men.

  Kevin has been away droving cattle to market, and he comes home laden up with meat from the trip. This time he has sausages too, which are a treat especially for James, who doesn’t remember eating sausages before. Because Kevin has been working a lot and has some extra money, he takes the kids into town and buys them an ice block each. It’s a real treat that only happens once or twice a year a
nd only when their Uncle has been away working.

  ‘You spoil the goothas,’ Joan whispers to Kevin when they are all back later in the day.

  Kevin looks at his nieces and nephew sitting in the shade of the kurrajong tree in the middle of the mission and feels a pang of loneliness. ‘They’re like my own,’ he says. ‘I love them like my own.’

  Mary has missed the celebrations as she’s been at the Smiths’, but she walks over to the little children playing under the tree, picks up James and gives him a big kiss. She gives him a biscuit that she’s made that day and that Mrs Smith let her take.

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ he says, taking the biscuit and looking at it critically. ‘I want to put this under my pillow and keep it for tomorrow,’ he says, trying to wriggle down. ‘I’m taking it home.’

  ‘You should share it, James,’ Mary urges.

  ‘But it is too small to share with the other kids. They’ll just get a crumb each,’ he replies, racing back to their hut.