Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms (16 page)

He stands up again. Pacing, he stretches one leg at a time behind his body to relieve the stiffness. He is not in control and wants to climb the ladder up to freedom. But he is not free. He is a prisoner and the only way he can feel free, can escape the torment of shame, is to make the decision of when to die. But it's a decision that nowhere in his mind can he find the means of making.

‘Mary, Mary!' he hears a child's voice above calling. He wants to call for her too; for some company, some friendship, some conversation. He feels guilty about his growing interest
in a girl so much younger than himself. A girl and a family who have treated him with nothing but respect and dignity, even within the confines of being underground. His gratitude is beyond the food that Mary brings each day, for it is her presence and her humanity that has nourished him more than any meal possibly could. He is indebted to the people of Erambie, although he has only met two. He is grateful for the family that has no doubt lied to others to keep his secret, to protect him.

His guilt over his feelings for Mary and the goodwill he has been shown is compounded when his thoughts shift to the death and tragedy of the war that caused him to be here in the first place. He is overcome with grief when he is reminded that many of those he fought and was captured with are no longer alive.

‘
The Jungle Book
is showing at the Cowra Theatre,' Mrs Smith tells Mary as the children jostle around them both. ‘The children have read the book many times,' she adds, handing Mary a copy. ‘Rudyard Kipling is also one of my favourite poets, a poet of the Empire. I want the children to see this movie.'

‘I want to see the Old McDonald and Donald Duck cartoons,' Carmichael whines.

Mary doesn't want to see the cartoons or the film. She doesn't want to go to the theatre at all. It's hard because she's
dark and is supposed to sit up the front while the Smith kids can sit anywhere they want. As always, she chooses seats as close to the middle as possible and the kids don't know any different. The Donald Duck cartoons come on first, and then the film. It's about a boy who grows up in the jungle, with animals for friends. Mary thinks the Indian actor who plays the boy hero, Mowgli, is very handsome.

But it's difficult for Mary to focus on the movie. She's thinking about Hiroshi the whole time, trying to understand the spell she is under.
Is this love?
she wonders,
because if it is, then it feels wonderful
. Mary wants to know if love is also supposed to be full of anxiety and fear. And if the butterflies in her stomach will ever go away.

Mary isn't even aware if she is looking at the screen when there is some disruption next to her and Catherine pokes her in the side.

‘Shh, what is it?' she asks. ‘I thought you wanted to see this.'

Catherine whispers, ‘Carmichael just said that abos belong in the jungle.'

Mary is disgusted but there is little she can do. She has never liked the Smith children because, compared to the Williams kids, they are over-indulged, have more than they need and are ungrateful for their privileges as white people. However, she also knows that the children just follow what their parents say, and Mr Smith is no doubt to blame, and has probably referred to the local Blacks in derogatory ways more than once. So she does nothing, because there is nothing she can do.

But when they walk home she refuses to hold Carmichael's hand in her own private protest.

There is a strong stench in Hiroshi's bunker. Hiroshi has become immune to it, and Mary tries to ignore it. She hands him a hard-boiled egg, some damper and the newspaper. He starts eating straight away. The occasional egg is protein but his muscles are weak; even though he's been doing push-ups and trying to exercise, there is little muscle tone left in his arms. The damper is something his taste buds have grown accustomed to, and his stomach appreciates it, but he never feels full.

‘I can't stay,' Mary says with disappointment, ‘the Smiths are going into town for a meeting and I have to sit with Catherine and Carmichael.'

Hiroshi doesn't look up. He is grateful but preoccupied – he wants to see what's in the newspaper, if there's any more news about the other escapees. Any word about when they might go home.

‘I'll try to come back later.'

‘Arigat-o,' he says, already scanning the front page of the paper.

As he always does, he turns each page quickly, searching for any war news before starting at the beginning and reading through the paper line by line.

He stops when he sees a photo. He reads the headline: US M
ARINES
B
LAST
J
APANESE
'. There is no story, just the photo
of a plane being shot down. The caption says:
US Marine howitzer hurls shells into enemy positions on Guam Island, strategic base in the central Pacific, which was recaptured by American troops.

The image is harrowing, and he wonders how many men have died. How many families have been ruined? How many Japanese felt proud to die with honour for the Emperor?

He grabs his stomach, feeling like he has been kicked in the guts by a size 14 army boot. He slumps against the mud wall before hitting the ground. The war is still happening and rather than being there fighting, or even in a camp with other Japanese soldiers, he is hiding like a coward. Self-loathing settles in. He grieves for his own shame and that of his family.

A few hours later he hears the iron sheet move and panics. Mary has already visited once tonight, but she is here again.

‘Mary, what are you doing here? What is wrong?'

‘I just wanted to check you were okay.' She pauses. ‘You seemed different today.'

‘I am good, thank you. Thank you,' he says, grateful for the girl caring so much, but not wanting to talk any more, emotionally drained from the endless uncertainty. ‘But I do not want you getting into trouble.'

‘I must go, but I am glad to see you are good.' She departs as swiftly as she arrived.

Mary walks quickly back up to the hut where both her parents are standing in the kitchen with hands on hips.

‘What do you think you are doing?' Joan says, straining to keep her voice low. ‘Going down twice in one night is just a
silly and irresponsible thing to do. We can't risk you getting caught. What were you thinking?'

‘He's not well,' Mary says.

‘Sick? What kind of sickness?' Banjo panics. ‘The last thing we need is for him to get sick. It's not like we can look after him down there if he's sick.'

‘Not sick like that, Dad, sick like sad sick. His face is sunken and his eyes . . . Do you know what I mean?' She looks at both her parents. ‘He is sad sick.'

‘My girl, there is nothing you can do about that. It is something that will come from being at war, from being locked up and from being away from family.' Joan is hugging Mary. ‘But all we can do is keep him fed and safe right now, I don't want you getting too close to him.'

Mary says nothing.

‘Do I make myself clear?' Joan is straining not to raise her voice.

Mary nods.

‘“13 October 1944: He'll sink their ships . . . While you provide the means . . .”' Mary reads the heading of an advertisement for Victory Loans to her parents, and her Uncles Sid and Fred. Her Uncle Kevin is back from droving but it's his birthday and the men reckon that women and dancing will be on the cards. ‘He'll find another heart to break too,' Banjo had said earlier, sarcastically.

Mary continues, ‘“Between him and Tokyo stands a Jap armada – but he and his mates are out to sink every Nip in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. We've a thousand times as many hearts of oak as Drake had. And we've got the ships for them to man. But we want more and still more ships. We want myriad torpedoes to blast every Jap from the ocean. But every torpedo fired costs 3,230 pounds. So lend, lend every pound you can muster to speed Victory. Invest in the Second Victory Loan.”'

‘I really hate those advertisements,' Joan says. ‘Do you think anyone in Cowra actually supports them?'

‘Fat Bobbo!' Banjo, Sid and Fred all say simultaneously, then laugh. It is the only moment there has been humour for some time when talking about the war. Although the war is no laughing matter, and they all know it.

Mary doesn't take the paper to Hiroshi; she knows that this kind of thing will only cause him grief. His mental stability is already questionable. She knows he feels guilt and regret and longs to be with his family, if not on the warfront. She wants to take his mind away from the misery that causes the grief, even if momentarily.

‘What are you doing?' Mrs Smith asks Mary as she catches her flicking through a book from the shelves she should be dusting. Mary has to think quickly because she doesn't want to get into trouble and be summoned to the Manager.

‘I would like to read some poetry,' she says cautiously. ‘Since I left school I have nothing to read, just the newspaper, and that's nearly always depressing.' Which isn't a lie. ‘You mentioned you loved the man who wrote
The Jungle Book
,' she says, thinking on her feet.

‘Yes, dear, but this is also a very, very good collection you could read.' Mrs Smith takes the volume from Mary, and runs her fingers over the title,
The Man From Snowy River and other verses
. ‘A. B. Paterson has written the finest poems you are likely to read, right here.' She waves the book in front of the girl.

Mary listens, grateful for not being caught red-handed in the throes of theft. But she is also interested in knowing more about the poet so she can share it with Hiroshi.

‘Do you have a favourite poem?' Mary asks, impressed with her newfound ability to think and lie on the spot, ‘or is there a popular poem that I should focus on?'

‘There are two very famous poems,' Mrs Smith says, flicking through the volume, looking for them. ‘Mr Smith occasionally recites them after dinner. One is obviously “The Man from Snowy River” and the other is called “Clancy of the Overflow”.'