‘Goon up,’ Harold hollered as the barrack door swung open. The guard stepped in and gestured with the barrel of his Gewehr to make us fall in line. He led us across the compound to the latrine and motioned for us to disrobe. The outfit Inga had given me hung off my frame like I was a boy dressed in my father’s clothes. I had no way to know how much weight I had lost because there was no scale or mirror, but I was definitely faring more poorly than the others. My bunkmates didn’t seem to mind the conditions all that much. They behaved as if it was no different than being at Boy Scout camp with a gang of friends. Most of them even preferred being a POW to fighting, and at first I did too, but the novelty wore off quickly for me because I had no purpose to wake up to in the morning. Laundry day was one thing I did look forward to, so I eagerly dropped my trousers and removed my shirt. Although they allowed us a short communal shower once a week, they only permitted us to wash our clothes once every month, and I detested being filthy like a beggar.
The guard shouted at us to hurry up, so I scrubbed my trousers, shirt and undergarments clean and wrung them out. Then I ran back through the foggy mist in the buff to hang them to dry from the rafter in the barrack.
It’s possible that another reason I struggled as a prisoner more than the other POWs was because, although I had made efforts to outgrow my adolescent petulance and stubbornness, I still hated being ordered around and told what I could and could not do by someone I didn’t respect. I hated not being in control of my own life. And not knowing anything was the worst. Would I ever see Chidori or my family again? There was a possibility they weren’t even aware I was alive. How was the war going? Would I suffer through all the hardships only to die of starvation or be killed by the Third Reich?
Not that anyone was, but I really wasn’t cut out for incarceration. I had to constantly remind myself that the conditions could have certainly been worse. I was alive, which meant one day I would be free to go home to Chidori. That’s all that mattered.
‘Come on, Hayden. Shake a leg! The Red Cross packages and the post finally arrived,’ Arnold hollered from outside.
My clothes were still damp so, naked except for my boots, I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders and followed him to an area in the yard where a bunch of fellows tore open wooden crates filled with milk powder, corned beef, sardines, prunes, salt, tea, clothing items for the cold weather, medical supplies and toiletries. The YMCA also sent packages that arrived at the same time. I flipped through a couple of new books. One was a book of poetry by Robert Frost. Chidori had raved on once about how much she loved his poems, so I placed that one to the side with an Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot mystery and Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. Hank blew on a trumpet and Roger joined him with a tambourine to play a Louis Armstrong song. It was like Christmas. Another crate, packed full with a phonograph, records and sports equipment, had also been delivered.
‘Pierce!’ Jacob shouted. He extended his arm towards me with an envelope clutched in his fist as he dug more letters out of the postbag with his other hand. The envelope had my name scrawled across the front. What a sight for sore eyes that was. I hustled over to snatch it from him and tore the seal open. My mother had written it, which I was glad for because she tended to go on and on – a welcome trait when starved for news from home. Pop wasn’t much for words, so his letters had always left me longing for more – or brutally shocked by his abruptness in at least one case. I could not have been more grateful to read about the mundane goings-on of Mayne Island. I sat on a stump and flipped open the box of a harmonica that I’d picked from the crate. The metal sunk into my palm in a familiar way as I unfolded the letter and started to read.
True to form, Ma wrote ten pages, double-sided, about everything that had been going on since we had last corresponded. She avoided the topic of my sister. There was also no mention of Chidori or the Setoguchis. I reread the entire thing again to check that I hadn’t skipped a page or a paragraph. Ma spent several pages talking about her relief that I was alive and despair that I had been taken prisoner. The church congregation was apparently praying for me. She discussed things she had been reading in the newspaper about the war – most of which had been blacked out by the censors. Then she went on a less serious tangent about how one of our goats had gotten into our neighbour’s house and chewed its way through the kitchen cupboards. She also felt it was important to update me on the news that her friend from bingo had come down with a dreadful cough but recovered. How could she forget to mention Chidori? I had specifically asked them to update me on her. It made me worry that her avoidance meant the news was bleak and that Ma had purposely omitted the topic because she knew I was in no state to receive more miserable news. No, I refused to believe that. I had to convince myself that Chidori was well and my parents simply had no new information to share with me. Chidori had to be well. She was fine. And happy. Safe. I needed that to be true or I’d have nothing to keep me hopeful, so I pretended that Ma had written all sorts of encouraging and inspiring things about Chidori in the letter.
‘Isn’t all this Red Cross equipment terrific?’ Luke asked me as he bounced a basketball on the frozen dirt.
I walked over to the crate and picked up a baseball, rotating it to feel the familiar texture of the leather and stitching against my fingertips. ‘I would be happier if it were an announcement that the war is over, but it’s definitely better than nothing.’
‘Damn right. Go long.’ Luke cocked his arm to throw a football, so I tossed my blanket, letter and harmonica on the picnic table next to the baseball and took off in my birthday suit to run a route. My legs wobbled and my breath almost instantly became raspy. I only made it halfway across the yard and turned to look for the pass. It hit me in the face and made my nose bleed.
Huffing for air, I walked back and tossed the football to him. ‘Looks like I’m going to need to work on my fitness.’
‘Spring training. We’ll make teams and play real games once the weather gets better.’
To recover from being winded, I propped my hands on my knees. ‘I was hoping we’d be going home before spring.’
He nodded and said with unconvincing conviction, ‘Sure. We’ll be going home before then. Now go put some clothes on before they shoot you for being crackers.’
I chuckled and shrugged. Running around in the buff was liberating at least.
F/O Pierce Duration as POW: 115 days.
A fellow named Billy lit his farts on fire today to entertain us. The gas turned the flame blue. We laughed off our chairs to watch him bend over, spread his cheeks, and hold a match up to his arse. It made us laugh even harder when he accidentally set his trousers on fire. I haven’t laughed that hard since I was still on Mayne Island and chumming around with my childhood friends. I wonder if Joey and Donna Mae got married. Ma never mentioned them either. Next time I write, I’ll send it to Joey. Maybe he’ll tell me the truth about Chidori. Unless I don’t want to know the truth.
28 November 1941
Dear Diary,
Hayden and I have secretly seen each other almost every day since the night of the rowboat incident. Although I will eventually confront my father with the truth, we have tried to hide each rendezvous so my father won’t be cross. In mid-November, Kenji and Michiko happened to drive by us while Hayden was walking me home along the road, hand in hand. And Tosh caught us kissing behind the greenhouses one afternoon. They either haven’t mentioned it to Father or he knows and is choosing to accept it. I am not sure which. In case it is the first option, I think it is best for now if we continue to be discreet. It is my greatest wish that the war will simply end one day out of the blue and nobody will care any more whether Hayden and I are together. I realize that is magical thinking and I will need to come up with a more practical solution sooner rather than later, but I need more time to think about the right course of action.
It is my sense that Hayden’s mother has not warmed to the idea of us going steady either. Truthfully, she has never been overly genial towards me. Once, when Hayden and I were children, we were playing Tarzan on a rope strung from the rafters in their barn, and I fell from the ladder. I scraped my knee, elbow and chin very badly. Hayden rushed me into the house as blood dripped, shouting for his mother. Instead of cleaning my wound and applying bandages, she shooed me home. Hayden walked hurriedly with me to my house and stayed with me as my mother administered first aid. I’m not sure he ever realized how oddly cold his own mother’s reaction had been. I would venture to say that she is not a nurturing person by nature, but I have witnessed her be very gentle and caring towards Hayden and Rosalyn, so she is capable of it.
Hayden insisted on inviting me to his birthday dinner. Initially, his mother made excuses for why it would be better if it were only a family affair, since his sister was coming home from Vancouver for the weekend. He informed his mother if I wasn’t there they wouldn’t be celebrating his birthday at all. She finally conceded and made a roasted turkey and birthday cake. We all enjoyed a few rounds of cards after dinner and then Hayden played the harmonica that I had given him as a gift, while Rose and I danced. We had a very pleasant evening, even his mother could not deny that.
We don’t need our parents’ approval, but it would certainly be nice. I am not comfortable with going against the wishes of people whom I admire. Hopefully there is some way we can convince them to accept our affection for one another. But we might have much more dire problems to contend with now that Hayden is old enough to enlist.
Chi