The Birthmark (5 page)

The invaders were small thin men but Tepu had learnt to fear them. It wasn't just because of the guns and swords they carried, but the way they beat people. They were unpredictable.

When the marines selected their work gangs, Tepu stiffened as he bowed, expecting a blow to the head, but none came. They pushed him forward and made him stand to one side with a group of stocky Tevuan men. Tepu looked on as the next youth in the line was considered. The boy's bowed head of black curls glistened in the sun, a model of subservience; but still the inspecting soldier slapped him. Tepu thought perhaps it was the relaxed curve of the boy's shoulder muscles that had invited the attack. He made a mental note always to appear frightened.

Tepu was the youngest member of his group. There were twenty of them altogether, many of whom he knew as acquaintances. They were assigned to clear the forest to the south of the island, not far from what had until recently been his village. Eight other men in his gang also camped out at Yamek. In the late afternoons they were escorted most of the way home: through the remains of Anbwido, past the leper camp, along the broad expanse of Baringa Bay to the hill that overlooked the windswept coast of Yamek. This suited Tepu well because as they marched he could look out for Edouwe and her grandparents.

In the evening of his first day of work he caught sight of her amongst the huts. Her jaw dropped in shock when she recognised him. He signalled to her discreetly, trying to convince her not to fear for him. But he saw the sorrow in her face as she shrank back into the shadows.

‘Stand proud, my Gilbertese boy!' she called out from the safety of the huts.

One of the marines turned and levelled his gun at the camp. He shouted something menacing in Japanese but, seeing no one, he turned back to the work gang and screamed at them to walk faster.

Tepu's heart danced with happiness. It was dangerous for Edouwe to communicate with him, not only because of the Japanese threat but also because of local customs. But now she'd declared openly that he was
her
boy. It brought a smile to his lips and unconsciously he
did
stand taller, elated by her words. He'd have to keep in contact with her somehow. He needed to work out a plan.

Anbwido
Friday 25 June 2004

Inside her room, Lily took off her T-shirt. The singlet top she was wearing underneath smelled strongly of sweat, but she had nothing clean to wear. She hadn't done the washing yet. Should have done it today, she thought, instead of running around in the bush after chickens.

The sword was hidden under her mattress. A last resort if Eldon comes creeping in again, she resolved—but would she really use it? She didn't want to think about that. She just wanted it there for safety. It made her feel strong.

As soon as she'd taken it from Hector she felt a surge of power, a tingling rush of inner strength flowed up her arm. She knew the sword was special and she didn't want anyone else to have it. When Christina showed interest in the sword Lily knew she had to defend it, keep it safe. Something deep within willed her to say the sword was hers. She knew she shouldn't have spoken to Christina like that, but she couldn't help it.

She opened the wooden chest at the end of her room. Her whole world resided in that chest. There were T-shirts, shorts, a range of hair ties, her few cassette tapes, and her small blue box. She took out the box and opened it carefully. Inside was her collection: a piece of twisted coral, a plastic doll's hand and some wedding ring advertisements cut from magazines. She liked hands, other people's hands. When she thought of her own she was dispirited. Her left hand was so ugly and she couldn't hide it because she was left-handed.

She wished her skin were darker so no one could see the stain—the purple hue would not be so obvious then— but no, she was cursed with a lighter shade of brown. It made the birthmark vivid. Stupid boys said dumb things about her and blood and her periods. As if they'd know, the dumb shits. She had learnt to hurt them when she caught them, but she was getting heavier and she didn't run as fast as the little kids anymore. Now she just scowled at them and remembered their faces. They could wait. When they weren't expecting it she would hurt them. The little bastards. She'd teach them.

Lily replaced the blue box and shut the chest. She held her hands up in front of her and wondered what Jonah thought of her birthmark. Framed against the window, with the sunset behind them, the purple stain seemed to glow. Someone so perfect looking, like him, probably thought it was ugly.

Jonah was so hot, she often wondered why he ever bothered speaking to her at school. There were so many girls on the island who were gorgeous. She knew she didn't compare with any of them. If only she could gauge his interest in her. If only she could see him over these holidays, then maybe they could meet somewhere and then she'd know. She'd know if dreaming about him was a waste of time or not.

‘Lil, where you been girl?' Lorelei's voice snapped.

Through her purple fingers, Lily saw her mother filling the doorway. She was a mass of breast and stomach, heavy and sticky with sweat, blocking Lily's only exit.

Lorelei wiped at her face with a tea-towel, smearing the sweat on her top lip—that fat upper lip, curled into a permanent sneer.

Lily looked down at the floor. ‘I was out.'

‘Out, always out!'

The doorway shook as Lorelei forced herself into the room. Lily covered her face with her arms, waiting for the blow. But it didn't come, not yet. Instead she felt her mother's fat fingers hook through her hair and tug.

‘Where'd you go, why'd you run off?'

‘Get away from you, yeah,' she whispered. But Lorelei didn't seem to hear anything now. Her tirade had begun.

‘I heard you were in Government Settlement, running with that thief.'

‘So what!'

‘So I don't like it.'

‘You don't like anything I do. It's alright for you to go off all day and all night.' That's when it came.

Bwack! Across the side of her head. It sent Lily spinning to one side, but Lorelei still held her by the hair.

She was as helpless as Hector's chicken.

‘What do you mean?'

‘You go off all the time!' Lily yelled, trying to wrench her mother's fingers off. The stench of beer and cigarettes hit her in the face as Lorelei screamed.

‘You shut your mouth, girl.' Bwack! Against her jaw this time.

Lily stumbled but was held captive by her hair. She tried to squirm her way free, ‘Man! You…' ‘You shut up girl! You don't go sneakin' round Government Settlement. You don't go round with that thief.' The next blow hit her across the eyes. Darkness followed and she fell to the lino.

‘
Trut!
' she heard her mother say. The doorway rattled as Lorelei left the room.

Lily's eyes burned with tears as she fought to open them. It took a moment for the blur of light to clear, then she focused on the upturned lino edge, blackened with filth and dust, and just out of reach, her mattress where the sword lay underneath.

‘Some help you are,' she whispered.

That night Lily woke to find the rain had come. Her feet were getting wet. A cool breeze carried the rain in through the open louvres. She stood up and lurched to the side. Unsure of her balance, she leant against the wall. Her eyes were puffy and her head throbbed. She moved her mattress out of the wet patch on the floor, exposing the sword. Its blade glinted at her in the pale light.

She picked up the sword. It felt colder and heavier than before. Where could she hide it? Perhaps inside the wooden chest? But it didn't lock. If anyone wanted to snoop inside they'd see it straight away. She decided to slip it behind the chest instead. It fitted easily. Satisfied, she went to shut the louvres.

Outside, bathed in the glow of the security light, a figure caught her eye. There was someone out there. Lily drew in her breath sharply and flattened herself against her door. She knew what to do: don't make a noise, don't ever let them know you're inside. Don't ever talk to anyone prowling around.

She struggled to breathe silently; her chest was tight with adrenaline and she thought she'd choke. She peeked through the louvres and saw the figure again, a Chinaman standing in the rain. He didn't seem to see her. He just stood there. If it wasn't for the rain, she'd swear he was saying something. His mouth and face were moving as if he was shouting, but no sound was coming out.

She turned away. Had he seen her? She couldn't be sure. She was getting wet standing beside the window, but she knew the screech and snap of shutting louvres would give her away.

Lily looked again. He was closer now, only a few metres away. She could feel her heart thumping and her face began to burn, but a chill had entered the room and she shivered as the rain spattered over her.

She was sure now that he was looking at her. She wanted to tear herself away from the window but found she couldn't move. He was mouthing something, shouting at her and all the veins and sinews in his neck strained. His nostrils gaped and she saw hatred in his eyes. But he wasn't wet, even though he stood in the pouring rain.

Was she dreaming? Lily rubbed her eyes but the pain of her swollen face made her gasp. She couldn't be dreaming; the pain was real. Maybe that was it? Her eyes were so busted she was seeing things that weren't there. ‘Who are you?' she stammered.

He continued his silent ravings.

Terrified, she held her breath. It had to be a ghost. She turned away from the window, knelt on the floor and fumbled for something to throw. Her rubber thong, yes that would do.

She stood up and confronted him. His black eyes bored into hers.

‘Piss off, you
yani
!' She threw the thong at him and watched with relief as his image faded before her.

Lily slammed the louvres shut and crouched on her mattress, staring at the window. Her heart thumped and her whole body felt chilled. She shivered uncontrollably. But the most unsettling sensation was in her left hand. The purple of her birthmark tingled hot as if she'd been stung by dozens of red ants. Had she slept on it awkwardly before the ghost materialised?

Would he come back? Why was a ghost hanging around here? So many thoughts and fears filled her mind, she thought she'd never sleep. But somehow sleep came to her as she sat with her back to the wall, wrapped in a sodden sheet in the far corner of her room.

As dawn approached Lily dreamt she was drowning, drowning in a sea of blood and tears. A rickety boat bobbed on the waves, out of reach. It was a familiar nightmare, where she plunged into the black waters of the ocean only to find them filled with blood, and where the wail of a crying woman pierced her dreams.

five

Mawendo District
3 December 1942

The mist of dust and coral shards cleared from the blast and the marines signalled Tepu's gang to clear the debris. The sun bit into his skin, sweat streamed from every pore of his body and his limbs ached. He longed to rest for a few minutes in the shade, but he dared not stop work. They were always watching, waiting for a man to stumble.

Torn coconut leaves strewn amongst the rubble of logs and rock were all that remained of the life-giving palms. Tepu's hatred of the Japanese grew with every fallen tree. Our food destroyed for the sake of a runway, he thought. What would they eat? Aeroplanes?

He bent to lift one end of a log and saw a cluster of green coconuts in the wreckage nearby. Immediately he became aware of his thirst, but he fought the desire to reach out for them. He picked up a broken coconut leaf and threw it over the nuts. If he was lucky he could smuggle them out with the next load. The thought gave him a surge of strength as he dragged his log from the rubble to the bonfire site.

Tepu heaved the log onto the pile. Sweat stung his eyes. He wiped a dusty arm across his brow and turned for the next load. Someone was shouting. He ran back towards the blast site.

He was too late. Another worker, an older Tevuan with a large family, had found the coconuts and tried to hide them at the edge of the forest. The man hadn't been careful enough: one of the marines had caught him and forced him to hand over the coconuts. Then the beating began, blow after blow with a large stick. The man bent and twisted beneath the punishment.

Attracted by the commotion, the nearest Lieutenant strode towards them, barking orders and drawing his sword.

The worker cowered beneath the blows. Tepu stared in horror as the Lieutenant closed in and the worker crumpled to the ground. But the Lieutenant didn't use his sword. He used his boot instead, and the smack of leather in the worker's face made Tepu wince. Don't fall down, he thought—if they beat you, you mustn't fall down.

All the men hated this Lieutenant. They learnt to recognise him from a distance. He was the same size as the others but he walked quickly, his long black boots flashing in the sunlight and his head jutting forward. His face was thin and flat and his empty black eyes showed no emotion.