Under the Java Moon, page 31
A couple of trucks were heading toward the gates, driven by Allied soldiers, and behind those trucks men trudged along. They didn’t look like soldiers though—not with their worn and dirty clothing, scraggly hair, and thin bodies. Instead, they looked steps away from lying down in their own graves.
When the gates opened, the trucks drove in, sending up plumes of dust that swirled in the wind. The men and boys in their rags entered the camp, then stopped after the gates shut, waiting for instruction. The trucks lumbered to a stop, and the Allied soldiers climbed out.
Lieutenant Sakai greeted them, and conversations that Ita couldn’t hear went back and forth.
Ita examined the faces of the men and boys she could see from her position.
“Is one of them Papa?” Georgie asked, hope in his little voice.
“I don’t know,” Ita said. “I can’t see him.”
Mama said nothing from where she leaned against the fence, holding onto Robbie.
A woman started screaming, crying really, but it wasn’t the cry of pain that Ita had heard so often. She was shouting a name over and over.
“Willem! Willem!”
It was then that Ita realized Mrs. Vos was the woman pushing through the others, crying out for . . . her husband.
“Mama,” Ita whispered. “It’s Mr. Vos.” His red hair was still red, but he looked more like a scarecrow in a storybook than a man.
Her heart thumped. Was Johan . . .?
Mr. Vos strode toward his wife.
It seemed that Lieutenant Sakai was going to allow the men to greet their families. No one stopped Mrs. Vos, and no one stopped her husband.
Another person moved out of the line of men. A different man. This one with red hair too, although it was darker.
“Johan!” Georgie yelled.
Was it really . . . Ita gasped as Johan joined his mother. Greta was there too, in a tangle of arms and sobs, hugging each other.
More reunions happened, and Ita lost sight of the Vos family because people were moving all about now. Looking, seeking, calling out.
“George,” Mama whispered at the same time that Ita saw a man walking toward them.
He might be thinner, but his walk was the same. A walk that Ita recognized, that she knew, that belonged to her father. But was he her father? She squinted against the glare of the sun and the brightness of the blue sky.
Mama had straightened, and with Robbie still in her arms, she began to walk toward the man.
It was Papa.
The realization shivered through Ita’s body, all the way to her toes. He was alive, and he was here, at Tjideng Camp.
“Papa!” she cried out, but it was only a rasp. Her throat was so tight that her voice had stopped working.
Georgie’s hand found hers, clutching tight. “Is that Papa?” he asked, hope widening his eyes.
Ita’s tears started, and she could only nod yes, over and over. Papa wore ill-fitting, patched-up khaki shorts, a shirt with no sleeves, and sandals that looked like he’d made them from bicycle tires.
Mama reached him first, and Papa cradled Robbie’s face. With tears on his cheeks, he bent forward and kissed Robbie on the forehead. Then he hugged Mama, Robbie nestled between them. They hugged so tightly that Ita wondered if they would ever come apart. Hand in hand with Georgie, she met her parents in the road. All of the other reunions, all of the other instructions between the Allies and Japan, were blown away on the wind.
Papa broke away from Mama.
Tears made trails along his face, and he took Robbie in his arms and kissed him over and over.
Robbie’s face had gone red, and he wasn’t sure what to make of the dark-haired, golden-skinned stranger that was his father. But then Papa saw Ita and Georgie. She wondered if they had changed as much as he had changed. What did Papa see in them?
He crouched and held out his arms.
Ita tugged Georgie with her, who broke out into a grin.
“Papa!” he shouted, connecting the man with the picture he’d memorized.
Then, Ita was in Papa’s arms. He didn’t smell of the starched cotton and pine that she remembered. He smelled of war: mud and sweat and blood. His voice was the same, though, and his brown eyes . . . they were the same too. A scar like a tiny ant trail followed one of his cheekbones, and his hair was cut funny.
But it was him. His voice, his eyes, and the love she could feel—were all the same.
Papa was here. At last. Nothing else mattered right now.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Following August 21, all internees were requested to assemble at the lawn near the front gate. Our camp leader informed all of us that on August 15, the Japanese had officially capitulated and the war was over. Also, Schotel impressed upon us that we had to stay within the campground boundaries because it simply had become too dangerous to leave camp. Large numbers of fanatic Indonesian pemuda (young man) had turned unruly following Sukarno’s proclamation of Indonesia’s independence. They became a serious threat to the Dutch colonialists, whom they attacked at every opportunity.”
—Ralph Ockerse, Tjimahi Camp
George
George and Vos had fallen into a routine. After a day spent working throughout the Tjideng camp, which consisted of clearing sewage ditches and garbage, George would head to the medical center to see if any help was needed there. Most times, Vos came along.
It was nearly dusk, and the day’s heat had finally faded to a dull swelter. Anytime the sun wasn’t directly overhead, things became bearable.
As they walked to the medical center, they passed by a group of young men.
“Where are you headed?” George asked. He’d been told of the gangs of boys that had stirred up trouble at Tjideng. He didn’t want to see that happen again.
“We’re collecting wood for cooking fires,” one young man said. “Starting with the interior gedek wall toward the back of the camp.”
George didn’t like the idea, not at all. They were all stuck together in this camp for a reason. “I’d caution you against destroying the bamboo fence that’s protecting us.” Even as he spoke, he knew the young men would do as they pleased. He had no authority over them, and times had changed. Which meant, it was every man for himself most days. George had experienced plenty of that at Glodok.
He and Vos trudged to the medical center. George’s nose wrinkled as they passed the fresher burial pits. The entire camp stank. With no sewer system for years, and poor cleanliness, it was no wonder. He didn’t imagine other camps throughout the rest of the islands had been much better, but having so many thousands crammed into such tight housing, only amplified it here. Disease and infections were rampant among the women and children—the elderly had had the worst of it. George had been sorry to hear about Oma’s passing. On one hand, he was grateful her suffering was over, but on the other hand, she was missed so much by his family.
The quiet of the morning was interrupted as two women, along with their children, hurried past George and Vos.
George did a double take. One of them looked like his sister, Tie, but it wasn’t her after all. Their reunion had been brief when he’d first arrived, and it was clear that Tie had gone through experiences she didn’t want to talk about. She was as skinny as Mary—all the women were. Her stiff personality had grown even more distant than it had been before the war.
“Where are they taking their children so quickly?” Vos asked, breaking into George’s thoughts.
“I have no idea.”
They watched the group continue to the front gates and bow to the guard. They exchanged some words, and after a moment, the guard opened the gate and let them through.
George stared after the group. “What just happened?” He strode to the guard who’d finished closing the gate again. “Where are those women going? They won’t be safe out there.”
The Japanese guard gave a shrug. “The war is over. We can’t force anyone to stay inside.”
“But how will they survive out there?”
“Not our problem.” The guard waved a hand. “They want to go, then that’s their decision.”
Vos set a hand on George’s shoulder. “We can’t order everyone about.”
George knew this, of course, but there had to be more order. More information given out to those in the camp. They needed to understand.
Over the past few weeks, local Indonesian townsfolk had brought gifts of food to Tjideng. With so much need and demand, it wasn’t enough to pass out to everyone. But the sentiment was a turning point. Some of those who arrived were former servants looking for their employers, wanting to return to their jobs and lives from before the war.
Unfortunately, none of the Dutch were in a position to rehire their former employees.
George moved away from the gate, feeling deflated. Vos was right. They couldn’t force anyone to stay in the camp, but still he worried about the women traveling without protection. He walked with Vos to the medical building, where they met with a doctor at the entrance to find out what needed doing.
Then he heard a shout from somewhere outside. Turning, George saw the women running back toward the gates. The confused Japanese guard opened them.
Beyond the women, coming up Laan Trivelli, was a crowd of youths and men. They were waving red and white flags, shouting and chanting words that George couldn’t yet decipher as they beat tongtongs. And . . . they carried weapons. The men were armed with golok swords and ratjangs.
The women and their children slipped through the gate, and the guard locked it. Other residents and guards came out of the houses and buildings to see what was going on.
The crowd of rebels neared, shouting and screaming.
“What are they saying?” Dr. Starreveld asked.
“I don’t know,” Vos replied. “But they’re out for blood.”
“We need to arm ourselves,” Dr. Starreveld continued, her voice a measure of calm in the erupting panic beyond the gate. “The Japanese are the ones with the weapons, though.”
George’s skin crawled. Men lived in Tjideng camp now, but they were recovering from years of malnourishment. This rebel group was strong and healthy and filled with vengeful anger.
More guards lined the gates, the Japanese bringing out their bayonets. That would help, but George knew they were outnumbered and outmanned.
There must have been enough of a defense at the front gate to deter the rebel group, who marched along the railway embankment on the other side of the wall.
“They’re tearing down the walls!” someone shouted.
Panicked words shot through the crowd, and those who’d come out of their houses ran back in. To hide? To find something to fight back with?
The sun had fully set, and darkness would soon be upon them. “Someone needs to tell Sakai,” George said. His gaze connected with Vos first, then the doctor.
The doctors in the camp had a lot more sway with the Lieutenant. “I’ll go ask him for a revolver,” Dr. Starreveld said. “Maybe shooting it in the air will scare them away.”
George swallowed, his throat feeling like it was on fire. An all-out battle with this rebel group would result only in tragedy for the Dutch.
“We’ll meet you at the fence,” George said, determined to find something to fight with and join the Dutch men creating a barrier between the fence and the camp.
All George could come up with was a knife from the medical center, and he and Vos charged toward the group who’d gathered. Most of the men carried shovels and pieces of wood. It turned out, his weapon was one of the better ones.
The interior fence still held, but it would be only a matter of minutes before the exterior fence fell. The rebel group’s screams filled the night with fear as they continuously beat tongtongs.
“Look,” Vos hissed, nudging George.
Dr. Starreveld was running toward them, and behind her, a group of Japanese guards, carrying rifles. They took position at the wall, and the guard named Kano lifted a rifle and shot into the night sky. This was followed by another series of rifle shots by more Japanese guards.
The drumming of the tongtongs stopped. The chanting of the rebels turned to panicked questions.
Kano fired, setting off another round by the other Japanese guards.
Voices outside the walls called to each other to run, and then the voices faded. The Dutch and the Japanese stood together, listening, and waiting. Had the group left for good? At least the rebels now knew that there were weapons inside the camp.
After nearly an hour of standing around, discussing their options, George headed back to his house. Something had to change. His family was not safe here. They were like sitting ducks.
George knew he wouldn’t sleep that night.
“What happened?” Mary asked as soon as he entered their shared room.
Since the children were already asleep, he told her in whispered words the events of the night. She nestled close and linked hands as he explained the danger outside the walls. “We need to find a way out of here,” he said, against her hair.
Mary kept her hair short, but it was thin, regardless. Everything about her was thin, and even though George knew he didn’t look much better, it hurt him deep inside to see his wife and children suffering from the ravages of years of malnutrition.
“Aren’t we safer inside these walls?” Mary asked.
“I thought so, until tonight.” George squeezed her fingers. Like his hands, hers were rough, calloused, her nails brittle. “There has to be a better way to live until we can get off this island.”
Mary nodded against his shoulder, and he looked over at their sleeping children.
The reunion with his family had been beautiful, yet bittersweet. Seeing his son Robbie had brought such a joy and relief. And Ita and Georgie—having grown up so much—not only in stature but in intelligence.
But his children were all so thin, their skin crusted with scabs and littered with scars, their eyes hollows of trepidation and anxiety. Georgie was such a quiet boy, though helpful and obedient to his mother. Robbie stuck to George every chance possible. And Rita . . . the sight of her thin arms and thin legs had nearly broken his heart when he saw her. She was Mary’s right-hand helper, and he marveled at how independent and smart she was.
And Mary . . . her no-nonsense personality had become quieter. She ducked her head a lot, and she avoided answering some of his questions. Sometimes she seemed to tune out when he was speaking. It was as if she went someplace else in her mind for a few moments.
Eventually Mary fell asleep, but George remained awake, turning possibilities over in his mind. As the dawn-gray sky turned a pale lavender, George wasn’t sure if he’d come up with a solution of how to get his family out of this over-crowded, disease-infested camp.
But right now, Mary was nestled against him in sleep. Robbie was curled up on his other side. It had taken a handful of days to really gain Robbie’s trust, but lately the toddler followed him everywhere. George didn’t mind at all. Being with his wife and children was the most important thing.
They could face what they had to, and it would be together.
Everyone in the crowded house still slept, gaining every minute of rest that they could before another day of work began. At least they were working for the betterment of their situation, instead of following interminable orders with no end in sight. And at least George’s family had a roof over their heads. Many of the newly reunited families were camping in the yards outside.
Day after day, he and the other men repaired sewer lines, water lines, and electrical hookups. And day after day, they ate the meager offerings that had been trucked in. Over the years of imprisonment, George had sometimes wondered if death was a blessing for those who fell victim. Struggling each day physically and mentally and emotionally had taken its toll on all of them. Yet, having good friends at Glodok had helped tremendously. Kept him going. Unfortunately, Jacques and Ed had both succumbed to malaria. There were simply not enough medical supplies to treat every diseased person.
Because of the loss of his friends, he was more determined to live a life outside of war. To make the best of what came next. To provide for his family. Which was why he wanted to get them out of Tjideng.
George had thought Glodok was a prisoners’ nightmare, but this place was atrocious.
Mary had told him a few things, but mostly she didn’t want to talk about the past. Not even the immediate past. The aftermath of the abuse and deprivation these women and children had suffered was plain for all to see.
The day that Johan had arrived in Glodok had been a day of both joy and grief. Willem had been thrilled to see his son again, but he knew his wife needed their boy’s help more. Johan had told them about the terror of the man, Captain Sonei. He’d also told them about the other guards who were afraid of Sonei and followed his orders with no other choice.
Vos prayed night and day, aloud, and with quite a bit of fervency, for the war to end. For the Dutch to be freed. For their women to be freed. George would never claim to be a praying man, but his heart beat to the rhythm of Vos’s words.
“You’re awake?” Mary spoke in a sleepy voice, stirring next to him. “Did you sleep at all?”
“I’m not sure.” George had closed his eyes, and time had passed, but he wasn’t sure if he’d truly slept. “We can’t stay here.”
Mary rose to a sitting position and peered at him. Her blonde hair tumbled about her face, and her cheeks had filled out a little more. With the Allies dropping parachutes of food containers, the available nutrition had improved. But there was still a long way to go. “Where will we go, George? The islands are overrun with civil unrest.”
“I’ve been talking to Willem about the possibility of moving closer to one of the bases the Allies are occupying. It will give us the protection we need until we can get out of Java.”
