House of Trembling Leaves, The (19 page)

The horizon was obscured by mist. In the darkened forest to her left the trees cast mottled shadows across the ground. All of a sudden she saw something stir. She rose on tiptoes to peer out of the ditch. ‘‘What the hell is that?'' She pointed.

‘‘Hnn?''

‘‘There, in the clearing.''

Where the jungle emptied on to an expanse of elephant grass she was sure she caught a wrinkle of movement.

Blinking, she strained her eyes and thought she saw the figure of a man. A man with one shoulder higher than the other. She remained very still. It was like being in the presence of a snake. She didn't dare move. When she blinked again he was gone.

‘‘I don't see anything, aahh!''

‘‘I'm sure I saw somebody.''

Uncle Big Jowl regarded her sideways, registering the fear that was written in her face. Had she imagined it? She shuddered; a tremor emanating from some primitive part of her. Her eyes raked the elephant grass once more. She started to feel stupid. Hurriedly, she laid the pipes to rest.

Two months later, on 16th February 1942, Lu See picked up a copy of the Straits Times and saw a photograph of General Arthur Percival signing surrender documents and presenting them to General Tomoyuki at the Ford Motor Factory in Singapore.

Word arrived from KL that the Japanese had looted from banks, churches, mosques and temples.

The capitulation was complete.

 

‘‘
Jo-san
, Miss Lu See.'' The shopkeeper set his palms on the counter and leaned forward. ‘‘And
jo-san
to you, my little friend. What should I call you?''

Lu See placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. ‘‘Tell him your name.''

The little girl bit her top lip and mumbled, ‘‘Mabel.''

The shopkeeper smiled. ‘‘
Gwai-lah!
She so pretty, same-same her mother. Now, what are you looking for today?''

Lu See eyed the bare shelves. ‘‘Do you have any white sugar, Mr Ko?''

The shopkeeper wagged his head. ‘‘No have, sorry.''

She looked over her shoulder. ‘‘I'm prepared to pay.''

He wagged his head again. ‘‘Even if you can pay me in diamonds, I still have no sugar. Our Dai Nippon brothers are holding everything back.''

‘‘Look, please.'' Her voice hissed. ‘‘There are no government agents about. Anyway, this is for the Colonel. His weekly supply truck seems to temporarily have run out of sugar. I'll pay whatever price.''

‘‘
Aiya
, Miss Lu See.'' Mr Ko made a face, feigning hurt. ‘‘If I have, of course I sell to you, but I have none.'' He then twitched his chin toward the door and lowered his voice. ‘‘But I know this man, a friend, hnn?'' He looked sideways at her. ‘‘He can get for you.''

‘‘How much?''

‘‘
Aiya
, this man a swindler. He charge way too much.''

‘‘How much?''

He clicked the beads of his abacus. ‘‘This swindler, he wants something like $35 per katty.''

‘‘That's absurd. Last year you were selling tins of sugar at $6 a katty.''

‘‘This man, he is a swindler I tell you. I advise you not to buy.''

She extracted a fistful of Japanese Military scrip from her purse but he threw up his hands. ‘‘No, do not pay now. I cannot guarantee he can deliver. You come back tomorrow.''

Lu See returned the next day. ‘‘This fellow, he a true devil. He says sugar now $37 a katty. I advise you better not buy.''

She knew shopkeeper Ko's friend didn't exist, that his hidden loot of sugar was stored under the floorboards. ‘‘Look, stop playing games. If it's $37 a katty then so be it, but I'll need a receipt for the Colonel.''

He laughed and shook his head. ‘‘This fellow a real swindler.''

She paid him and left with a tin of sugar tucked under her arm.

Once outside Lu See cupped a hand and shielded her eyes from the glare. She looked up and saw the Hinomaru waving in the breeze, the flag of the rising sun unfurling like a shroud over the village square.

She hated having to buy goods over the black market, but she no longer had any choice. She'd got used to it; just as she'd got used to everything else brought about by the occupation.

In an effort to wipe away the last traces of British power, the Japanese printed a new military currency, issued postage stamps announcing the ‘Rebirth of Malaya' and even pushed the clocks forward to conform to Tokyo-time. There was also an attempt to make Nippon-go the common language of the region – Japanese was taught in schools and the ‘
Aikoku Koushinkyoku
', a military marching song, blared across the airwaves at all hours of the day.

She crossed the street, into the main square of Po On Village, scattering a clutch of chickens scratching the ground for grubs. All about Lu See the shop signboards were in Katakana; the hawker stalls, too, advertised in Japanese script; and every road sign and traffic marker saw Katakana superimposed over the English original.

A pair of Mitsubishi Zeros flew by overhead, resulting in an
onk-onk
complaint from the village goose.

Not long now, you bastards
, she muttered, staring at the retreating fighter planes. For months she'd heard whispers of the American successes in Iwo Jima; the retaking of Rangoon; the liberating of Manila; the air raids over Osaka and Yokohama. Each time someone dared speak of an Allied victory her heart jumped and sang. Now, as she moved through the town, she heard talk of the RAF dropping arms and radio equipment into the Johor jungle.
Not long before the British take back control,
she thought.
But in the meantime keep your head down and your mouth shut. Stick to your own business
.

She walked past the old pith wood store and drew the usual hostile looks from the people inside. She realized some of the villagers resented her working for Tozawa.
In the circumstances they'd do exactly the same. At any rate I don't see them turning away Japanese customers. Bloody hypocrites!
Just then she collided with an infantryman as he strolled out through the entrance of the toddy shop.

‘‘
Rei!
'' he yelled.

Lu See bowed.

The soldier drew himself up to his full height. She bowed again, glared at his trousers gathered at the knees into webbing gaiters, and offered the soldier polite salutations.

He slapped her across the top of the head and stuck out his hand. He wanted to see her papers.

Lu See bowed once more and proffered her Special Protection Certificate. The infantryman looked at the official Imperial Seal and thrust the papers back at her. Lu See bowed for a fourth time. When she looked up he had gone.

For the past three years that little scroll of paper in Lu See's hands had kept her family alive. In exchange for the ‘gift' of the family car, a 1935 Bentley Saloon, the Special Protection Certificate issued by Colonel Tozawa, the Provincial Garrison Commander, had ensured their safety.

She trekked toward the limestone boundary wall and up the driveway that led to Tamarind Hill, over frangipani blossoms scattered in her path, ready to sacrifice another tiny piece of her soul. The road shimmered with heat haze and the chatter of birdsong and the scratch of cicadas filled the air. As she approached the sentry box a guard marched out of the shadows and into the ferociously hot sun. She offered a bow and handed him her papers. He waved her through.

Colonel Tozawa stood at the front verandah of the big house dressed in a satin kimono. In the shadows behind him Lu See saw a Malay servant-boy poised with his arms outstretched, holding a tray of tea.

Tozawa had a bald head and a stubbly toothbrush moustache. His eyes were jet black and unyielding; Lu See found them awkward to look at, as though they could see into her soul and read her thoughts. She could feel his fondling gaze on her as she made her way past the row of tamarind trees towards the servants' quarters.

‘‘My dear Teoh-san,'' he said, sucking air loudly between his teeth, ‘‘you are being most foolish.''

Lu See bowed deeply. ‘‘I apologise if I have offended you somehow.''

‘‘You are foolish to walk in such heat without cover.''

Lu See glanced away. She knew he was right of course; she just did not want to acknowledge it. ‘‘Thank you for your concern, o-colonel-sama, but I am used to the sun.''

‘‘In future please, you are to carry a parasol.''

‘‘
Hai
, o-colonel-sama.''

‘‘Also, I would like you to wear these hair grips when you make your appearance after dinner.'' He dropped several ornate hair clips into her hand. ‘‘I cannot have hairs falling in my food, do you understand?''

‘‘
Hai
, o-colonel-sama.''

His eyes fell on the tin of sugar tucked under her arm. ‘‘I am most looking forward to your English bread-and-butter pudding. I will dine at the usual hour. Please leave the receipt for foods with my attendant. He will reimburse you accordingly.''

Once more she bent from her waist with her hands on her thighs. She waited for him to move off before lifting her chin. The Imperial Army had requisitioned Tamarind Hill in 1942. At first they planned to turn the building into a retreat for convalescing Hikotai pilots but then Colonel Tozawa viewed the site and chose it for himself. It galled her that he was living in her house, but at least she knew the Colonel treated her home with respect. With his fleet of servant-boys, he ensured all the rooms were well looked after and the gardens maintained.

Lu See had been hired to cook for Colonel Tozawa at the big house. Originally Ah Gwei, the Teohs' cookboy, had prepared meals for the Colonel, but he was beheaded in the summer of 1943 for spitting at a Seicho representative during a drunken rage. With nobody else to call on, Tozawa sent for Lu See. The first dish she knocked up for him was a noodle recipe from Sum Sum's little blue exercise book, but he hadn't liked it. ‘‘This is not British!'' he screamed. ‘‘Nowhere in the
Katei-no-Tomo
magazine did they say noodles are British.'' From then on Lu See relied on the recipes she found in her father's old copy of
Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management.

Despite the Nipponisation of the country many of the top brass craved British food – it gave them a feeling of authority and social status; they loved English roast beef dinners, pork chops, HP brown sauce, Baxters tomato soup, shepherd's pie and canned ox-tail. They drank Johnnie Walker and Dewar's. They smoked Capstan and Raleighs. And they breakfasted on Earl Grey tea and marmalade on cold toast.

All week long she worked at Tozawa's, arriving mid-morning and leaving only when the last of the scoured pots and dishes were set away, returning to her little house to put Mabel to bed, scrub her clothes clean, hang them up, tidy up the mess, then to wake at seven to prepare breakfast for her daughter before walking her to the village school and going to Ko's shop for supplies.

‘‘There is an elegance to the British colonial lifestyle, no?'' said Colonel Tozawa as he took his seat at the dinner table. The table was laid out with sterling silver cutlery, crystal glasses and fine Blue & White china with a pair of silver candelabra anchored in the centre. As usual there was only the one place setting. ‘‘It is one of the things we envy you for.'' Tozawa spread his napkin on his lap. Apart from his wooden sandals, he was dressed smartly, in a white shirt and green single-breasted tunic and trousers.

‘‘May I remind o-colonel-sama that my family is not British nor are we colonials.''

‘‘Yet you chose to mimic a country house thousands of miles away.''

Lu See struck a respectful pose beside the mahogany sideboard as his meal was served, ready to receive his compliments or complaints. She wore the ornamental hair clips he had given her. He smiled a thin smile. She watched as a servant-boy poured him three fingers of whisky into one of her father's crystal tumblers.

‘‘Very good flavour,'' he said of the shepherd's pie, taking a mouthful.

She bowed and with a geisha's glide took her leave. She felt his fondling gaze on her back. Just as she reached the door he said, ‘‘One more thing, please.''

She stopped and turned to face him. ‘‘Yes?''

‘‘Why is it that you never speak about the Woos?''

‘‘Excuse me, o-colonel-sama?''

‘‘Your neighbours, the Woos. They are supporters of Chiang Kai-shek, no?''

Lu See's blood quickened. She could almost feel his dark eyes boring into her skull, trying to read her. ‘‘Not to my knowledge.''

He picked up the pepper pot and shook it, contemplated the pepper powder fall on to the palm of his hand. ‘‘You do not think they are Chinese Nationalists?''

‘‘No, o-colonel-sama.''

‘‘In which case they must be communists.'' He watched her watching him.

She swallowed. ‘‘As far as I am aware the Woos are loyal supporters of the Emperor, Tenno Heika.''

‘‘You are saying they are not communists?''

‘‘No,'' she said without hesitation, keeping her voice as steady as she could. ‘‘They are not communists.''

‘‘There is something you are not telling me.'' He kept his unyielding gaze fixed on her face, her throat, her hair. ‘‘I find your answer curious.''

‘‘Oh?'' She swallowed again. ‘‘How so, o-colonel-sama?''

‘‘The Woos were your father's sworn enemies, or so I have learned. Your father would have used a gun on them, no?'' The words had barely left his lips before the serving-boys perked up. She didn't know what they expected her to say.
But he didn't use a gun on them. He used it on himself and blew his own head off.

‘‘Surely you must have heard something to connect them with communists?''

‘‘The Kempeitai military police have already questioned me on this issue, o-colonel-sama.''