The Persimmon Tree

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘But it was her or us!’ the second soldier protested. ‘We can explain.’

  ‘Sure! Five of us armed to the teeth with rifles and with a sergeant in command against an unarmed woman. Nice going — wait until the barracks hears about this!’

  ‘What could we do? We couldn’t shoot her like we would anyone else resisting arrest,’ the second kempeitai complained morosely, massaging his gonads.

  The uninjured soldier, obviously possessed of slightly more intelligence than the others, glanced out of the window and down the garden path. ‘And who is going to drive the automobile?’ he asked. ‘I can’t drive, none of us can, only the sergeant. He’s still out like a light. Maybe she killed him? Not a bad thing, he’s a bastard. Look at those three others, they’re sitting down like wounded soldiers in a battle waiting for the ambulance to arrive.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, they are wounded. The bitch is dangerous,’ the injured groin answered.

  The Japanese sergeant was beginning to come around; still dazed, he held out his hand to be assisted to his feet. The soldier who had taken a blow in the ribs with the second swipe from the rifle butt, grasping his left side and using his right hand, attempted to pull him to his feet. Halfway up, a sudden excruciating stab of pain through his ribs caused him to slacken and then lose his grip, and the sergeant, unable to maintain his balance, fell backwards. He knocked his head on the sharp pitch of an angled brick in the row that lined the garden path, and lay unconscious for the second time in five minutes.

  The soldier with the missing earlobe sat on the uncut grass beyond the path with his head between his legs, blood oozing through his fingers.

  The kempeitai who had been hurled against the gate and who’d bloodied her blouse sat on the opposite side of the pathway. The blood streamed down his neck from the deep gash above his eye and was beginning to form a dark patch on the shoulder of his khaki uniform.

  It was only then that a distraught and sobbing Anna found her voice. ‘Kisama! Kusokurae! Yarichin! Sensuri koitero! Kusottare! [Lords of the donkeys who eat shit! Male sluts! Thousand-stroke masturbators! Arseholes!] You killed my friend! You killed my beloved Til! Teme-konoyaro! [You dogs!]’ she screamed in Japanese to the open-mouthed astonishment of the two men seated on either side of her.

  Anna burst into fresh cries of anguish. Her darling, beloved Til had been killed, needlessly, wantonly, and it could only be because of his involvement with her.

  As is inevitable, an early-morning crowd began to gather and just as inevitably, one old man, up early in his village to take four trussed chickens to the markets, had seen the whole thing and now, self-importantly, explained to the other onlookers what had occurred. Unexpectedly thrust into the limelight, he told how a young Javanese woman, who would now surely be beheaded, had single-handedly and without a weapon resisted arrest by five kempeitai and a sergeant, leaving them injured and sprawling in the dust to lick their wounds.

  A woman, seeing Anna seated between the two kempeitai in the big American car, the front of her blouse covered in blood, recognised her. ‘She is the daughter of a great liberator, the Dutchman Piet Van Heerden, who risked his life for the Javanese people and for our independence from the Dutch,’ she announced, then added, ‘My brother, who is a gravedigger, says the Japanese gave him a funeral where the mayor spoke of his brave deeds and the soldier band played and they fired bullets in the air. The Japanese commandant was also there.’

  ‘The daughter has the bravery of the father,’ a second woman amongst the onlookers declared, to the serious nods of agreement from the small but growing crowd.

  From such beginnings legends are made and myths begun. The local people, from the very start, had hated the arrogant and cruel kempeitai, and were growing more and more disenchanted with the Japanese who had promised them independence that, after three years, looked no nearer than when the Dutch occupied their homeland. They were certain that, like Til, Anna would be bamboo’d (a local expression), but she had nonetheless given them a great heroic story — here was a mere slip of a girl who, unarmed and furious, had stood up to the hated Japanese Pak Polisi and had single-handedly given them a severe beating.

  The locals would not soon forget or forgive the brutal beheading of Til. He was a good Muslim, liked and respected in the mosque and town, and especially in the markets, where he had seemed to know everyone. He was also known to be Anna’s friend. The terrible and wanton killing of a man who daily, and always wisely, quoted from the Koran and seemed on easy terms with the Prophet and even God Himself was a further tragedy the locals would add to the future telling of the story of ‘Anna and the Japanese Pak Polisi’.

  By this time several of the local police from the kampong had arrived, some still tucking in their shirts. Finally a driver was found amongst them, and the unwounded and wounded kempeitai, in various states of physical condition, were transported back to their barracks. There, a kempeitai lieutenant, beside himself with fury when he saw the bloodstained and injured Anna, had all the men arrested. Without further ado he ordered the local police driver to vacate the Chevrolet, giving only the briefest acknowledgment for his services, and replaced him with a kempeitai driver. With the lieutenant in the front seat beside the driver, Anna, still handcuffed, was summarily transported to the Nest of the Swallows.

  It was later discovered that the sergeant had a broken jaw, his four front teeth (including the gold one) were missing, and a severe wound to the back of his head from the point of the sharply angled brick had caused him to become concussed. One soldier had five broken ribs, another now possessed only half an ear and the one with the gash above his eye required twenty-seven stitches and would be left with a purple scar he would wear instead of an eyebrow for the remainder of his life. The soldier with the bruised gonads recovered in a few days without further medication and the unhurt kempeitai private was promoted to lance corporal, while the sergeant was demoted to private and sentenced to three months in military detention with hard labour. All the others were beaten and sentenced to two weeks’ confinement to barracks.

  Anna was bleeding from the side of her face, the skin covering her cheekbone was scraped raw, her left eye was beginning to close, both her knees oozed blood, and her inner thigh, where she had been kicked, ached and later an ugly bruise would form and spread down her thigh and almost to her knee.

  The car arrived at a small gatehouse (now used as a guardhouse) that was situated at a boom gate that must have replaced the original gates. Two guards stood at attention and saluted as the car drew up. Seeing the kempeitai officer in the front seat, one of them hurried to raise the boom. The car entered the grounds of a very large mansion that was completely surrounded by a brick wall about three metres high and topped with barbed wire. The Nest of the Swallows was obviously well guarded. They drove up a gravel driveway and Anna briefly wondered if she or any of the working girls would be allowed to walk in the spacious gardens that seemed large enough to be called a park.

  At the front of the mansion the young lieutenant, aide-de-camp to Colonel Takahashi and himself kempeitai, who hadn’t spoken a word during the journey, left the handcuffed Anna in the car under the care of the kempeitai driver and hurried up the steps.

  He must have specifically demanded to see one of the two okami-san who had instructed Anna in kinbaku at the brewer’s mansion, because the desk clerk went to fetch Izumi, the second okami-san, even though she wasn’t on duty that day.

  Izumi would later relate the conversation Lieutenant Ito had with her in the reception area. She had begun by telling Anna how terrified she’d been when the soldier desk clerk had knocked on her bedroom door, then shouted, ‘The kempeitai are waiting for you in reception! Come at once!’

  Izumi proved to be a clever mimic and, with the trained memory of a geisha, recalled almost exactly the conversation with the kempeitai officer from the moment she arrived in reception.

  ‘“What is
it we can do for you, honourable Lieutenant-san?” I asked him, first bowing low and not looking him in the eye. I was trying to keep my knees from shaking, but was nevertheless relieved to see it was a lone officer without any dreaded kempeitai soldiers brought along to arrest me.

  ‘“I have with me a young woman who has been injured. You are instructed to treat her injuries and under no circumstances is she to be made available for the duties of the okiya. Disobedience will lead to certain death. Do you understand, mama-san?”’

  Izumi had laughed. ‘That kempeitai pig should have known better — an okami-san is not a mama-san! It is an insult. But I wasn’t going to correct him then and there, so I said, “Yes, Lieutenant-san, it is very well understood. We will look after her until she is well again.” Then I asked, “Will you be sending a doctor?”’ Izumi had paused. ‘Of course, at that stage I didn’t know it was you, Anna.

  ‘The lieutenant replied, “You will call me if she needs one. Her presence must be kept secret and she must be kept away from the benjo onna.”’

  ‘Benjo onna?’ Anna had asked.

  ‘It means “toilet girls”. In other words, the girl is available to any man to do his business and leave,’ Izumi had explained.

  ‘That’s horrible!’ Anna exclaimed.

  Izumi had shrugged. ‘It is a nasty term used by people who are not nice, Anna. Then I asked him, “Is she to be prepared for a special purpose?”

  ‘“She must be without blemish. That is all you need to know, mama-san!” he replied. “I will come twice a week to inspect her until I am satisfied she does not have a single mark. Not a single one! You will call me at military headquarters at once if anything goes wrong.”

  ‘“Who will I ask for, Lieutenant-san?”’ Izumi looked at Anna. ‘The arrogant shit hadn’t bothered to introduce himself so I was forced to ask.

  ‘“My name is Lieutenant Ito. Ask for me and do not speak to anyone else!”

  ‘Then he asked me, “Do you have a room that has a private entrance from outside?”

  ‘“There is one to the side of the house; it leads to a small private garden and can be reached by going around the side of the house from the back,” I told him.

  ‘“I will inspect it to see if it is appropriate. She is to be prepared for the highest there is amongst us, someone who does not wish to visit the main okiya.”

  ‘It wasn’t hard to guess who the patron was. That Ito must think we are all stupid!’ Izumi exclaimed. ‘So I said, “Yes, of course. I will take you to it, Lieutenant-san.”

  ‘“Do you have the key with you, mama-san?”

  ‘“I can fetch it, Lieutenant-san. It is kept in the kitchen for the cleaners.”’ Izumi had paused, taking a deep breath. ‘Well, by this time I’d decided I’d had enough of the mama-san business, and he was only a lieutenant. After all, a geisha must maintain her dignity and her status, even if she has later become an okami-san. And so I said to him as sharply as I thought I could, “It is my humble request that you address me as okami-san, Lieutenant Ito.”

  ‘“Very well,” he sniffed, and from the way he looked at me I could see he didn’t like my rebuke but had decided to ignore it. “Can we drive an automobile to this private garden?” he asked.

  ‘“No,” I replied. “You can bring the motorcar to the back, then it is a short walk to the side of the house.”

  ‘“Meet me there. I will wait ten minutes so you can clear the way. I don’t want any onlookers. Bring a towel so that we can cover her head.”

  ‘I fetched a towel and hurried to the back. The two Korean discipline women were in the laundry, so I sent them to their room.’

  ‘Korean discipline women?’ Anna asked.

  ‘They are lesbians. If there are problems with one of the comfort women they are called in. They are not nice, Anna-san.’

  Anna was not sure she understood. ‘Lesbians?’

  ‘They do not love men but make sex with each other instead,’ Izumi explained in a disgusted tone.

  ‘Really?’ Anna cried out, astonished.

  ‘You don’t want to know, Anna-san,’ Izumi had declared with a dismissive flap of the hand. ‘They are brutes.’ Then putting the discipline women from her mind, she’d continued: ‘Can you imagine my surprise when the car stopped at the back of the house and I saw it was you, Anna-san? I wanted to cry out because I could see you were hurt. But then I decided I should pretend not to know you, and to seem indifferent. I didn’t, at that stage, know how much the lieutenant knew about our past association. Well, you know what happened after that.’

  Indeed, Anna could remember every small detail. When the car drove up Lieutenant Ito jumped out and opened the back door, instructing Anna to remain seated. ‘Bring the towel,’ he called to the second okami-san. As she came up he pointed into the interior. ‘Cover her head and face,’ he instructed.

  Anna could not conceal her surprise as she recognised the okami-san as Izumi. It was fortunate that the okami-san’s body blocked the lieutenant’s view and he didn’t see her startled expression. Izumi, in turn, gave no sign that she recognised her, but seeing Anna’s bloodstained blouse she gasped. ‘But she is badly hurt!’ she cried out.

  ‘It is not her blood!’ the lieutenant snapped. ‘Cover her head, then get her out.’

  ‘She is handcuffed,’ the second okami-san protested. ‘With her head covered I must take her by the hand to get her out.’

  Lieutenant Ito turned to the driver and instructed him to remove the handcuffs. Anna was immediately concerned it was a bad sign that Izumi had deliberately not recognised her. Not even a flicker of recognition had registered in the second okami-san’s eyes. Anna had got to know her well over the three months of her instruction with the ropes. She’d always enjoyed the retired geisha’s company, her spontaneous giggle and thoroughly wicked sense of humour. It was she who had taught Anna the profanities Anna had used on the kempeitai. Now perhaps she was seeing another side of the woman she’d grown so much to like.

  The second okami-san placed the towel over her head and face, then taking her by the hand and placing her free hand on the top of her head to prevent Anna bumping it against the edge of the door, helped her from the car.

  ‘You will take care of this woman during the day. At night it will be the seventh okami-san, no other. Only you and she must know about this woman whom you already know. I will arrange with the proper authority for this to happen.’

  ‘Yes, Ito-san. Myself and the seventh okami-san will be the only ones; we will take good care of her,’ she said quickly. Anna’s heart skipped a beat — was Izumi telling her she was still her friend?

  The kempeitai officer instructed the driver to remove Anna’s cotton bag and her shoulder bag from the car boot; the latter had been retrieved from the garden pathway where it had fallen from her shoulder when she’d dropped to her knees. ‘Take me to this room,’ the lieutenant demanded. ‘I wish to see if it is suitable and secure.’ He instructed the driver to bring Anna’s things.

  The four of them set off. Anna, limping and effectively blindfolded, held onto Izumi’s hand. She was as anxious as anyone to keep her identity hidden from the Dutch girls who were forced to work in the Nest of the Swallows. She’d often speculated as to whether they knew about what, to them, might seem her privileged life as Konoe Akira’s mistress. If they did, just how would they regard her? Was she in their minds a collaborator or, like them, a victim of their collective circumstance?

  A short while later she heard Izumi beside her say, ‘This gate is locked, it leads into a walled garden. I have the key.’

  ‘Locked, that is good. Give me the key,’ the lieutenant requested. Anna heard him tapping the gate. ‘The wood is strong.’

  Anna heard the creak of the gate as it was unlocked and opened. Led by Izumi, she felt the scrunch of gravel underfoot as they walked down a path.

  ‘Careful, t
here are three steps,’ Izumi cautioned. Anna was guided up the steps and asked to wait. She heard a door being unlocked and was led inside. ‘May I remove the towel, Ito-san?’ Izumi asked.

  ‘No, I will inspect first,’ the lieutenant replied. Then a short while later he said, ‘It is suitable. I will take the key to the outside door. You will hear from me, okami-san, and you will obey my instructions.’

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant-san, I understand. She will be treated with great care. It is an honour for myself and the seventh okami-san to be trusted with this task.’

  Shortly after, Anna heard Izumi bidding the lieutenant farewell at the door, then came the rattle of the key as the door to the outside was locked and her footsteps as she returned. Then she heard Izumi say, ‘Boko no shiri ni kisu siro, Ito! Kieusero! [Kiss my arse, Ito! Fuck off!]’

  Anna, laughing despite herself, removed the towel. ‘Izumi-san, that’s rude!’

  Izumi giggled and then her expression changed to one of concern. She pointed in turn to Anna’s closed and swollen eye, scraped cheek and chin, knees and then to the bloodied blouse. The blood was now dry and had turned a paler colour, more a deep pink than the scarlet of fresh blood. ‘Anna-san, they have hurt you! Did those cruel ketsu [arseholes] torture you?’

  Anna attempted a lopsided grin. ‘No, I fought them, six of the kisama [lords of the donkeys] and I won.’ She burst into sudden tears. ‘They… they beheaded Til!’ she sobbed.

  Izumi, perhaps thinking a Javanese becak driver was not of great consequence in the overall scheme of things, waited for Anna to stop crying. ‘You are fortunate they didn’t kill you as well, Anna-san. I will fetch hot water and antiseptic. Except for your eye, which is already turning black, your wounds are superficial, but why do you limp?’

  Anna explained her terrible anger and distress at the sight of Til’s decapitated head and then the fight that ensued as she best recalled it.

  ‘If you had not been intended for another purpose, they would have assuredly shot you,’ Izumi said and then related her conversation with the kempeitai lieutenant, whom she referred to as yarichin (male slut). ‘He has not yet visited the okiya, I think he is like 2nd Lieutenant Ando, only one is from a good family and a teacher, the other is a killer — pig swill from the gutters of Tokyo!’ she spat. Then she left to fetch the hot water, iodine and ice.