A Different Sky (36 page)

The Toyo Hotel employed a Hungarian orchestra. The
kempetai
did not harass the musicians because their lively music was much liked by Colonel Yokota and also by General Kawamura. Mr Shinozaki had left the room and the dinner party to go to the bathroom, when Raj came hurrying up to him in the foyer of the hotel. The diplomat listened to Raj's brief explanation, and with a nod of resignation followed him to where his friends waited.

‘I have only a moment,' he informed them impatiently, looking at the woman standing before him and then turning to frown at Raj.

Of the many people who now flowed about Shinozaki like a river swirling around a lone rock, he had never been confronted by such a bedraggled figure. If it were not for Raj and the personable young Eurasian man accompanying her, he would have dismissed her outright. Shinozaki turned his head in the direction of the dining room, from where the notes of a dashing mazurka drifted, and sighed. Sitting down on a red velvet chair he took out a cigarette, interrupting Raj's long-winded description of Lim Hock An.

‘
She
is the granddaughter of Lim Hock An? Of course I know who he is.' Shinozaki looked intently at the girl over his thick-framed spectacles. Lim Hock An's name was high on a list of wanted persons in connection with the China Relief Fund's anti-Japanese activities.

‘Nowadays, women must find any way they can to avoid being raped by your soldiers,' Mei Lan retorted, head erect, eyes ablaze in her blackened face. Shinozaki glared at her and Howard pressed her arm in warning, wondering why Mei Lan could not control herself at a time like this.

‘They are probably holding the old man at the YMCA building on Orchard Road,' Shinozaki told Howard, turning away from Mei Lan.

The
kempetai
had taken over the YMCA, and after some renovations
to the building to install a number of cells, had made it one of their main interrogation centres. Shinozaki thought of the graceful red-brick building he had always admired and felt sad. The door of the dining room swung open as waiters went in and out and Shinozaki caught snatches of a Viennese waltz and noisy laughter. Everyone was drinking copiously and the room was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. Shinozaki stubbed out his own cigarette, anxious to get back to the dinner.

‘Grandfather is an old man,' Mei Lan repeated, holding Shinozaki's eye, her tone now one of appeasement. The diplomat had a small triangular moustache that stopped short of the ends of his mouth; thick straggly eyebrows reinforced a kindly but inscrutable expression, making it difficult to know what he was thinking. Shinozaki gave a reluctant but conciliatory nod.

‘I have no information about your brothers. I am sorry, but it is better you understand that many young men who were suspected of anti-Japanese activities have already been killed. If your brother was part of Dalforce, then he is guilty of a criminal offence for which death is the sentence.' Shinozaki spoke curtly, taking no notice of Mei Lan's stricken face as he continued.

‘The 25th Army have already moved on to Bangkok. Many top members of the
kempetai
who knew me are no longer stationed in Singapore. I have less influence now than before, and the new men are not so willing to give me information.' Shinozaki absently lit another cigarette, pulling on it thoughtfully. It was as he said, there had been a change of authority at the top and he felt a waning of his already small power. Many of the military men about him now were rough and arrogant individuals, who not only bullied and threatened prominent Chinese but had little respect for Shinozaki who, although Japanese, was not a military man. Sometimes now he worried about his own safety. Although he said nothing to Mei Lan, he was concerned that an old man like Lim Hock An should have been arrested, although he knew this was inevitable. All the Chinese leaders were under arrest, and as all had been supporters of the China Relief Fund and worked against Japan, retribution was severe.

‘The Chinese community here is in great danger,' Shinozaki told them, remembering the intelligence reports handed to him and the things he had seen. ‘I am a friend of the Chinese people and I am encouraging
suggestions that an organisation be formed to allow the Chinese community to co-operate with the Japanese military. This co-operation will be a way for the Chinese people here to protect themselves. It is to be called the Overseas Chinese Association and will be headed by an ancient of the Chinese community, Dr Lim Boon Keng.' Shinozaki leaned back in his chair and blew a perfect smoke ring, watching it drift towards the ceiling.

Dr Lim had been arrested some days before and had been asked to be the leader of the newly formed Overseas Chinese Association. When he refused, citing frail health and extreme age, Shinozaki had been ordered to persuade him to accept. During the time Shinozaki was with him, Dr Lim's old wife had been made to kneel for hours in the scorching sun, subjected to brutal insults. All this Dr Lim had watched through an open window. None of it was to Shinozaki's liking, but he was unable to protest. Instead, he had reasoned with the old man, whose long white beard and kindly face gave Shinozaki the confidence to address him as ‘Papa'. Finally, after listening to sounds of his wife's increasing discomfort, Lim Boon Keng had meekly agreed to lead the Overseas Chinese Association. Remembering this, Shinozaki returned his gaze to Mei Lan.

‘I am about to submit a list to the
kempetai
of prominent people who should be released from prison to run this new organisation. It is being suggested that wealthy men, such as your grandfather, should make a donation in apology for their previous anti-Japanese behaviour. I will put your grandfather's name on the list. That is the best I can do.' Shinozaki pulled deeply on his cigarette, still staring at Mei Lan.

After the visit to Shinozaki, Mei Lan and Howard began the long walk back to Bougainvillaea House in awkward silence. As they hurried along in the darkness, the sound of soldiers' voices occasionally reached them and Howard drew Mei Lan into the shadows until the danger had passed. As they neared Cairnhill, they saw a long queue of drunken soldiers, waiting before a block of terraced houses for their turn with the women kept prisoner there. Howard pulled Mei Lan quickly away and they ran, seeking another route to Bukit Timah. Only when they neared Bougainvillaea House and were on familiar ground did they sit down at the side of the road, catching their breath, the tension easing at last. The moon was full and lit the road with its cool light.

‘Why didn't you write when you were in Hong Kong? I wrote to you for a while each day,' Howard burst out, unable to contain the turmoil of emotions that had burned in him all evening. Mei Lan stared at him in distress.

‘
I
wrote each day and
you
never answered,' she replied.

Piece by piece, they unravelled what must have happened: that Howard's letters had been intercepted by Mei Lan's father before they reached her, and her letters to Howard, which she had always given to a maid to secretly post, had been taken straight to her father. Howard would have kissed her then but the sound of a car, travelling at speed down the shrapnel-pitted surface of Bukit Timah, forced them to draw apart and begin the last short stretch of their journey. At last, as they reached Bougainvillaea House, Howard drew her to him.

‘Tomorrow we're going to our cousin Lionel in Katong,' he told her as they parted, explaining the commandeering of the house by the military.

‘I'll find a way to get back here, to see you,' he promised after explaining in detail where Lionel lived.

Next day Lim Hock An returned home, pushed out of a military vehicle before the gate of Bougainvillaea House. Second Grandmother gave a cry of distress as the car shot off with a screech of tyres, and tottered forward on her ivory-topped canes to where her husband lay. Mei Lan, followed by Ah Siew, ran to the half-conscious Lim Hock An. The houseboys, Ah Pang and Ah Fat carried the old man upstairs and lowered him gently on to his Blackwood bed. Bruises and burn marks covered his body and his fingers bled where his nails had been ripped out. Whatever else had been done to him they never knew for, within a few hours, Lim Hock An silently died, never regaining full consciousness

Later that evening Bertie limped home, blubbering and trembling. His soft egg of a brain had saved him from death. The soldiers, seeing his infirmity, had impatiently tossed him aside, not bothering to waste a bullet on him. Running off, he had crouched down behind a clump of tall
lallang,
shivering and shaking, to watch JJ's execution on a beach as the tide came up. The sea had run red with blood, he sobbed.

R
OSE HAD BEEN ONLY
once to Cousin Lionel's house, when a relative from Malacca had stayed with him many years before. At Mavis's suggestion Howard had gone to Katong to explain their position to Lionel, and had returned with a message of welcome.

There was very little transport available. Rickshaws, trishaws and taxis had all but disappeared from the streets, and anyone going anywhere was walking. A large handcart was found and a couple of wheelbarrows into which they piled their belongings. In spite of the warning to take only personal possessions Rose packed linen and towels and as much tinned food as she dared, as well as sugar and rice. She had tied up her silver framed photographs along with other items of family silver in an old tablecloth, and hid the parcel beneath some sheets. She was worried about Cynthia, who had been transferred from Woodbridge Mental Hospital to a small hospital on Joo Chiat Road, along with some Chinese doctors. Joo Chiat Road was not far from Cousin Lionel's so at least this thought was a comfort to Rose.

Howard roped things to his bicycle and strapped his saxophone to his back, along with his short wave radio concealed in a canvas rucksack. He looked over his shoulder at the roof of Bougainvillaea House that could just be seen above the trees. They set off for Katong with Hamzah and Ah Fong harnessed like animals between the shafts of the cart to pull it along. Rose and Mavis puffed with the exertion of pushing the wheelbarrows; both women wore straw hats, and gloves to prevent them blistering their hands.

It had been a traumatic few days. The Eurasian community, like the British and Chinese, had been summoned for screening. They had all gone in trepidation to the Padang, and stood before the Singapore Recreation Club to await their fate. A Japanese officer had delivered a reproving lecture full of ugly threats. Eurasians of particularly fair skin had been separated for internment with the British, their colour
taken as proof of genetic complicity. Those of duskier hue were sent home with stern warnings to mend their Anglophile ways. For the first time in her life, Rose was glad to have a dark skin.

It was late when they reached the coconut estate on which Lionel Pereira lived. Rose surveyed the beachside village of ramshackle dwellings and attap-roofed huts with a sinking heart. The estate had many fishponds from which the residents eked out a living. Lionel's home was built of wooden planks and raised some feet above the ground, and was next to the track that served as a road into the estate. Stray dogs slept beneath the veranda, chickens pecked around the house and a vegetable patch ran along one side.

Lionel was waiting for them on the steps of the veranda, strumming a guitar. A cigarette hung from his lips and his family were arranged about him. Rose observed his grubby vest, muscular biceps and worn trousers rolled up above rubber sandals, in growing apprehension. As she had dreaded, he gave her a hug and she caught the odour of alcohol as his sun-warmed flesh imprisoned her. Lionel was a lift repairman who had married relatively late in life, and now had five children under ten. His wife, Ava, who was of the same Portuguese–Malacca descent but much younger than her husband, was a slight woman with a full moon face, wavy hair and an aura of good humour. She immediately sent the older children forward to help Howard and Hamzah unload the carts.

Inside, the house was dim and untidy; its thin plank walls held stale smells of cooking, shrimp paste, garlic and rancid oil. Ava led the way to a roofed extension around the side of the house that was part of the veranda, and where they were to be accommodated.

‘We usually store things out here,' she said, pointing to a conglomeration of boxes and baskets, an old sewing machine and two bicycle wheels. A chicken walked through from the house and Ava shooed it away. The bird jumped on to the balustrade with a squawk and flapped down into the yard.

The lean-to was narrow with a floor of splintered boards. Three
kapok
sleeping pallets were spread upon it with worn coverings of indeterminate design. Rose was suddenly too tired to speak. She observed the lumpy mattresses and tried not to feel ungrateful, thankful that she had with her some good Belvedere linen. At one end of the balcony was a dusty, waist-high ledge holding a few filthy paint tins
and Rose decided she could put her photographs upon it. With each minute that passed she had to work harder at not feeling despairing. Howard was stacking their rice and tinned food in a corner, watched silently by the children and Lionel.

‘You'll need a metal bin for that rice or the rats will be at it,' Ava remarked, going to the pile of junk in the corner and pulling out a large storage container into which Howard pushed the cloth bags of rice.

‘You're not supposed to have a short wave radio. Got to send it for fixing so you'll listen to only Japanese broadcasts.' Lionel jumped forward in alarm as Howard unwrapped the radio.

‘We have to know what's happening with the war. Japanese stations are all propaganda,' Howard protested. Even knowing that it carried risks, he still listened each day to Radio Delhi or the BBC.

‘Put it away, boy. They'll kill my family if they see that. I've sent mine for fixing.' Lionel viewed the radio nervously and his children whispered behind their hands.

‘Hide it. It's sure death now to have a radio!' Lionel ordered angrily as Howard prepared to argue. Sending a child to the kitchen for a knife, Lionel pushed aside one of the beds and levered up a floorboard, pointing determinedly to the dusty space beneath. Howard lowered the radio into it and Lionel replaced the floorboard, pulling the pallet back into place.