Under the Java Moon, page 20
As they heaved the trailer forward, Georgie stumbled, and before anyone could stop the trailer, the back wheel went over his foot.
“Oh no,” Mary gasped, reaching for him.
He gripped his foot and cried in pain. Oma left the bike and dropped to her knees.
“Let me see it, Georgie,” she said over his crying. “Can you be a brave boy and let me take off your shoe?”
He nodded, his crying calming into hiccups. The boy winced as Oma touched his foot and ankle, then her gaze met Mary’s. “I’ll take him to the medical center to have it looked at.”
“I can, Ma,” Mary said.
But Oma put a hand on her arm. “You need to figure out where we’ll settle, and I think Georgie will be fine.”
“Can I go with them?” Ita asked.
But Mary knew she didn’t want both of her children exposed to the sick ward. “I need you to help me.”
Ita nodded, biting her trembling lip.
Mary kissed Georgie before Oma loaded him onto the bike and wheeled him away.
Tie had been right. The house they’d been assigned to was already occupied. Everything was already cramped, but now, space would be cut in half. Tie commandeered a corner in the front room for herself. Claudia and her family veered toward the kitchen, and Mary headed along the main hallway. Every bedroom was filled, and the women inside didn’t look happy to be accommodating more.
The last bedroom was occupied by an older woman with two young children. She’d moved their things over already, as if waiting to help out. This gave Mary a measure of hope. “We are four people, soon to be five,” Mary said. “Can we share?”
“We are moving out,” the older woman said. She was probably around Oma’s age, but her face had much deeper lines. “I was waiting until someone who really needed the room came along, and you look like you need it.”
Mary stared at the woman. “But where will you go?”
“We will manage. Come, children.”
“Wait,” Mary said. “What are your names?”
“My name is Hetty, and these are my grandchildren, Elly and Petra.”
The girls smiled at Ita, who smiled back.
“And their mother?” Mary ventured to ask.
But the woman named Hetty glanced at the two girls, then gave a shake of her head, indicating she didn’t want to say something in front of the children. Had something happened to their mother? Maybe Mary would find out later. She thanked Hetty again. Mary had found that, as a whole, most of the women were willing to help each other and share what little resources they had.
As they settled in, a woman appeared at their doorway. “I found kerosene. Does anyone in your family have lice?”
“Not right now,” Mary said. “But thank you.”
The woman nodded and moved on.
When Oma returned with Georgie, he was in much better spirits. Nothing had been broken, but some bruising was starting to show. Mary made him as comfortable as possible in the cot she’d set up.
Later that evening, Claudia came into the cramped quarters. She’d been working a shift in the medical center. She’d been assigned there since she’d had some nursing training before she’d married Willem. Her face was flushed in the dim lighting of the setting sun. “Come with me,” she said in an urgent tone.
Mary double-checked that Ita and Georgie were occupied with Oma, then she followed Claudia into the hallway. Residents had set up along one edge of the hall, so they picked their way through until they reached the yard.
Claudia grasped Mary’s hands. “One of the doctors was able to send a letter to another doctor at the Glodok prison camp for men.”
Mary tightened her grip. She knew the camp. It was built behind the prison. On her way to the market, she sometimes saw the men from Glodok working in the fields, or repairing a road. They’d even marched past Tjideng before on their way to their field work. Neat rows of men overseen by the Japanese soldiers.
“Our husbands are there,” Claudia said in a fierce whisper. “They’re alive. They are in Glodok.”
Mary stared at her friend as questions piled up in her mind and threatened to teeter. How . . . when . . . Her husband and Mr. Vos had been on their way to Australia. They were supposed to be helping the Allies. They were supposed to be fighting this war. This all meant . . . “They were captured?”
“Yes, they must have been.” Claudia’s eyes shone with new tears. “I don’t know what happened. Did they ever get out of Java in the first place? How long have they been in Glodok?”
Mary’s knees felt like water, and she moved to the veranda steps, where she sat down.
Claudia joined her. “I have more news. Tomorrow is a field day, which means our husbands might be among those working in the fields.”
Mary felt like she was in a dream. George was so close. It had been verified, right? Was this all real?
“You might be able to see them on your way to the market.”
Mary looked over at Claudia. “We should go together.”
“I’m on shift tomorrow,” Claudia said, regret in her tone. “If you see Willem, though, tell him hello and that I love him.”
Mary smiled at this. Her chest had expanded and her heart felt like it would soar right out. She doubted that she’d be able to talk to either of their husbands if she saw them. But, oh, how wonderful it would be to catch a glimpse.
“I will try,” Mary said. “I’ll do everything in my power.”
Claudia laughed, although it sounded a bit like a sob too. She hugged Mary fiercely. “How will I ever sleep?”
Mary laughed too, tears in her eyes—tears of relief and hope. “How will I?”
Tomorrow, she thought . . . she might see George. Or even Willem. Maybe both. When she returned to the house, it was all she could do to keep the news to herself while the children were awake. She didn’t want to give them false hope, and she wouldn’t be able to answer their questions anyway.
But when all was quiet, and all the lights were out through the entire house, Mary whispered the good news to her mother. They fell asleep with their hands clasped tightly together.
The morning couldn’t come soon enough, and as soon as the rising sun changed the sky from a dull gray to a lavender, Mary was up, thinking about the day.
Morning roll call had never seemed so easy. Even though they were made to bow for longer than normal since some of the rows had to be recounted, Mary didn’t mind. As long as Oma was handling it all right, everything was fine. Besides, today she might see her husband.
After their meal of watery rice, Mary told Ita it was time to go to the market.
“What are we trading today?” Ita asked.
“One of my dresses,” Mary said, and patted the bag slung over her shoulder with the dress inside. It was her oldest one, but even so, every bit of clothing was precious. Dresses were not practical in this place of constant work and insects.
So, with a cheerful farewell to Oma, Mary and Ita set off on the bike, Ita sitting on the rack above the back wheel and hanging onto Mary’s waist. They stopped at the gate and explained their errand. The Japanese guards recorded the time and their names and their house sector.
Mary rode slowly along the road, toward the Indonesian market that was only about a kilometer from the camp. There, in the distance, was the field where the men of Glodok sometimes worked. No one was there.
Mary’s heart fell. Would she have to wait longer?
Once at the market, they wandered among the stalls and merchants. There were so many things that Mary would love to trade for. Mostly the food. They paused in front of a vendor selling satay—seasoned meat grilled on skewers. Just the spicy, warm smell made her mouth water. But Mary couldn’t afford much, and Ita became impatient as Mary dallied for more than an hour.
“Are you not going to get anything, Mama?”
“Of course I am.” Mary moved to the booth that contained a selection of fruit. She chose a few Java plums. There was some risk that the fruit would be confiscated, and if she was allowed to keep the plums, she couldn’t very well keep them for only her family. She’d have to share. But a little fruit was better than no fruit. So, she traded her dress for six plums.
As they rode along the road back toward camp, she let Rita eat one of the plums. Mary slowed the bike when she saw men in the fields. Hope buzzed through her. Was one of the men George?
Japanese soldiers guarded the prisoners, but as Mary turned her bike off the road and headed toward the fields, no one stopped her.
“Where are we going?” Ita asked, her voice rising in pitch.
“I’m going to see if your papa is working with these men.”
Ita didn’t answer for a moment, but her hold tightened on Mary’s waist. Then Ita called, “I see him!”
“Where?” Mary slowed the bike, and stopped, scanning the men.
Ita pointed with one arm, and sure enough . . . George was about a half dozen meters away, bent over as he tilled the ground, but there was no mistaking his profile.
Mary couldn’t move. She felt like the earth was rolling beneath her feet. Her husband was here, on Java, and he was alive.
Chapter Twenty
“I celebrated my seventeenth birthday in April. Bamboo fencing in Cihapit kept us inside, and there was only one gate. In the beginning, I would duck under the perimeter fence with friends to explore the outside world. We would return the same way or use a sewage culvert inside camp. We were usually loaded down with food, bacon being especially high on the wish list. But soon such escapades became very risky. Once, as we returned from a scavenging trip, the Japanese guards were waiting for us at the inlet of the culvert. I was hit on my face with a flashlight and taken to the camp jail with two of my friends.”
—Maria McFadden-Beek, Cihapit Camp
Rita
“Papa!” Ita called out. She probably should be quiet so that the Japanese soldiers wouldn’t get mad, but she couldn’t help it.
Mama grasped her hand and tugged her close. They stood on the edge of the field, waiting for Papa to see them. Several men had looked over at them, and that’s when Ita realized many of them were probably fathers too.
Then Papa lifted his head. He was still bent partway over, but as soon as he saw Ita, he straightened to his full height. Papa looked different, yet the same. His hair was longer than she remembered it, and he wore a beard. But his eyes were the very same—brown like the dark earth he was digging in.
That’s when she noticed he was much thinner than she’d ever seen him. Papa had always been a strong man and could lift anything he wanted to. His broad shoulders were still wide, but his clothing was nothing Ita had ever seen him wear before. Maybe the loose shorts and soiled shirt weren’t his at all.
Ita lifted her hand and waved, and Papa waved back. The smile on his face was brief and gone in a snap after he looked over at one of the Japanese guards. Then Papa set back to work. Digging up rows of dirt.
“Will the soldiers let us talk to him?” Ita asked. One soldier looked like he was half asleep as he sat against a parked truck.
“I don’t know,” Mama said in a quiet voice. But she didn’t tug Ita away, which told her that there might be hope.
As the men worked, Ita continued to watch with her mother. From time to time, Papa would look over. He’d either smile or nod. Then he’d return to his digging. Ita’s stomach grumbled. She was hungry again, and she wondered how long they’d been watching Papa work. Had it been hours or minutes? Could second mealtime be nearing? What would happen if they missed it? When the wind picked up and the clouds rolled in some time later, Ita wondered if the men would have to keep working in the rain.
Soon the soldiers’ shouted orders were carried over the wind, and the men moved toward waiting trucks to take them back to their camp.
Mama’s grip tightened on Ita’s hand as Papa carried his shovel toward the truck, walking slower than the rest of the men. He stopped and bowed to one of the soldiers, then spoke to the Japanese man, who then looked over at Ita.
Holding her breath, Ita wondered what Papa was saying—and what language were they speaking? The soldier nodded. Papa bowed again, then he waved them over.
“Let’s go.” Mama hurried toward Papa.
Ita almost had to run to keep up, but it was easy to run when excited, even if she was very hungry. The other men had all climbed into the truck, but they smiled, and no one complained about the delay.
The Japanese guard watched Papa and Mama speak in quiet whispers that Ita couldn’t hear, but she was happy to know her father was alive and safe. It wasn’t very long before the truck started, its rumbling engine like an alarm clock signaling that time was up.
The Japanese guard said something to Papa that Ita couldn’t understand. But Papa seemed to understand the Japanese, and he turned toward them with a smile. “The guard says you can come to Glodok for a visit. We can talk more.”
“Truly?” Mama’s voice sounded surprised.
Ita was surprised too.
But the guard indicated to Mama that she could follow their truck to the gates. Ita hurried with Mama to climb back onto the bike, and they headed after the truck. It wasn’t far, or at least it didn’t seem far since Ita’s heart was full of excitement.
The rain hadn’t started yet. With the clouds covering the sun, it was hard to guess what time it might be. Ita was so hungry she felt it had to be time for second meal . . . or later. Would Oma and Georgie worry about them if they took too long at Glodok? Would they make it back in time for roll call? Ita didn’t want to be punished, but she was excited to spend more time with Papa.
Once they reached the gates, the truck drove in, and they followed on the bike. The gates closed, and another guard stopped them.
“We’re with the truck,” Mama explained to the guard in Dutch, pointing toward the truck that had continued driving someplace into the camp.
Where was the truck going? Weren’t they supposed to keep following? Ita could see Papa’s face watching them with his eyebrows pulled down. There were some other prisoners across the open area. Men and older boys. No women or younger children.
The guard replied in Japanese, and he didn’t look happy. Two other guards arrived, and they began to argue with each other.
Ita wanted to run after Papa’s truck, but these angry guards were blocking the way. They took Mama’s bag and searched through it but didn’t give it back.
Then one of them turned to Mama and began to scream at her. She tried to answer their questions, but they were speaking so fast, and they didn’t want to hear any answers.
The clouds were darker, heavier, but they still held back their rain.
While the Japanese guard yelled at Mama, she kept bowing, kept trying to explain.
Mama replied in Dutch, saying she didn’t understand, and she had followed the truck with her husband in it. Ita bowed too, but no one paid attention to her.
Ita wanted to yell back and tell him not to be mean to her mother. Then the guard slapped Mama so hard that her glasses fell off.
“Oh no.” Ita knelt on the ground and reached for the glasses. One of the lenses had cracked. Maybe it could still be fixed?
The guard closest to her stepped on the pair of glasses before Ita could pick them up. The lenses crushed beneath his boot. Ita cried out on instinct. Why would the soldier want to break her mother’s glasses?
Mama gripped Ita’s shoulder and drew her up beside her. “Leave the glasses alone, Ita,” she said in a firm tone.
The Dutch words seemed to make the soldier even angrier, and he slapped Mama again. She covered her face with her hands as he continued to slap at her head, her arms, and shoulders.
Ita knew she couldn’t fight the men, but she wanted to protect Mama. She latched onto her mother, but all she could do was cry and stare at the diamond sparkles on the ground that used to be Mama’s glasses. The guards were both yelling, their hearts full of rage, as the first one kept hitting Mama.
“Stop crying,” Mama hissed, jabbing Ita with her elbow. “Stop it now, Ita. Keep quiet.”
Ita tried. She swallowed back her tears, she squeezed her eyes shut, and she kept her mouth closed. The guards were still yelling, but finally, they stopped slapping Mama. Instead of letting them back on the bike and through the gate, they took Mama by the arm and steered her toward the command post. The other guard put his hand on Ita’s shoulder and guided her behind Mama. Ita wouldn’t have left her anyway.
The rain started before they stepped into a building beyond the guard post. The inside of the building was dim, and the guards led them through another door. Down the stairs they went into the dark, cut every so often by a swath of light from a strung-up lightbulb. With each step, the air grew colder until she shivered all over.
Ita had so many questions. She wanted to know if Mama was hurting. Would the guards cut her hair off? Ita wanted to know if they could still get something to eat. What would happen with the fruit that Mama had traded at the market? And where were they going?
Another door opened, and Ita and her mother were shoved inside a small room. The concrete walls and the concrete floor meant one thing—they were in jail.
Ita didn’t dare ask any of her questions. It was so dark, and no matter how wide she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see very much.
“Sit,” Mama whispered.
Holding onto her mother, Ita bent until she was sitting on some sort of concrete ledge against the wall. There wasn’t a lot of room, but it fit the both of them. Mama pulled Ita onto her lap, and she nestled close. She didn’t want to cry again, but her eyes leaked with tears anyway. She kept her sniffles very quiet though.
Where had the guards gone, and what were they doing now? What would happen when they came back? Would they hit Mama again? Ita burrowed closer. “I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have been so noisy.”
