The Other Side of Paradise (29 page)

‘I asked him, was he a tall bloke with brown hair and greenish eyes? He said yes, though he couldn’t remember the eyes. They were in this camp at Sandakan in Borneo where they were building an airfield for the Japs. Forced labour – like us, only much, much worse, by the sound of it. They died like flies. All the usual diseases. Beatings, starvation, torture, executions, worked to death …’ Stella shuddered. ‘I couldn’t believe some of the terrible things he told me and he said he hadn’t told me the half of it and none of the worst – not by a long chalk. He said Ray used to stick his neck out for them – defending them and trying to put a stop to the bad treatment and get things improved. He said the Japs punished him for it. They gave him a really bad time.’

‘God … how horrible.’

‘Yeah, it all sounded pretty grim. Then, at the beginning of the year, the Japs suddenly decided to march them off into the interior. Nobody knew what for – they just kept them marching west for days and days, over the mountains, and if somebody couldn’t keep up with the rest, the Japs shot him. This chap only survived because when he collapsed he pretended to be dead. Luckily for him some natives found him and took care of him. He said there were nearly three thousand prisoners on that march – Australian and British – and he’d heard from some other bloke that, in the end, only a few Aussies survived.’

‘Was Ray one of them?’

‘I asked that but he didn’t know.’ Stella eyed her. ‘You want him to be, don’t you?’

‘Well, of course I do.’

‘A bit more than “of course”, I’d say. You want him to be quite a lot.’

Chinatown had come back to life, now that the Japs were gone. The shop-house shutters had been opened, the doors unbarred, the brightly coloured paper lanterns hung up, wares set out.

Hua held Susan’s hand as they walked up and down the streets – Temple Street, Trengganu Street, Smith Street, Sago Street, Banda Street, Pagoda Street. Past the medicine shops stocked with dried frogs and lizards, antlers and horns, trays of mushrooms, baskets of dried sea horses, octopus, sharks’ fins, ginseng and healing herbs. The food shops offered their dried fish and crocodile, their black sea slugs, their white chrysanthemum tea. The clothing shops displayed their embroidered
cheongsams
, their dainty slippers, their bolts of sumptuous silks. There was fine porcelain – bowls and spoons and ornaments – pairs of Fu Temple Dogs in bronze and brass, wooden mah-jong sets, chess sets carved out of ivory. And there were jewellery shops – from those selling the cheapest trinkets of brass and glass to those set with the finest precious stones to be found in the East.

‘This is Hua,’ Susan said in Cantonese to each jewellery-shop proprietor. ‘Her mother was killed by a Japanese bomb that fell on Singapore in 1942, and we are looking for her aunt whose name is Su and may live in Chinatown. Can you help us?’

They shook their heads. In one shop there was a woman called Su but she had no niece.

‘I had a son,’ she told them. ‘But the Japanese took him away. They dragged him out of this house and executed him. He was seventeen years old and he had done nothing wrong.’

Susan said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

The woman looked at her with hatred. ‘The British are to blame. They are to blame for everything. Because of them many thousands of Chinese died in Singapore. Because of them my son is dead.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

‘That will not bring him back to me.’

They left the shop and walked away, shaken. Susan thought, who could blame her for feeling so bitter? What she had said was partly true.

‘We’ll keep trying,’ she said to Hua. ‘There are still some more shops.’

They went into three more.

‘This is Hua …’

Heads were shaken again, and so it went on. They turned into Banda Street and found a shop selling nothing but jade jewellery and carved animals – dragons, horses, pigs, frogs. Inside, Susan admired a cream-coloured lion streaked with bright green.

‘Can I help you?’

The man who had appeared from the back of the shop was Chinese and dressed in Chinese clothes, but he had spoken in good English.

She said, ‘Are you the proprietor?’

He bowed, palms pressed together. ‘I am at your service. Are you interested in the lion? It’s a very fine piece. We call it mutton-fat jade. Jade can be many different colours, you understand. Even black.’

‘We’re not here to buy, I’m afraid.’ She put her hand on Hua’s shoulder. ‘We are looking for this girl’s aunt. Her mother was killed in Singapore when she was about four years old and her father is probably dead too. Hua can’t remember her family name but she had an aunt called Su who may have worked in a shop selling jade. We are trying to find her.’

He frowned. ‘My wife’s name is Su. She had a niece, Hua – her sister’s child – but she died in 1942 when the Japanese bombed the city.’

‘Where did they live?’

‘By Tiong Bahri Road.’

‘I was there in Tiong Bahri Road when the bombs fell. Hua didn’t die. Her mother was killed by the bombs, but Hua survived. They dug her out of the ruins and gave her to me. I took her to Alexandra Hospital and afterwards I took care of her for the rest of the war.’

He studied them for a moment without speaking. Then he went away and returned with a Chinese woman.

‘This is my wife, Su. She says that she was told that her niece had died.’

‘Did she see her body?’

‘No. The burial had already taken place. Many in one grave.’

Susan said to the woman, ‘I believe that this is your niece. She was rescued from the ruins after the bombs fell and given to me to look after.’

The woman moved closer to Hua, searching her face. ‘She does not look the same as my sister’s child.’

‘She changed a great deal while she was in the camps.’

‘The camps?’

‘Japanese internment camps for women and children – on Bangka Island and in Sumatra. I took Hua out of Singapore on a ship, but it was sunk by the Japanese. When we reached the shore they put us in a prison camp. Australian soldiers brought us back to Singapore after the war was over.’

‘Does she remember me?’

‘She remembers that her Aunt Su visited her home and that she once gave her a little green bangle – of jade perhaps.’

‘It’s true. I did.’ The woman took a pale-green bangle from a case and held it up. ‘I gave Hua one like this one, only smaller – made for a child. It was for her third birthday.’

Susan said, ‘Was it like that, Hua?’

‘I think so.’

The husband spoke. ‘There are many such bangles in Singapore. Many girls called Hua. How can we be certain?’

‘Hua also remembers that her aunt wore a green brooch – a dragon with red eyes that shone.’

‘Wait, please.’

The woman went into the back of the house. After several minutes she came back with a brooch – a green dragon with shining red eyes.

‘This is what she remembers. The dragon is jade and the eyes are rubies. And here is a photograph of my sister Lina, holding Hua when she was three years old. I took it myself on her birthday. Her husband, Tan Soo, Hua’s father, died of a sickness soon after she was born. They were very poor.’

Susan looked closely at the photograph. The young Chinese woman was holding a little girl: a chubby little girl with short black hair and a fringe, wearing a bangle on her wrist.

‘This is Hua. She looked exactly like that when she was given to me.’

The aunt smiled at Hua and took hold of her hands. ‘I believe you are truly my niece. We have no children of our own and we welcome you with our hearts. From now on, this is your home, if you wish it to be.’

The Changi grave was marked with a simple wooden cross – not unlike the crosses outside the camps on Bangka and Sumatra, but better made and with the names clearly carved, not pencilled or burned in.

The nice RAPWI woman said, ‘I’ll wait for you over there, my dear. Take as much time as you like.’

She had brought a wreath of flowers and laid it down carefully. There had been so many graves, so many crosses. And this one was the hardest to bear of them all.

* * *

It was a bad connection and Stella was shouting down the telephone.

‘Susie, do you want a lift to Sydney? I ran into an old friend of mine who’s a pilot in the RAAF. He’s flying some stretcher cases down there tomorrow in a Dakota. He says he’ll take me because I can help with the nursing and there’ll be room for you, too – if you don’t mind sitting on the floor.’

‘But Sydney’s miles from Perth, isn’t it?’

‘Around two thousand. But you could come and stay with us and we’ll arrange to get you there. I know Mum would love to have you. So would I. Can you be ready first thing in the morning?’

She said, ‘Would there be room for one more?’

‘I doubt it. Bob’s doing us a big favour as it is. Do you mean for Hua?’

‘No, we found her aunt. She’s gone to live with her and she’s very happy about it.’

‘Great news. You’ll miss her, though – same as Peter.’

First Peter, now Hua. The little girl who had clung to her so tightly and so trustingly. Both of them gone.

‘They’re with their own families. It’s better for them.’

‘Yeah … you’re right there. Well, who’s this other person you want to bring along?’

‘It’s not a person,’ she said. ‘It’s a cat.’

Eighteen

SO THAT WAS
Australia down there. The ends of the world, spread out thousands of feet below. The land discovered by Captain Cook and settled by thieves deported from England for stealing loaves of bread and orchard apples and suchlike. All Susan could see through the plane window was bare red earth, what looked like a river and absolutely no sign of human habitation. She sat down on the floor again and leaned against the bulkhead. The Dakota droned on, rising and sinking gently.

Stella’s friend, the pilot, came out of the cockpit. Tall, tanned, broad-shouldered – rather like the digger who had turned up at the camp gates. It must be all the steaks they ate.

‘You OK down there?’ He was shouting at her to make himself heard above the din of the engines. ‘Sorry it’s such a lousy ride for you.’

She shouted back. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

He smiled, showing strong white teeth: all the better for tearing at the steaks. Her own teeth seemed to have lost the power to chew at all after the years of mushy rice.

‘First time in Australia, Susie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I hope you like it. It’s a beaut country. Staying long?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘The natives are pretty friendly, you’ll find.’

‘Even to Poms?’

The teeth gleamed. ‘So long as you don’t whinge.’

‘I’ll try not to. Does this plane know how to fly itself?’

Another gleam. ‘Don’t worry, the co-pilot’s up front. How’s the cat getting on?’

She peered into the wicker basket containing Sweep. ‘He seems to be sound asleep at the moment.’

‘That’s good. When we arrive, pretend he’s luggage. And that you’re a nurse, same as Stella, so make sure you mop somebody’s brow and look busy. That way there won’t be any hold-ups with the officials.’

‘Thanks for letting me stow away.’

‘Glad to help. We’ll be coming down at Darwin soon to refuel. Then we go on to Sydney. It’s a long way, but it’s worth it for the view when we get there. Wait till you see Sydney Harbour and the Bridge. That’s really something.’

The Dakota landed at Darwin, engines bellowing in reverse as it slowed. Out on the tarmac it was steam heat, as hot as Malaya but with none of the Eastern magic. Tin huts, bare earth, a few trees, not much else. Nothing very beaut about Australia, so far.

She slept on the flight down to Sydney and Stella woke her, shaking her excitedly by the arm.

‘We’re coming down … we’ll be there soon.’

She could remember feeling the same sort of thrill, long ago, when she was returning to Singapore from England by boat and waiting on deck for the first sight of the outer islands and the line of palm trees on the distant horizon.

The Dakota was descending gradually, making a gentle turn. Stella was looking out of the window.

‘There are the Heads. And there’s the Harbour. And there’s the
Bridge
. Oh, my God!’ Tears were streaming down her cheeks. ‘Christ, there were times when I thought I’d never see any of it again. Just take a look at
that
!’

Susan got up and looked. She saw below the deep blue and glittering Pacific Ocean dividing the heart of a city, and a gigantic bridge that spanned it in a single arch from shore to shore.

Stella was mopping her eyes. ‘What did I tell you? Isn’t it bloody marvellous?’

‘I asked Mum and Dad about Ray,’ Stella said. ‘They’d heard on the bush telegraph that he’d been taken prisoner by the Japs at Singapore, but that’s all. Apparently his mother died two years ago. Very sad. His sister, Verity, still lives in Sydney, Mum says. She works as a secretary on Macquarie Street. I could find out her home address and we could go and see her this evening.’

They were sitting in the garden of Stella’s parents’ house under the shade of a coolibah tree, like the jolly swagman, and watching Sweep who was watching something else intently – an Australian insect of some kind.

‘She might mind.’

‘No, she won’t. And you want to find out about Ray, don’t you?’

‘It would be rather nice to know if he’s OK.’

Stella said a touch sarcastically, ‘Yes, it would rather, wouldn’t it?’

Verity Harvey lived in an apartment on the other side of the Bridge. She was small and slight with brown curly hair. There was no resemblance to her brother that Susan could see, except in the colour of her eyes.

After the introducing and the small talk which included admiring the view of the Harbour from the window, Stella came straight to the point.

‘We both saw quite a bit of Ray in Singapore before the Japs took it, Verity. I was nursing at the Alexandra Hospital and Susan was driving ambulances.’

The sister smiled at her. ‘I know about you, Susan. Ray mentioned you in the letters he wrote to me from Singapore.’

She was very surprised. ‘Did he?’

‘Yes, several times.’