At six o’clock we walked down to the pier where the beautiful cutter was waiting. I took Anna’s hand, saying, ‘Here, let me help you aboard.’ Anna stepped from the pier onto the scrubbed deck of Madam Butterfly. ‘Welcome to Madam Butterfly, Madam Butterfly,’ I said softly, to Anna’s scream of delight.
I felt a real bastard. I was lying to her, but I could think of no other way. Anna was my first love — not my only love, but my first. She had taken a shy young butterfly collector and given me the joy of loving a woman, a sense of belonging, of being wanted; she had helped the loner to find that being alone was not the only way. I remembered the first time I’d seen her when she’d come to my door in the kampong near De Kost Kamer.
I’d seen then a slim, fine-boned girl who was quite tall. She’d worn a simple, light-blue cotton dress, worn off the shoulders, the sleeves slightly puffed and covering the top of her arms, which were the colour of honey in sunlight. Her hair fell just short of her shoulders, was jet black and framed a heart-shaped face. Her lips were full and generous and her cheekbones high; together with her arched eyebrows they seemed to emphasise her incredible eyes that were only slightly almond-shaped and framed in rich dark lashes. Even in the prevailing lamplight they appeared to be a remarkable deep violet colour. When she smiled, my heart had skipped a beat.
Now, on Madam Butterfly with the sun beginning to set on Beautiful Bay, my heart was still pounding. Nicholas, whatever it takes, I thought to myself. A sudden breeze sprang up, not unexpected but also not necessarily dependable. I’d take a chance and not use the engine. ‘Anna, forgive me, darling’, I whispered to myself as I went forward to hoist the mainsail for what I knew would not be six weeks of plain sailing.
THERE ARE FIFTY-FIVE PERSIMMON trees that line the driveway to Beautiful Bay. Some are grand old trees and when the leaves drop in the dry season and they come to fruit, their golden lanterns shine through the years, a symbol of sweet fecundity. The newest seedling has just popped its head up above the soil. Each year on Anna’s birthday, when it’s time to plant a new seed, I thank God for her and for having had such a fortunate life.
Nick Duncan, November 2000
POSTSCRIPT
Bibliography
Sources
Headquarters, US Marine Corps
United States Marine Corps Historical Monographs, Division of Public Information, US Army Historical Series
Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Australia–Japan Research Project
Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Monographs on the Pacific War
Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Collections Database
Books and other publications
Australian Dictionary of Biography, John Ritchie (gen. ed.) Vol. 16, 1940–80, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, 2002
Campbell, Lloyd, Z-Special, Australian Military History Publications, Sydney, 2006
Chapman, F. Spencer, The Jungle is Neutral, Times Books International, Singapore, 1997
Courtney, G. B., Silent Feet, The History of ‘Z’ Special Operations 1942–1945, Slouch Hat Publications, Melbourne, 2002
Evans, Bernard, Japan’s Blitzkrieg: The Allied Collapse in the East, Pen and Sword Books, London, 2006
Feuer, A. B. (ed.), Coast Watching in World War 2, Stackpole Books, Penn., US, 2006
Forrester, Stanform M., ‘An introduction to the Poetry of Taneda Santoka’, Simply Haiku, vol. 3, no. 3, Autumn 2005
Gullett, Henry, Not as a Duty Only, Melbourne University Press, Carlton, 1976
McKie, Ronald, The Heroes, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1960
McKie, Ronald, Proud Echo, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1953
Parkin, Ray, Wartime Trilogy, Melbourne University Publishing, Parkville, 2003
Pfennigwerth, Ian, The Australian Cruiser Perth, 1939–42, Rosenberg Publishing, Sydney, 2007
Russell, Sharman Apt, An Obsession with Butterflies, William Heinemann, London, 2003
van der Graaff, Nell, We Survived, University of Queensland Press, St Lucia, 1989
Acknowledgements
Increasingly I hear and read that old-fashioned generosity of spirit has largely disappeared. This may well be true in the wider world but, it seems to me, it hasn’t yet reached the world of books and writing.
Every novel I write requires a great deal of hard knowledge: facts, dates, people, places, natural phenomena, background, foreground, speculation and intelligent guesswork. No author, least of all this one, can pretend to possess the intimate and specific knowledge required to write a large, wide-ranging story.
In effect, I launch into every new book with my begging cap extended, knowing that without the intellectual donation of others it isn’t going to be possible to complete the work.
I am constantly surprised at the generosity of friends and strangers who impart hard-gained knowledge without payment and quite often offer me their further involvement by giving their time and energy. I thank you all for your help and for sharing what you know with me. In some small or large part, The Persimmon Tree belongs to you as much as it does to me.
I would like to thank John Adamson for his guidance as a grammarian, for his erudition and unfailing dedication. Thanks also to Jessica Wynands for her good scholarship and a clear point of view.
I am grateful to Syria Angina, Yasuko Ando, Tony Crosby, John Forsyth, Tony Freeman, Michael Harrison (Gardner Marine Diesels, UK), Alex Hamill, Marg Hamilton, Celia Jarvis, Christine Lenton, Irwin Light, William McKenzie, Don Thomas, Susan Thomas, Connie Wang and Greg Woon.
Then there are those who played a pivotal role in bringing the novel to fruition and to whom I owe a special thank you. My partner, Christine Gee, worked so hard as my chief co-ordinator as well as performing a hundred other tasks, and kept the flow of information (as well as delicious meals) and encouragement going at all times. Like all authors’ partners, she endured months of loneliness downstairs when I frequently worked all day and deep into the night. Her spirit, passion and intelligence are always an inspiration.
Bruce Gee, who acted as my major researcher, constantly astonished me with his depth of knowledge and ability to check and counter-check information. He often worked more hours than I did and always delivered on time. His suggestions on narrative were always sound and frequently inspired. If a book may be said to bear the stamp of good research, then this one should have his name embossed on the front cover. Bruce made every direction I decided to take a possibility, and this novel should bear his imprimatur.
Lee White was my editor and without good editors bad things happen in books. Lee worked under extraordinarily difficult circumstances connected with this book and did so uncompromisingly, with both the big picture and the minutiae always in mind. She is what all editors should be but seldom are: constantly questioning, somewhat didactic, usually right, uncompromising, dedicated to the truth, intolerant of hyperbole and with the ability to maintain and enhance the author’s own ‘voice’ without intruding on his narrative style. I thank her for the long hours, consistency of viewpoint and her patience.
Publishers tend to stay in the background, often doing the hard yards and expected to perform the ambiguous roles of headmistress and cheerleader, issue the rap over the knuckles and soothe the damaged ego – or to put it into the Australian vernacular, give the pat on the back and the kick up the arse, both accompanied by a serene smile. In this regard and in many others, Rachel Scully is your number-one woman. If she doesn’t deliver, then it’s trouble for everyone concerned with the book, but she always does.
Then there are the workers in the field of dreams, those numerous people who make a book possible. At the top of the Penguin pyramid sit Gabrielle Coyne, Bob Sessions (‘Uncle Bob’) and Julie Gibbs, who encourage, reprove, decide and remit. Then there are Alan Jacobs, who guards the brand name, and Dan Ruffino and Sally Bateman, who take each new book to market afterwards. Then, Nicole Brown, Tony Palm
er, Deb Brash, Anne Rogan, Saskia Adams, Jessica Crouch, Ian Sibley, Lia Kelleners, Fumie Ode-Smith, Carmen de la Rue, Peter Blake, Louise Ryan and Peg McColl – I thank you all for your hard work, tolerance, persistence, patience and good humour.
The Persimmon Tree Page 78
