A Different Sky (23 page)

‘We have to ration their cigarettes,' he said as Raj tied the ends of the cloth together again.

Shinozaki was imprisoned in a smaller block where Raj was told to
wait in a meeting room, bare except for some high-backed wooden chairs and a small square table. The dank smell of old brick was everywhere. At last Shinozaki entered the room with a warder, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor as he walked towards Raj. The dark suit he still wore was badly crumpled, his unshaven face drawn and his tie off centre; he stared at Raj in surprise. The guard settled down by the door to wait, squinting at them uninterestedly from time to time.

‘Do you have a cigarette?' Shinozaki enquired immediately, in an urgent voice, and Raj pulled a packet of Naval Cut from his pocket. Shinozaki fumbled for a cigarette with trembling hands as Raj struck a match, and after a few deep inhalations grew calmer. The glare of two bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling cast distorted shadows on the wall as Shinozaki leaned forward to talk.

‘I am as yet just detained here. I am not yet charged with anything. I am still allowed a bath and have a reading light. I get three cigarettes and three matches each day and a small pork chop for lunch. I do not yet have to live with a toilet bucket or broken rice full of weevils, but this may change after the trial if I am found guilty of spying. They may send me to Changi Prison if I am convicted. Of course it is nonsense. I am not spying on military installations like they say,' Shinozaki said. Blowing smoke indignantly from his nostrils, he reached forward to examine the things Yamaguchi had sent, picking up the books appreciatively.

‘I cannot live without my books, they are my real friends.' Shinozaki caressed the worn spines and held up the volume entitled
Nanking Road
.

‘I particularly like this book. It is about a Chinese man who marries a French girl and returns with her to China after the civil war. There is a character in it that says, “A dog during peace is better off than a man during war”.' Shinozaki smiled and Raj remembered Yamaguchi telling him that Shinokazi had once been in love with a German woman. Raj listened, at a loss for a reply, feeling awkward conversing alone with the diplomat who had always seemed dismissive of him.

‘In the present circumstances, I suppose my arrest was to be expected but things may soon change. Japan is making great military advances in this region and soon our troops will look towards Malaya. Keep this in mind and continue to study the Japanese language; your skill may be of value soon. When that time comes I shall remember you.
We Japanese do not forget a favour,' Shinozaki confided in a low voice as the guard came towards them to lead him back to his cell.

‘Is there anything else you need?' Raj asked as Shinozaki stood up.

‘I need my spare glasses and some extra razors for shaving. And I need more books. You are a good boy; I shall remember you,' Shinozaki repeated over his shoulder as the warder led him away. Raj was left alone in the silent room; beyond a small grimy window rain had begun to fall.

By the time Raj returned to Middle Road from Outram Prison the street lamps were once more being lit. Looking up to Yamaguchi's office window, Raj saw that a light was now burning and hurried into the shophouse and up the stairs, his mind full of Shinozaki and all he had to tell Mr Yamaguchi.

‘The Master is not here,' the old Malay servant said as he opened the door, surprising Raj. He went to call Mrs Yamaguchi and Raj sat down to wait in the small airless sitting room. Mrs Yamaguchi's dolls in their glass cases surrounded him like an aviary of exotic stuffed birds; the aroma of pickles lingered as always in the air. When Mrs Yamaguchi at last appeared Raj saw she had been crying.

‘Soon after you collected the things for Shinozaki-sama, policemen came to take the Master away. I do not know where he is. Did you see him in that prison where they have Shinozaki-sama?' Mrs Yamaguchi drew a trembling breath. Raj tried to absorb this news as Mrs Yamaguchi continued to explain the situation, her face set with the effort of control.

‘Just recently Shinozaki-sama brought two high-ranking Japanese military men, Colonel Tanikawa and Major Kunitake, to our house. The men wanted to travel around Singapore examining the coastline. As the Master's work takes him out to the shipping lanes, they had many questions to ask him. Afterwards, the Master became very nervous because of this visit. He felt he had endangered us by meeting them, but he could not refuse Shinozaki-sama.' Mrs Yamaguchi pulled a small folded handkerchief from her obi and dabbed her eyes.

‘What kind of questions did they ask?' Raj queried, his concern rising.

‘I remember Colonel Tanikawa saying “It's impossible to attack Singapore from the sea. Attack is possible only from the north.” At
that time I took no notice of these remarks. I was pouring tea, refilling cups at the table. The spout of the teapot was troublesome and I was trying not to spill a drop of liquid. Afterwards, the Master told me that Colonel Tanikawa is Planning Chief at Imperial Army Headquarters in Tokyo. At that time I felt flattered that such men should seek out the Master. The day after these military men left Singapore to return to Japan, Shinozaki-sama was arrested. And now the Master has also been taken away.' Mrs Yamaguchi pressed her lips together, stifling her sobs.

Raj soon left Mrs Yamaguchi and on Middle Road hailed a rickshaw to take him to Race Course Road where he was to meet Krishna at the Indian Youth League. He was filled with anxiety for old Yamaguchi but, as the rickshaw bowled along, he wondered with a pang of fear if he too was being watched because of his association with Mr Yamaguchi and Mr Shinozaki. As they neared the League the rickshaw swerved to avoid another rickshaw that had halted suddenly before them and was swaying dangerously about on a broken wheel. Raj was thrown off his seat and clung to the side of the contraption, expecting to be flung to the ground. The two runners at once began arguing heatedly, and passers-by stopped to follow events. Hurriedly Raj climbed out of the rickshaw, and turned to stare at the offending vehicle. He was amazed to see that the passenger alighting from the broken rickshaw was the Eurasian he had met at the tea stall. Striding forward he took Howard's hand, pumping it up and down in greeting; Howard greeted Raj with no less surprise and enthusiasm.

‘It is destiny that you have stopped outside the Indian Youth League. My brother-in-law Krishna, who I told you about, is to speak here tonight; he is my guru, he has risked his life in the cause of Indian freedom. You must come and listen to him. Afterwards, we will all have a beer,' Raj insisted.

The accident had shaken Howard and the mention of a drink was tempting. He had not forgotten the man at the tea stall whose strange ideas had revolved in his mind, and was immediately drawn to his suggestion. Raj steered him across the road to a small bungalow before which a crowd of young Indian men were gathered.

‘We're just in time,' Raj said, leading Howard up the steps and into a large room where rows of chairs were quickly filling up. Krishna was sitting at a table shuffling papers. He nodded gravely when
introduced to Howard but did not smile. Unlike Raj, who was smartly dressed in a white cotton suit and exuded pragmatic energy, Krishna, with his wire-rimmed spectacles, cloud of black hair and traditional
dhoti
, appeared distant and austere.

They took seats in the first row and soon, as the room quietened, Krishna stood up and began to speak. At first Howard had difficulty understanding him, but as the audience grew attentive Krishna's voice gained strength and his eyes grew bright behind his spectacles. For the first time Howard heard the name of Mahatma Gandhi, a lawyer who wore only a loincloth, aligned himself with the poor and preached the novel concept of passive resistance to British rule. As he warmed to his subject, Krishna became more and more animated, his eyes flashed and his hands gestured freely as he told the story of the Salt March that had galvanised India.

‘All salt was heavily taxed to the detriment of the poor. The Mahatma wished to break the terrible burden the colonial government had imposed upon the local people. In the broiling sun Gandhiji marched at the head of a two-mile procession, like a conqueror, refusing all gifts of food. “We are marching in the name of God, on behalf of the naked, the hungry and the unemployed. So, how can we ourselves eat so plentifully?” he said. At last he reached the sea and on the beach bent to pick up a lump of salt. The following week a storm swept across India at this symbol of defiance. Everyone began gathering salt, burning foreign cloth, boycotting everything English, acting in disobedience of colonial rule in any non-violent way they could.'

Howard sat forward on his chair; everything he heard was new to him and the story of Gandhi's rebellion stirred him deeply. He could imagine the small man, half naked, his
dhoti
drawn up between his spindly legs, a wooden staff in his hand, positioning himself fearlessly against the might of colonial rule.

‘A nation of three hundred and fifty million does not need the sword or the bullet. It needs a will of its own.' Krishna's voice rang out. A burst of clapping interrupted him and when it died down he began to speak about a different revolutionary, a younger man, Subhas Chandra Bose. This leader of men he described as a burning rock, a leaping flame and a springing tiger. It appeared there was so much burning and springing within this man that he had quickly upset the saintly Mahatma. Subhas Chandra Bose was a man of military leanings who
inspired the throwing of bombs, the assassination of British officials and the martyrdom to be acquired through this violence. He had no patience with the slow pace of passive civil disobedience adhered to by Mahatma Gandhi.

‘Once more Subhas is in jail and is on a hunger strike. He drinks only a few drops of water each day. By now you must all be knowing that Europe is at war. England's fight against Germany will divide the world. Germany is aligned with Japan, and both these nations support India's struggle for freedom. Subhas Chandra Bose predicts that England will be defeated and surrender to Germany. At that time the Indian people must make an immediate demand for a Provisional National Government.' The cheers went on for some time as Krishna finished speaking.

Afterwards, as promised, Raj suggested a beer and led the way to a table in the library where the atmosphere was quieter and free of the groups of young men who still stood around, arguing about the things Krishna had said.

‘Krishna has taught me everything I know,' Raj informed Howard as a Tamil waiter placed drinks in front of them. Krishna inclined his head in gentle acknowledgement, his fiery tongue now folded away like the sting of an innocuous insect.

Howard stared at him in admiration, self-conscious before someone of such radical conviction. ‘We must end British rule here in Malaya as well,' Howard enthused, his imagination stirred by the notions the man had voiced. To his surprise Krishna frowned and replied primly.

‘The situation here is different from India. In India our culture is an ancient one and we yearn for freedom to regain our soul. Malaya was never a country stripped and raped and imprisoned upon its own soil. Singapore was a mangrove swamp, a pirates' den, when Raffles set foot upon it. The British took nothing from Malaya; instead they created opportunity here for anyone who sought it. Singapore is a transient place; it has no ancient culture; it is nobody's homeland. People come to make money, and then return home.' Krishna picked up his beer dismissively.

Howard stared at the man in perplexity, filled with a sense of loss, struggling to crystallise his thoughts. He remembered Olive de Souza. A homeland is where your heart is, she had said. If England was the de Souzas' heartland, where then was his? He was not a transient
person: he had been born in Singapore and knew no other place. He remembered Wee Jack and his communist revolution in faraway China. Looking through the doorway into the room beyond, he observed the ardent young Indian men, their faces aflame with patriotism, still discussing their fight for freedom. Indian or Chinese, he was surrounded by men who would lay down their lives for their country; a feeling of emptiness welled up in him. Howard too was convinced he could lay down his life, if only he had something to lay it down for.

O
NCE THE
C
HINA
R
ELIEF
Fund meeting was over and Mei Lan had said goodbye to Wilfred, she got back into the car for the journey home. She was in a state of some excitement. All she could think of was Howard Burns and the sudden proximity to him she felt through Wilfred Patterson. Time had quietened her emotions and thoughts of Howard were now intermittent, but he remained firmly in her mind. When she reached Bougainvillaea House the sun was low and the sky flamed over the trees. Entering her room, her eyes went straight to the window and the view of Belvedere on the slope beyond the canal. For the first time in many months she opened the drawer and took out the compass with its needle still pointing in the direction of Belvedere. Sometimes she saw Howard from a distance, in the garden or entering his home. Once, she passed him in a rickshaw and he waved until she was out of sight. And always, there were the notes of his saxophone, floating to her through the bamboo fence. She threw herself restlessly down on the bed, and knew that all she felt about Howard had only waited silently for a moment like this to reassert itself.

Later, she bathed and changed and joined her father as he sipped his evening
stengah
on the downstairs veranda. Since her mother's death and JJ's departure, they were closer than before. Boon Eng now sought out his daughter each evening, sipping his first drink of the night, discussing the gossip of the day. In spite of the financial disaster he had brought upon the family with his extravagant ways, he made little effort to curb his lifestyle. He was dressed formally as always each evening, in a white dinner jacket and black bow tie, prepared for a night with his friends at one of his clubs, and later with the inevitable women.