Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 5 January 1944
Red Cross Donations for this Week
Mrs H Bullant: 14 prs socks; 5 cakes soap; 2 prs bootlaces; 2 pyjama coats; 2 parcels old linen
Mrs H Ellis: 16 prs socks; 6 face washers
Mrs Lee: 1 pr socks; 2 prs comforters; 2 prs bootlaces; 2 shaving cream; 12 cakes soap
Miss Anita Bevedge: 4 prs socks; 1 hot-water-bottle cover; 3 singlets; magazines
Mrs M Thompson: 6 face washers; 50 cakes soap
Mrs B McAlpine: 7 prs socks; 6 hot-water-bottle covers; 20 shaving cream and brushes; 14 fruitcakes
Mrs M McAlpine: 12 prs socks; 12 plum puddings
Miss Beverly Bridges: 3 prs socks; 6 pillow slips
PULAU AYU PRISON CAMP, JANUARY 1944
NANCY
Christmas departed: ‘roast goose’, which was really a small boiled python Nancy had caught and killed as she picked hibiscus buds, then wrapped around her middle to smuggle it into camp. Her dress was so loose now she could have hidden a medium-sized crocodile.
Malaria came again. While they had access to quinine, at least, they survived. Mrs Hughendorn’s hands were bare of rings. Nancy didn’t know if it was because they had grown too thin for the rings to stay on, or if she had sold them all in exchange for the drugs that kept them alive. Rain came, solid water from the sky, or sudden windstorms sweeping, roaring, chewing their roofs and spitting them out.
The rations had changed: less cassava, more sago. But she was able to catch ‘island rabbit’ nearly every night now, crouched by the latrine, ready to pounce. And bananas still came each morning for Gavin. He was thin, his legs like sticks, a small potbelly she knew was not fat. But he still had the energy to catch his ‘ball’ when the women took it in turns to throw it to him; still snuggled up to her in the heat of the afternoon to listen to The Magic Pudding and stories of Overflow, far away.
But there would be no stories this afternoon, not over the clatter of rain in the wet season, with only half a roof left from the previous night’s storm, and the clouds building up again.
The translator had grown even thinner, she realised, as she stepped up to him head down in a show of respect before she drew close enough to bow. His uniform hung off him now. The cuffs were tatty, his cap stained with sweat. His posture was still erect, but she thought his expression was softer these days, especially when he looked at Gavin.
‘Please, Translator-san, may we cut more palm thatch to mend the roof?’
‘No knives for prisoners.’
‘Oh.’ She hadn’t thought of that. ‘But perhaps the wind blew down palm fronds, Translator-san. We could pick them up.’
He considered, nodded. ‘I will go with you.’
The statement surprised her. He had never gone out of the camp with her when she had picked hibiscus buds. Perhaps, she thought, he is as tired of this compound as we are, though he probably spent most of his time at the plantations, translating for the workers there, or for the fishermen who spoke more English than Japanese. Perhaps that too had now changed, as the people of this land once again learnt a victor’s language.
‘Please, Translator-san, may the other women come too? And the little boy? He has never seen the sea.’
Yes, the translator’s look did soften when he looked at Gavin. ‘You and one other woman may go. And the boy.’
She bowed low again. ‘Thank you, Translator-san. You honour us prisoners.’
He didn’t smile. He knows I am lying, she thought. Knows I am trying to please him to get what I want. But it is worth it.
The sand steamed that morning, as the sun sucked back the rain. Moira and Nancy held Gavin’s hands as the little boy stared at the unimagined endlessness of the sea. ‘Why does the water go back and forwards?’
‘I don’t know …’ Nancy had started to say, when the translator spoke from behind them.
‘The wind blows the water one way and makes a wave, then the water rolls back and feeds another wave, which rolls forwards.’
Gavin frowned, trying to work it out. ‘If we push the waves, can we make them all roll back?’
‘No,’ said the translator. ‘Sometimes the wind makes great waves, taller than the tree. Sometimes there is a big shaking of the earth, under the sea, and a big wave comes then too.’
Gavin stepped back, his hands clutching their fingers tighter. ‘Will it do that today?’
The translator smiled. Nancy realised that she had never seen him smile before. ‘No. The sea is happy today because the storm is over. Come.’ To Nancy’s amazement, he took the boy’s hand in his. They walked down to the water, the translator picking up bits of debris, seashells, pointing to a crab for Gavin to laugh at.
‘Wonders will never cease,’ said Nancy. ‘Moira, what is that?’
Moira held up something — it was small, almost blue-white. ‘An egg.’
‘It must have blown down from a nest.’
‘Not hard-boiled it didn’t. Look.’
Nancy looked. In the fork of nearly every bush was a tiny egg, the kind laid by the local hens. Someone — perhaps many someones and not just the person who left the food packages — must have watched her pick buds here, at the same time every day; have put these eggs here for her to find before they could go bad in the heat. She gathered them quickly, sticking them down her blouse before the translator saw. But he had caught a crab between two sticks and was holding it up for Gavin to see.
So many eggs. Twenty, twenty-two … it would be a feast. It had been more than a month since they’d had an egg, and that was just one shared between them all.
This was more than kindness, she thought. The local people would be punished, beaten, perhaps even killed if the guards discovered they had helped the prisoners. But still the parcels came, and now the eggs. Maybe several people had pooled their eggs to give to the prisoners, hard-boiling them to keep them from going bad …
Something moved out on the sea. She covered her eyes, to shield them from the glare. It was a native fishing boat, the triangular sail catching the wind.
A boat … and the three of them outside the camp, with only the translator to guard them. And local people willing to help …
She had abandoned any thought of escape not long after they were first imprisoned. But now she knew there were people who might help them. Now Gavin was older. Now the guards trusted her enough to go beyond the compound, and Moira and Gavin too. The three of them could vanish. Moira still had her pearls to trade …
Excitement rose like the giant wave the translator had talked about. Not today, she thought. We can’t escape today. We have to plan, to gather stores. Ask Mrs Hughendorn to write a note to leave in the bushes. Make sure a fisherman will help us get off the island, to another without Japanese guards, where we might sail to another island, and another …
Perhaps they could all go …
The sun shone brightly against the blue. The whole world seemed brighter. Escape, thought Nancy. We can do it. Leave the compound. Leave the island. Leave the Japanese behind. And one day, across the islands, get back home to Overflow.
She looked across the sea again.
Escape …