The Taste of Rain

by Monique Polak

  “That’s impossible,” I tell Tilly. “Nobody escapes from Weihsien. Not with all the soldiers. And the electrified stone wall.”

  “Impossible?” Tilly says. “I thought you and your beloved Miss E. didn’t believe in that word!”

  TWENTY-TWO

  We don’t sleep after that. Not only because of the barking dogs, the shouting guards and our own excitement, but also because the bells for roll call are sounding.

  “It’s pitch dark,” Jeanette says, rubbing her eyes. “They can’t make us line up for roll call now.”

  “They can make us do anything they want,” Tilly tells her.

  So even though it’s the middle of the night, we put on our Girl Guide uniforms. We don’t bother with the pale-blue scarves.

  When we head for the area behind the mess hall to report for roll call, none of us says a word. There are Japanese soldiers and snarling dogs everywhere. I think we’re all wondering the same thing. How could anyone have escaped from this place?

  Two Japanese soldiers jump onto the back of an army truck. One of them smacks the back of the truck with his bayonet, and the truck takes off in the direction of the main gate to the camp. A dog howls from inside the truck.

  A second army truck follows. Someone shouts orders in Japanese. Whoever it is sounds angry.

  The main gates open and the trucks sputter, then pick up speed as they roll down the road. We all know the soldiers’ mission—to return to Weihsien with whoever has managed to escape. I shudder to think about what will happen when they find the person. The last time there was an escape from Weihsien was before our arrival. But we’ve all heard the story of what happened to the man who escaped. The Japanese found him and brought him back to Weihsien in chains. Then they gathered all the prisoners to watch as they forced the man to dig his own grave, then shot him and threw him into the grave he’d dug. I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it.

  Whoever escaped must be as weak and hungry as the rest of us. The Japanese soldiers will find him—or her.

  “Where’s Miss E.?” Eunice asks.

  Eunice’s question sends a shiver down my spine. Could Miss E. have been the one to escape? I can’t believe I even thought that! Miss E. would never abandon us. Ever. Not the way our parents did.

  Just as I’m thinking that, Miss E. appears—almost out of nowhere, her eyes glowing like an owl’s.

  Miss E. does not bother saying hello. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that she is here with us.

  Together we line up for roll call. We cannot look around too much because we don’t want to make the Japanese guards any angrier than they already are. But we all want to know the same thing. Who was foolish—or brave—enough to attempt an escape from Weihsien?

  It was probably one of the older men. Maybe someone who found a way to hide some money and who speaks Chinese. Someone like that could bribe a coolie into helping him. Because if there is one thing I know it’s that no one could escape from Weihsien without help.

  But the older men and women report to a different spot for roll call. Where we go, it’s mostly just the children from Chefoo and our teachers. I see the Japanese soldier with his tally book. Behind me I hear someone yawn, which makes me want to yawn too. But I know I can’t. The air feels muggier than ever—as if the tension in the camp is making the atmospheric pressure drop even lower.

  In the distance I hear dogs snarling. Have they already caught the escapee? Of course I hope not. What if they make whoever it is dig his own grave and shoot him in front of all of us? I don’t think I could bear it. Though I’m mostly glad that someone had the brains and the courage to get out of here, a small part of me resents whoever it is. If it weren’t for him—or her—the rest of us would get another hour or two of sleep! Even swatting lice and bedbugs is better than standing here in the pitch dark.

  The Japanese soldier who’s in charge clicks his boots together, and we start calling out our numbers. More soldiers turn up—with dogs. The dogs’ ears are pricked. They know something serious is going on. A few dogs circulate among us, sniffing our ankles as if they are hunting for clues.

  Even if I could look behind me, I wouldn’t. I never want Matthew to catch me looking at him again. Not after the way he ignored me in front of the others. I’m better off pretending that Matthew doesn’t exist, that he never laughed when I called him a rat catcher and that he never asked me to go with him for a walk.

  Ichi, ni, san….

  Miss E. is staring forward in the strangest way. A muscle in her right cheek twitches.

  Tilly nudges me with her elbow. I want to ask her what she’s thinking—this is roll call, and the Japanese soldiers are even angrier than usual! We could be severely punished for any kind of misbehavior.

  Tilly nudges me again. She wants me to look at her, but I won’t. Whatever it is she wants to tell me will have to wait till roll call is over. If it’s ever over. I’m so tired it’s hard to keep my head from rolling to one side.

  Then I hear the tiniest whisper. It sounds more like air than words. “It’s Matthew and Benton.”

  I forget all about the promise I just made to never let Matthew catch me looking at him again. But it doesn’t really matter, because when I turn around, Matthew and Benton are not in their usual spots.

  I can almost feel the savage kick in the legs that will be coming to me. I bite down on my lip as if I can already feel the pain.

  But no one kicks me in the legs. That’s because the Japanese soldiers seem to have realized which of the prisoners have escaped. I hear the soldiers whispering.

  Miss E. is still staring straight ahead, but at least her cheek has stopped twitching. One Japanese soldier yells out orders, and the soldier with the tally book marches off toward the main gate. Another soldier is already heading for the guardhouse.

  Matthew and Benton! How did they manage it?

  Please, Lord, keep Matthew safe—and Benton too. Please, Lord, do not let the Japanese soldiers catch the two boys.

  At least now we can return to our hut. Even though I know I’ll never get another wink of sleep before morning.

  But the Japanese soldiers don’t let us go back to our sleeping pallets.

  Instead they make us do roll call a second time—and when we are finished they make us do it over again. And then again. A dog bares his teeth at Jeanette, but she swallows her scream.

  We are being punished for the boys’ escape.

  I am more tired and hungry than I have ever been. In a strange way it feels like I’m already dead. No, I tell myself, death would feel better than this.

  Miss E. taught us that horses can sleep standing up. I didn’t know people could do it too. But I can feel my eyes getting heavy—I am starting to doze off. I am jolted suddenly awake when a boy in the row behind me is too tired to call his number and is rewarded with a kick in the shins. When he cries out in pain, the boy earns a second kick. This time he doesn’t cry out.

  I see the fear in the other girls’ eyes. Cathy chews on her fingernail. The others are as afraid as I am that they will fall asleep and be too tired to call out their numbers.

  The fear keeps me awake—but only for a while.

  I can’t keep track of the number of roll calls we have done. Is it six or seven? Or maybe eight? I am so tired I am keeling over.

  Far away I hear the sounds of children counting in Japanese. My head slumps to the side.

  I have to stay awake, but I can’t fight it anymore. My head slumps lower…oh, it feels so good to close my eyes…and then, out of nowhere, something furry nudges my ankle. The feeling startles me, and I am awake. Just in time to call out my number.

  I look down. A dog is crouched on the ground by my feet. When our eyes meet, I realize it’s the German shepherd whose paw had the piece of glass in it.

  When his tail wags, it thumps against my ankle. I think he’s glad he found a way to return the good turn I did for him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I never dreamed that I would lo
ok forward to broomcorn. But when the first pale pink rays of the sun peek up over the horizon and the Japanese soldiers finally stop the endless roll call, all I can think about is broomcorn. We are so exhausted we can barely walk in a straight line.

  Jeanette rests her head on my shoulder. I don’t have the energy to tell her that her head is too heavy and she needs to move it. “Do you think they’ll let us get some sleep before work detail?” she asks.

  “Of course they won’t,” Tilly answers for me.

  “We’ll feel better once we eat our broomcorn,” I tell Jeanette. I can almost feel the flavorless mush in my mouth and the way it will make the awful empty pit in my stomach a little less deep.

  “What do you want to bet we don’t get broomcorn either?” Tilly asks.

  When she says it, I suddenly realize she’s right. Forcing us to do roll call until dawn could be just the appetizer before the main course. I need to stop thinking about food.

  Miss E. has been listening in on our conversation. “Girl Guides,” she says in a voice that doesn’t sound at all tired, “this is simply one more challenge for us to face with dignity and good cheer. Let’s make a game of it!”

  Tilly rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. “How are we supposed to make a game of being tired and hungry?” she asks.

  “Let’s imagine feeling exactly the opposite. What if we’d just had a wonderful night’s sleep and so much to eat that we could hardly walk?” Miss E. asks.

  “I can hardly walk because I haven’t slept and because I’m so hungry,” Jeanette says.

  “That isn’t the game,” I tell Jeanette. “Miss E. wants us to imagine things being completely opposite to what they are. I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you will,” Tilly mutters under her breath. “You’d jump off a bridge if Miss E. told you to.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “You would so.”

  “Girl Guides!” Miss E. says.

  It’s hard to know whether Miss E. is telling us to stop arguing, or whether she is alerting us to the fact that there are two Japanese soldiers up ahead. Tilly and I let our argument drop. One of the soldiers is speaking loudly into a transmission device. Even though I don’t understand Japanese, I can tell from his tone that he is upset. I hope it means Matthew and Benton have not been caught.

  I think we’re all relieved that the soldiers don’t even bother to look at us. Still, we wait until we’re well past them before we say another word.

  “Did you understand any of what they were saying?” Tilly asks Miss E. It’s a good question. Miss E. isn’t fluent in Japanese, but she does know quite a few words.

  “I think I got the gist of it,” Miss E. answers. “They can’t figure out how the boys managed to escape.” Is it my imagination, or do I see one of Miss E.’s dimples make a brief appearance?

  “How do you think they did it?” Jeanette asks Miss E.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Miss E. says, crossing her arms over her chest. “They might have dug a trench. Or… used a ladder. But based on what I managed to pick up from the conversation, the soldiers can’t find any evidence. It must not feel very good to be an Imperial soldier with a shiny bayonet and have been outsmarted by two scrawny fifteen-year-olds.” There’s the dimple again. I’m sure I saw it this time.

  “What will they do to the boys if they catch them?” Jeanette asks.

  “They won’t catch them,” Miss E. says.

  “They’ll kill them. And hang them upside down to dry. Or make them dig their own graves and shoot them. All to teach a lesson to the rest of us,” Tilly says.

  “Matilda!” Miss E. says sharply—and for a moment I think Miss E. is going to lose her temper. But then she pinches Tilly’s ear and says, “Perhaps, Matilda, you could apply that wild imagination of yours to the game I suggested before. Go ahead and tell us where you’d be if you’d had a delicious night’s sleep and way too much to eat.”

  The last thing I expect is that Tilly will play along. But she does. Maybe Tilly is tired of being cranky. “I’d be at Buckingham Palace,” she says. “I’d sleep on a solid-gold bed with a feather mattress. And I’d have roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for breakfast, lunch and supper.”

  Miss E. laughs. “Mmm,” she says. “I can practically taste the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Dee-licious. What about you, Jeanette and Gwen? If your stomachs could be full to bursting with anything, what would it be?”

  “Apple pie with vanilla ice cream.” Jeanette has closed her eyes, and her voice sounds dreamy. “For breakfast, lunch and supper.”

  “You stole that line from me!” Tilly says.

  “Well then, take it as a compliment,” Miss E. tells Tilly.

  “I’d have chow mein with water chestnuts and pork—” I stop myself, but it’s too late. I didn’t want to remind the others of Albertine.

  “I’m not hungry anymore,” Jeanette announces.

  “One thing I’ve learned,” Miss E. tells us, “is that a person can get used to pretty much anything. Even hunger, thirst and lack of sleep. But we do have a great deal to be grateful for, don’t we, Girl Guides?”

  “You don’t suppose they’ll give us a day off from work, do you?” Jeanette asks Miss E.

  “I don’t think so,” Miss E. answers brightly. “But just think how well we’ll sleep tonight. Our pallets will feel as soft as Tilly’s feather bed at Buckingham Palace.”

  “It’s hard to sleep when you’re hungry and thirsty,” Jeanette says sadly. I know exactly what she means.

  “I predict we’re going to be even hungrier,” Tilly says. She lifts her head toward the mess hall. There is a Japanese soldier by the door. His back is to us. He is locking the front doors with a chain and padlock.

  There won’t be any broomcorn or SOS today.

  The pit in my stomach grows even deeper. My mouth feels drier than a desert.

  It’s more punishment for the boys’ escape. I could be angry with the boys. It’s their fault we were up all night and that we will get nothing to eat or drink today. I could also be angry with Matthew for not finding a way to say goodbye to me.

  But I’m not angry.

  At least, not all angry.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tilly thinks that since the mess hall is closed, we don’t have to report for work detail.

  Cathy doesn’t think that’s a good idea. “It isn’t a day to make the Japanese soldiers more angry than they already are,” she tells Tilly.

  I agree with Cathy. So I come up with the plan to dust the outside of the mess hall. In the end, Tilly goes along with it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, because the dust will be back as soon as the winds pick up. But we still dust. At least this way we can’t be accused of missing work detail. When I squat down to sweep the dust into the pan, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back up.

  The Japanese soldiers ignore us. They are busy searching for evidence to explain how the boys escaped. They are scouring the area near the boys’ hut, looking, we think, for signs of an underground tunnel.

  Tilly and I could probably get away with talking, but even that takes too much energy. If food, water and sleep are to us what gasoline is to cars, then our tanks are empty.

  The armored trucks haven’t returned to Weihsien. I hope it means Matthew and Benton are still on the loose. Dear God, I say in another silent prayer, please keep the boys safe. Some people think a person needs to clasp her hands to pray, or to be in a church or temple, but I don’t think so. I remember something my father once told me: Any deeply felt emotion is a prayer. The Lord will hear it.

  Those words from long ago don’t fill my stomach or quench my thirst or make up for lost sleep, but somehow they make me feel less hopeless. They make it easier for me to get back up onto my feet and keep dusting.

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone shouting in Japanese. The soldiers must have found a tunnel.

  But when I turn my head to see what is going on, I realize that the b
oys didn’t tunnel their way out of Weihsien. That’s because one of the Japanese soldiers is holding up a small section of wooden ladder. But how could a section of ladder have helped the boys escape?

  Tilly, who has also turned to see what is going on, figures out the answer before I do. “I bet the boys used a ladder to get over the electrified wall. Then afterward someone on this side chopped the ladder into pieces to hide the evidence.”

  Tilly and I look at each other. We are thinking the same thing: who is that someone?

  The Japanese soldiers must be wondering that too, because they march off to the edge of the camp where the wells are, and where most of the boys from Matthew and Benton’s hut work. About fifteen minutes later we see the soldiers marching back with three boys. They are headed to the guardhouse. “For questioning,” Tilly says, and then she drops her voice. “Or worse. They’ll want to talk to every one of Matthew and Benton’s friends.”

  I almost tell Tilly that I was one of Matthew’s friends. But a new thought stops me. Was Matthew ignoring me on purpose? Because if he was planning to escape, he must’ve known the Japanese soldiers would interrogate anyone he and Benton were close with. What did Matthew say? Trust me—it’s for the best. Maybe—and my heart flutters a little when I think this—Matthew was trying to protect me.

  When work detail finally ends, Tilly and I stumble back to the hut. We won’t get any food, but I think we are both hoping we will be able to rest. Though I think that if I could choose between rest and something to eat or drink, I’d choose something to eat or drink.

  The other girls are already back. Dot has burned her arm making tea in the guardhouse. She says it’s because the soldiers were so snappy they made her even more nervous than usual.

  Miss E. puts some black salve on Dot’s arm. Miss E. looks up at all of us, but she doesn’t smile. “If anyone comes to the door of the hut, I need a few of you to create a distraction,” she tells us.

  “What do you mean by distraction?” Jeanette asks.

  “It means we find a way to distract whoever’s at the door,” Tilly tells her.