“I’ve got only fragments of her in my memory,” I said.
She shook her head and blinked. “I don’t even have fragments of my real mother. All those photographs and portraits of her in the house are as strange to me as they must be to you. I think that’s preferable—at least I can’t miss what I don’t remember.”
I heard the unexpected brittleness of her voice and thought for a moment about what she had said. It shook me that she sounded so bitter. I saw her then as she truly was, confused by her own inexplicable anger, trying to drown it by being Isabel: perpetually laughing, constantly seeking out the next exciting thing to do, always striving to be the center of attention.
I shook my head. “It feels just as bad. There’ll always be a void inside, whatever the form of our losses, whatever the deficit of our memories.”
She rolled her glass of wine between her hands, like a potter giving shape to his creation. “Perhaps you’re right. Memory is a tricky thing. When I said I have no memory of my mother, I meant I don’t remember her here,” she touched her forehead, “and yet—” her hands returned to shaping her glass.
“And yet you feel her here,” I said, my hand resting on the spot above my heart.
I stopped her moving hands and held them tight, feeling the hardness of the wineglass beneath, almost on the point of cracking. “That’s not memory, Isabel,” I said. “That’s love.”
She blinked her eyes again, and ran a finger across them, hiding her tears. We had revealed more about ourselves in those few moments than we had in recent years. Was this part of the process of growing up, that we finally noticed the people closest to us in a different, clearer light?
She looked up and said, “That sounds very mature, coming from you.”
I ignored her attempt at flippancy. She leaned forward and said in a softer voice, “So is this great insight what your Japanese teacher has shown you?”
“I suppose Father’s told you about him,” I said.
“Philip, you’ve always had a secretive nature. William and I picked up bits of it from here and there. Who is he?”
With the exception of my father, I had kept my association with Endo-san away from my family. We had always led our own lives and so it was easy to maintain my regular classes with Endo-san without drawing attention to them. What I had discovered with Endo-san was precious to me and I was reluctant to discuss it, fearing that the power, the purity of it, would be diluted if I did so.
“He rents the island from us. He’s built a little cottage on it, and I met him when you were all away,” I said to Isabel, keeping to the bare facts.
“You know it’s dangerous to be friends with the Japs,” she said.
I was annoyed that the mood between us had changed. It was obvious that she was repeating someone else’s opinion and probably using the very same words. “Who taught you to say that? ‘Peter’?” I said.
She had the good grace to lower her eyes and give a light blush. “Peter’s well connected and he’s been hearing things,” she said.
“What sort of things?”
“That the Japs will attack Malaya. That they’ve already had spies here for years. In towns and little communities all along the coastline, situated near strategic military locations. They’re disguised as traders and shopkeepers, rubber buyers, and fishermen. I just hope your Japanese friend isn’t one of them.”
“No, I’m quite certain that my ‘Japanese friend’ isn’t ‘one of them.’ All those things you’ve heard are merely rumors. It’s almost lunch time. Are you going to order something to eat or not?”
* * *
I was in my little cubicle when my father came out from his office. “How are preparations for the party coming along?”
I shuffled the box of invitation cards I had collected from the printers. “Just about to fill in the guests’ names.”
“Send an invitation to Mr. Endo and one to the Japanese consul,” he said. “I’ve decided to invite some of the other Japanese in Penang as well.”
It was a nice gesture from him but I asked, “Is that wise? We’re also inviting quite a number of the Chinese towkays.” I gave him a list of the names of the local tycoons. The Imperial Japanese Army had taken Canton only the week before and even Ming was unusually silent, wondering about her mother, though Isabel had tried to calm her fears, telling Ming that her mother was probably safe out in the countryside. The Chinese community in Penang, as well as members of the Aid China Campaign, had marched and demonstrated against the Japanese in Malaya, demanding that they be deported. The resident councillor had accepted a petition from the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, headed by Kon’s father, with a similar request. Much to the Chamber’s anger the resident councillor had refused to forward its petition to the governor in Singapore. The editor of a local newspaper had obtained the petition and published its entire contents and the names of the petitioners. The Chamber was now publicly known to have been ineffective. This was a great loss of face by the Chinese.
My father smiled in a way that I did not much like. “They’re your friends, so it’ll be up to you to keep the peace.”
I put the cards down, wondering how I was going to do that.
“Oh, by the way,” he said as he was about to enter his office, “don’t forget to invite your grandfather and Aunt Mei.”
The party was to be held on the last Saturday of October 1941. As my father had predicted, it would be one of the last great parties of the year. It started well, with William arriving home from his naval training two days before the event. He did not tell us he was coming and walked into the house, into the dining room, as we were having dinner. My father raised his glass to William, and Isabel gave a delighted scream.
William was still in his uniform and we made him turn around and show us. I noticed a spark of envy in Edward’s eyes and saw also that our father had caught it.
“I’ve been assigned to a warship in Singapore,” William said. “HMS
Prince of Wales
no less, sinker of the
Bismarck
and the pride of the navy. She’ll be my new home for the next few months.”
We made denigrating remarks about his cropped hair and sunburned face.
“What’s more,” he said, looking at me, “we’ve also been trained in hand-to-hand combat—I could take you on any day, little brother.”
We jeered at him and Isabel said, “Oh, shut up, William!”
“So, how are the preparations for my party coming along?”
I threw a chunk of bread at him. Isabel laughed and followed suit, and then Edward and our father joined in, pelting William with our bread rolls. “Who said the party’s for you?” I said.
“Well then, I suppose I’d better be going back to Singapore, hadn’t I? All right, all right, no more bread rolls please. That’s all we ever eat anyway. I’m sick of them.”
He sat down at his usual place and ate hungrily, accompanied by our rude comments about the table manners of sailors. As the night matured we pushed our plates aside and, helped by the wine, the heat and fire and spark of our conversation grew warm and mellow. I saw a look of contentment settle on my father. His face softened, and the blue glow of his beautiful eyes lost their hardness. I looked at all of us, from one to the other, each reflecting our father’s feelings. I looked inside myself and was pleased to find that I too was content and happy. My father looked across the table at me and nodded softly. We both knew that, after years of walking my own path, distancing myself, I had finally returned to my family. It was a homecoming for William. It was a homecoming for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Invitations to the party had been sent to all the right people: the British ruling class of Penang, which meant the resident councillor and his wife, high-ranking civil servants, military and naval officers; a few playwrights and musicians; the editors of the various newspapers; and the people who really ran the island—Chinese tycoons, Malay aristocrats, and British
Tuan Besars.
And then there were the Japanese whom I had invited. It was truly a gathering of friend and foe.
Isabel was nervous as we went about the house making the final arrangements. Her hands shook as she polished the glasses and I had to take them from her. “What’s this, the Penang Shooting Club’s five-time champion with her hands shaking? How could you ever aim at anything like that?”
“Oh, shut up!” she said.
I laughed as she went upstairs to her room, but I envied her, having found someone who meant so much to her, whom she could introduce to our father and to the people at the party. I took my afternoon swim and went over all the arrangements, trying to think of anything that I had overlooked. I was worried about Endo-san’s presence, wondering how I would act. I had had to invite Shigeru Hiroshi and I was certain he had never forgiven me for making him lose face at Henry Cross’s party. Then there was Kon; his father, Towkay Yeap; Kon’s
sensei,
Tanaka; and my grandfather and Aunt Mei. As the afternoon faded away and the heat of the day was replaced by the cool of evening, I began to grow worried in the pool. I decided that sitting there would not help. Suddenly Isabel’s anxieties did not seem quite so funny.
* * *
It was a tender evening: the skies were a soothing palette of vermilion, aubergine, and dark blue, heightened by long trailing wisps of clouds. Crickets sounded to each other in the trees and grass and above us flocks of swallows flew homeward, their tails scissoring them effortlessly through the air. Chinese lanterns were strung out along the trees lining the driveway, looking like a string of gigantic incandescent pearls.
My father and I stood at the top of the portico steps greeting the guests. Unlike most of the Europeans, he refused to wear the standard white dinner jacket; instead he was looking distinguished in his usual black, a lock of hair tickling his left eyebrow.
We could hear the eight-piece orchestra playing an Irving Berlin selection in the gardens. Between shaking hands and welcoming the guests we talked.
“Splendid job you’ve done,” he remarked, humming along to the music.
“After having been to so many parties it’s not much to pick it up,” I replied.
“Your mother would have been so proud of you,” he said, catching me by surprise.
“No. She’d have been proud of us both,” I said. “Thank you for that day at the library, for your words.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said gravely and he took my hand in his. For the first time in my life I felt we were each a living part of the other. And I knew, with the insight that had arisen as a consequence of learning from Endo-san, that he had loved me all along from the moment I was born, even through the years when I distanced myself from him and my family. That was one of the greatest gifts Endo-san had given me—the ability to love and to recognize being loved.
I blinked away the threatening tears quickly and at that moment, precisely on time, the Japanese consul’s car entered the portico. I recognized Goro at the wheel but he paid me no heed.
The consul, Shigeru Hiroshi, appeared to be wearing the same jacket he had worn to the Crosses’ party. Endo-san introduced me to him, and we both pretended we were meeting for the first time, but I knew it was all an act—a face-saving act. I replied to his queries in Japanese, knowing it would impress my father. Then Hiroshi switched to perfect English again.
“Good evening, Mr. Hutton.”
“Evening, Mr. Hiroshi,” my father replied.
“This is my deputy consul, Mr. Hayato Endo.”
I saw my father look at Endo-san with interest. “We’ve met before,” he said.
“Yes, we have,” Endo-san replied. I bowed to him. “Good evening,
sensei.”
“I can manage on my own,” my father said. “Why don’t you take our guests in?”
I led them through the house and out into the garden. Hiroshi went on ahead, leaving me with Endo-san. He too looked very good, dressed in his charcoal-gray suit and a maroon tie, which served to accentuate the silver in his hair. I lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. I lit his cigar and he blew out a ring of smoke into the night.
An Indian waiter walked by; there was something about his appearance that made me think to stop him but then Endo-san said, “How are you? You should not miss your classes any more often than is necessary.”
I had informed him that I needed a week off from my lessons to prepare for the party. I had missed him, I told him.
“I have missed you as well.”
My father came up to us. Endo-san bowed to him, and my father tilted his head slightly. “How’s your island?” he asked.
“Very peaceful,” Endo-san replied, casting an ironic glance at me. “I hope you are not thinking of taking it back from me yet.”
“No, of course not. I hear you’ve been traveling a lot.”
“Yes, trying to speak to your government officials, to convince them that we are harmless. Meeting company owners to see if we could start some businesses together. Japan is very keen to invest in Malaya.”
