East of India

by East of India (retail) (epub)

  She’d also lost a number of teeth. ‘Can I have a word?’ she asked. The top of her head barely reached Nadine’s shoulder. ‘It’s about your friend. You know she’s going round the bend, don’t you?’

  For some reason Nadine took offence at the comment and presumed she meant Lucy. ‘What do you expect? This place is enough to send anyone mad.’

  If the woman noticed her sharpness, she gave no sign of being injured by it.

  ‘She reckons her husband visits her in the middle of the night.’

  Mrs Yates meant Doreen, not Lucy.

  ‘You mean she’s imagining things.’

  ‘Yes. Of course, we all do it to some extent. Pretending you’re somewhere else or seeing people you were fond of all helps, doesn’t it? At least I think so,’ she said, pausing only long enough to pull at the tail of tapeworm hanging from her nose.

  Nadine swallowed her revulsion.

  ‘It’s like this,’ said Mrs Yates, wiping her fingers down an already filthy dress. ‘Her youngster’s likely to be hauled off to the men’s camp before very long. He’s tall for his age, almost as tall as some of the Japanese. The fact is, the poor woman’s likely to lose her mind completely if that happens. I wonder… do you think you might have a word with your colonel? Do you think something could be done? I fear for the poor woman otherwise. She’ll do herself in. I know she will.’

  Nadine cringed. The knowledge that she was the commandant’s favourite had spread around the camp. As a result of this, fewer insults were thrown at her. The advantage of such a relationship was becoming clear. All the same, it still came as something of a surprise to be asked outright to use her influence.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the influence you seem to think I have. Not any more.’

  ‘Shame. Perhaps you’d like a word? She’s over there,’ said Mrs Yates. She had eyes that protruded too far from their sockets. Nadine avoided looking into them, half-fearing they might fall out onto her cheeks. She was hardly the most forlorn-looking woman in the camp, but at the outset had started from a more unfortunate position.

  Doreen was lying down, her son hugged close to her body. It was obvious that William wanted to be off playing. He was squirming against her. But the more he squirmed, the tighter she held him.

  ‘She cuddles him,’ said Mrs Yates. ‘She cuddles him all the time.’

  The more she thought about what Mrs Yates had asked, the more despairing she became. What could she do? Like the brightly coloured moths, she was already flying too close to the flame. So far she’d been lucky, but her luck might not hold out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Madam Cherry came bursting into her quarters the next morning.

  ‘Outside.’ She dragged Nadine out of her bed so forcefully that the mosquito net came too, wrapping around her until she resembled a parcel.

  ‘Outside. Outside now.’

  The generous bosom of the woman termed the She-Dragon by the prisoners heaved with what Nadine could only interpret as excited anticipation. Her eyes glittered and one side of her mouth tilted upwards in a parody of a smile.

  Fear knotted her stomach, but still she dared ask. ‘What is the matter, Madam?’

  ‘Get dress!’

  Obediently, she slipped a dark red robe over her head and slid her bare feet into a pair of silk slippers.

  Madam Cherry shoved her out of the door.

  The burning rays of a merciless sun speared the ground, but the dusty, bloodied and bowed figure of Lucy Lee van der Meer stung her more.

  ‘Your friend tried to escape,’ Madam Cherry hissed into her ear. ‘She will be punished. She will be very much punished.’

  The burning sun threatened her eyes yet it felt as though a door to an ice world had opened behind her. The She-Dragon hissed into her ear, ‘You will now be called upon to witness her punishment. You need only observe her miserable person before she is executed. This I tell you to observe very well should you tempt the same fate yourself.’

  Nadine’s mouth was dry, her eyes unblinking.

  Lucy’s knees made a furrow in the dusty ground as she was dragged off between two guards, Yamamuchi following on behind.

  Lucy was screaming. ‘Please. Spare me. Spare me!’ Alarmed birds fled screeching from the trees.

  Nadine fell to her knees, pleading in her voice and her eyes. Madam Cherry kicked her away.

  The colonel stood rigidly, his eyes as hard and brown as the stones at his feet. His spurs glinted in the sun. His two samurai swords, one short, one long, flashed each time the gleaming hilts were caught by sunlight.

  Yamamuchi took the longest sword from its scabbard. He held it this way and that, examining its condition and polishing small smudges whether imagined or otherwise.

  Madam Cherry’s voice slithered like a tapeworm into her ear. At the same time her talon-like fingernails dug into her arm, holding Nadine in place, ensuring she had to watch.

  ‘Be thankful. It will be swift.’

  The women in the camp were called to witness what was about to happen. Nadine could see them through the wire, standing in silent rows beneath a scorching sun. Another woman was about to die. Nothing out of the ordinary in that: many had already died, most from starvation and disease, but this was different. This was execution.

  Unfortunately, as with other escapees, Lucy had sought assistance in the wrong quarter and been handed back to her captors.

  ‘You should not watch.’

  She heard Genda’s voice in her head, smelled his presence but knew he was out hunting rebels. It was just as well. This was not a day to be nice to Japanese. Today was hate day.

  Glamorous as a Hollywood film star in pale cream skirt and a checked jacket, Madam Cherry let go of her arm and bowed to the colonel.

  An order was given. Lucy was crying and sobbing, her bladder and bowels opening simultaneously.

  Nadine felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to scream, she wanted to lash out. Her mind refused to believe that Lucy would die. It wasn’t fair. They’d been through so much together.

  One fact suddenly sprang into her head. Somebody had betrayed Lucy. Nobody could really be trusted.

  The little Chinese trader sprang to mind. He had been talking to someone hiding in the shadows on the day she and Lucy had wheeled the fish and other supplies into the camp. It could only have been Madam! Her stomach churned with further fear though this time for herself and her unborn child. Had he also told her about the valuables she regularly traded with him for food?

  She turned her face into the cool breeze blowing off the sea. A sickness stirred inside her and made her dizzy. The breeze helped a little but did not entirely quell her nervousness.

  Lucy was bent double between the guards, her forehead almost touching the ground. The samurai sword made a rushing sound like a strong wind as it whistled through the air.

  Nadine closed her eyes. When she opened them again it was all over. The camp was hushed, the only sound was that of buzzing flies.

  The colonel’s spurs jangled as he mounted the steps to his quarters. Madam’s heels, hitting like hammers, echoed in the space beneath the boarded floor until it seemed as though the whole building was shaking, the dust disturbed, the shutters rattling in their frames.

  She’d been betrayed. She was sure of it. And Genda was away. Her beloved major was away.

  Yamamuchi shouted orders. Two guards responded, flattening Nadine against the wall, turning in the direction of her room and the storeroom beyond.

  Behind her was the sound of destruction, of furniture being turned over, glass smashed: she knew it was the Dutch credenza. Even so she hid her fear.

  She was dragged inside Madam’s quarters.

  ‘Those are valuable antiques. I trust they will not scratch them,’ she said glibly.

  In actuality, her heart was in her mouth. Bits of wood splintered and cracked like bullets as they tore the framework apart. The mirror cracked into several pieces.

  With a triumphant shout, a pri
vate found the first of the secret compartments. He held the box aloft, the money and jewellery spilling out and dripping from his fingers.

  Nadine stood as though made from marble.

  Madam Cherry bowed solicitously at the colonel before turning and slapping Nadine on both sides of her face. ‘That is for stealing!’

  Nadine tasted blood from a cut lip.

  Madam Cherry threw her a look of pure malevolence before turning to the colonel. She spoke in Japanese. Nadine heard a reference to Major Genda Shamida.

  A cold chill clenched at her stomach. Jealousy and greed burned in the blackness of Madam’s eyes. With a sinking heart Nadine knew she had told Yamamuchi about her relationship with the American-born major.

  Her arms were grabbed and wrenched behind her back. The two guards dragged her out into the yard and at Yamamuchi’s command turned towards the graveyard.

  She felt her bowels loosen at the prospect of ending up headless with all the other corpses, the ones Yamamuchi had taken such delight in showing her.

  Just before the alley between huts leading to the graveyard they swerved towards the main gate of the women’s camp.

  Eyes that had once viewed her with envy and contempt now showed fear and pity as they sensed what was to come.

  She was marched to the furthest corner of the compound where the tin lid of the punishment bin was being lifted. It was positioned in a place without shade, embedded in hot sand.

  A whisper went round.

  ‘How long will she be in there?’

  Women swiped tears from their eyes and children were told to look down at their feet.

  ‘Three days,’ somebody said. ‘That’s the usual.’

  ‘She’ll roast like a Christmas turkey,’ muttered somebody else.

  ‘Silence!’

  The lid was closed and Nadine found herself in total darkness.

  The heat rose as the day progressed. Her eyes closed as she retreated into her mind, controlling her breathing, her vital signs of life; hypnotizing herself that she wasn’t really there at all, that she was back in India and waiting for the coolness of evening when she would dance with Shanti, her ayah, her nurse, her mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Just days after her release from the punishment bin, Nadine’s baby was born small and premature, her fingers as fine as the veins running through the leaf of a tree, her skin wrinkled and red.

  Despite her ordeal, Nadine still had enough fight left in her to ask after the health of her child.

  ‘She’s very sick,’ Peggy told her.

  Neither mentioned the likely reasons, but both knew that diet, disease and brutality had all played a part. Nadine had barely survived her spell in the box. It was all Peggy could do to keep her taking some nourishment. She hadn’t expected either Nadine or the baby to live, but they had.

  Genda brought milk and what little else he could. Lady Marjorie tore a pretty sarong in two to use as swaddling for the tiny baby.

  ‘The little soul needs it more than I do,’ she said, wrapping the baby in the flimsy fabric.

  Genda managed to purchase a goat so the little girl would have milk.

  Nadine traced her daughter’s dark eyebrows with her finger. ‘I wish I could give her more, but unfortunately…’

  She asked Genda whether madam and the colonel knew of the baby. He shook his head. ‘No. Once you entered this camp you were dead to them. Of no further use so of no further interest.’

  The diet of rice and little else was taking its toll and Nadine had hardly any milk in her breasts. Not that the baby seemed to be taking much.

  Peggy also looked to be doing worse. Nadine was alarmed. Peggy had always been the biggest, bounciest of characters. She was now a shadow of her former self and even when she spoke the prospect of death was frequently touched upon.

  ‘I think my blood’s turned to orange,’ she said forlornly. ‘That’s due to lack of iron. Lack of everything in this place. And look! See the size of my arms?’

  She managed to encircle her upper arm with one hand.

  Nadine looked at her, trying to remember what she had looked like when they’d first met.

  ‘It’s not just malnutrition,’ she said in response to Nadine’s worried expression. ‘Something inside is giving up – and I don’t mean my soul. More like my spleen, my liver and my kidneys. It’s been coming on for a while.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Peggy. You’ll get over it. You have to get over it. We all depend on you.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Nadine. One thing I will promise is that I’ll be around for the little one’s christening. Thought of a name yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  One week later Sister Agatha, an Irish nun and the nearest thing they had to a priest or a minister of any sort, baptized the child as Shanti Lucy Burton.

  Shortly after the ceremony, Peggy’s condition worsened and she was confined to bed.

  In the six weeks since she had been born Shanti Lucy Burton never once opened her eyes, never cried and only stirred long enough to be fed. Nadine was worried, not just for the child but also for Peggy. In her dreams she saw Lucy, the pretty young woman whose life was now over. She determined that Shanti would not die. Shanti would live.

  With the child tucked beneath her arm, she picked up a palm leaf and began to fan Peggy’s face.

  Peggy was still sleeping, but feeling the draught and sensing that someone was there, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Sod it! I’m going to die.’ She sounded quite churlish about it.

  Nadine attempted a wan smile. ‘You’re Peggy. You’ll win through. You always do.’

  A spasm of pain crossed Peggy’s face.

  Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Automatically, Nadine mopped it up with a piece of daisy-patterned rag: proper bandages were a thing of the past. Anything would do.

  Peggy regained control of her breathing. ‘You’ve got that wrong, girl. You’re the brave one. Oh, yes, I’ve got plenty to say for myself – that comes of being a girl growing up with a host of brothers. Keeping army and navy patients in order came easy after that, but this situation here with these Nips calls for cunning, Nadine. Cleverness that I simply ain’t got. I’m just mouthy – open my big gob before using my brain.’

  Nadine shook her head and cuddled her child closer. ‘Clever, am I? That isn’t what some of the others call me.’ She forced herself to sound bemused. But she wasn’t bemused. She was sad.

  Peggy’s bruised lips strained into a smile. ‘I know the truth. So do a lot of others. And you know the truth too. You know how valuable those supplies are. Some of these women and children wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for you.’

  Nadine dipped the cloth into a bowl of water and began dabbing at the open sores on Peggy’s throat. ‘Madam Cherry also knows their value,’ she said grimly. ‘She gets top price for them.’

  Peggy’s look was full of compassion. ‘I know. Tell the major to be careful, Nadine. We didn’t name her the She-Dragon for nothing.’

  Nadine was pleasantly surprised by Peggy’s sudden concern for Genda Shamida. Like most of the other women she found it hard to trust or like someone whose looks were so obviously Japanese.

  ‘How’s the baby?’ Peggy asked. She was too weak even to turn her head, and slid her eyes sidelong.

  ‘Fine,’ Nadine said. ‘She smiled at me today and kicked her legs.’

  Peggy believed her, smiled and closed her eyes. Again she slept.

  Cupping her child’s head in her hand, Nadine looked into the tiny face. Shanti was too quiet. Other babies in the camp cried lustily for food, for attention or just for the sheer hell of it.

  Just then Shanti took her totally by surprise and began to cry for the very first time.

  ‘Listen,’ she called, loud enough for the whole hut to hear. ‘She’s crying.’

  Marjorie was sipping a cup of weak tea a bed or two away. Their eyes met.

  ‘Did you hear her?’
>
  Marjorie smiled. ‘Yes, I did, my dear. So glad for you. So very glad.’

  From then on Shanti cried a lot. Weak and hungry, somehow her mother still managed to sleep, irritation outweighed by exhaustion.

  Shamida had built up quite a nest egg of trusted guards. For now the goods flowed freely. He couldn’t help thinking they’d been lucky. ‘But our luck could always change,’ he said to Nadine.

  With gritty determination, she forced the likelihood to the back of her mind. ‘Then we’ll keep going until it does.’

  * * *

  Their luck ran out on a sunlit morning. A troop of gibbons had gathered in the trees, their screeches and squabbles drowning out Sister Agnes’s combination of Sunday prayers and a burial service for the latest batch of fatalities.

  Women and children of every denomination attended, and even those who could count their church attendance on one hand, stood with head bowed. Everyone in the camp needed to believe in something.

  The sun was warm upon their backs as Nadine stood rocking her baby backwards and forwards.

  She watched as Betty shuffled down the hut towards Peggy’s bed. When they’d first met, Betty had been wearing white pumps and a crisp nurse’s uniform and silk stockings. Now her legs were blistered with insect bites and tropical sores. She also had a fungal infection of the foot. Caring for Peggy seemed to help Betty cope.

  Another woman had sustained a cut to the bottom of her foot but offered to look after the baby whilst Nadine attended to the smuggling.

  Nadine sighed. Following the birth of the baby she wasn’t as strong as she had been. She needed somebody to go with her. An American girl named Dianne offered.

  Dianne wore trousers and a patched shirt.

  ‘Thanks for stepping in at such short notice,’ Nadine said to her.