Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms (24 page)

‘Armed or unarmed, men and women, you have fought and striven and endured to your utmost. No one knows that better than I do, and as your King, I thank with a full heart those who bore arms so valiantly on land and sea, or in the air, and all civilians who, shouldering their many burdens, have carried them unflinchingly without complaint.'

Banjo hears the words ‘and as your King' and can feel his blood boil. King George V is not his king. An English monarch will never be his leader. Banjo's leaders were his ancestors, his own father and Uncles and those who stayed on Wiradjuri country and fought invasion.

‘With those memories in our minds, let us think what it was that has upheld us through nearly six years of suffering and peril. The knowledge that everything was at stake: our freedom, our independence, our very existence as a people; but the knowledge also that in defending ourselves we were defending the liberties of the whole world; that our cause was the cause not of this nation only, not of this Empire and Commonwealth only, but of every land where freedom is cherished and law and liberty go hand in hand.'

Banjo is furious when the King talks about freedom and independence and liberty, none of which his own people have, none of which the Australian government will give his people, even if they went to war for them. He wants to scream so loudly that the King will hear him all the way over the oceans in Britain:
Freedom is only cherished by those who have it
.

Kevin has joined them, looking a little worse for wear, but nobody takes much notice. He stands in the doorway squashed next to Banjo with his arms folded, a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip.

‘This comes upon us at a time when we have all given of our best. For five long years and more, heart and brain, nerve and muscle have been directed upon the overthrow of Nazi tyranny. Now we turn, fortified by success, to deal with our last remaining foe. The Queen and I know the ordeals which you have endured throughout the Commonwealth and Empire. We are proud to have shared some of these ordeals with you and we know also that we together shall all face the future with stern resolve and prove that our reserves of willpower and vitality are inexhaustible.'

‘What the fuck would they know about anyone's ordeals?' Kevin says into the silence, expressing what Banjo had been thinking but would never have said out loud, especially in front of his wife and children.

‘Kevin!' Joan is disgusted. The kids are scared by the violent outburst but also a little entertained, as they often are by their Uncle's unconventional language and behaviour.

‘Are you drunk?' Banjo asks.

‘Shh,' Marj orders with a glare that pierces right through Kevin's body. If looks could kill, Kevin was dead and buried three times over.

‘There is great comfort in the thought that the years of darkness and danger in which the children of our country have grown up are over and, please God, forever.

‘We shall have failed and the blood of our dearest will have flowed in vain if the victory which they died to win does not lead to a lasting peace, founded on justice and goodwill.'

Kevin is not game to say another word for fear of not only being thrown out of the hut but of being ostracised by Joan forever. But when he hears the words ‘justice and goodwill' he huffs and shakes his head.

‘To that, then, let us turn our thoughts to this day of just triumph and proud sorrow, and then take up our work again, resolved as a people to do nothing unworthy of those who died for us, and to make the world such a world as they would have desired for their children and for ours.

‘This is the task to which honour now binds us. In the hour of danger we humbly committed our cause into the hand of God and he has been our strength and shield.

‘Let us thank him for his mercies and in this hour of victory commit ourselves and our new task to the guidance of that same strong hand.'

Joan makes the sign of the cross again as people get up to leave the hut. Banjo ushers his girls through the door, Kevin steps out of the way, and for the moment they all think about going back to bed.

‘The war in Europe is over,' Mary says.

Hiroshi is not sure if that means all of the war is over or not, but he assumes that he is closer to being a free man, to going home, to seeing his family. This is the reason he wanted to stay alive, to see out the end of the war.

‘This is very good news,' she says.

Hiroshi moves towards Mary and puts his hands gently on her waist. ‘Yes, it is good news . . .' He looks in her eyes under the dim light of the kerosene lamp and says, ‘Watashi wa, anata wo aishiteimasu, Mary.' After ten months of almost daily visits, conversations, sharing of food, stories, cultures, fears and hopes, Hiroshi declares what he has felt for some time now. ‘I love you.'

Mary throws her arms around his neck like James does to their mother – urgent and affectionate. ‘I love you too, Hiroshi,' she whispers into his ear with tears welling in her eyes as he holds her close. ‘Please don't leave.'

Hiroshi doesn't answer. He loves her but he loves his family too and he wants to go home. He wants to see them again. Mary is in his heart now, but his family is in his veins. Hiroshi will go home, and if he can, he will take her with him. He knows it will be difficult given what he understands about her life here, and knowing what the Japanese are like too. No one in his family has ever married someone who is not Japanese. He knows that he will be expected to marry someone with the same social standing as he has – he should
marry an equal. He knows his father will be critical of him for not following the traditional protocol for choosing the right wife, and that it will reflect on his whole family. First he did not die as soldier in war and now he wants to marry outside Japanese tradition. This will be double shame for him.

It would not be enough to tell his parents that he loves Mary. They would expect their son to follow the normal way of getting married – the kind of arranged marriage that had brought his own parents together. But Hiroshi wonders if such arrangements are why his own parents are so different to him. That maybe if they'd gotten to know each other before marriage, they may not have chosen each other. His parents do not have a love marriage; his father is traditional even if his mother isn't, and Hiroshi knows the expectation for him to conform is strong. Social responsibility is more important to his father than love and affection. The more he has thought about it over time, the more he remembers the lack of physical contact between his parents, between Japanese people in general. This is not the kind of man he wants to be, though. He wants to hold Mary, all the time.

These are the thoughts Hiroshi has had over the long days and nights and weeks when he has had to do nothing but think – about his feelings, about his future, about how he will re-enter his life in Japan. These are the thoughts he has not shared with Mary for fear that she does not feel the same. For fear that she will not understand his thoughts and feelings. And for fear that a future together may not be possible. Mary doesn't know that late at night, early in the morning, and through the long hours of daylight that he never gets to
see, Hiroshi has been thinking about marrying her. He has thought about her being his bride and how she will look in a traditional white shiro-kakeshita kimono, tied with a white obi. He imagines her in the white tsunokakushi – the white silk veil with a topknot that would gently cover her dark brown hair, which he has not even touched.

He has pictured in his mind what their traditional Shinto ceremony will be like with him in a formal kimono-hakama-haori ensemble. He wants to share these imaginings with Mary but, like her, he is cautious, not only concerned about rejection but also about the reality that dreams can turn to nightmares through no fault of their own.

Their hearts beat fast as they hold each other for long minutes. It isn't enough, but they know instinctively when they must break their embrace and Mary must leave. There have been no other words spoken. You need time to absorb a declaration of love, to reflect upon it, to enjoy it.

‘Hello, Mary,' Marj says.

Mary is startled out of her dream-like state, having just had the most heart-stopping moment of her life.

‘Aunty Marj! Um, hello.'

Marj is looking past Mary, seeing if there is anyone behind her. ‘It's a bit late to be out, isn't it?'

‘I-I-I was at the lavatory,' Mary stumbles, panicking, not knowing what her Aunt has seen.

‘I don't think you were, Mary. I don't think you were at all. I've seen you walk down here a lot at night. And sometimes you don't go to the lavatory, do you, my girl?'

‘Mary?' Joan sings out from the back door, and Mary has never been more grateful.

‘Coming, Mum.' Mary moves to pass Marj.

‘I know you're up to something, young lady, and I will find out. You know people always tell me things.'

That night, Mary can't sleep. Memories of her embrace with Hiroshi and confrontation with Aunty Marj have her emotions swinging. She feels nauseous, lovesick – yet hopeful. There has still been no mention in the newspaper of the Japanese prisoners of war in Cowra. At the Smiths' earlier that day, Mary read with interest a story about a conference in Bathurst where diggers argued that all the Italians should be sent back to Italy after the war. She wonders what Aunty Marj will make of that. And the woman in town who is pregnant. She wonders if all this talk about sending soldiers home and the war being over is because the war is, in fact, nearly over. The end of the war is what Mary prays for each night when she goes to bed. It's the time of day when she closes her eyes, waiting for the sounds of the mission to settle, for her family to all go to sleep, before she allows herself to think and dream.

Mary has only been to one wedding at Erambie. It was a cousin who was also very young. She didn't take much notice at the time but as she strains to recall the day, she remembers it was romantic. Mary wants a wedding too, with family and friends and flowers – and Hiroshi. There has never been
a wedding on the mission that's not between two Aboriginal people and she knows that Hiroshi being Japanese is an issue. Mary starts asking herself questions, considering possibilities and hypotheticals:
What if no one will want us to get married? Maybe the locals will not allow it. Maybe Mr Smith won't allow it. I was bapti
s
ed at St Raphael's, we all were, so maybe Father Patrick will marry us up there. Mum is a hard worker. Father Patrick likes her. He often sends extra food home to our family, and old clothes that Mum mends, so he must like our family too. He will most definitely like Hiroshi. He has to, because God loves everybody. It's his job. Maybe I should start going to church. Maybe I should go in and say a prayer and light a candle when I go to get Catherine and Carmichael from school. Maybe if Father Patrick sees me there he will think I am good. He will be happy to marry us. But what about Hiroshi? Is Shinto marrying Catholic like white marrying Black? Does Hiroshi even want to marry me?

Mary's thoughts and feelings are a rollercoaster, one minute she is positive and hopeful, the next she is depressed and resigned to the fact that they will never be together. Her sleep is fraught with anxiety and yet she can't wait for the next morning so she can count the hours and minutes to seeing Hiroshi again.