SOON AFTER THE SURRENDER, when General Yamashita had settled his troops and secured the city of Singapore, he sent kempetai officers to Changi Prison to fetch Shinozaki and bring him to Yamashita’s headquarters. Since then, Shinozaki had been busy. He had cordial meetings with top military men, although General Yamashita himself, Commander of the 25th Army, had been too busy to say more than, ‘Good, you have come back.’ He had met up again with Major Kunitaki, one of the high-ranking officers he had shown about Singapore, a duty that had precipitated his arrest in 1940; Kunitaki was now part of the Planning Office. Shinozaki was surprised to find himself something of a hero because of his time in Changi Prison; his story had been printed in the Asahi Shimbun in Japan and in all the army newsletters.
Major-General Kawamura at Defence Headquarters had congratulated him on his safe return in a cultivated voice. ‘You are here so long, and have good relations with the citizens of this place; you are a valuable man. As everything now is in the hands of the military, you need a military title. I will make you Adviser to Defence Headquarters.’
‘What is my job?’ Shinozaki asked nervously.
‘To protect the good citizens of this town, and see no mistakes are made by our soldiers. You must wear the Defence Headquarters armband at all times, and you may also have one car for your use,’ Kawamura replied.
It was in this car that Shinozaki came to Nanyo Kaiun in Middle Road, to visit Mr Yamaguchi again. Raj had arrived only minutes before, delighted to hear from Mr Ho about Mr and Mrs Yamaguchi’s release from internment in an army barracks near Changi Prison. Due to age and infirmity they had not been sent to a camp in India with the rest of the Japanese community at the beginning of the war, when the British rounded them up. Prison life had aged the elderly couple, but Mr Shinozaki appeared unchanged. The diplomat greeted Raj warmly; his visit to Changi with books and pickles had not been forgotten.
‘I read Nanking Road and Crime and Punishment many times,’ Shinozaki laughed as they sat down once again to drink beer at Yamaguchi’s low Japanese table. His visit would have to be brief, Shinozaki said, as he had an appointment with some young auxiliary kempei. The beer and camaraderie about the table lowered his natural reticence, and he voiced some reservations about these recruits to the army’s dreaded special intelligence unit.
‘These men should not be used to help the regular kempei with law and order. The auxiliary kempei are very young soldiers, and not well educated because they are from the countryside. They are very strong for fighting, very brave, but do not really have much common sense. Like all villagers they are pure of heart, but ignorant. The only thing they do well is to die when ordered. They are never afraid to die. However, they know nothing of the local people; I shall have my work cut out for me.’ Shinozaki lifted his glass for Mrs Yamaguchi to refill with beer. He had brought this beer with him from the store at Defence Headquarters. It was a long time since any of them had tasted beer. He had also brought tins of Naval Cut cigarettes for Yamaguchi. Both men were smoking determinedly, and the room was thick with tobacco fumes as they savoured the taste of nicotine and beer, remembering the difficulties of the past two years.
‘In Changi my salary for repairing mailbags was three cigarettes and three matches a day. Later, there were no more cigarettes and that was hard,’ Shinozaki said.
Mrs Yamaguchi’s hair had turned white, and although she was alarmingly stooped and frail, she was as usual immaculately dressed in a kimono. Yamaguchi had lost his paunch and his cheeks hung loosely about his wide jaw. Although his eyes were rheumy and he was missing some teeth, his joviality was as before. Their home had been saved from the local looters after the surrender because it was up on the first floor. Mr Ono the barber on the ground floor had had his chairs and basins ripped out, and not a camera remained at Nemoto’s Photo Studio.
‘I went to Nassim Road this morning, to see the Swiss Consul-General. I had orders from Tokyo to get back the Imperial Seal, and all the documents of the Japanese Consulate that had been given to the Swiss for safe keeping when we Japanese were interned. Nassim Road was full of looters. They were local people, stripping the big European houses, carrying off whatever they could. These looters are the only people out on the streets since we entered the city. The kempetai will not like this lawless behaviour.’ Shinozaki exhaled smoke and then turned to Raj, observing him appraisingly.
‘I need a young man to assist me, someone local I can trust to liaise with the different communities. All businesses now belong to the military; everything must now be done through the military authorities. Singapore is to be rebuilt in the Japanese way,’ Shinozaki explained. Raj was taken by surprise, and was about to ask a question when there was a loud rapping on Yamaguchi’s front door. A tall Japanese army officer entered the room, gold buttons agleam on his uniform, and gave a brief bow. Yamaguchi beckoned him in effusively.
‘We have some good beer at last, Shinozaki-san has brought it for us,’ Yamaguchi said as the man took off his peaked cap and knelt to join them at the table. It was only then, much to everyone’s amusement, that Raj recognised his Japanese teacher, Takeshi Nakamura.
‘Doesn’t he look handsome in his uniform?’ Yamaguchi chuckled.
‘You’ve joined the army? I thought you were in Bangkok.’ Raj was puzzled.
‘I came from Bangkok the day after the surrender with Major Fujiwara,’ Takeshi replied.
‘Takeshi is with Army Intelligence Centre. He’s part of Fujiwara Kikan, a vital intelligence unit,’ Shinozaki said as he lit another cigarette. Takeshi leaned forward to explain.
‘In Fujiwara Kikan we work to free Asia from colonial exploitation. We are also working with the different Nationalist organisations in Asia, like your Indian Independence League whom we support.’
‘I thought you were a Japanese teacher,’ Raj protested, feeling suddenly like a swimmer in a choppy sea. Shinozaki and Yamaguchi laughed indulgently, and Takeshi gave a condescending smile.
‘You could say I was a Japanese teacher with a special purpose. F. Kikan is centred in Bangkok, and from there we spread out to prepare for the invasion,’ he explained.
‘You needed a teacher, he needed a student.’ Yamaguchi chuckled and Takeshi nodded, amused.
‘All Indian civilians should now join the Indian Independence League to fight for Indian independence with Japan’s help. Singapore will be the League’s headquarters; everything will happen from here. We have also established a military wing, the Indian National Army, and are now recruiting for this.’ Takeshi accepted a glass of beer from Mrs Yamaguchi before continuing.
‘Many Indian soldiers in the British army have already come over to the Japanese side. These Indian soldiers are now part of the new Indian National Army, and will invade and liberate India together with the Japanese army.’ Takeshi’s shaven head gleamed and his narrow eyes flashed in satisfaction.
Shinozaki raised his glass to drain the last of his beer and then, looking at his watch, prepared to take his leave. ‘No detectives standing downstairs to trail us now,’ he remarked with a chuckle to Yamaguchi. Takeshi also readied himself to leave with Shinozaki, pulling down his high-collared jacket and putting on his peaked military cap. At the door Shinozaki paused before leaving, and turned to Raj.
‘Come to my office tomorrow morning,’ he instructed him.
Raj left Middle Road a few minutes later and returned to Serangoon Road, anxious to pass on his news about the formation of an Indian National Army to his brother-in-law. He found Krishna in a state of high excitement; men from Fujiwara Kikan had already paid him a visit.
‘They’re wasting no time. Everyone in the Youth League has already been visited and told to join the Indian Independence League. After that, if they want to go on and join the Indian National Army, they will receive military training. This is the moment we have waited for. The Japanese intend to liberate India and give us Independence. Soon we’ll have Home Rule and I will then be able to return home.’
As they talked, Leila spread banana leaves before them and spooned out rice and vegetables. Krishna was too excited to eat. ‘I am to be part of the new organising committee of the Indian Independence League. Rash Behari Bose, the great freedom fighter living in exile in Japan, is coming here to organise Indians from all over Asia into one great movement. The Indian National Army will also train civilian volunteers like myself, and I am going to join them.’ Krishna could not contain his euphoria.
In the morning Raj reported to Mr Shinozaki’s office at Defence Headquarters in Fort Canning. Impressive colonial buildings, an ancient botanical garden and an old cemetery that dated back to the time of Raffles topped the slopes of shady paths and trees. The place was now awash with Japanese army men hurrying about on pressured errands. An order had come from the Emperor of Japan to rename the city Syonan, Light of the East. The town remained plagued by looting and the sky above dark with the smoke of oil that continued to burn at the Naval Base; there was little water, food, gas or electricity. Corpses still lay rotting on every corner amongst heaps of rubble, their stench pervading the town. Sitting at a small desk piled with stacks of paper, Shinozaki was full of concern at this state of affairs.
‘There is much work to be done if we are to live up to the Emperor’s expectations. We Japanese are freed from internment. Now it is our turn to round up British civilians and intern them in Changi. We are exchanging places. British army POWs will have the job of clearing the city of corpses.’ Shinozaki looked at Raj over his spectacles, surrounded by tobacco fumes. A cigarette burned between his fingers, an ashtray of cigarette butts sat on the desk before him and his brow was furrowed with distraction as he explained his job at Defence Headquarters. As they talked, people came in and out of the room to take orders from Shinozaki. From the nature of the instructions Shinozaki gave, Raj gathered that the diplomat now commanded an army of spies gathering information in the manner of hungry bees. An orderly entered with a pot of coffee and Shinozaki welcomed the break.
‘How I longed for good coffee in Changi. I expected every day to be executed. In fact I’m surprised to find myself still alive,’ he sighed, lighting up another cigarette and pouring out cups of the strong brew for himself and Raj.
‘Everyone will now need a Good Citizen Pass for their protection. I do not want to see ordinary citizens troubled by our military administration. People must not be afraid to move about. You must help me with these passes; each must be written by hand. You must learn how to write Japanese characters in order to do this. I have given the cook at the Toyo Hotel where I am staying, a pass. He brought many of his relatives to see me. This is my cousin, this is my uncle, he said, and I gave them all passes. You had also better have one immediately.’ Shinozaki reached for a piece of stiff paper, the pen scratching as he wrote, the soft whirr of the ceiling fan breaking the silence and stirring the trapped cloud of smoke. Finally, he stamped the card with his seal, and translated the Japanese characters for Raj.
‘“Bearer of this card is known to us since before the war. Please look after or protect him.” That is what it says. My title, Adviser to Defence Headquarters, is a powerful one. Keep this safe.’ Shinozaki handed the paper to Raj.
Then, picking up his pen he began to show Raj how to form each stroke of the intricate Japanese script, amused at his pupil’s first inelegant efforts. ‘Soon you will be an expert, and will help me live up to my name, Shinozaki. Shino means China, zaki means cape, as in Cape of Good Hope, and my first name, Mamoru means protector: Chinese Cape of Protection. It is quite a responsibility to have such a name in these difficult times.’ Shinozaki gave a wry smile, watching Raj laboriously forming each Japanese character with his pen, and continued.
‘Last night I worked until one in the morning preparing passes, and they are already all gone. Look, it is not so difficult to copy my Japanese characters. You write, I write, and then I will stamp my seal on them all.’ Shinozaki pushed a pile of paper across the desk to Raj. For the rest of the day this work absorbed them both.
When Raj reached Defence Headquarters the following morning for his second day of work, he found Shinozaki waiting impatiently for him. ‘We have our first important job. Bishop Devels says Catholic people are in danger in the Geylang, Katong and Upper Thomson Road areas because soldiers there are acting roughly. He wants his people, especially the children, bussed into town to the convents for safety.’
Raj was busy all morning arranging for school buses to bring children to the Bras Basah area, into the safety of the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus. He wore his Defence Headquarters armband like Shinozaki and kept out of the way of soldiers. Later, he went with Shinozaki to meet Bishop Devels. They had to leave the car some distance away as the road was being cleared of bomb rubble. As they walked from Queen Street towards the convent where Bishop Devels waited, they passed a row of small terraced houses from which came shouting and screaming. Two soldiers appeared in a doorway with several young Chinese men, and marched them down the steps with bayonets at their back. A woman ran after them, pleading with the soldiers. Shinozaki stopped and stiffened as he stared at the scene, Raj standing anxiously beside him. Then, abruptly, he hurried towards the woman. Seeing Shinozaki, she gave a desperate cry and ran over to him.
‘Mr Shinozaki, help them,’ she implored, pulling on the diplomat’s arm. Shinozaki at once sprinted after the soldiers, shouting to them in Japanese. The men came to a halt and turned their bayonets on the diplomat, who pointed repeatedly to his Defence Headquarters armband as he spoke. Finally, with a show of ill grace, the soldiers released their prisoners and walked angrily away. Raj watched as the woman and her brothers bowed repeated thanks to Shinozaki before returning home.
‘That woman used to work in the Japanese Embassy,’ Shinozaki explained when he returned to Raj, still breathless from the altercation.
‘Why were the men being taken away, had they done something wrong?’ Raj asked as they continued on to the convent, unsure of what he had just witnessed.
‘They’re rounding up all Chinese men between the ages of fifteen and fifty for screening; everyone must gather at one of the concentration points. They are not going about this in the right way,’ Shinozaki admitted, lips pursed disapprovingly beneath his small moustache.
‘This is all Lieutenant-Colonel Tsuji’s doing; he is in charge of planning and action,’ Shinozaki confided. ‘They want to search out all anti-Japanese elements, people who supported the China Relief Fund and young men who joined the Chinese volunteer forces to fight against us Japanese; it’s a clean-up operation. They are also looking for communists and other undesirable people who will undermine the new Singapore. All this is being done for the people’s own good, but who will understand this?’ Shinozaki worried as they walked along.
The strangest thing of all since the Japanese arrived was the unexpected silence: no aircraft or bombs. Cicadas rattled in the garden and there was no need to wonder now if the sound was the distant trail of a shell. Instead, there was fear of a different kind. Mei Lan had been forbidden by Lim Hock An and Second Grandmother to continue working at the General Hospital. Japanese soldiers had brusquely entered another hospital, the Alexander Hospital, and because it was a British military hospital they had massacred patients, doctors and nurses in a vicious bloodbath.
Although not subjected to this form of aggression, the General Hospital was in chaos after the staff were ordered to remove every patient within twenty-four hours to free the facilities for wounded Japanese troops. Soldiers with bayonets at the ready stood everywhere.
‘The General Hospital is not a military hospital so they’ve spared everyone here, but we’ve orders to get out. Over a thousand patients are being discharged. Those who are too ill to go are being sent to Woodbridge Mental Asylum, which is being cleared of its patients to make way for us. I will be going there with them,’ Cynthia explained to Mei Lan as they worked in the Admissions Room. In the hospital people were running here and there as convoys of ambulances were loaded with the sick, ready for transfer to Woodbridge.
‘Why are you staying on?’ Mei Lan asked, fear rushing through her. Already, British doctors and nurses, some with stethoscopes still about their necks, were being loaded at bayonet point into open trucks to be taken for internment to Changi Prison.
‘I’m a local nurse; I’m not in immediate danger. Besides, it’s my job, I don’t have a choice. Patients need me. Your position is different and you must do as your grandfather says,’ Cynthia insisted, calm as always, showing no hesitation.
It was time for Mei Lan to go home, Cynthia thought. Whatever lay ahead would take a toughness of nerves she felt Mei Lan did not have. As a volunteer, Mei Lan had worked diligently but she came from a background of privilege and was clearly unused to the menial demands of nursing; at home Cynthia knew Mei Lan’s old amah still fetched and carried and slept on the floor by the side of her bed. The jobs she had been required to do – the dressing of wounds – the handling of dishes of vomit or effluvium, the washing of sour perspiring bodies, picking maggots from wounds, were things that nothing in her life could have prepared her for. Yet, Cynthia observed, Mei Lan had persevered, overcome her repugnance for these tasks, and could be relied on in most situations. Cynthia called upon her often and there was an easy relationship between them now, although Howard was rarely mentioned in more than passing reference.
‘Go quickly now, and take care of yourself.’ Cynthia gave Mei Lan a small push.
For the first time Mei Lan was relieved to do as she was told, and gratefully fled the turmoil of the hospital. The sight of rough, squat Japanese soldiers shouting orders and waving bayonets filled her with terror. As she drove herself home in her own small car, avoiding the usual potholes and shell craters, corpses and fallen cables, she found there were now Japanese staff cars, horns blaring, to be avoided as they roared about the city. At a roadblock a Japanese sentry came forward and peered at her through the car window. She met his eyes and held her breath but eventually, with a lewd smile and incomprehensible remark, he waved her on. As Bougainvillaea House came into view she found herself limp with relief.
‘Stay inside!’ Lim Hock An yelled when he saw her, knowing this time she would not disobey.
Only Ah Siew or the houseboys went out each day trying to find a piece of fish or some vegetables for them. JJ had returned to Bougainvillaea House after the surrender, limping back covered in mud and blood, but alive. Now he was lying sick and weak in bed after the terrifying experience of combat. Against all inclination, pressured by his grandfather, he had finally joined Dalforce, Tan Kah Kee’s group of last-minute volunteers from the Chinese community. In terrible conditions and with little ammunition, they had fought bravely at the front line taking heavy losses. From his recruitment into Dalforce to the decimation and disbanding of the desperate group had taken all of eight tumultuous days. JJ was full of anger.
‘It was madness to send us there. We were without proper guns and not trained to fight; we had only a few days of drilling.’ His once carefully combed and pomaded hair was now cropped close to his head, giving him the look of a plucked chicken.
‘I suppose it will be something to talk about over a drink at the club when things are back to normal again,’ JJ decided as he began to rally.
Lim Hock An’s old friend Tan Kah Kee, initiator of Dalforce and JJ’s grim experience, driving force behind Japanese boycotts and the China Relief Fund, had hurriedly left Singapore before the surrender. Before leaving he had advised Lim Hock An to accompany him. ‘We will be wanted men because of our opposition to the Japanese. Come with me to Indonesia, or go somewhere else; go anywhere. Whatever you do, get out of here,’ Tan Kah Kee had urged.
‘What will they do with an ancient like me?’ Lim Hock An argued apathetically; he could not imagine he would be seen as a threat.
‘You have China Relief Fund documents. Better burn them,’ Tan ordered before he fled to Sumatra.
This much Lim Hock An thought pertinent to do. Smoke rose from a tin drum in the garden all one afternoon, black ash collecting on the windowsills of Bougainvillaea House. Even as he watched the documents burn, Lim Hock An worried not about himself, but about his jade and opium, hobbling anxiously about their burial ground, kicking extra leaves over the roots of the replanted bougainvillaea bushes.