Under the Java Moon, page 27
Inside the kitchen, she held out the cup to get the milk from one of the kitchen crew. The color of the milk was more blue than white, and Ita wondered if it was watered down. She wouldn’t taste it though—every drop would be for Robbie. As she came out of the kitchen, a woman started screaming across the street. A Japanese guard stood over her, shouting about how she’d broken a rule.
Not a day went by that Ita didn’t hear someone screaming, but this was right in front of her. The woman was crouched in the dirt, and the Japanese guard began to bludgeon her.
Ita’s heart nearly stopped. Panic climbed up her throat. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to watch the poor woman. No one was doing anything about it because no one could.
Ita began to run around the nearest house, so she could avoid the road for a little longer. She ran as fast as she could, holding back sobs that seemed to claw at her chest. Before she knew it, some of the milk had spilled.
“Oh no,” she wailed. If Robbie didn’t get all of his milk, he might get too weak, then he’d get sick like other babies.
Ita kept running, but she couldn’t stop the sobs. By the time she reached the house, half the original milk was in the cup. Mama would be so upset, Ita knew it.
She wiped at her face and walked into the house. Mama rose and crossed to her. She peered at Ita. “Are you all right?”
Ita’s throat was too tight to speak. She could only nod.
Mama looked into the cup, saw that there was only half the milk, but didn’t say anything about it. She didn’t get mad or ask what happened. She simply lifted Robbie from the pram and gave him the milk.
Ita sat down with a thump. Breathing in, breathing out. She tried to forget the screaming woman, but even if she shut her eyes, she knew she wouldn’t.
Then the siren went off.
Roll call must be early.
Those in the house who were still sleeping woke up, and the activity went into a frenzy.
Ita was already dressed, so she nudged Georgie awake and helped him dress. Mama was ready by the time they were. But she was moving so slowly, and her eyes looked so tired. Then Ita noticed that her mom was sweating. It would be a hot day, but it wasn’t hot quite yet.
“Mama,” Ita said. “Are you sick?”
Mama didn’t answer. She just continued to usher Robbie and Georgie along as they walked to the field for roll call. Robbie whined to be carried, but Ita intervened. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”
So, she did. Robbie was hard to carry when she was so hungry, but Ita didn’t mind. She knew that Oma would be happy at how much she was helping her mother.
When they got to the field, Ita handed Robbie off to her mother, and they all stood in their rows. Their rows had to shift numbers because Oma and Johan were gone. Ita bowed and closed her eyes. She almost always closed her eyes because she didn’t want to see the mean Captain Sonei. She didn’t want to hear his voice either, but she couldn’t cover up her ears. There would be trouble.
She was mad that he’d made Johan leave the camp. It seemed that boys were being forced to leave every day, but more people were coming into the camp too, always making it more crowded.
Sonei started the roll call, and in what seemed to be a miracle, it only lasted an hour. Then they were dismissed for breakfast. As they walked back to the house to get their tins for breakfast, Ita heard Mama and Mrs. Vos talking about the hospital.
“What are they talking about?” Ita asked Greta.
The teenager’s eyes cut to Ita, and she said, “Sonei made an announcement. The medical center will be cleared out today, and everyone there will be sent to the hospital outside of camp.”
Ita scrunched her nose. She knew that no one ever came back from the hospital, at least to their camp.
“Does the hospital have room for everyone?” Ita asked.
Greta gave a shrug, but her eyes looked sad. Ita wished she could talk about this with Johan.
Mama kept wiping at her face, her hands still shaky.
Ita’s stomach felt like a knot of worry—a feeling worse than being hungry. “I think my mama is sick,” she told Greta.
Greta looked behind them. Mama was carrying Robbie, and Georgie walked next to Mrs. Vos.
“She looks tired,” Greta said. “Maybe she’s sad about your grandmother.”
“She’s sweating.”
“We’re all sweating.”
Ita knew this was true, but even if Mama was very sad, there was still something else wrong. Maybe her mother didn’t want to say she was sick because the medical center was being cleared out?
Ita moved to her mother’s side. “I’ll take Robbie.”
Mama didn’t even protest and handed over the toddler.
“Let’s see if you can walk like a big boy,” Ita said.
He shimmied out of her arms, and Ita took his small hand in hers. Together, they walked the rest of the way.
When they reached their house, Ita’s gaze bugged in surprise at a group of people with bags and suitcases standing in their yard. They weren’t people Ita recognized, so what were they doing here? Did everyone have to move houses again? As they neared, they heard the Korean guard named Noda giving instructions. Ita kept her hold tight on Robbie’s hand.
Greta translated for Ita since she knew the language better than most. “They’re making the camp smaller, so these people have to move into our house.”
There were at least fifteen new people. Ita didn’t know how it would be possible to fit more people. Would they sleep standing up? “The camp should be bigger, not smaller,” Ita whispered to Greta at the same time Claudia questioned Noda.
Everyone held their breath. It could be dangerous to question a soldier’s orders or actions. Ita had seen a woman beaten once for asking Captain Sonei a question. But Noda was different. He was more willing than many of the other guards to speak to the women and answer questions.
When Noda answered, Greta explained to Ita, “If the camp is smaller, than Sonei thinks it will be safer. And if he sends away the people who are sick, then they won’t die at Tjideng, and Sonei’s reports to Tokyo will look better.”
Ita tried to process all of this, but the only conclusion she came up with was that Captain Sonei was heartless. She’d heard her mother and other women talk about how the soldiers from Japan were only doing what they must—serving their country in a time of war—and that many of them knew there wasn’t any reason to be cruel to each other.
Yet, Ita had witnessed cruelty every day because of what Captain Sonei commanded. Before he came, life had been strict, and food had been rationed. But now, everything was much worse, and Sonei’s orders didn’t make sense.
Ita led Robbie into the house, where everyone worked to rearrange their things, making room for the new residents. No one complained. What was the use? Besides, complaining took energy that they didn’t have. Their morning meal was on everyone’s mind, and soon they were walking to the central kitchen.
Mama had been quiet this whole time, and she was still sweating. Maybe eating would help her. But she didn’t seem any better after they’d eaten their portions of tasteless porridge.
As they walked back to the house, they had to pass the medical center. A crowd was gathered in front of the building, and a line of soldiers was making sure the crowd stayed back some distance.
Sick people were being ushered or carried out. Some were too weak to stand, so they sat on the ground or even lay down on the dirt. The soldiers forbid bystanders from helping the sick people as they crumpled under the hot sun, waiting for a bus or truck to come and pick them up.
“Can I go with my daughter?” a woman asked from the crowd, pressing forward to the front.
The soldier closest to her turned and waved her off, barking orders in Japanese.
The woman sank to her knees, crying. A couple of people tried to comfort her, but she kept on crying. Other women and children were crying too.
“What are they saying?” Ita asked Greta.
“Only those who are sick are being taken out of the camp. No mothers can leave with their sick children, and no children can leave with their sick mothers.”
Ita wiped at the perspiration on her face. She wasn’t sick, but she felt sick watching the crying mothers and the crying children.
More and more people crowded in, but no one was arguing with the soldiers. They all knew better than that.
Greta grabbed Ita’s arm. “We should get out of here.” She jerked a nod to where Mama and Claudia stood, with tears running down their faces.
Ita moved through the crowd with Greta, holding onto her arm, until they reached their mothers.
“You need to leave,” Greta told her mother, her tone fierce and determined. “There’s nothing any of you can do here to help anyone, unless you want to join my work crew.”
A shiver raced over Ita at the thought of having to join the work crew full of teen girls that had to take care of the dead bodies.
Claudia wiped at her tears, then looked at her daughter. “We’ll leave.” She reached for Georgie’s hand to help Mama, who was keeping Robbie close.
Their ragtag group split off from the crowd and walked back to their house. Greta walked with them. With everything upended at camp, Ita didn’t know what the day would bring.
Mama said she had to lie down for a little bit. She was shivering, even though it wasn’t cold. Mrs. Vos excused herself to join the mending crew, and without saying anything, Greta left to report to the medical center with the Venema sisters.
“Watch your brothers,” Mrs. Vos said. “And try to get your mother to drink water throughout the day. We want to keep her away from the medical center today if possible. Tomorrow might be better.” Her brows were pinched together so there was a deep line on her forehead.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ita asked in a small voice.
Mrs. Vos hesitated. Was the news bad?
“I think it’s malaria,” Mrs. Vos said at last. “See how her skin is yellowish?”
Ita didn’t know to look for that. But she knew that sometimes people died of malaria—she’d heard Greta talk about it before.
Something inside of Ita felt numb, and it grew and grew, until her whole body tingled. Mama couldn’t be sick, and she couldn’t die. Then Ita would have no one.
She didn’t even realize that tears were falling.
“Your mother is young and strong,” Mrs. Vos said, bending close and patting Ita on the shoulder. “Malaria is something she can recover from.”
Ita wanted to believe her. She had to.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can to check on things.”
After Mrs. Vos left, Ita pulled out the doctor kit that she and Georgie sometimes played with. She put Georgie in charge of playing with Robbie on her bedroll. It might not last very long, but maybe Robbie would take a nap soon.
She turned back to Mama, whose eyes were closed. Ita didn’t know if she was sleeping. She got one of Robbie’s shirts wet and put it on Mama’s forehead. Something she’d seen Mama do before.
Mrs. Venema stopped to check on Mama before leaving the house. Kneeling beside her, she placed a poultice on Mama’s forehead. “This is made from tamarind and will draw out the fever. If anyone notices your mother absent from the street sweeping crew, I’ll tell the soldiers that she is sick, but not until after the trucks have left the camp. We don’t want her on those trucks.”
Ita’s tight throat hurt. It was up to her to help Mama get better. There was no one else.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“[For] three months we were put on a real starvation diet of one cup of starch, made from tapioca flour, per day. This concoction makes excellent glue but becomes watery when salt is added. Many died during that time. The first ones to pass on were the big guys, those who were used to large meals. They were buried in shallow graves because we, the grave diggers, did not have the strength to dig deeper graves.”
—Hendrick B. Babtist, Rawahseneng Camp
Mary
Mary gazed at the moon in the sky as it filled the room with silvery light. It was a new year now—1945—but no one had stayed up to celebrate. Would anyone even wish each other happy new year in the morning? She had little idea of how the war was progressing. They received only scraps of information in the camp, and it always had to be spoken of in hushed tones.
She’d heard something about a battle they were calling the Ardennes Offensive, in which the Allies had been fighting the Germans for weeks. Word had also reached them that Paris had been liberated—months ago. That had to be good news, right? Were they seeing the end of the war? Would she see her husband again soon?
Mary was more than happy to say goodbye to 1944. She’d finally recovered from malaria, but she was one of the lucky ones. Having survived such an ordeal, her mind had been on George almost nonstop these past months. Was he still at Glodok? Was he well, or had he contracted a fatal disease like so many others had? She knew the chances he was still at Glodok were slim. Men were being sent on work crews and shipped to other Axis-powered nations to rebuild infrastructure that had been destroyed by Allied bombs.
Inside Tjideng Camp, the months continued to pass and nothing improved. It was hard to imagine life outside the camp any longer. Would it ever end? She heard a child cry, and on instinct, she turned to look. She knew it wasn’t one of her children, but still, her mother’s heart went on alert.
The child in question was shushed by his mother, and the house fell silent again. Although it was never completely silent. Her gaze slid to her own sleeping children. Robbie slept in between Ita and Georgie. They were tangled up together, lost in their dreams.
Mary had never thought she’d be raising her children in such a manner, without George, and without Oma. Missing Oma had become a new burden in her life. Mary had always been grateful for her mother’s assistance, but now that she was gone, a gaping hole had been left.
Mary honestly didn’t know how she carried on day after day. She’d labored on various crews—repairing the gedek and kawat walls that were topped with coils of barbed wire, washing linens for the medical center, sweeping the streets, working in the kitchen . . . Mary had done it all. And Ita had cared for her brothers whenever Mary was on shift.
Some of the older women in the house helped out with the children who were too young for work crews, but Ita carried the brunt of helping with her own brothers. Mary released a sigh. If only she could find a way to care for Ita better. But there were no other options in this camp.
When work shifts ended for the day, Ita spent a lot of time with Greta and Ina. They’d become fast friends, even though Ita was so much younger than both of them. It did Mary’s heart good to see the three girls playing hopscotch and other games together. The children didn’t dare play in the roads anymore, so all games were confined to the area behind the houses or the side yards.
As the night wore on, Mary finally reached the stage past exhaustion where she could sleep. And as she closed her eyes in relief, her thoughts turned to the early years with George.
In the months after she’d said goodbye to him—her fiancé—at the docks in the Netherlands, she’d experienced a profound sense of loneliness. But his letters helped. Oh, the letters!
They came in batches. And she’d even wondered at first if he was writing more than she was. One night she started in on a newly arrived stack.
Marry me, he wrote in the first. Today.
She laughed at his boldness, then tears filled her eyes.
The next letter was filled with details about his travels and duties. All interesting, but she skimmed to the personal stuff to read first and to savor. I miss you more than I thought possible. I’m waiting impatiently for word of an extended leave. When I should be focused on my tasks, I’m thinking of how long we have to wait to marry.
She cherished every word and knew she’d be reading them over and over. Opening the next letter, she read the first few lines, then her breath stalled.
One of my mates has married his fiancée by proxy. This is enabling his new wife to travel to the NEI where they are going to set up house. The NEI is my home port right now, and I thought . . .
Mary’s heart raced as she continued reading. How would it all work? Could she really marry by proxy, and then what? Travel by herself to join her new husband? Warmth spread through her as she thought of the possibilities. She’d have to leave her mother behind. Yet, her mother was always telling her to live her own life. To follow her heart and look for new opportunities. Traveling to the Netherlands East Indies would definitely fit all of those ideas.
The letter continued, with details explaining how Mary needed to set it up. As she read and reread the letter, she grew more excited about the idea. She’d run it past her mother, of course, but marrying George sooner rather than later became more and more appealing.
She hurried out of her bedroom to where her mother was working in the kitchen. Emotions charged through her, so she simply handed over the letter to be read.
“Are you truly considering this?” her mother asked, looking up from the letter, her hazel eyes wide.
“It’s all a jumble in my mind, but . . .” Mary touched her fingers to her neck. “I want to do it. I don’t know why, but I do.”
Her mother gave a small laugh. “Well, you’re in love, and you’re missing him, and . . .”
Mary waited, hoping that Ma would be supportive. It was going to be hard even if she was.
“You’re young and have your whole life ahead of you . . . ” Ma set the letter aside, her eyes watering. “Marriage by proxy is perfectly acceptable. I can’t believe my daughter is going to be a married woman.”
