The Collected Short Stories (29 page)

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Authors: Jeffrey Archer

BOOK: The Collected Short Stories
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The rabbi still could not believe his own intolerance and short-sightedness. The demands on an Orthodox Jew should be waived if it meant losing one's only child. He had searched the Talmud in vain for any passage that would allow him to break his lifelong vows. In vain.
The only sad part of the divorce settlement was that Klaus was given custody of our child. He also demanded, in exchange for a quick divorce, that I not be allowed to see Nicholas before his twenty-first birthday, and that he should not be told that I was his real father. At the time it seemed a hard price to pay, even for such happiness. We both knew that we had been left with no choice but to accept his terms.
I used to wonder how each day could be so much better than the last. If I was apart from Christina for more than a few hours I always missed her. If the firm sent me out of town on business for a night I would phone
her
two, three, perhaps four times, and if it was for more than
a
night then she came with me. I remember you once describing your love for my mother and wondering at the time if I could ever hope to achieve such happiness.
We began to make plans for the birth of our child. William, if it was a boy—her choice; Deborah, if it was a girl—mine. I painted the spare room pink, assuming I had already won.
Christina had to stop me buying too many baby clothes, but I warned her that it didn't matter as we were going to have a dozen more children. Jews, I reminded her, believed in dynasties.
She attended her exercise classes regularly dieted carefully, rested sensibly. I told her she was doing far more than was required of a mother, even the mother of my daughter
.
I asked if I could be present when our child was born and her gynecologist seemed reluctant at first, but then agreed. By the time the ninth month came, the
hospital must have thought from the amount of fuss I was making they were preparing for the birth of a royal prince
.
I drove Christina into Women's College Hospital on the way to work last Tuesday. Although I went on to the office I found it impossible to concentrate. The hospital called in the afternoon to say they thought the child would be born early that evening: Obviously Deborah did not wish to disrupt the working hours of Graham, Douglas & Wilkins. However
,
I still arrived at the hospital far too early. I sat on the end of Christina's bed until her contractions started coming every minute, and then to my surprise they asked me to leave. They needed to rupture her membranes, a nurse explained. I asked her to remind the midwife that I wanted to be present to witness the birth.
I went out into the corridor and began pacing up and down, the way expectant fathers do in B-movies. Christina's gynecologist arrived about half an hour later and gave me a huge smile. I noticed a cigar in his top pocket, obviously reserved for expectant fathers. “It's about to happen,” was all he said
.
A second doctor whom I had never seen before arrived a few minutes later and went quickly into her room. He only gave me a nod. I felt like a man in the dock waiting to hear the jury's verdict.
It must have been at least another fifteen minutes before I saw the unit being rushed down the corridor by a team of three young interns
.
They didn't give me so much as a glance as they disappeared into Christina's room.
I heard the screams that suddenly gave way to the plaintive cry of
a
newborn child. I thanked my God and hers. When the doctor came out of her room I remember noticing that the cigar had disappeared.
“It's a girl,” he said quietly. I was overjoyed. “No need to repaint the bedroom immediately” flashed through my mind.
“Can I see Christina now?” I asked.
He took me by the arm and led me across the corridor and into his office
.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked. “I'm afraid I have some sad news.”
“Is she all right?”
“I am sorry, so very sorry, to tell you that your wife is dead.”
At, first I didn't believe him, I refused to believe him. Why? Why? I wanted to scream
.
“We did warn her,” he added.
“Warn her? Warn her of what?”
“That her blood pressure might not stand up to it a second time.”
Christina had never told me what the doctor went on to explain
—
that the birth of our first child had been complicated, and that the doctors had advised her against becoming pregnant again.
“Why didn't she tell me?” I demanded. Then I realized why
.
She had risked everything for me—foolish, selfish, thoughtless me—and I had ended up killing the one person I loved.
They allowed me to hold Deborah in my arms for just a moment before they put her into an incubator and told me it would be another twenty-four hours before she came off the danger list.
You will never know how much it meant to me, Father, that you came to the hospital so quickly
.
Christina's parents arrived later that evening. They were magnificent. He begged for my forgiveness
—
begged for my forgiveness. It could never have happened, he kept repeating, if he hadn't been so stupid and prejudiced.
His wife took my hand and asked if she might be allowed to see Deborah from time to time. Of course I agreed. They left just before midnight. I sat, walked, slept in that corridor for the next twenty-four hours until they told me that my daughter was off the danger list.
She would have to remain in the hospital for a few more days, they explained, but she was now managing to suck milk from a bottle
.
Christina's father kindly took over the funeral arrangements.
You must have wondered why I didn't appear
,
and I owe you an explanation. I thought I would just drop into the hospital on my way to the funeral so that I could spend a few moments with Deborah. I had already transferred my love.
The doctor couldn't get the words out. It took a brave man to tell me that her heart had stopped beating a few minutes before my arrival. Even the senior surgeon was in tears. When I left the hospital the corridors were empty.
I want you to know, Father, that I love you with all my heart, but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life without Christina or Deborah.
I only ask to be buried beside my wife and daughter and to be remembered as their husband and father. That way unthinking people might learn from our love. And when you finish this letter, remember only that I had such total happiness when I was with her that death holds no fears for me.
Your son,
Benjamin
The old rabbi placed the letter down on the table in front of him. He had read it every day for the last ten years.
There is one cathedral in England that has never found it necessary to launch a national fundraising appeal.
When the colonel woke he found himself tied to a stake where the ambush had taken place. He could feel a numb sensation in his leg. The last thing he could recall was the bayonet entering his thigh. All he was aware of now were ants crawling up the leg on an endless march toward the wound.
It would have been better to have remained unconscious, he decided.
Then someone undid the knots, and he collapsed headfirst into the mud. It would be better still to be dead, he concluded. The colonel somehow got to his knees and crawled over to the stake next to him. Tied to it was a corporal who must have been dead for several hours. Ants were crawling into his mouth. The colonel tore off a strip from the man's shirt, washed it in a large puddle nearby, and cleaned the wound on his leg as best he could before binding it tightly.
That was February 17, 1943, a date that would be etched on the colonel's memory for the rest of his life.
That same morning the Japanese received orders that the newly captured Allied prisoners were to be moved at dawn. Many were to die on the march, and even more had perished
before the trek began. Colonel Richard Moore was determined not to be counted among them.
Twenty-nine days later, 117 of the original 732 Allied troops reached Tonchan. Any man whose travels had previously not taken him beyond Rome could hardly have been prepared for such an experience as Tonchan. This heavily guarded prisoner-of-war camp, some three hundred miles north of Singapore and hidden in the deepest equatorial jungle, offered no possibility of freedom. Anyone who contemplated escape could not hope to survive in the jungle for more than a few days, while those who remained discovered that the odds were not a lot shorter.
When the colonel first arrived, Major Sakata, the camp commandant, informed him that he was the senior ranking officer and would therefore be held responsible for the welfare of all Allied troops.
Colonel Moore had stared down at the Japanese officer. Sakata must have been a foot shorter than himself, but after that twenty-eight-day march the British soldier couldn't have weighed much more than the diminutive major.
Moore's first act on leaving the commandant's office was to call together all the Allied officers. He discovered there was a good cross-section from Britain, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States, but few could have been described as fit. Men were dying daily from malaria, dysentery, and malnutrition. He was suddenly aware what the expression “dying like flies” meant.
The colonel learned from his staff officers that for the previous two years of the camp's existence, they had been ordered to build bamboo huts for the Japanese officers. These had had to be completed before they had been allowed to start on a hospital for their own men, and only recently huts for themselves. Many prisoners had died during those two years, not from illness but from the atrocities some Japanese perpetrated on a daily basis. Major Sakata, known because of his skinny arms as “Chopsticks,” was, however, not considered to be the villain. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Takasaki (“the Undertaker”), and Sergeant Ayut (“the
Pig”) were of a different mold and to be avoided at all costs, his men warned him.
It took the colonel only a few days to discover why.
He decided his first task was to try to raise the battered morale of his troops. As there was no padre among those officers who had been captured, he began each day by conducting a short service of prayer. Once the service was over the men would start work on the railway that ran alongside the camp. Each arduous day consisted of laying tracks to help Japanese soldiers get to the front more quickly, so they could in turn kill and capture more Allied troops. Any prisoner suspected of undermining this work was found guilty of sabotage and put to death without trial. Lieutenant Takasaki considered taking an unscheduled five-minute break to be sabotage.
At lunch prisoners were allowed twenty minutes off to share a bowl of rice—usually with maggots—and, if they were lucky, a mug of water. Although the men returned to the camp each night exhausted, the colonel still set about setting up squads to be responsible for the cleanliness of their huts and the state of the latrines.
After only a few months, the colonel was able to arrange a football match between the British and the Americans, and following its success even set up a camp league. But he was even more delighted when the men turned up for karate lessons under Sergeant Hawke, a thick-set Australian, who had a black belt and for good measure also played the harmonica. The tiny instrument had survived the march through the jungle but everyone assumed it would be discovered before long and confiscated.
Each day Moore renewed his determination not to allow the Japanese to believe for one moment that the Allies were beaten—despite the fact that while he was at Tonchan he lost another twenty pounds in weight, and at least one man under his command every day.
To the colonel's surprise the camp commandant, despite the Japanese national belief that any soldier who allowed
himself to be captured ought to be treated as a deserter, did not place too many unnecessary obstacles in his path.
“You are like the British bullfrog,” Major Sakata suggested one evening as he watched the colonel carving cricket bails out of bamboo. It was one of the rare occasions when the colonel managed a smile.
His real problems continued to come from Lieutenant Takasaki and his henchmen, who considered captured Allied prisoners fit only to be considered as traitors. Takasaki was always careful how he treated the colonel personally, but felt no such reservations when dealing with the other ranks, with the result that Allied soldiers often ended up with their meager rations confiscated, a rifle butt in the stomach, or even left bound to a tree for days on end.
Whenever the colonel made an official complaint to the commandant, Major Sakata listened sympathetically and even made an effort to weed out the main offenders. Moore's happiest moment at Tonchan was to witness the Undertaker and the Pig boarding the train for the front line. No one attempted to sabotage that journey. The commandant replaced them with Sergeant Akida and Corporal Sushi, known by the prisoners almost affectionately as “Sweet and Sour Pork.” However, the Japanese High Command sent a new number two to the camp, a Lieutenant Osawa, who quickly became known as “the Devil” since he perpetrated atrocities that made the Undertaker and the Pig look like church fête organizers.
As the months passed the colonel and the commandant's mutual respect grew. Sakata even confided to his English prisoner that he had requested that he be sent to the front line and join the real war. “And if,” the major added, “the High Command grants my request, there will be only two NCOs I would want to accompany me.”
Colonel Moore knew the major had Sweet and Sour Pork in mind, and was fearful what might become of his men if the only three Japanese he could work with were posted back to active duty to leave Lieutenant Osawa in command of the camp.
Colonel Moore realized that something quite extraordinary must have taken place for Major Sakata to come to his hut, because he had never done so before. The colonel put his bowl of rice back down on the table and asked the three Allied officers who were sharing breakfast with him to wait outside.
The major stood to attention and saluted.
The colonel pushed himself to his full six feet, returned the salute, and stared down into Sakata's eyes.
“The war is over,” said the Japanese officer. For a brief moment Moore feared the worst. “Japan has surrendered unconditionally. You, sir,” Sakata said quietly, “are now in command of the cramp.”
The colonel immediately ordered all Japanese officers to be placed under arrest in the commandant's quarters. While his orders were being carried out he personally went in search of the Devil. Moore marched across the parade ground and headed toward the officers' quarters. He located the second-in-command's hut, walked up the steps, and threw open Osawa's door. The sight that met the new commandant's eyes was one he would never forget. The colonel had read of ceremonial hara-kiri without any real idea of what the final act consisted. Lieutenant Osawa must have cut himself a hundred times before he eventually died. The blood, the stench, and the sight of the mutilated body would have caused a strong-stomached Gurkha to be sick. Only the head was there to confirm that the remains had once belonged to a human being.
The colonel ordered Osawa to be buried outside the gates of the camp.
When the surrender of Japan was finally signed on board the USS
Missouri
in Tokyo Bay, all at Tonchan POW camp listened to the ceremony on the single camp radio. Colonel Moore then called a full parade on the camp square. For the first time in two and a half years he wore his dress uniform, which made him look like a Pierrot who had turned up at a
formal party. He accepted the Japanese flag of surrender from Major Sakata on behalf of the Allies, then made the defeated enemy raise the American and British flags to the sound of both national anthems played in turn by Sergeant Hawke on his harmonica.
The colonel then held a short service of thanksgiving, which he conducted in the presence of all the Allied and Japanese soldiers.
Once command had changed hands Colonel Moore waited as week followed pointless week for news that he would be sent home. Many of his men had been given their orders to start the ten-thousand-mile journey back to England via Bangkok and Calcutta, but no such orders came for the colonel and he waited in vain to be sent his repatriation papers.
Then, in January 1946, a smartly dressed young Guards officer arrived at the camp with orders to see the colonel. He was conducted to the commandant's office and saluted before shaking hands. Richard Moore stared at the young captain who, from his healthy complexion, had obviously arrived in the Far East long after the Japanese had surrendered. The captain handed over a letter to the colonel.
“Home at last,” said the older man breezily, as he ripped open the envelope, only to discover that it would be years before he could hope to exchange the paddy fields of Tonchan for the green fields of Lincolnshire.
The letter requested that the colonel travel to Tokyo and represent Britain on the forthcoming war tribunal which was to be conducted in the Japanese capital. Captain Ross of the Coldstream Guards would take over his command at Tonchan.
The tribunal was to consist of twelve officers under the chairmanship of General Matthew Tomkins. Moore was to be the sole British representative and was to report directly to the General, “as soon as you find it convenient.” Further details would be supplied to him on his arrival in Tokyo. The letter ended: “If for any reason you should require my help
in your deliberations, do not hesitate to contact me personally.” There followed the signature of Clement Attlee.
Staff officers are not in the habit of disobeying prime ministers, so the colonel resigned himself to a prolonged stay in Japan.
It took several months to set up the tribunal and during that time Colonel Moore continued supervising the return of British troops to their homeland. The paperwork was endless and some of the men under his command were so frail that he found it necessary to build them up spiritually as well as physically before he could put them on boats to their various destinations. Some died long after the declaration of surrender had been ratified.
During this period of waiting, Colonel Moore used Major Sakata and the two NCOs in whom he had placed so much trust, Sergeant Akida and Corporal Sushi, as his liaison officers. This sudden change of command did not affect the relationship between the two senior officers, although Sakata admitted to the colonel that he wished he had been killed in the defense of his country and not left to witness its humiliations. The colonel found the Japanese remained well-disciplined while they waited to learn their fate, and most of them assumed death was the natural consequence of defeat.
The war tribunal held its first plenary session in Tokyo on April 19th, 1946. General Tomkins took over the fifth floor of the old Imperial Courthouse in the Ginza quarter of Tokyo-one of the few buildings that had survived the war intact. Tomkins, a squat, short-tempered man who was described by his own staff officer as a “pen-pusher from the Pentagon,” arrived in Tokyo only a week before he began his first deliberations. The only rat-a-tat-tat this general had ever heard, the staff officer freely admitted to Colonel Moore, had come from the typewriter in his secretary's office. However, when it came to those on trial the General was in no doubt as to where the guilt lay and how the guilty should be punished.
“Hang every one of the little slit-eyed, yellow bastards,” turned out to be one of Tomkins's favorite expressions.
Seated round a table in an old courtroom, the twelve-man tribunal conducted their deliberations. It was clear from the opening session that the general had no intention of considering “extenuating circumstances,” “past record” or “humanitarian grounds.” As the colonel listened to Tomkins's views he began to fear for the lives of any innocent member of the armed forces who was brought in front of the general.

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