Under the Java Moon, page 33
She wanted to sleep, she really did, but the silence was so strange. There were no crying babies or mothers hushing their children, no people coughing up sickness or going in and out to use the sewage trench, no one talking in their sleep . . . the silence made Ita wish there was some noise, somewhere.
Ita was awakened when someone knocked on the door of the room they’d been put in. It startled her at first because there had been no doors in Tjideng, and no one knocked for anything. The sun was up though, and everyone else in the two families was already awake.
Mr. Vos opened the door, and two men in blue uniforms walked in. Ita knew the men weren’t Dutch because they were healthy, clean, and wearing British uniforms.
One of them knew some Dutch, but Mr. Vos knew better English. After a couple of minutes, Papa turned to everyone. “The Allies have invited the Dutch children and their families to go to a lunch party and tour the American warship in the harbor.”
Ita didn’t know what to think. The words lunch and party weren’t something she’d experienced in years. She wasn’t going to say no, and neither was anyone else. Both families headed down to the harbor, a place Papa called Tandjong Priok.
Papa said the last time he’d seen the harbor was the night he’d left Java with a group of naval officers.
The ship was so large that Ita nearly lost her balance as she tilted her head to see the whole thing. Music played, and aboard there were already families with children. And the lunch . . . Ita didn’t know what to look at first. Fruits, vegetables, egg rolls, and bread. Real bread. Not the gray sticky kind made from tapioca. This bread was light and airy, and there was butter.
Everyone was smiling. Everyone was laughing. She heard a new word—Yankee—referring to the American sailors.
There were swings and games for the children. Papa and Mama stood together, holding hands. The tired lines about their faces had softened. Robbie had a lollipop in his mouth, and Ita knew it was his first taste of candy.
As the sea breeze tugged at her hair, and the laughter of children surrounded her, Ita decided that all would be well. Just as Mama had said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“The Gurkhas, having arrived in the country only a few hours earlier, stood staring at the scene in silence. They were used to fighting between men: a war against children was something new for them.”
—Boudewijn Van Oort, Tjideng Camp
Rita
From the bedroom window, Ita watched the men below, loading into military trucks. The Gurkha soldiers had arrived. Papa had said they were from India and served in the British Army. Ita was fascinated by their dark khaki uniforms, wide-brimmed hats, and long rifles.
They’d been living in the small house Ita’s parents were renting near Tandjong Priok for three months. Well, it was a room, really. The Vos family had rented another room in the house. Papa had them all on the waiting list for the first ship to transport the Dutch out of Java. He’d volunteered to be an engineer on any ship that would take his family.
Papa and Mr. Vos came and went, but everyone else stayed in the house or the yard. Papa said that no one was to go anywhere unless one of the men was with them. During the days, the streets were busy with all sorts of people. Allied soldiers and sailors. Indonesian merchants doing a brisk business with the Europeans and Eurasians who’d congregated there. And now military groups, such as the Gurkhas and the Seaforth Highlanders, were arriving from all over the world.
“They’re here to protect the Dutch since the rebels are getting stronger,” Johan said, walking into the room. His hair had been cut short recently and it made him look younger.
Ita returned her gaze to the window. “Where are they going?”
“They’ll be divvied out among the camps.”
At first, the Japanese soldiers had orders to stay and protect the Dutch people in the camps. They had even fought the pemuda—the Indonesian rebels—and driven them from the city of Bandung so it could be turned over to the British. But now, their orders were coming to an end. Allied leadership had arrived in Java in late September, and Lieutenant General Sir Philip Christison accepted the formal surrender of the Japanese troops on Java and was now overseeing their disarmament and repatriation. Papa had told Ita this meant the Japanese soldiers were leaving. British troops had arrived at the camps on the island as part of something called RAPWI, the Recovery of Allied Prisoners of War and Internees. But reports on the radio made it sound like the Dutch people on the entire island, and other islands as well, were still in danger. So more soldiers were coming to Java.
Johan listened to the radio at all hours in the bedroom he shared with his parents and Greta.
Ita wondered if the radio was ever turned off.
That’s how she’d learned that four Japanese soldiers had been killed by Indonesians in downtown Batavia. Two more were killed in the outskirts of the city along with an Indo. She thought of the soldiers like Kano and Noda at Tjideng, who’d been kind and helpful even when they’d had harsh orders.
Watching the Gurkhas reminded Ita of the time she’d watched the Japanese army arrive on Laan Trivelli. Both signaled change in the country. Both signaled the start of a new war.
“The Japanese are being sent back to Japan,” Johan explained. “That’s why these other groups are arriving to help with security until all of the Dutch can leave.”
Ita was pleased to tell Johan that she already knew this information. “Papa told me about General Christison trying to restore order, but he doesn’t want to make things worse.”
Johan nodded at this. “I think you’re now smarter than any kid I know.”
A smile tugged at Ita’s mouth. “How long before we can leave?”
“I don’t know,” Johan said while watching the troops finish loading into the trucks. The engines started up. “But I hope it’s soon.”
The radio droned from the other room, and Greta must have turned up the volume, because Ita heard the next report clearly.
“Due to the ongoing boycott of European customers at pasars throughout the islands,” the newscaster said, “local refusal to take money that has been distributed by the Red Cross, and the recent killings of European citizens and Japanese soldiers in Batavia and throughout Java, the Royal Air Force is currently facilitating the evacuation of British Commonwealth and American citizens.”
Ita frowned at this. When the newscaster switched to a different report, she asked Johan, “What about the Dutch?”
Johan gave a half laugh. “Very good question, Ita. It seems we will be the last to leave. We’re likely going to be waiting for the ships to drop off the Americans and British, then come back for us.”
Ita leaned her head against the glass of the window. It was warm with the morning sun. For the moment, the neighborhood seemed so peaceful and quiet, even though Ita had heard news reports about a battle that resulted when the Japanese soldiers tried to force the merchants at the pasars to sell to European customers. The outcome was more killings of Europeans and Japanese.
The news switched again. “The Seaforth Highlanders have replaced the Japanese guards completely at Tjideng camp. Lieutenant Sakai and his men are the next to be repatriated to their own country.”
Ita looked at Johan. He was nodding slowly, as if this is what he’d expected.
“What was it like at Glodok?” Ita asked in a quiet voice. She didn’t mind Greta overhearing if she happened to come in. The adults were downstairs, preparing a meal—everyone rotated turns. And Georgie and Robbie were taking naps. Georgie was probably too old to take naps, but he’d seemed to struggle the most with gaining weight since they’d left camp. The brightness of his eyes had faded, although his smile was still angelic.
Johan leaned against the window frame, looking past her. “Our fathers watched out for me. There were a lot of good men there, watching over the boys who were motherless. But there were the bad apples as well. Punishments were liberally given if anyone broke the rules. There are things I wish I’d never seen, and hope that someday I’ll forget.”
Johan wasn’t usually this personal with her, but she could tell he didn’t want to give her specific stories. Maybe another time he would. But she did like how he talked to her like an adult. He never ignored her questions.
His blue gaze settled on her. “We have to move forward, Ita. We can’t live in the past.”
Ita had been told this by her parents, too, whenever she asked a question about Papa’s camp or something she remembered about Tjideng. She didn’t know if it was a good thing to forget the past, though. “I don’t know if I can forget.”
Johan slipped his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts that were held up by a belt. With a sigh, he said, “When we sail out of Java, I intend to leave all the memories behind. Every day will be a new day with potential for good. The internment camp doesn’t deserve any more of my thoughts and time.”
Ita furrowed her brow. She understood why Johan wanted to forget the past. She could see the scars on his arms, his legs, one above his left eyebrow. She didn’t think those were from Tjideng where the children were protected and the mothers punished instead.
Johan had been through things he would stay silent about.
Sometimes, on nights she couldn’t sleep, Ita had heard her parents’ whispered words. Papa asking Mama questions, and Mama either refusing to answer or saying things that were only good. Not that there was much good that had happened in the last three and a half years, but there were small moments of triumph. Papa whispered stories about Glodok camp and the way he and his friends would sometimes mess up their work assignments on purpose. A runway laid by prisoners had crumbled a time or two, and the Japanese would have to build it themselves. When Papa and his comrades were supposed to help fix broken-down trucks, they’d often leave something wrong so that the trucks would break down again. Ita liked to think of her Papa fighting the war his own way, even when he was a prisoner of war.
“I’m going to tell my story,” Ita said. “Someday. Maybe when I’m grown with children or grandchildren of my own. But I don’t want my experiences to be forgotten.”
Johan’s smile was sad, and he turned toward the window again. A tear skated down his cheek, and he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Write your story, then, Ita. Tell the world about what the Dutch faced. Our failures, our triumphs, our pains, and our joys.”
Ita felt like crying, too. She didn’t know why. Someday, she determined, someday she’d write everything down.
That thought carried her through the next days and weeks as her questions were diverted by her parents, and the news on Java grew worse. The rebels were in full control of utilities, and the food supply was being compromised. Staying on Java would mean either starvation or death at the hands of a mob.
Johan had been right about one thing—the Dutch were the last Europeans civilians to leave the islands. Papa secured a position on the first ship available to the Dutch, the British troopship Staffordshire. He would be one of several supervisors over the evacuees. He’d been in training for five days when, finally, the captain of the ship determined they were ready to load the evacuees.
Time had been crawling for months, for years, and suddenly, on a December day in 1945, a canvas-topped military truck pulled up in front of their house.
Ita looked about their rented bedroom for the last time—her temporary home. She’d only miss it as a place where her family had been able to heal together and get to know Papa again. But now it was time to move on.
“Hurry, Ita,” Mama called.
Mama’s voice was stronger now. Her color healthy. Her cheeks filled out. Her hair brighter and thicker.
Ita joined the two families at the door as they waited for an armed guard to escort them out.
Now, even in daylight, there had been attacks on the Dutch. Snipers didn’t wait until dark. No one was safe, anywhere.
They followed the guard outside, crossed the yard, and climbed into the back of the truck. “Stay low at all times!” the guard warned them.
His warning didn’t need to be stated twice.
Ita had listened to plenty of news reports with Johan. She knew about the snipers, the executions, and how the mobs didn’t care if you were a man, woman, or child.
Now, Ita lay down in the truck, Georgie nestled beside her.
“Are you scared, Ita?” Georgie whispered.
Ita could say no, but she was sure that Georgie could hear the frantic pace of her heartbeat. “I’m scared,” she whispered back. “But we’re together, and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m scared too,” Georgie said.
Ita didn’t know that the truck ride would take so long—or maybe it just seemed very long. She heard guns firing from time to time. Once the truck swerved sharply. Then it came to an abrupt stop.
The driver told everyone to get out immediately. They’d have to walk the rest of the way to the ship.
Papa protested, but the armed guard was already unloading their suitcases.
“Stay together,” Papa said with a grim expression after the truck turned around and went back the way it had driven. “We’re going to run. If something drops, do not stop.” He looked at Ita. “Hold onto Johan.”
She reached for Johan’s hand, and he gripped hers tight.
Then to Mama, Papa said, “You’ve got Robbie? I’ve got Georgie.”
And they ran.
Ita’s stomach hurt as they sprinted toward the waiting ship. Other Dutch people were heading in the same direction. Some walking. Others running. A line of armed guards stood in front of the gangplank, with a narrow opening to let the Dutch through.
But several meters in front of Ita, a man stumbled and fell. She thought he’d tripped until she saw the blood on his back.
Johan’s grip on her tightened, and he steered her around the man. “Keep running,” he said through heaving breaths. “Don’t look back, Ita.”
She obeyed, but her vision blurred with tears. Her legs were so tired. Her stomach wanted to empty itself. And her heart felt like it was trying to jump out of her chest.
They reached the line of guards, and everyone ran through the opening and hurried up the gangplank. Papa waited until everyone had gone through, then he brought up the rear.
Ita’s shins burned, her thighs ached, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
Someone fired a rifle. It sounded really close. Ita would have ducked, but Johan’s grip was holding her up.
Then they were on the ship, and sailors ushered them to the far side, away from the shore. Ita felt bad for the man who’d been shot just before reaching the ship. Seconds away from freedom.
“Down the stairs,” someone shouted in Dutch.
It was repeated again.
Ita followed her mother and Robbie, descending below deck into the dimness.
Voices echoed off the walls, from people in front of them, and people coming in behind them. There was no way to escape the train of people moving down the stairs. The scent was musty, stale, and sharp all at once. It smelled of wood and grease and sweat.
One sailor led the Vos family down another corridor. And Ita’s family was led to a cabin that barely fit a single bunkbed. Papa said something about getting hammocks ready for the other passengers to sleep in the cargo holds, and then he left with the sailors. Leaving Ita with Mama and her brothers. Mama didn’t waste time in making decisions. “Ita, you and Georgie will be on the top bunk. Robbie and I will share the bottom bunk.”
“What about Papa?” Georgie asked.
“He will sleep on a different schedule,” Mama said. “He has a lot of responsibility now.”
Ita was only too delighted to climb onto the top bunk then help Georgie up. They perched on their high post and looked out the porthole at the grays and blues of the sea and sky.
“What’s that?” Georgie asked, pointing out the porthole, where beyond was another smaller ship.
“That’s a minesweeper,” Mama said, coming to stand near them and looking out the porthole. Robbie was busy checking out his new bunk. “It’s going to sail in front of our ship and scan for sea mines.”
All Ita could think about was that they were finally leaving Java, yet their ship could still be blown to pieces. She shivered and folded her arms.
Mama patted her leg. “We’re together, Rietie,” she said in a soft voice. “All will be well.”
“I know,” Ita said. But did she really know? She had to believe it, because what else could she believe in to help her not feel so afraid?
Only after the ship left the harbor did Mama allow them to climb the stairs to the open deck. Ita’s stomach felt like it was slowly turning upside down, and Mama said that the fresh air would help.
Maybe it did, but mostly Ita tried to ignore the jumble inside.
Greta came over to Ita with Ina Venema. A handful of families they knew from Tjideng, including the Venemas, were on board. The three girls immediately fell into conversation to catch up on the past few months. Then Aunt Tie approached them. Ita hadn’t known she’d be on this ship, and she was sure that Papa had something to do with it.
“Where’s George?” she asked Mama without looking her in the eyes.
“He’s below making arrangements for everyone’s accommodations. He’s in charge of the women and children.”
Aunt Tie tutted. She had gained a little weight back, but she was as erect as ever in her Red Cross charity clothing of a skirt that was still too big at the waist and a well-washed cotton shirt of blue and white stripes.
Then, Aunt Tie walked off without another word.
Mama steered Greta, Ita, and the boys toward the rest of the Vos family, where they stood at the rail, gazing at Tandjong Priok harbor. A crowd of people remained at the harbor, and even from a distance, Ita recognized them as Dutch refugees.
