The Turning Tide (21 page)

She lifted her head as I stopped the jeep. I got out. ‘Mary?’ I said, approaching, ‘Mary Egawa?’

Amazement came over her broad, kind face. ‘My goodness, young Mike Whalen! What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you,’ I said, laughing, and shook her hand.

She took me into the house and called Yoshi; spry, grey-haired, his black eyebrows as mobile as ever. I saw he now walked with a limp, but he shook my hand energetically. ‘Maiku, man! Oh, so good to see you!’

‘And your parents are well, Mike?’ said Mary.

‘Very well. They said if I managed to find you to give you their best regards.’

Mary brought us tea and we sat on the tatami, drinking from tiny cups.

‘Is this your brother’s farm?’ I asked Yoshi. ‘I went to Hatsukaichi and they said your brother’s family moved to this area four years ago.’

‘Yes,’ said Yoshi quietly. ‘It was his farm. He died with wife in atomic bomb.’

I felt sick. ‘And …?’ I simply could not say her name.

Mary said, smiling, ‘When we got here we found Betty and Yoshi’s aunt were alive.’

‘Oh God. Alive.’ I felt faint with relief.

Yoshi cleared his throat. ‘They both have burns. Betty was teacher. She was with children, in the city. She will tell you the story.’

‘Mike,’ said Mary hesitantly, ‘it’s been very hard for her.
She may not want to see you. She has scars, it worries her a lot.’

‘That doesn’t matter as long as she’s alive. I just want to see her again.’

I heard a noise and looked up but it was a tiny sweet-faced old woman. Yoshi introduced me to his aunt Kiyo, Betty’s great-aunt, the one she’d called a ‘darling’ in her letter to me. I could see she had ridged red weals on her hands.

When I greeted her, Kiyo giggled at my Japanese accent, or simply my sheer bizarreness. Then I heard another noise at the door. This time it was Betty, in Japanese dress, with a scarf around her head. My heart leapt.

‘Betty!’ I said. I saw her eyes go large at the sight of me. She turned abruptly and I heard her running away.

Mary put her hand on my arm in sympathy. ‘Give her some time, Mike. I’ll talk to her. Come back and see us next weekend.’

I was euphoric, driving back to Ujina that night. I’d found the Egawas. I’d found Betty. It sounded as if she’d been through a terrible time, no wonder she was jumpy. But it would be all right, I thought. Suddenly it occurred to me they hadn’t mentioned Ken. Surely they knew he’d died?

The Japanese army usually sent telegrams announcing their soldiers’ glorious deaths, but I’d heard of grieving families who’d seen their sons walk through the door and others who’d waited fruitlessly for years with never an official word. I thought anxiously that perhaps his parents didn’t know, at least not for sure.

My feelings swung between joy and concern all week.
My heart was thumping by the time I pulled up at the farm, early in the morning on the following Saturday. Mary met me at the door, smiling.

‘Hello Mike. Everything is fine. It took time to persuade her but Betty’s finally agreed to talk to you. Come in here.’

I could see Betty kneeling, side-on, in a dimly lit room. Again, she had a scarf around her head. Mary slid the screen shut behind me as I entered and sat on the tatami.

‘Hello, Betty,’ I said softly, overjoyed.

Her head down, she said, ‘Hello, Mike. You found us.’

‘Yes, thank God. I wasn’t sure if I could … whether you were even …’

She nodded. ‘Great-Aunt and I were very lucky. My uncle and aunt were not so fortunate.’

‘Your mother said you were burnt. She said you didn’t want me to see you now. Oh, Betty, it doesn’t matter. However you’re scarred, you’re still you, my old friend.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not the Betty you used to know. I’ve been changed forever.’

‘I’m not the same Mike either. I was a soldier. Dear God, I’ve seen terrible things. But it’s over now.’

‘It’s my life that’s over, Mike. Do you know what they call us?
Genbaku-otome
. Atomic maidens. Young women ruined by the bomb, who’ll never marry, never have normal lives.’

‘That’s only a phrase to sell newspapers. You’re you, you’re lovely. Of course you’ll have a normal life.’

She sighed and slowly lifted her head. She took off her scarf and turned towards me. The left side of her face and ear and neck were marked with twisted, raised scars.

‘If you’re wondering … yes, the scars continue all the way down my arm, my breast, my waist, my hip, my leg. I don’t think anyone would want half a woman.’

Tears stung my eyes. ‘How you must have suffered,’ I said.

She nodded slowly. ‘At times I envied my aunt and uncle.’

‘What happened, Betty? Please tell me.’

After a few moments she sighed and said, ‘We were content here, Mike. Hiroshima wasn’t bombed much, no incendiaries, not like Tokyo. We knew we’d get attacked at some time, but really, we felt safe.’

She took a breath. ‘That day, my aunt and uncle took a cartload of vegetables to sell at the markets and my great-aunt went to visit a friend near the city. It was a beautiful summer day, hot, clear blue skies.’

She pulled a floor cushion towards herself and sat on it, bending her leg with a wince.

‘I was a teacher, instructed to take a group of ten year olds to help clear houses destroyed for firebreaks. Everyone, young or old, had to volunteer for this duty. We knew what would happen if they dropped incendiaries but we could not imagine …’

After a moment she continued. ‘We were there early that morning, the children were cheerful, working away. I went to sit beside a stone shed while I cut up some fruit I had for them. I was partly in the shade.’

She looked at me, her eyes dark and distant. ‘Suddenly there was light, blue-white light, like millions of flashbulbs everywhere, and terrible heat down my side.’

She touched the scars on her neck, gazing beyond me. ‘I jumped up and looked towards the centre of the city.
I saw a cloud, a gigantic white cloud, then a great column of red and black erupting beneath it. It rolled up and up and curled over at the top. It blotted out the whole sky, it was everything. In the cloud I could see rainbows of colour, flashes of lightning. I thought I’d died and gone to another world.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But not heaven, of course.’

There was a tap at the door and Mary brought in a tray with teacups, then left. Betty passed one to me. I felt chilled and its warmth was comforting. She took a sip of her tea and said, ‘Then a great noise came. It went on and on and a wind threw me to the ground and I heard glass shattering and buildings collapsing in dust clouds, everywhere.’

She was silent for a time. ‘I heard the children screaming. I ran to get them. There were nine with me that day. Two had been crushed by a fallen building and I could see, quite clearly, they were dead. I got the others behind the stone shed. One had been cut by flying glass. I couldn’t stop her bleeding and she died there. The rest, like me, seemed to be all right.’

‘I told them, we must get back to the Koi hills. I could see fires in the city, getting bigger. The children were crying. I couldn’t recognise the streets. Houses were gone, timbers were blocking the roads. People were calling and screaming in the wrecked houses, others were trying to get them out. I had to keep going with the children, we had to get away.’

She rubbed her face with her hands. ‘After we’d walked for a while I noticed I was hot and sore on my left side, where my blouse and work pants had disintegrated. Some of the children were crying for their mothers, saying their faces hurt, their arms hurt. Some were vomiting. No one
could help us, everyone was as dazed and burnt as we were.
There were many, many, charred bodies. Bleeding bodies.’ She was quiet for a long time.

‘Betty,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to tell me everything now. It must be so hard to talk about.’

A smile flickered over her face. ‘It was harder to go through it, Mike. I want to tell you. I’ve told you in my thoughts, over and over, so many times. I need you to understand.’

She gazed at her teacup and sighed. ‘It rained for a time, oily black drops of rain. By then most of the children couldn’t walk. I found some shade where they could lie. I kept going, to a farm where I knew the owner. He brought his cart back to get the children. Two of them had died while I was gone. They were swollen and red, their skin peeling off. We took the last four back to the farm. I was so tired, in such pain.’

She moved her legs again, in obvious discomfort.

‘Later, we asked everyone about my aunt and uncle, but no one knew. The markets were near the city centre and they must have died instantly. We simply never saw them again. My great-aunt burnt her arms trying to save her friend, trapped under the beams of her house. Great-Aunt had to leave her there, to watch her friend burn to death, screaming, when the fires spread.’

I shook my head in despair. All I could say was, ‘Betty. I’m so sorry.’

She finished her tea. ‘I was grateful I was rarely conscious for the next few weeks. The farmer and his wife were kind. They looked after me. They took the living children back to their parents and told the less fortunate parents where to find their children’s bodies.’

She stopped and took a long breath. ‘It’s strange. What I find hardest to forget was the night of that dreadful day. I was sleeping outside on the verandah trying to cool down. I woke up. I wish I hadn’t. The sky was brilliant, full of stars … and below I could see Hiroshima burning, like hell itself. It was so magnificent. So terrible. I still dream about it.’

She brushed her eyes with the heel of her hand and looked at me.

‘So that’s what happened, Mike. Our lives changed in an instant, the famous dawn of the Atomic Age.’ She laughed in despair. ‘If only they could have dropped the bomb on the admirals and generals who started the war, not on my family. Not on me.’

I reached out my hand and took hers, holding it gently. ‘Anything I can do to help you,
anything
, tell me. I’ve got access to food, medicines, transport –’

‘There wasn’t much food around last year but things are better for us now, thank you, Mike.’

We sat in silence for a time, then she smiled gently. ‘But, oh dear, I’d love some Vegemite. Haven’t had it for years.’

Later, Mary and Yoshi asked me to stay for lunch. I’d brought them a box of supplies and made Betty laugh when I ceremoniously presented her with the jar of Vegemite I’d packed that morning.

We ate and chatted, but I was feeling uneasy until Mary said, ‘Mike, you’re probably wondering about Ken.’

‘Yes,’ I said, relieved. ‘What have you heard?’

‘We had a telegram after the war.
Egawa died an honourable death in Timor
,’ said Yoshi bitterly.

Mary’s eyes were on me, puzzled. She said, ‘But I have a feeling you knew he was dead already. Did you, Mike?’

I couldn’t look at her. She gasped. ‘Please, you must tell us the truth. Anything is better than not knowing.’

I lifted my head. ‘I’m so sorry, Mary. Yes, friends of mine were there when he died.’

‘How could that be, Maiku?’ said Yoshi, shocked.

‘Men from my unit – Alan and Johnny – were prisoners on Timor, where Ken was an interpreter.’

Betty nodded. ‘His last letters to us were from Dili.’

‘Ken would sometimes speak to them. He’d bring them food and talk about Broome, about how unhappy he was in the army.’

My throat was dry and I took a sip of tea.

‘One night an officer found them together. He went crazy. He shot Johnny, then Ken stopped him from killing Alan but was hit himself.’ I sighed. ‘Alan lived to tell me this. He said Ken was a hero and he’d died instantly.’

Mary’s eyes were large with sadness. She said, ‘Thank you, Mike.’ She stood up. ‘I had thought it would be less painful to know but I was wrong. Excuse me.’ She left the room.

Yoshi took a deep breath. ‘You say he died instantly. Maiku, is that true? Or are you trying to spare us?’

‘It’s true, Yoshi. Immediately, without pain.’

Yoshi’s face was twisted with grief. He stood and bowed and left.

Betty’s hands were over her face. I moved close to her and put my arms around her. She laid her head on my shoulder and wept.

Chapter 20

I’m just putting some papers in my briefcase, finished for the afternoon, when there’s a knock on my office door. I’m surprised to see Ian there, grim-faced.

‘If you’ve come to yell at me again I really can’t be bothered,’ I say.

‘No, no. That stuff – my father – doesn’t matter. Something’s happened.’

I look up. ‘Lena?’

‘We had an argument. She said she was going back to her room at the Hall of Residence. When I tried to ring she was never there, so I dropped by. But the other students say they haven’t seen her for two days.’

‘Ian, she’s going on twenty-one, almost an adult. She’s probably met a boy. I know it’s hard for a father to accept –’

‘It’s not that. She usually rings her mother or grandmother every day, but she hasn’t. She wouldn’t
not
contact them, she just wouldn’t do it. Not Lena.’

I nod in agreement. Of course she wouldn’t.

‘Those friends of hers,’ says Ian, ‘can you find out their addresses?’

‘Technically no, but I can bend the rules. Sit down, give me a few minutes.’

I ring a couple of departmental secretaries and explain the situation, and they give me Steve and Angel’s addresses.

‘Will you come with me?’ asks Ian gruffly. ‘You know them.’

‘But you’ll make an official complaint if I go near Lena,’ I say coolly.

‘Fuck it, Mike. All right, I was a bad-tempered bastard. Is that enough of an apology?’

‘I think your grasp of the concept “apology” is pretty tenuous, but what the hell. Let’s go. My car’s downstairs.’

When we’re on the road I say, ‘You’re sure you’re not just overreacting?’

Ian shrugs. ‘I know kids today are pretty sophisticated, but Lena’s not a city girl. Never went out much at school, always had her head in a book. Thinks the best of everyone. Innocent, too – didn’t even realise what a bombshell she was dropping at the restaurant.’