East of India

by East of India (retail) (epub)

  Madam Cherry had coldly informed her of some unwelcome developments. ‘Colonel Yamamuchi-san has decided to keep you for his exclusive use. You will remain here under my protection until such time as he tires of you. You have become his favourite. And get rid of this.’

  The white cloth that had caught the chicken blood landed on her shoulder.

  Nadine bowed respectfully. And you, she thought, have become my enemy.

  The following morning she made her way across the bamboo bridge to deliver a little stolen quinine to her friends and to take some solace from their aggrieved but welcome companionship.

  The humidity clung to her like a second skin and yet she shivered. The women had a decent breakfast this morning: rice and slivers of raw fish, char and sliced mangoes for breakfast – just enough to stave off the constant hunger they were becoming used to.

  Peggy offered her a selection in a wooden bowl.

  Nadine shook her head.

  Peggy was persistent. ‘You’ve got something on your mind. A problem shared and all that, though we’ve all got plenty of problems of our own. Still, you can tell me, old sport.’

  Nadine had decided not to tell her about Genda Shamida. ‘I was just thinking about the native workers that disappeared overnight.’

  Silence dropped like a fog. No one took up the subject. Everyone knew what had happened.

  One moment they had been swarming over the camp like busy ants. Then they were gone.

  No transport had been heard taking them elsewhere. There’d been no gunfire, but one of the girls had looked out and seen Yamamuchi’s batman carrying the colonel’s fine samurai sabre, and guards wielding fixed bayonets herding them forward.

  In the morning the ground to the west of the boundary fence was newly dug. Fresh green shoots would grow there soon, feeding on blood-rich compost.

  ‘We’re still alive,’ said Peggy and patted her arm. ‘We’ll survive this. We have to.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was on an evening three weeks later that Nadine was dancing in the Bamboo Bridge House, glad of the company, happy to be away from Madam Cherry and her sullen looks and angry slaps.

  Yamamuchi, who had been away at headquarters, came crashing in, saw her at once and pointed to the screen dividing the main room from the small room at the rear. It was obvious he’d been drinking.

  The screen clattered shut. Trembling with fear, she backed into the furthest corner. There was no escape. Yamamuchi pressed against her.

  At first he caressed her hair, her breasts and her face. As if suddenly ashamed that he might be showing emotional weakness, his mood changed in an instant. Yanking her onto her feet, he spun her round, flung her to the floor and pressed his boot on her neck.

  ‘I kill you, I think,’ he said. ‘I fuck you now, then I kill you.’

  ‘No! Please.’

  He laughed, dragged her to her feet and seemed to think it a huge joke.

  She thought of jumping off the balcony into the thick foliage, twenty feet below, and escaping into the jungle; running and being shot in the back would be better than doing nothing.

  Muttering to himself and breathing whisky breath all over her, he pushed her towards the door and called for Major Shamida.

  Genda Shamida appeared very quickly from out of the darkness. He glanced briefly at her. His face was taut, expressionless, a barrier between the world and his feelings, yet she saw through the facade, knew he had been close by waiting to be needed.

  ‘Is this that moment after which I may love thee better?’ she whispered.

  She could tell by his eyes that he understood. She had referred him to the poem, asking him if this was her time to die.

  The colonel rattled off his requirements. Shamida translated.

  ‘The colonel says he wishes to show you something.’

  ‘Something pretty dreadful, no doubt.’

  The colonel asked him what had been said.

  ‘She asked me where we were going, Colonel Yamamuchi-san. I told her I didn’t know.’

  The colonel grunted approvingly. ‘Good. I want to feel her fear.’

  Shamida sensed that Nadine was awaiting a translation but didn’t give it.

  Two guards carrying shovels as well as their rifles were ordered ahead of them. The major was given a lantern.

  The night breeze ruffled her hair and a troop of monkeys awoke from their sleep and mocked from the trees.

  Nadine’s blood ran cold. Her legs felt as though they were filled with wet sand. Was this her time to die?

  She noticed that Major Shamida’s fingers were curled over the hilt of his sword. Would he be ordered to sever her head from her body? She grew numb at the thought of it.

  Dying was something she saw and heard of more frequently these days. Every night she wondered how her ending would be. Like skeletal fingers, death reached out from the darkness. In readiness for the event she drank in all the details of her surroundings: the drone of a mosquito was her death knell, the sweat trickling down her arms her lifeblood ebbing away.

  They turned away from the centre of the camp and went through the gate to a cleared area a few hundred yards away to the left.

  The smell of turned earth and the sweetness of decaying fruit attracted hordes of flies during the day. Even at night the sound of insects thrummed on the air.

  The earth and vegetation were soft beneath her feet. They stopped and Shamida held up the lantern.

  Nadine’s breath caught in her throat. She’d had nothing to drink, but her bladder tingled with nerves.

  The colonel barked an order. The two guards began to dig.

  Yamamuchi’s teeth were a rancid yellow in the muted glow of the lantern.

  Nadine licked at her lips. Her mouth was as dry as dust, her fear of death covering her like a damp shroud.

  She wanted to ask Genda if this was to be her grave, but no words came. Her knees trembled. Her shoulders shivered with fear.

  If this were to be her last moment she would relish it, but surely not. Surely the fates couldn’t be that cruel.

  Her eyes remained fixed on the rise and fall of the shovels. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

  The sound of earth being dug out and heaped up split the night. Suddenly it changed to a sort of grating noise.

  The colonel barked an order. The shovels were tossed aside. Both guards stooped down into the grave and brought out a round, gourd-like shape smothered in mud and roots.

  The light from the lantern picked out the features of two Chinese coolies. Their flesh was swiftly decomposing; worms wriggling from their gaping mouths, and eyes pushed from sockets by the roots of vigorous plants.

  Nadine retched.

  The colonel laughed and spoke to the major.

  He translated as ordered. ‘The colonel likes to test his sword. Once drawn it must taste blood. To sheathe it without doing so would be dishonourable.’

  As if to prove this point, the colonel pulled the shining weapon from its leather scabbard and laid the blade on her shoulder, its sharp edge against her neck.

  This was it! Less than twenty years of age and her life was about to end!

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shamida’s hand tighten over his sword hilt. He was willing to fight his own colonel, but what about the guards? She could see their grinning faces as they knocked the rotting heads together in some gruesome game.

  Three against one. That’s how it would be.

  Crazy! So be crazy yourself!

  ‘Would the colonel like me to dance for him?’

  Shamida looked at her. She dug her elbow into the major’s side. ‘He’s a man of changing moods. Ask him. Go on.’

  Although he looked dubious, Genda Shamida did as asked.

  The colonel eyed his major. ‘What is she saying?’

  ‘Ask him if he wishes me to dance for him – like the Scottish, over crossed swords.’

  Genda stared. ‘What?’

  ‘Go on.’

  He tr
anslated.

  Yamamuchi repeated what his major had said with slow deliberation. He was about to slice her head off and she was asking him if he wished her to dance? The idea was totally preposterous – and entirely unexpected, so much so that he burst out laughing. His sword dropped to his side.

  ‘Look at this place,’ he said to Shamida, indicating the encircling greenery and the mounds of earth. ‘We are in the middle of a cemetery and she asks to dance?’ He burst out laughing again. ‘Well, why not?’

  To Shamida’s surprise he lay his sword down on the damp earth and indicated that his major should do the same. Nadine crossed one over the other.

  Looking amazed at what was going on, the guards threw the severed heads back into the yawning hole.

  ‘I need a rhythm,’ Nadine said to Shamida. ‘Clap. Clap for all you are worth.’

  She sprang into the steps she’d seen Scottish soldiers dance back in India, her arms raised above her head, her bare feet skipping lightly in the gaps between the blades.

  Genda clapped just as she’d asked him. Laughing and red-faced with glee, the guards joined in.

  The ludicrousness of the whole scene was not wasted on Yamamuchi. Between slurps of whisky from a silver hip-flask, he too began clapping.

  Nadine didn’t know how long she danced. She only stopped when one of the guards, who’d been skipping around the grave, slipped in the soft earth and fell in. Eyes shining like a madman, the colonel immediately began shovelling earth in on top of him. It was left to Genda to stop him before the man was suffocated. At last Yamamuchi passed out, his whisky breath staining the night. Genda heaved him across his shoulders, ordering the two guards to carry the swords.

  ‘Go,’ he whispered harshly to Nadine, labouring beneath the heavy load, for Yamamuchi was far from being a lightweight. ‘And don’t look back. Just go.’

  Nadine had no intention of looking back. This was a place she would prefer to forget.

  * * *

  Two more days passed. Living here took its toll. Sometimes Nadine was unable to stop her hands shaking, which interrupted the normality of everyday tasks. Nothing in this terrible place was normal. It was evil, and death was a daily occurrence.

  Genda visited whenever he could though he was careful not to attract too much attention. He always brought his flute or carried an official-looking piece of paper in his hand.

  On one particular day he looked far grimmer than usual. She could see in his eyes that something distasteful had or was about to occur.

  ‘The colonel has ordered that your quarters be extended. He will visit you and expect you to act as a Class One courtesan should. You will thank him for this and ensure that everything he desires is available to him. Food, whisky and cigarettes will be required. You will also dance for him. I will accompany your dancing on my flute.’

  ‘What if I should refuse?’

  The major flashed a warning look. ‘That is not a good question.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Work began just a week later. The taking down of a wall between the original space and a cupboard extended her small room. Yamamuchi ordered that she be supplied with more furniture and he visited regularly to check on progress, strolling around the room, hands clasped behind his back. As his shadow fell over them, the men making the alterations lowered their heads, their gaze fixed on the floor. Even Madam Cherry was keeping her distance.

  ‘A comfortable place to sleep, even if it is of the Western style. You will like this,’ ordered Yamamuchi.

  Items taken from the abandoned home of a Dutch planter duly arrived. Nadine’s attention was drawn to one particular solid piece of Dutch craftsmanship with cupboards, drawers and a mirror. It was inlaid with ebony fashioned into inky black vinery and flowers. Alone in her own space she ran her fingers thoughtfully along the twisting pattern. Her heart thudded as she considered what was happening to her. She had attracted Yamamuchi’s interest. Besides the obvious fact that he was a dangerous man, there was another price to pay. She could see it stamped in Madam Cherry’s tight-lipped tolerance. She could also see it in the wary hostility of the women in the Bamboo Bridge House.

  She had been favoured, but this new room was for his convenience more than her comfort.

  ‘If it were me, I would refuse to leave my pals,’ said Betty, and then smarted before Peggy’s baleful look.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid. If she does that she’s dead.’

  ‘I have to make the best of it,’ Nadine said, mostly to herself. ‘At least for now. I need to buy a boat.’

  Lucy sighed deeply and shook her head. ‘That would take a lot of money. A lot of organizing too.’

  Nadine put her arm around her old friend’s skinny shoulders, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  ‘I’ll get the money – somehow. I would also like to get some food over the fence. For the children. I know we’ve managed to get some over, but it’s not enough.’

  Betty shook her head. ‘It’s difficult. I take in what I can when I go to check their health – such as it is – but it isn’t easy. In fact, it’s darn right dangerous.’

  Nadine pondered about getting more food into the camp across the way, specifically for Doreen and the children. She had seen them several times but been unable to approach or even call out to them because of the guards.

  Back in her quarters, she thoughtfully trailed her fingers around the outer edges of an open drawer running the full length of the Dutch sideboard. It shot forward, taking her unawares, a rough edge pricking her finger.

  As she sucked the blood from her finger a thought occurred to her. Planters were cautious, always wary of the conquered peoples in the countries they’d occupied. Martin had told her that they often hid valuables instead of trusting banks.

  It was a long shot, but worth taking a closer look. With an air of determination she attempted to push the drawer back in. It jammed so she reached inside. Her fingers closed around what felt like a box. She drew it out, opened it and gasped. Rings, a necklace, a pair of earrings. Were they real diamonds? Possibly.

  This was bargaining power, things that could be sold for hard dollars, medicines, bribes and favours; perhaps even her most cherished dream, a boat.

  Quickly, she stuffed the jewellery back into their hiding place. It occurred to her that the furniture might have more secret compartments. She poked and pried and found what she was looking for. There were two more compartments hidden behind smaller drawers to either side of the mirror.

  Suddenly she had wealth. For days she’d felt her spirits declining; now they soared. Here she had hope in her hands.

  If she was to escape she needed to trade – and fast. With that in mind she reopened her stash – she’d learned the word from Peggy. She took the smallest ring and slid it onto her finger. Her finger was thinner than it had been in India or Singapore, so the ring was a loose fit and too visible. She pulled a twisted gold thread from around the hem of her sarong, three strands entwined into a thick rope sewn around the hem. It was strong enough to hang around her neck: but not now. Tonight it would stay out of sight. Tomorrow was soon enough.

  * * *

  That night she felt more hopeful than she had for a very long time. The room that had stifled her was now very pleasant. She had chairs, furniture and a decent bed placed close to the coolness of the open shutters.

  Lying down she listened to the sounds of apes – the orang-utans and gibbons – rustling and snapping the highest branches in their search for food, comrades and copulation.

  She touched her stomach. Yamamuchi had left her body bruised, but her spirit was intact. Major Genda Shamida had made her feel whole again – and loved.

  She closed her eyes. Things would not always be this way. Time would pass and things would change and she would survive. It was just a case of taking advantage of opportunities when and where they came.

  * * *

  Nadine had begun trading within hours of acquiring her new quarters, though now with mo
re verve and less nervousness. One of the Korean guards bought a tiny box containing three silver-edged lace handkerchiefs; a young Japanese guard, homesick to the point of suicide, bought a pretty brooch in the shape of a clog for his sweetheart.

  She counted the money before putting it away. More than ever she wished to escape. Closing her eyes she wrapped her hand over her stomach, then opened her eyes and regarded her reflection in the handsome cheval mirror standing in the corner. Yamamuchi’s visits were infrequent and therefore bearable. But her midriff was swelling and she hadn’t had a monthly show. How would the colonel react when he found out that she was pregnant? Of greater importance to her was how Genda Shamida would react. It was his child. That’s what she kept telling herself.

  She’d put off the moment of telling Peggy and Betty the news. They were nurses and in the absence of a doctor, they were all she had.

  Earlier she’d seen them with Lucy making their way into the women’s camp. The two nurses were allowed to minister to the sick and Lucy went along as interpreter.

  Nadine felt a nervous churning in her stomach. She’d counted her pregnancy since the night with the poetry and the full moon in the company of Genda. They would suggest to her that it might be Yamamuchi’s; that was the reason she’d put this off, that and the fear of facing up to the fact.

  Usually she averted her eyes from the camp – the women had not ceased to hurl snide remarks or spit as she passed – but it was her friends she was looking for.

  Normally the women in the camp beyond the fence gazed out with a dull lack of interest or the odd offensive remark. Today it sounded as though every woman in the camp had exploded with anger.

  Shielding her eyes with one hand, she looked through the barrier to the hard-packed earth of the compound. All hell had broken loose. The women were rioting, running around and screaming. The guards looked unsure of how to calm things down, shouting and prodding the air with their bayonets.

  A Chinese trader was hurriedly pushing a handcart under an avalanche of missiles. Cabbage stalks, stones, and meat bones boiled to whiteness hit him as he raced for the main gate.