Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms (4 page)

‘What will everyone say, though, Dad? Everyone here hates the Japanese. Mr Smith is saying stuff about them all the time.'

‘I know, but we aren't filled with that hate. You know in our house we treat people the way they treat us, right?' He looks straight into his daughter's eyes.

‘Yes.' She nods.

‘So we will take care of him as long as we can.' He takes a drag on his cigarette then blows smoke before adding, ‘And there's two things you're responsible for.'

Mary's eyes light up. ‘What? What can I do?'

‘Firstly, you can't tell anyone about him, no one. If Smith finds out, or your Aunty Marj, then we could be in a lot of trouble.'

‘I understand.'

‘And you're also responsible for taking his food down every day. It won't be much, but we'll give what we can.'

‘But why me?'

‘You're the only one who won't attract attention or suspicion.'

‘When will I take it down?'

‘We won't risk doing anything tonight, but tomorrow you will take whatever we can pull together and head to the shelter.'

‘Okay.'

‘Are you nervous?'

‘Not yet,' she says although she laughs anxiously.

‘You sure?'

‘I feel proud you all trust me to do this. It's much more exciting than doing the Smiths' laundry.' She laughs softly.

Later that night, against his better judgement Banjo sends Mary to get a group of young fellas, including her cousin Claude Williams, who are at the Theatre Cowra in Kendal Street. They somehow didn't get the message to stay indoors, but Mary knows they probably would've snuck out anyway. When she arrives, she sees Jim in uniform.

‘What are doing here, Mary? You should be back home,' he says.

‘Yes, I know, I just came to get Claude and some of the other fellas,' she replies nervously.

‘Okay, hurry up, the film's about to start.'

As usual the boys have entered the theatre by the side entrance and are segregated by a rope from the whites. They
sit up the front of the cinema close to the screen, necks craned as they watch. As Mary walks into the theatre just before the movie begins, an announcement is made: ‘There has been an outbreak from the prisoner of war compound, it is recommended that everyone return to their homes and stay indoors until further notice.'

The lads are all trying to be tough but Mary can tell by the speed of their departure from the theatre how scared they really are. They've only ever heard bad things about the Japanese – the newspapers often have cartoons that paint the enemy in a bad light. They've heard phrases like ‘yellow peril' at school but never really knew what it meant. They've never seen any of the soldiers in real life because the Japanese aren't allowed out into the community like the Italian prisoners, who work on properties and in homes in town. Banjo often gets angry that the local whites would prefer to have the Italians they are at war with work for them than the local Blacks. The day he heard that the Italian prisoners working at Mulyan got midday meals and had electricity and running water, he nearly hit the roof, literally: he threw a punch in anger and missed the ceiling by an inch. It was an unusual display of aggression that scared Joan and the kids.

Mary follows the boys closely, half worried, half laughing, as they run at speed all the way back to the station. As they cross the golf course there are shrieks and giggles, the odd attempt at scaring each other, and every time there's a strange noise, one of the lads asks fearfully, ‘What's that?'

After a while, the group slows down to a fast walk, almost breathless from running, fear and laughter. Claude is at the
back of the pack as he is the least fit. He doesn't play football like the other lads. Mary walks alongside him but says nothing. She suspects there's some damage to his ego as the others are way ahead and Claude is panting and breathless. She doesn't want to make it harder for him.

Only minutes from Erambie, in the still of the cold night, Claude has slowed his pace considerably and so Mary walks ahead, eager to get home and out of the cold.

Alone, Claude feels a hot breath on the back of his neck and stops in his tracks, too terrified to move or to speak. He tries to sing out to Mary but she's too far away and his voice won't cooperate anyway – he cannot muster the slightest sound and his mates are still walking ahead. Claude is convinced he will die, that a Japanese soldier is about to kill him, probably with a machete or a karate chop. If not that, he will definitely goonan his pants. And then he hears a familiar sound, a gentle neigh, and realises the hot breath on his neck was from a local horse.

Lying in bed that night, Joan is worried. ‘We really don't have enough food, Banjo, and we could lose the children if anyone finds out. You know they're looking for reasons to say we're bad parents.'

Banjo doesn't respond. He shares his wife's concerns but the last thing he wants to do is add more worry to her life.

‘Father Patrick has always been good to us,' Joan continues. ‘St Raphael's helps the poor. I'll just have to ask for more.
I can take some of the clothes they're going to throw out and mend them for him. I do it for the kids all the time.' She knows there's no room for shame when it comes to asking for food and clothes. She needs to keep everyone alive, even if she has to go without.

Banjo pulls his wife closer to him, her body warm against his in the cold night. His lean but muscly arms are firm around her frail frame.

‘You're right, love, food is scarce and I really want to just fatten you up. But we will manage, we always do.' He nuzzles into the nape of her neck.

I married the right brother
, Joan thinks as she dozes off to sleep.

‘D
on't let the goothas anywhere near the river today,' Banjo orders Joan. He's shaking as he lights a cigarette and pulls a chair out to collapse onto. It's the morning after Hiroshi has appeared and they haven't yet risked getting any food to him. For all they know, he has escaped his hiding spot.

‘What is it?' Joan has never seen her husband so shaken. She sets some water on the wood stove to boil for a cup of tea, grateful there's plenty of chopped wood thanks to young Claude being busy the last few weeks.

‘I saw them,' he says softly, taking a long draw on his cigarette then resting his head in his hands as he exhales. In the early hours of the morning, Banjo had taken a walk down to the river and around the local area to see what he could find out. He'd planned on asking anyone he saw if they knew anything. He didn't expect to find death on his doorstep.

‘Saw who?'

He looks up, eyes watery, distressed. ‘Hanging in the trees. I saw them.' He drags again on the rollie as if it is the only thing that will give him comfort. ‘Bloodied soldiers on the ground too. They killed themselves, and they must've killed each other.' He puts his head back in his hands and feels the tears well. It's not a sight he could've imagined and not one he'll forget soon.

Joan puts her arms around her husband's broad shoulders and neck. She can feel the tension in his body as she hugs him close, but says nothing. What can she say to make what he saw any easier? What words could possibly remove the memory of what he's seen? She rubs his shoulders, trying to draw out some of the misery from his body.

‘King Billie was right to keep everyone in. Don't let the kids out till this is sorted,' he says softly, choking back emotion.

‘I don't understand why,' Joan says. She makes the sign of the cross as she stares at the ceiling and says a quiet Hail Mary.

‘I don't know why they did it either. Surely life in the compound wasn't that bad? Jim reckons they eat real good tucker, they play sport and they are treated well.' He closes his eyes and sighs. ‘Suicide just doesn't make sense.'

‘They were still locked up, Banjo. That's no life either. And they've been at war, seen things we will never know or understand.' Just as her own husband has just seen something
she
will never know.

Mary walks in the door with three eggs. ‘Mrs Smith gave them to me,' she says, handing them to her mother. ‘Says the hens are laying faster than they can eat them and Mr Smith is sick of eating eggs.' Mary wishes John Smith would just stop
eating all together and die, but she'd never say that out loud. When Mary prays that's the kind of thing she asks God for.

Joan takes the eggs from her daughter and looks at Banjo, who is still too choked up to speak.

‘We'll give one of these to that fella,' Joan says. She puts the eggs into the pot of water on the stove. ‘You'll have to go down tonight, Mary, as soon as it looks like the Smiths have settled in for the night. You'll know better than anyone when that is.' Without trying or wanting to be, Mary Williams is the person closest to the Smiths. She knows their daily routine, their eating habits, when Carmichael wets the bed, when Mr Smith is in a foul mood, when Mrs Smith is on her rags. She knows more than she wants to, but all that knowledge now means she can help her parents and the Elders help this Japanese soldier.

She nods.

It's dark by six pm and quiet on the mission. Families are sitting in their huts, woodstoves burning to keep them warm. Many are eating rabbit stew thanks to Claude and some of the other young fellas, who have caught a few on the other side of the train lines. Everything is shared between the local families. Kids are getting ready for sleep, making their own fun and keeping warm with four bodies, sometimes more, in one bed. Mary sits at the kitchen table for what seems like hours, just waiting. She has a belly full of butterflies, having rehearsed a
thousand times what she will say to the stranger, and how she will pass the food over. She has been feeling sick all day about seeing the Japanese soldier for the first time. She understands the logistics of what lies ahead: getting food to the Japanese man and keeping him alive and hidden. But she is feeling nervous and nauseous about making a mistake, even though being appointed the food messenger by the Elders also makes her feel important and special. What if she gets caught? His presence could bring trouble to them and everyone at Erambie, and she doesn't want to be responsible for that.

At well past eight o'clock, Joan puts a hard-boiled egg and some damper into a hessian bag and wraps it tight for Mary to slip under her coat, which barely keeps her warm over the calico dress underneath.

‘I want you there and back in five minutes, Mary, okay?'

‘Yes, Mum.' Mary understands her mother's concern and respects her wishes.

‘Don't make me worry. Just go down, give him the food and come back. That's all you are to do. That's all!'

‘Be careful,' Banjo says as he walks his daughter to the back door. ‘I'll stay here and have a smoke.'

‘What if someone sees me?' Mary asks, looking at Fred and Marj's hut. Everyone knows Marj has eyes on every window but no one knows how.

‘Keep looking around and if you think you see anyone, just go to the lav,' Banjo suggests. The lavatory is also up the back of the yard right near the entrance to the air raid shelter. ‘You better go,' Banjo urges his daughter with a gentle pat on her back.