Oh no. Ita was awake, and Mary would have to tell her the news. She wiped at her eyes and drew in a shaky breath.

  “Why are you crying, Mama?”

  Had she been crying aloud? She turned to look at Ita. Her daughter was kneeling on her bedroll, her blonde hair matted and wild about her face, dirt streaks on her cheeks, and dirt beneath her fingernails. Something that Mary hardly noticed anymore. All children looked the same at Tjideng.

  But in the early morning light, Mary saw her only daughter with clear eyes. Ita was strong, resilient, nearly a grown-up already at just seven years old. She could be relied on, and she would thrive no matter the setbacks.

  Mary held out her hand. “Come here, Rietie.”

  Ita scrambled to Mary, and they clasped hands.

  “I’m crying because Oma went to heaven this morning. She’s in a better place, so we should be happy for her, but I’m sad too because I’ll miss her.”

  Ita looked over at Oma. She didn’t speak for a moment. Then she reached out, slowly, and touched Oma’s hand. She wrapped her smaller fingers around the boney ones of her grandmother.

  “Goodbye, Oma,” Ita whispered.

  Tears flooded Mary’s eyes again, and she didn’t know who reached for the other first. But they held each other for a long moment, letting their tears fall.

  “Georgie is going to miss her so much,” Ita whispered after a while. “Will they take her away in a truck?”

  Mary’s stomach twisted at the thought, but there was only one answer. “Yes. They’ll bury her outside the camp. But her soul is no longer in her body.”

  Ita nodded against Mary’s side. “I know. Her body doesn’t look the same anymore.”

  “You’re right.” The still form only resembled the woman who’d been her mother.

  Ita began to quietly hum, and Mary recognized it as a hymn that Oma frequently hummed to the children at night. Mary joined in. Even without words, her voice cracked. Their voices stayed quiet, and no one around them who was still sleeping seemed to be disturbed. Breakfast was about an hour away, and Mary knew that no one would sleep through breakfast. After the song concluded, Mary wiped fresh tears from her face. Remarkably, she felt peaceful. Almost calm. Definitely resigned. Her mother’s earthly suffering was over, although she’d be dearly missed every moment of every day.

  Mary looked around and saw Claudia waiting on the other side of the room, her hands clasped in her lap.

  “Can you help me?” Mary asked in a quiet voice.

  “I will help you carry her to the medical center,” Claudia said.

  It was what Mary needed to do. Take her mother’s body to where it would be joined with others who died that day. In the afternoon, Greta and Ina’s work crew would load the bodies onto a truck that would take them outside the camp and bury them. Where, exactly, Mary didn’t know. But she’d find out.

  For now, it was better to move her mother while Robbie and Georgie were sleeping.

  Ita drew away as if she knew what needed to take place too. “I’ll watch my brothers.”

  “Thank you,” Mary whispered. Her voice felt stuck.

  Ita turned to Oma one more time, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  Mary’s heart ached so much that it was painful. But it was time to act. She’d grieve later. Claudia woke up Johan and Greta, and between the four of them, they carried Oma’s body outside.

  The guard on duty in the street in front of their house was Kano. He strode over, and his mouth pinched when he saw who they were carrying. “I will help.”

  Mary and Claudia walked alongside the group as Kano, Johan, and Greta carried Oma to the medical center. As they passed by others, no one spoke to them, but their dull eyes said it all—they understood the pain.

  Once they reached the medical center, Kano directed them to where to set her body. Other bodies had already been collected or dropped off. A group of women had been tasked to make coffins each day, and there was talk that they might run out of materials to continue their work in a few weeks’ time. So Mary was grateful that her mother would at least have a coffin. Still, she tried not to internalize the fact that she’d be leaving Oma in such a way.

  They informed Dr. Starreveld so that Oma’s name would be recorded: Maria Van Benten-Zwaan.

  As they walked away from the medical center, Mary said, “Thank you, everyone, for your help.”

  Johan and Greta only nodded.

  Tie came out of the kitchens just then, her boney frame more gaunt than the last time Mary had seen her. Tie’s eyes darted from Mary to the medical center. “Is it Oma?”

  Mary paused in the road. Tie had never been close to Oma, but there was still a family connection. “Yes, she’s gone.”

  Tie didn’t say anything for a moment, then she exhaled. “Sorry for your loss.” Without waiting for any answer, she headed toward the kitchen again.

  Mary knew that they were all coping in their own way in this camp, but for her, staying close to her family and friends was what made each day bearable.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on Tie much longer, though, because the main gates opened, letting in a truck. It was strange that deliveries would come this early. The monkeys in the cages by the gates awakened and began jumping around and gawking at the truck. One of the monkeys started chattering in a high-pitched squeal. The driver stopped the truck not far from them, and on the other side of the road, Captain Sonei came out of one of the buildings.

  Mary felt sick. No one wanted to be in the line of sight of Sonei, and now, here she was with Claudia and her children. There was nowhere to escape to, nothing to hide behind without getting noticed.

  All the surrounding women and children in the area bowed low as Sonei strode toward the truck. Then they scurried away to be anywhere but near the captain. The problem was that no matter the direction Mary moved, it would attract attention. So after their bows, they remained in place, watching and waiting.

  Then, Claudia gasped.

  Mary looked down the road to see Japanese soldiers leading boys toward the truck.

  Boys who were Johan’s age or younger.

  Some of them were carrying suitcases with belongings, others were empty-handed. About a third wore shoes, but the rest were barefoot. A handful didn’t even have shirts on.

  Mary knew Claudia had known this day would come, but the reality of it happing to their Johan was agonizing. Claudia grasped Johan’s arm and drew him behind her. Mary didn’t blame her friend. Of course, Johan wasn’t really concealed, because he was taller than his mother.

  Some of the boys being led by the soldiers were part of the ruffian gang that always stirred up trouble. Rumors were that they didn’t even live with their families, but banded together and camped. Thankfully, Johan had steered clear of them.

  Sonei talked to the Japanese soldiers, then motioned toward the truck. In moments, the boys were climbing in and crowding together. There had to be almost two dozen of them. A ways down the road, a woman came running, crying, calling after her son.

  One of the guards approached her, his rifle aimed straight at her.

  She stopped then, not daring to go any closer. She sank to her knees and collapsed into a crying heap.

  Mary grabbed for Claudia’s hand and squeezed.

  “Maybe they will go to Glodok where our husbands are,” Mary whispered, swallowing hard to keep the wobble out of her voice. “They’ll be taken care of. They probably have better food anyway, with all that farming they do.”

  Tears streamed down Claudia’s face.

  At that moment, Sonei turned in their direction. He pointed right at Johan.

  It was done. The time they’d all dreaded for more than two years was happening.

  Johan stepped around his mother, but before he could move away, Claudia and Greta gave him a fierce hug. It was brief, which was a good thing. No one wanted to aggravate the captain who’d made them all stand for a six-hour roll call in the middle of the night.

  Did the man ever sleep?

  Johan moved forward, his steps quick yet slow at the same time. Mary blinked at the tears in her eyes, watching the boy who’d been a beloved neighbor and friend to her children walk toward the truck. He spoke to a soldier, who seemed to be making a record of each name.

  Then, with a final glance at his mother, Johan climbed into the truck.

  A few other boys followed, then it was as if Johan was swallowed up by the sea of gangly teen boys. Gone from view, just like that.

  When the truck started up, the sound jolted through Mary, much like the siren had hours before. The monkeys in the cage by the gate screeched at the truck as it rumbled past. The gates swung open, and Mary and Claudia and Greta stood in a cluster, gripping each other’s hands, as they watched the boys being driven away from their mothers.

  Anger and disgust shot through Mary, hot and fast. Nothing about separating families, husbands from wives, sons from mothers, was good or justifiable. Her heart hurt for Johan being taken from his mother and sister. Maybe he’d be at Glodok—not too far away, and Mary could only hope that Vos and George were still alive.

  A line began to form at the central kitchen. Breakfast would be served soon. If one could even call a handful of rice any sort of meal. The woman who’d been chasing after her son was still bent over in the middle of the road. She hadn’t moved, but she appeared to still be breathing. Was it possible to die of a broken heart?

  For a brief instant, Mary thought she needed to hurry to the house and tell Oma and the children to come get in line for their food. But Oma wasn’t here any longer. Her body would be transported out of the camp by this afternoon.

  Everything had changed again with Oma’s death. And now her children would also grieve over Johan being taken out of camp. If today was this hard, what would tomorrow bring?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “In February 1945, the oldest boys at Tjideng, expected to turn twelve in the following few months, were transferred to camp Baros 6 in Tjimahi near Bandung. I was one of the one hundred boys affected. The experience of forced separation from one’s mother during already very trying circumstances indeed was profoundly traumatic. We were apportioned over four small homes, each with a leader and deputy leader to look after us. Although our meals too were inadequate and living circumstances were unpleasant, we were comparatively better off and reasonably well looked after at Tjimahi.”

  —Ralph Ockerse, Tjimahi Camp

  Rita

  “This is how we can remember Oma,” Mama had said yesterday when they’d stood over a small garden area where they’d planted a kamboja flower.

  Ita had come back to the same spot this morning before breakfast and roll call and before the summer sun made everything too hot. She gazed at the new flowering plant and its small white petals and yellow center. Had it already grown? And how did Mama think that growing a plant would help them remember Oma? Ita couldn’t believe Oma was gone. She’d been sick but had gotten better but now this. The awful all-night roll call had probably made Oma sick again.

  Ita knew Oma was old—seventy years old—which was older than a lot of the people in the camp. But Oma had always been strong and could do anything the younger women could do. Ita sat with a thump on some stubbly grass. She’d cried a lot yesterday, and it felt like she’d cried out everything in her body. If Oma could die, then what about the rest of her family? Maybe they weren’t as strong as Ita had thought.

  She rested her chin on her knees and watched a tjitjak dart through the grass, then move past Oma’s plant. Ita didn’t want anyone or anything touching the plant. She moved to her knees, dug out some dirt, and created a mound around the plant. Maybe that would help keep out any extra insects. At least the ones that couldn’t fly.

  Ita found a nearby stick and made a circle around the mound, then she wrote the name Oma in the dirt in front of the mound. She could spell a lot of words now, and she’d even taught Georgie to spell. He was a fast learner.

  She scooted back and started writing numbers at the edge of the dirt in quick succession. It was faster with a stick, she found, something she wanted to inform Johan about. But he was no longer here. Some of her crying yesterday had been about Johan leaving too. There hadn’t been any goodbyes between them.

  When Mama told her he’d left in a truck with the other boys, Ita felt like sneaking out of the camp and running to find him. She could sneak him back in, and he could live somewhere in the trees.

  But maybe . . . maybe he was at Glodok? With Papa and Mr. Vos? Maybe that’s where Kells had run away to? And now they were all together.

  At least Johan was still alive.

  Oma wasn’t.

  Ita decided she could be happy about Johan going to Glodok. He would help their fathers, and when the war was over, they could all move back into their houses.

  “Ita,” Greta said, coming to stand over where Ita crouched by the garden. “Can you keep good care of these for Johan while he’s gone? Maybe you can teach Georgie.”

  Ita looked up at Greta. Her hair was longer now, but she still looked a lot like her brother. Did she miss him a lot? Did her stomach ache as much as Ita’s did when she thought of Oma and Johan both gone?

  Greta held up two ropes that were connected to two tin cans. They were the stilts Johan had made. They’d had fun balancing on them, then learning to walk, then finally running. Most of the time, though, they’d fallen over laughing.

  Now, seeing the tin cans in Greta’s hands proved that Johan really had been transferred out of camp.

  Ita set down her stick and took the ropes from Greta. “Sure, I’ll keep them safe. Have you learned to use them?”

  “A little,” Greta said, her shy smile appearing. “I’m not as good as you and Johan though.”

  It was kind of amazing to be better at something than a teenaged girl. “It’s not too hard,” Ita said. “You push with your feet at the same time you pull up on the ropes.”

  “Can you show me?” Greta asked.

  Her bright blue eyes were so much like Johan’s. A pang moved through Ita’s chest at the realization.

  “All right,” Ita agreed, although she was sure that Greta could’ve figured it out on her own with practice. She set the tin cans in front of her feet, then lifted the ropes. Stepping onto the cans, she swayed a bit to get her balance. Then she started walking.

  “You can’t keep your feet close together, and you have to take small steps.”

  Greta nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Here, you try them.” Ita stepped off the cans and helped Greta line them up in front of her.

  Ita had been right. It didn’t take long for Greta to get the hang of walking on the cans. She laughed whenever she lost her balance. Ita laughed too. It felt strange to laugh the day after she’d cried so much.

  Greta got off the tin cans and handed them back. “Thanks for teaching me. I’m glad you and Johan were such good friends.”

  Tears spilled onto Greta’s cheeks, surprising Ita. Well, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Greta must miss her brother. Ita wouldn’t like it if Georgie or Robbie were taken out of camp. Would the war last that long, so that she’d lose her brothers too?

  On impulse, Ita stepped forward to hug Greta.

  She had to do such hard things on her work crew. Had she been the one to help put Oma into the truck too?

  Greta hugged her back, then wiped at her eyes. “Do you want to learn to play hopscotch later on?” Greta suddenly asked. “Ina and I play it together when we can.”

  Ita had seen the game, but it was always played by the older girls. “All right.” Her smile pushed through. “That would be fun.”

  Then it was time to hurry to the house. Her heart felt lighter now. Most of the people she loved were still with her at the camp. She would keep good care of the flowering plant, and she would keep learning and helping her brothers. That would make Oma happy from wherever she was in heaven.

  Inside the house, everyone was getting dressed and ready for the day.

  Mrs. Vos sat in a corner, working on her sewing, her mouth set in a tight line, her eyes swollen and red. Ita knew she was sad about Johan and Oma. But she also knew that the women in the camp needed to stay on top of their work assignments so Captain Sonei wouldn’t become upset. Mrs. Vos and Mama had been tasked with mending uniforms for the Japanese soldiers. It was an important job, and only certain women were asked to do it.

  Mama caught Ita’s eyes from their tiny section of the house and anxiously waved her over. “You need to tell me where you’re going,” Mama said. Mama hadn’t combed her hair yet, and it hung about her face, limp. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and it made Ita miss Oma again.

  “I was in the garden,” Ita answered.

  Mama’s gaze dropped to the dirt on Ita’s hands. They never really got clean enough, so dirt was just part of what they had to put up with.

  “Now that Oma is not with us anymore, you need to stay close.” Mama exhaled, her eyes closing for a second. She looked older, or had Ita not noticed it because of Oma’s age?

  Behind her, Georgie and Robbie were still sleeping. Were they sick? They were usually awake by now.

  “I will stay close,” Ita promised. “Are Georgie and Robbie sick?”

  Mama’s eyes opened at that, and she looked over at the brothers. “I don’t think so.”

  Ita moved to her bed roll and slipped the tin can stilts underneath so that they would be out of sight of other curious children.

  “Are those from Johan?” Mama asked in a quiet, tired voice.

  “Greta gave them to me,” Ita explained.

  Mama hadn’t dressed yet, and Ita was about to ask her if she should fetch water from the pump, when Mama said, “Can you go to the kitchen and fetch the milk for Robbie before roll call?”

  Ita straightened. She’d been asked to get the milk a handful of times. The Tjilamajah kitchen gave out milk for the babies, but the camp residents had to get there before roll call or else it would be gone for the day. Ita found her cup and hurried out of the house. The distance wasn’t far, but she didn’t want to take too long.

 

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