Under the Java Moon, page 21
“Nothing was your fault,” Mama said, her voice sounding rough. “They don’t want women and children at this camp, that’s all I can guess. We need to pray that nothing worse will happen.”
“Will Papa come rescue us?”
“He might not know we’re here,” Mama said with a sigh. “I wish I could understand more Japanese.”
“Johan is trying to learn it, too. The soldiers are teaching the boys to fight Japanese style with wooden guns. They’re being taught to march and sing Japanese military songs. And of course, learning their language.”
“Yes,” Mama whispered. “Our world has changed so much, but at least we are still together.”
Ita could have argued with that. Papa was someplace else in the camp. She and Mama were in jail. And Oma and Georgie weren’t with them. How was that together?
Instead, Ita closed her eyes against the darkness. The concrete beneath her was so cold that it made her legs ache, so she concentrated on the warmth she felt from her mother’s body.
No one came. No one let them out. Ita was so hungry, but she didn’t tell Mama because she was hungry too. Both of their stomachs grumbled. Was Mama’s baby hungry too?
When Ita started to bounce, Mama told her about the bucket near the door and said to use it as a latrine. Ita decided she didn’t like jail at all.
Finally, Ita fell asleep, and for that she was grateful.
Because when her mother nudged her awake, hours and hours must have passed—hours where she hadn’t felt so hungry. Footsteps sounded outside their door, and Ita straightened, grasping for Mama’s hand. Someone was coming at last.
The door opened, and yellow light spilled in. A silhouette moved in front of it, blocking most of the light. Then a man spoke. In Dutch.
Ita knew the voice. It was the Japanese commander who was in charge of their sector at Tjideng, and the one who’d visited their house once. The one who’d been nice to Johan. Someone at Glodok must have told him that they were imprisoned here.
“No women and children are allowed in this camp,” the commander said. “We will escort you back to Tjideng.”
Mama rose to her feet, and bowed, her trembling hand clinging to Ita’s.
“We got bad information,” Mama said. “Thank you for releasing us.”
“If anyone asks you what happened,” the commander said, “you will tell them you were punished for missing roll call.”
Mama bowed again.
The door opened wider, and the commander stepped aside.
Mama tugged Ita along with her, although she didn’t need any encouragement. She didn’t want to stay in this cell one minute longer.
Her legs were stiff and achy, and her feet felt funny—like she was walking on sharp rocks. But she wasn’t going to slow down anyone. She kept up with Mama, who walked with her head lowered. The commander walked behind them, each of his footsteps heavy with the thud of his boots.
Ita blinked in the bright sunlight as they stepped out of the building. She searched for Papa among the faces of a group of men who were working on a fence nearby, but he wasn’t there. Mama’s face had purple splotches on them—bruises from the guards.
“Does your face hurt?” Ita whispered. She didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Not much,” Mama said.
The commander ordered them into the back of a truck, and they were on their way. Mama didn’t ask what happened to her bike or her bag with the plums in it. They sat together, as the truck bounced and headed toward Tjideng. Ita felt like she’d been gone a very long time, although it had been only one night. The truck pulled into the camp, and they climbed out. Mama took ahold of Ita’s arm, and they hurried toward their house. Every sound about them, soldiers giving orders, a child laughing, a baby crying, two women talking loudly . . . all blended like a screech of tropical birds.
They continued to walk, not speaking to anyone they passed. Mama’s pace was slow when Ita wanted to run. Except if she ran, she’d probably fall after a few steps because she was so hungry and thirsty. Now, she wondered how she could have ever complained about porridge from the Tjilamajah kitchen. She wished they could go there now. But Mama led Ita straight to the house they lived in and shared with so many others.
Outside, sitting on the steps of the veranda were Oma and Georgie.
“Oh, my goodness.” Oma rose and hurried down the steps. She met them in the yard and said only, “Come inside.” No questions were asked. It seemed her grandmother knew enough without knowing anything.
But then, just before hugging her, Ita saw the worry flash across Oma’s face. It made Ita realize that they’d been in a dark, cold, and bad place. What if they’d never been let go?
Mama took Georgie in her arms, and they went into the house. A few of the people stared at them. Aunt Tie was nowhere in sight. But when they reached their room, Claudia and Johan met them there. Johan surely noticed the bruises on Ita’s mother—since questions mapped his face.
“What’s happened to you?” Claudia asked Mama in a hushed tone.
“We saw George, and one of the guards let us follow his truck into Glodok,” Mama said. “But it seems we were given bad information. They put us into the prison overnight.”
Claudia pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh no!” She exhaled. “And your face?”
Mama lifted a hand to her face. Her bruising seemed even darker than it had when they’d first left the jail. “The guards slapped me, that’s all. We were safe in the jail cell. Only cold and hungry.”
Claudia opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask more, but then she glanced at Ita and closed her mouth again.
“Here you are.” Oma had opened her suitcase and pulled out two slices of bread.
“Where did you get this?” Mama said.
Ita didn’t want to ask questions. She just wanted to eat it.
“It’s better I don’t say,” Oma said, her hazel eyes bright. “Eat up.”
Ita grabbed her portion of bread and stuffed it in her mouth.
“I have something too.” Johan disappeared into the hallway. Soon he returned with mushrooms. “I found these and saved them.”
“You are a dear,” Mama said. “You don’t have to give that to us.”
But Johan crouched and handed one over to Ita.
She hesitated, but when Johan kept holding it out, she finally took the mushroom. It tasted wonderful, but she knew it was because she was very hungry.
Johan kept looking at her mother’s face, and the frown lines between his eyes remained. Ita hoped her mother would never be hit by the soldiers again. She was grateful they hadn’t cut off her hair, though.
“Georgie,” Ita said. “Should we go play with Kells?”
Georgie grinned, and Johan stood. “That’s a good plan. Kells will be happy to play catch with us.”
Ita wanted to leave her mother alone with Oma and Mrs. Vos. Then they could talk about whatever they needed to. And Ita could tell Johan all about her experiences. And maybe they could find more mushrooms.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Once the Japanese allowed the American Red Cross to send food parcels. This turned out to be a great blessing for us. The contents of a cubic foot box came to be merely one snack per individual. Each person received a small cube of Spam, twenty-five raisins, a small scoop of sugar, some candy, and two cigarettes. The main benefit of this handout was that some of the boxes contained sulfa tablets. This medication saved many lives and worked wonders for treating infections and for curing dysentery patients.”
—Anton Acherman, ADEK Camp
Mary
Mary placed a hand on her belly as her other two children slept next to her in the small, cramped room. Her belly should be twice the size it was now. One might think that low weight gain during pregnancy wouldn’t be something to complain about, but Mary was worried. Not just about her upcoming delivery, but worried about how she’d feed the child.
It was early August, and the baby would be born in a few weeks. She hoped that her body would produce enough milk to breastfeed the child. Infants were allowed to have milk from the kitchens, so that would also supplement. It would have to be enough.
Ita mumbled in her sleep, and Mary tried to decipher what she was saying, but it was always incoherent. Mary couldn’t remember a time since coming to camp that she’d slept through the night. If it wasn’t someone else in the house making enough noise to wake up Mary, it was one of her own children with needs.
There was no privacy and no sound barriers. Everyone heard everyone else and knew too many personal details. That had created a sort of numbness as the women and children moved through each day, following the same routine, with little to look forward to or anticipate.
Routine was good in this case.
It was the change in routine that was frightening. A punishment. A new rule. Another item added to the confiscation list.
Claudia and her children had managed to be in the current house again with Mary and her children, but Tie lived in another house now as the head of a different sector. She’d gained respect from the Japanese commander, and as long as she followed all his rules and handed down his orders, then peace was kept for the most part.
It was not an ideal way of life, but Mary had learned how good they had it under their commander. When other refugees were transferred to Tjideng, they shared stories about entirely deplorable living conditions and even more cramped quarters, sleeping on the ground, no medical facilities, and the frequent assault of women. “This was war” had never been an excuse that Mary could swallow down and let settle in her stomach.
There should be decency in the very fiber of humans, despite having to fight on opposite sides of an enemy line. And Mary had seen decency in many of the Japanese guards, even when they were following orders they didn’t agree with. But she’d also seen cruelty and desperation in both the Dutch and Japanese.
A small foot, or elbow, poked Mary’s stomach. Her unborn child was restless at night, when Mary had her chance to sleep. The only comfortable position was sleeping on her left side, although this lent itself to an aching left shoulder and hip from staying in that position hour after hour.
Another poke jabbed her, this one stronger. Was the child trying to do a somersault? Mary rubbed a hand over her belly and began to hum. George used to hum when she was having trouble sleeping with an active baby in her womb.
His low-tenor pitch must have been more soothing to their first two children, or maybe this third baby simply wouldn’t take the bait. She continued rubbing and humming, though, wishing that George were beside her. Even in a muggy, filthy camp, it would be better with her husband. She hoped he was healthy and safe at Glodok. There’d been no chance to see him again since their encounter a little more than two months ago. Mary had been immediately banned from leaving through the gates, then the following week, the entire camp was banned. Merchants still came to the outside of the fences, and trades were made through the open spaces of the bamboo fencing. Women were trading whatever they could for hard-boiled eggs, boiled potatoes, or fried tofu and tempeh.
Ita murmured something else in her sleep. Georgie coughed a few times, then went quiet. A blessing. Mary didn’t want his cough to awaken anyone else in the room.
She spent most of her waking hours praying and hoping that her children wouldn’t come down with one of the dreaded illnesses that had plagued the camp, such as malaria or dysentery. Bed bugs and lice and tropical sores were nothing compared to those dangers.
The next kick was stronger, and it was almost as if the baby had stretched a leg out and held it in a flexed position. A new pain radiated from the pressure, spreading around her abdomen to her lower back.
Mary gasped as the ache deepened.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s too early.” Maybe the contraction was innocent and not a labor one.
When it faded, she exhaled slowly. Keeping her eyes closed, she willed her body to relax, her baby to sleep, and for her own rest to come.
Less than a minute later, her eyes flew open. The pain was back. Harder and deeper than before, centered in her lower back, but encapsulating her entire abdomen. Mary breathed through it. In. Out. Her eyes squeezed shut against the tears from the pain.
As the contraction eased, she moved to her knees and crawled over the sleeping children.
“Ma,” she whispered as she touched Oma’s shoulder.
Her mother had never been a deep sleeper until they’d come to the camp. She was able to sleep through more and more things these days, and even took naps during the day with Georgie. Mary hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that it was probably due to lack of nutrition and energy. Fruit was very rare, meat getting rarer, and seaweed happening only occasionally now.
But on this occasion, Oma’s eyes flew open, and she sat up immediately. “What is it?”
“The baby,” Mary said, a sob rising in her throat, because she didn’t want to say the words. “The baby is coming.”
For a split second, panic darted across her mother’s face, then it cleared . . . into the calmness of a woman who had faced many trials in her life and had weathered them all.
“I’ll wake Claudia, and she’ll watch over the children. I’ll go with you to the medical center,” Oma whispered in a sure tone. Her gaze cut to the sheet they’d draped over the doorway. They lived in a third house now, and Mary and Claudia had secured rooms together.
“It’s too soon,” Mary whispered back.
Oma placed her hands on Mary’s shoulders. “Babies come on their own time. If the child is meant to live, God will preserve him.”
Mary nodded, although her heart felt like it had been stabbed.
A contraction hit again. This was sharper, deeper, and Mary cried out. Even through the pain sending new tears into her eyes, she hated to be noisy and wake others.
Oma alerted Claudia, who immediately agreed. “I’ll be praying for you,” she whispered as she held her rosary beads.
“Thank you,” Mary said.
Moments later, Mary and her mother headed out of the dark house. A Japanese guard was stationed on the road, keeping watch. Mary never knew if a soldier she encountered would be friend or foe—it was never a good idea to be outside after camp curfew. With relief, she saw that the guard was Kano.
He immediately asked what was wrong.
Oma explained that Mary was in labor, and Kano said in his careful Dutch, “I will escort you to the medical center.”
It was beyond his duty, but would offer them protection and stop further questioning from any other guard they might encounter. Mary knew this was a blessing indeed.
They had to stop several times as Mary dealt with contractions so fierce she couldn’t walk through them. But Kano kept his silent protection, waiting until Mary could walk again. Mary wondered about the young soldier’s mother—she had raised a good man.
Once they reached the medical center, Mary was grateful that Dr. Ada Starreveld was staying through the night and could help her. Oma and the doctor helped her into a bed, and Mary tried not to think about who might have occupied the bed before her.
She was aware of little else but the pain that threatened to extinguish her own breath. All she could focus on was Oma’s tight grip on her hand and her urgent words of encouragement. Dr. Starreveld took things more in stride, and then, like a thunderstorm suddenly moving on, it was over.
The cry of a newborn baby pierced the fog that had become Mary’s mind.
Oma’s hand stroked Mary’s. “It’s a boy. You have another son.”
Mary saw her baby for the first time through blurry eyes. Dr. Starreveld had cut the umbilical cord and swaddled the child. Once the doctor helped Mary through personal administrations, they placed the small, warm bundle into her arms.
“He’s alive?” Mary whispered, staring down at the tiny face in awe.
Oma wiped at the tears on her face. “He’s alive. What will you call him?”
That wasn’t a question. She and George had discussed names before . . . before everything. “Robert. We’ll call him Robbie.”
And then she was crying too. The pain didn’t matter anymore; it had never mattered. Her son was born alive. And she would do everything in her power to make sure he thrived.
The doctor draped a clean sheet over Mary.
“Thank you,” Mary whispered.
Dr. Starreveld nodded, her smile wide. “You did well.” Then her smile faded a bit. “You won’t be able to skip roll call in the morning, so get as much rest as you can.”
“I’ll watch over her if you need rest yourself, doctor,” Oma said.
Dr. Starreveld’s smile returned. “Thank you for that. I’ve grown used to napping like a cat.”
When the doctor left the area, Mary asked her mother, “How will I tell George?”
Oma rested her hand briefly on her newest grandson’s head. “God will provide a way to get word to him. He will be so happy.”
Mary was too exhausted to offer up any more worries. For now, she would believe in her mother’s words. Closing her eyes, she let sleep overtake her exhausted body. When the infant awoke, she’d need the strength to feed the child. Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were comprised of a simple prayer, “Please protect this new baby . . .”
When the hints of first light came, Dr. Starreveld checked over Mary and the baby, and pronounced both healthy. “You should get back to your house as soon as you feel you can walk,” she said. “There is too much disease in the medical center. Make sure you nurse Robbie as long as you can. He’ll need the nutrition.”
Mary knew this meant she had to get more creative about maintaining her own health.
“Do you need help standing?” the doctor asked.
