Under the Java Moon, page 10
George couldn’t blame him. His heart was thundering so hard that he could barely hear the slap of the water against the dinghy. But he couldn’t close his eyes, and he couldn’t look away from the Japanese destroyer. It was getting closer.
No one on or near the dinghy moved, or paddled, or swam, or bailed.
The destroyer was about four hundred meters away now.
George held absolutely still. Mulder choked on a sob. No one said a thing. They were all locked in their own wells of fear.
“Please, God, spare us,” Vos whispered, the only one to break the silence.
The destroyer didn’t change course, but plowed through on its original trajectory. Had they been spotted? Or were they being ignored?
Only when the destroyer had passed the outer edge of the islands, did George believe they’d been passed over.
“Unbelievable,” Bakker murmured. “I’d shout hallelujah but I don’t want them to hear me.”
A few men chuckled.
And just like that, their crushing fear lifted. They’d been spared once again.
George knew he’d been witness to a miracle, but that drove him harder, and he put all his weight into paddling.
“Everyone who wants supper on the islands, let’s move.”
The palm trees were much more distinct now, and George imagined the coconuts that were ready to receive them.
“How many ways can you cook a coconut?” Vos asked.
The men were laughing. Rutgers threw out a series of jokes. George was amazed. He felt grateful. Humbled. How many close calls had each of the men on this voyage endured? What were the chances of them all surviving five days floating in the Java Sea with so few resources?
By the angle of the sun, George estimated it was about 15:00 hours when they first touched land. George was one of the swimmers at that point, so he was one of the first to feel the seabed beneath his feet.
Bakker swam ahead of everyone, his arms somehow finding more strength. Once he reached the sand, he whooped and laughed. Others joined him, running along the shore in a spurt of unforeseen energy.
Vos sank to his knees in the wet sand and wept.
George’s legs trembled, and his chest heaved as he helped drag the dinghy onto shore with a couple of the men, then they quickly abandoned it. Stopping next to Vos, George set a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come, let’s eat.”
Vos staggered to his feet, and the two men walked toward a group of coconut trees.
“Watch out below!” Bakker hollered. He’d already scaled one of the trees and was tossing down coconuts.
There was no frenzy to grab the coconuts. Rouwenhorst and Hessing picked them up and handed them over. The men took them, grateful and humble.
They’d made it. Somehow, they’d made it. George didn’t bother wiping at the tears on his cheeks. He joined the other men in the shade and cracked open a coconut, one he’d have all to himself.
Chapter Ten
“Nobody was allowed to listen to radio broadcasts. All radios had to be registered, and foreign stations were sealed off. We could only listen to Japanese broadcasts. A cousin had given us some valuable items to keep before he was imprisoned, and one of these was a radio. But we did not have the documents for it, so we could not prove who owned it. We were afraid that neighbors or others might betray us if they knew that we owned one. In those days, you never knew whom to trust. Some even betrayed their close friends or relatives for money or special favors.”
—Willy Riemersma-Philippi, Tampingan Village
Mary
Every hour the radio announcer brought new, devastating news into her home on Laan Trivelli. And there was nothing Mary could do to stop it. She could turn off the radio, she supposed, but she needed to stay informed. As much as she wanted to remain in her bed all day with her covers pulled over her face, she was the head of the family now.
Currently, Mary stood at the front windows as a breeze kicked through the screens while she watched Rita play in the grass. A few meters away, the dog Kells, sat in the shade as it thumped its long-haired tail, watching Rita. As if it had taken on the task of watching over the neighborhood children.
The sun was out, and the rains from earlier that morning surely made the grass damp. But Rita never seemed to mind. When they had gone to the mountains in Poentjak for vacations, she’d rolled down the hills into the tropical forests. So wet grass didn’t bother her. She loved anything with nature or running or climbing.
Mary smiled at her daughter and her enthusiastic child’s play. Georgie usually shadowed his sister, but he was with Oma right now. Mary was grateful that Rita was playing—forgetting about the war, the sirens, the bomb shelters, and where her father might be.
It had been a week since George had kissed Mary goodbye. A week of not knowing where he was or if he’d made it safely to Australia. He might be perfectly fine, or he might be . . . Mary scolded her errant, panicked thoughts. Wouldn’t a wife, married to a husband for many years, know if something terrible had happened? Wouldn’t she feel it?
She felt only the numbness of disbelief that this had become her life. Sirens and bomb shelters and rations and seeing Japanese soldiers marching along the streets of her home.
Oma was a godsend, and Tie should be as well, but she kept to her room more times than not. Mary could only guess that Tie was grieving over being displaced and forced to leave her home.
Rita and Georgie were small children, which gave Mary hope that they would be the least affected, although Rita had been helping in ways that had impressed Mary. With the nanny, cook, maid, and gardener all gone now, Rita had been helpful in the kitchen and with Georgie. Mary wondered if their servants, who were Javanese, sympathized with the Japanese invasion. It had been broadcast on the news as well, how many Javanese—Indonesians who were native to Java—welcomed the Japanese soldiers.
Throughout history, Japan had encouraged Indonesian independence from the Dutch crown. And with the war affecting the global economy, and oil embargos set against Japan, the Japanese government looked to the Netherlands East Indies for oil since they were totally dependent on petroleum imports. It was to their benefit to pledge their support to the Indonesians and a future republic free of the Dutch.
Now, with Japan occupying Java and the other islands, what promises would be made? And which ones would be kept?
Mary watched Rita jump up and run to the tree. She always insisted on wearing rompers instead of dresses so that she could climb better. Kells gave a merry bark as Rita paused to scratch the black curls on his back. Then she scrambled up the tree to her favorite lookout.
Mary had never asked Rita what the game was, but it always consisted of running about the yard, then climbing the mango tree. Sometimes she had her teddy bear with her, and sometimes not.
The radio volume in the dining room, which was always humming low, suddenly turned up. Mary looked over to see Tie hovering by the table, her arms folded as she listened. There was no regular programming on the radio any longer. All radio shows had been canceled. The hourly news reports were interspersed with music.
The familiar voice of General Hein Ter Poorten came on, sounding rough and tired as he announced that the government of the Netherlands East Indies had officially surrendered to Japan.
Mary felt the breath whoosh out of her. From relief or dismay, she wasn’t sure. She’d felt like she’d been balancing on a fence for days, for weeks, even months. Always wondering what would happen next. Would Japan invade or not? Would the Dutch surrender?
News in the past few days had been filled with reports of guerrilla warfare between the army and the Japanese military. The British prime minister, Mr. Winston Churchill, had ordered all members of the RAF to arm themselves and head for the hills, calling themselves the Blue Army.
But now . . . Ter Poorten’s assurances echoed through the house. Dutch citizens have nothing to fear . . . Remain calm . . . Carry on as normal.
Mary walked into the dining room and sat across from Tie at the table. The woman’s expression was sullen and frustrated—all things that Mary could well understand.
“What is this?” Oma asked, walking in with little Georgie clinging to her hand.
Ever since Nanny had left, Georgie had been at Oma’s side more and more. When Georgie saw Mary, he hurried over to her and climbed into her lap. She drew her son close and inhaled his little boy smell of sunshine and leaves. Georgie didn’t say anything, just nestled close. He seemed to understand when another person was struggling, and he’d brought comfort and solace more than once to Mary.
She often wondered if Georgie had been sent to their family as a peace giver. He wasn’t rambunctious like the other young boys in the neighborhood. He was a delight. An absolute light in all of their lives.
“The Dutch government has surrendered,” Tie informed Oma.
Oma’s brows pinched together. “Is this good news? Does that mean the bombing and the fighting will stop?”
None of the women in the dining room had the answer.
“Claudia told me she heard a rooster crow at midnight,” Tie said, her brown eyes focused on Mary. “Did you hear it?”
Mary wasn’t as superstitious as Claudia was, but she knew her friend believed that a rooster crowing at midnight was bad luck. “I didn’t hear it.” But that didn’t stop the shiver skating across her skin.
Mary held her son close as, more than ever, she wished her husband were here to explain, aside from superstitions, what this would truly mean for all of them. Even from miles away, and through the artificial communication of a radio broadcast, she knew that Ter Poorten’s words were platitudes.
“All Dutch army units have been ordered to surrender to Japan,” Ter Poorten continued in his raspy voice.
Mary rested her chin atop Georgie’s head and closed her eyes. They were truly under Japanese occupation now. Gone was the hope of the Allies retaking Java. The only freedom now would come when the Allies won the war. The reverse was something that Mary wouldn’t allow herself to think about.
Another news item came on. This one directed at European residents—all the Dutch people:
“New guidelines have been set forth by the Japanese command,” Ter Poorten said. “All European residents are to show deference to the Japanese army. All rules of courtesy must be followed.”
Mary opened her eyes and met her mother’s gaze. She looked older by ten years it seemed. Tie had begun to pace the room.
“Provocative behavior is unacceptable,” Ter Poorten continued. “Europeans are permitted to leave their homes but only for essential errands such as purchasing food and medical care. When you are in public, do not behave noisily or create a commotion. When you see a member of the Japanese army, you are required to express humility and bow to them. Japanese soldiers are personal representatives of the Japanese emperor.”
“Mama,” a voice cut in through the deeper tone of Ter Poorten. Rita ran into the house, the screen door slamming behind her. “There’s . . .” She gulped a breath of air. “Japanese soldiers coming to our house.”
Before Mary could react or even ask a question, a rap sounded at the front door. She stood from the table. Oma took Georgie from her arms, and nodded to Tie.
Both Mary and Tie walked to the front door. Neither of them spoke, because on the other side of the screen stood three Japanese soldiers.
Mary rubbed her sweaty palms against her skirt, wishing that she’d thought to keep everything locked down. But would that have stopped these men? No . . . Their crisp, khaki green uniforms had to be sweltering, as well as their hats, with the flaps on each side.
One of the men, the officer, looked familiar. Mary swallowed hard and opened the door. She didn’t speak any Japanese, but when the officer spoke Dutch, she couldn’t describe her relief.
“Good afternoon,” the officer said. “We are the Kempeitai—Japanese military police. You might remember shopping at my store? I recognize you as Mrs. Vischer.”
Mary was so stunned that all she could do was nod. This man was familiar because he was a shop owner. Had she known he was Japanese and part of their police force? How was that possible? She’d been going to his store for a couple of years. Before the war even started. That meant one thing. This man had been a spy.
“We need to speak to your husband,” the officer continued. “George Vischer.”
Tie looked at Mary, who finally spoke, “He isn’t here.” She didn’t want to give out any information, but with three Japanese soldiers scrutinizing her, she added, “He hasn’t been home for over a week. He reported to naval headquarters and I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
She didn’t bother to hide the tremble in her voice from the men. They should know that she was worried about her husband and wasn’t hiding anything from them.
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “We need to search your house.”
“Of-of course.” Mary held the door open, and the men entered. She moved to the kitchen and pulled Rita close to her.
Georgie was already held by Oma, and Tie joined their huddled group by the table. The soldiers’ boots echoed throughout the house as they searched each room. Mary’s pulse jumped with every bang of a door or a cupboard and the scrape of furniture over the tiled floors.
“Why are they looking in all the rooms?” Rita asked in a small voice. “Papa’s not here.”
Mary squeezed her hand. “They are making sure, I guess.”
When the soldiers returned to the front room, they appeared empty-handed. Of course they did, and it seemed they hadn’t confiscated anything either. She was doubly glad she’d hidden her jewelry, though. Why, she couldn’t exactly explain.
The officer folded his arms, his brow furrowed. “There is no sign of George. Have you received any information of where he might be?”
This, Mary could answer truthfully. “I haven’t received anything from my husband or from naval headquarters.”
The officer glanced at the two soldiers with him, and silent communication seemed to pass between them.
“Wait,” Mary ventured. “Have you heard anything? Do you know where he is?” It might be a risk to question the soldiers, but she had to know—for better or for worse.
The officer frowned. “We have not been informed. That is why we are searching here.” His gaze scanned their little family. “Within the hour, trucks will be arriving in your neighborhood to take everyone to the police station. Everyone needs to register. Bring your documents to prove your identities.”
Mary blinked. “Register for what . . .” Her voice faded as he cut in.
“And if you hear anything about your husband, it needs to be reported immediately to authorities.”
By authorities, she knew he meant Japanese authorities . . . because they were now ruled by a different country.
“I will,” she managed to say. “And we will be ready to go to the police station with our paperwork.” She might be making promises she couldn’t keep. George kept the paperwork in a locked box, but she wasn’t sure if she knew where the key was.
But the promise got the Japanese soldiers out of her home. And even though Mary prided herself on being strong and positive in front of her children, the moment the soldiers stepped off their property, she sagged onto the couch. The tears came hot and fast, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Not even when Georgie cried right along with her.
“Come with me,” Oma said to the children. “We will play a game of putting everything back in its place.”
Thankfully, Georgie sniffled back his tears and went with his grandmother.
“I’m sorry,” Mary murmured when it was only Tie left in the room with her. “I don’t know where that came from.”
Tie sat next to her on the couch. She wasn’t an affectionate woman, and they’d never been close, but she touched Mary’s hand. “We need to follow orders. The Japanese officer was very reasonable. Things could be much worse.”
Mary didn’t want to ask what “much worse” might refer to. She cuffed her tears away. “You’re right. We need to focus on one thing at a time. I’ll go find the paperwork. Do you have yours?”
“I do,” Tie said, “but it wasn’t until now that I realized how lucky it is that I brought it along with me.”
“Good for you.” Mary squeezed her sister-in-law’s hand. “I should tell you as well, that I’m pregnant. About four months along.”
Tie’s brows shot up. “Again? This is not the time to have another child.”
Mary bit back a half laugh, half cry. “I didn’t know that Japan was going to bomb Pearl Harbor and bring the war here.”
“None of us did,” Tie said in a defensive tone. “How could we know that Japan would rearrange the world?”
But the disapproval over her pregnancy had been spoken, and there was no taking it back. Mary would never regret the life growing inside of her. Never. Even if she did feel weaker, sicker, and more emotional. She would push through, somehow. She rose to her feet. It was time to put herself back together and focus on what needed to be done.
Once in her bedroom, she found the locked box in the corner of their closet. It didn’t look like it had been bothered by the soldiers. Sure enough, it was locked. Now, where would George have put the key? He’d told her once, but she didn’t remember. She scanned the bedroom and considered looking under the mattress, in the corner of a bureau drawer, or maybe taped behind something?
Mary searched the drawers on her husband’s side of the bureau, but it wasn’t there. She looked under the bed, reached beneath all the furniture, and sorted through every clothing item. She had to find the key—surely it was somewhere in the bedroom? Sinking onto the corner of the bed, she gazed blankly at the room. Tears started, unbidden and unhelpful. It wasn’t just the key that brought tears, it was everything.
