A Pledge of Silence (21 page)

On my own learned to face my fears

Thoughts of home fill my heart with tears

And I yearn to hear kith and kin news

Got these soul-depressing, longing-to-go-home-again blues.

He sang in a soulful voice, the music drawing Margie in. When he finished, she remained transfixed. “Did you write that?”

“No, I wish. It’s a Pearly Carl song. He’s a bluesman from Mississippi. I heard about him when I studied at Wayne University. Then I got a chance to see him when I traveled through the South.” He put the guitar aside. “I played that song in the bars around Ann Arbor and Detroit, never realizing someday I’d be living it.”

Intrigued by this revelation, Margie asked, “You play professionally?”

“Just say it’s my alter-ego.”

From the table, she picked up the camp weekly newsletter,
The Internews.
“Of course. Wade Porter. That’s where I’ve seen your name. You’re the editor.”

“Yup. That’s the morning’s edition.”

Margie glanced through the announcements:

Rationing of milk continues. It is estimated that supplies will last approximately three months at the current rate of consumption. Outside sources for milk are scarce …

Construction of the new stage is complete, and, after a one-month hiatus, the entertainment committee will present the third internee floor show on Thursday at 6 pm. The program includes Jerry and Phyllis Newcomb, acrobatic dance; Nick Brownell and Art Handy, guitar duet; Frank Capella, magician …

A blanket challenge to play any baseball team has been issued by Room 42 …

The semi-final round in the bridge tournament will begin Monday with 16 teams of the original 116 competing …

Father Dennis Murphy will hear confessions from 7 am, Sunday, near the outdoor altar …

For sale: All types of woodwork, boxes, tables, shelves. Your design or ours. Wooden shoes available …

From the Executive Committee: A radio message asking the American Red Cross for help in securing permission to release internees’ names and addresses to a source in Washington, D.C., has been delivered to Japanese authorities by the Philippine Red Cross …

Margie wondered if her parents knew where she was. Did they even know if she was alive? She pondered the cruelty of their praying and hopeful watching—their fear of the day that would bring bad news. “Do you think it will happen? Do you think the Japanese will release our names?”

Wade refreshed her tea and offered her a cookie. “I wouldn’t count on it. We’re nothing but a nuisance to them.”

Chapter 15

Santo Tomas, August 1942 – December 1944

Christmas 1942 approached. A captive of the Japanese for seven months and an internee at Santo Tomas for five, Margie hadn’t seen her parents in over two years. As Japanese strength in the Philippines intensified, hope of immediate release vanished. She and Helen coped by pooling their money to buy a shack close to Wade’s constructed from bamboo poles and roofed with dried palm leaves under the shade of a cypress tree. Two cots and a table and chairs crowded the inside. Outside, vegetables grew in a miniscule garden. When the girls moved in, the little hut felt like a palace.

Sitting cross-legged on her cot, Margie stitched a monogram on a napkin, a Christmas gift for Gracie. She heard a rustle outside and quickly hid the napkin under her butt, hoping she had secured the needle.

“Knock, knock,” Ruth Ann called, ducking through the doorway. She glanced around the small space. “Aren’t you a Lucky Lou!” She admired the curtains Margie made for the window, the picture Helen drew and tacked to the wall, and the shelves Wade hung to store supplies.

“Shit! I need a shanty. If I don’t get some privacy soon, I’m going to go crazy.” She pulled a rag doll out of her tote bag. “I need some help. Some poor little girl’s going to get this monster for Christmas, and it’s going to scare the pants off her.”

Margie took the half-stitched doll from Ruth Ann and laughed, because it did, indeed, have an evil leer. “What did you do to her face?”

“It’s supposed to be a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. I’m hopeless at this kind of stuff. My hands are too big. I should be making trucks for the little boys.”

Margie snipped a few stitches. “Leave it here. I’ll work on it.”

“You sure? You’re pretty busy with the Christmas play.”

“I’m almost finished with that.” She showed Ruth Ann Wade’s costume, a waistcoat and top hat fashioned from pieced-together fabric.

“Wow! That looks professional.”

“Hardly, but from the audience it won’t look too bad.” Standing up, she dropped the hat on Gracie’s Christmas napkin. “I wanted to study fashion design at one time. You want some tea?” Without waiting for a reply, she poured two cups. “I heard Adele Ernst is sending over Christmas turkeys and all the trimmings.” Just saying the words made her mouth water.

A friend and colleague of Miss Edwards and an Italian citizen living in Manila when the Japanese invaded, Miss Adele Ernst’s limousine regularly arrived at Santo Tomas’ gate loaded with baskets of clothing, food, necessities, and niceties for the nurses.

Ruth Ann lounged back, her long legs outstretched. “Good old Adele. You ever seen her? She wears a hat as big as the Grand Canyon. She carries a black lace parasol, Margie. When’s the last time you seen anybody carrying a parasol?”

“So she’s eccentric. She has a huge heart.” Margie suppressed a grin, guessing what Ruth Ann’s response would be. “Did you like the pocketbooks she sent to each of us?”

“Never carry one,” Ruth Ann said, tapping her foot.

“If you see her at Christmas, you’ll be nice, won’t you, Ruth Ann?”

“Of course. I’m always nice.”

When a fleet of British relief ships arrived in Manila harbor, a group of internees were dispatched to the docks to load trucks with food, medical supplies, and clothing for the kitchens, clinics, and dormitories of Santo Tomas. Margie saw the trucks lined up for inspection outside the gates.

She often picked up Adele Ernst’s gifts from the package line at the gate and curiously watched internees and visitors on each side of the fence jiggle and jerk in a dance of prearranged body signals—I love you; I miss you; I need shaving cream. Wealthy internees relied on the parcels brought by faithful Filipino servants for their daily meals and clean laundry. Everything from books to building materials filtered through, including, despite rigorous searches, uncensored letters, military information, and large sums of money.

The trucks finally got waved through; later that day, each internee received a shoebox-sized personal kit.

“I’ll trade you my razor for your sewing kit,” Margie offered as she and Wade nibbled on candy bars. As their friendship took root, they often met to share meals and memories of home.

“Deal. Let’s eat the corned beef today. I bought four duck eggs.”

Margie’s mouth watered at the thought of corned beef and eggs. “Let’s eat my corned beef and save yours for later.”

“Okay. I’ll save an egg, then. I know where I can get flour, so we can make pancakes.” He reached for her hand. “I enjoy cooking for you.”

Not anywhere near ready to begin another relationship, she avoided his touch by rummaging through her kit. “Soap!” she exclaimed. “Who’d have ever thought I’d get excited about a bar of soap?”

On Christmas Day, the 75 military nurses interned at Santo Tomas gathered on the lawn outside the main building for their holiday dinner. Margie and her friends sat all together at one table. At each place was a poem written by Tildy, a monogrammed napkin from Margie, a small wooden cross whittled by Ruth Ann, a string angel crocheted by Boots, and flowers picked, dried, and bound into nosegays by Gracie. The serving table bent under the weight of several turkeys, sweet potatoes, dressing, cranberries, creamed peas, and fruitcake for dessert.

Miss Riley rose to speak. “Girls, isn’t it a fine Christmas Day! Here we are surrounded by good friends, about to share a wonderful meal provided by our generous benefactor, Adele Ernst. She sends us her best wishes and knows how grateful we are. Let’s each of us remember her in our prayers of thanks.”

The women murmured in agreement and applauded.

“Last Christmas we traveled a dangerous road, dodging Japanese bombs,” Miss Riley continued. “We’ve made it through a year of great peril. Today, we must be thankful for what we have—our lives, our friends, and, as nurses, the privilege of helping those less fortunate than ourselves. Let’s pray for the safety of our men on the battlefield, for our country’s freedom, and for our safe return home.”

The Japanese allowed visitors through the gates on Christmas Day, 1942. Families, friends, former co-workers, and servants arrived laden with boxes of food and the small sundries of living. Many groups feasted at picnics spread on the lawn. Margie and Wade stood together in the shadows and watched Japanese photographers snap propaganda pictures.

One Filipino caught Margie’s attention. Although his peasant clothes and large straw hat tied under his chin made him unremarkable, he kept dodging the photographers and glancing toward Wade. She nudged him, saying, “Is that someone you know?”

“I’ll be damned!” Wade whispered.

The Filipino cocked his head, then melted away into the crowd.

“Let’s go,” Wade said, and led Margie back to his shanty. A few minutes later, the strange man slipped through the door.

“Charles! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” Wade embraced his friend and introduced him to Margie as an American-born Filipino, and the best damn photographer at
The Ann Arbor Tribune
. Charles and Wade worked together, first in Europe, then the Philippines.

The photographer looked around the shack. “How you holding up in this stink hole?”

“Beats the alternative. I see you’re keeping a low profile.”

“You like these duds? My uncle even found me a cart and ox, man. When I go underground, I go all the way.” When he flashed a smile, Margie noticed a missing front tooth.

Wade said, “You fit in good enough. What can you tell me?”

“Probably nothing you don’t already know. I’m assuming you’ve got a radio hidden in one shithouse or another.” He reached in his pocket for cigarettes and the three of them lit up. As the shanty filled with smoke, Charles said, “We ambushed the yellow buggers on Midway, credit to our code-breakers, trapped and sank four Nip carriers and a fuckin’ heavy cruiser.”

“We heard about that. We had a little celebration.”

“It gets better. MacArthur’s playing offense, hitting hard on Guadalcanal. We kicked the shit out of their air power, and our guys captured the airfield. Their navy’s another matter, though. The good news is they’re running out of resources. We’re destroying ships and planes faster than they can replace them. Soon as we cripple the navy, we’ll shove their fuckin’ ground forces into the sea. Locals hate the Japs and help all they can. It’s just a matter of time.”

Margie voice filled with hope. “How much time?”

“Hard to say.” Charles dragged deep on his cigarette, exhaling a long plume of smoke. “Those Nips will fight for their goddamn emperor until every last one of them’s dead. Long live the goddamn emperor. Tell me, Bro, how does anyone get that much power?” He took off his hat, revealing a shock of black hair and a wad of cash that he handed to Wade. “You know how to use this. Don’t know if I can get back in here, but there’s a vegetable vendor with a birthmark that looks like a bird right here,” pointing to a spot below his right ear.

“I’ve seen him,” Wade said.

“You can trust him. When his hatband’s yellow, tell him you’re making soup and ask for okra. There’ll be a message inside. He’ll tell you which guards are approachable.”

Wade stuffed the money down his pants. “Have you heard from Henry?”

In one motion, Charles stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. “He recovered from his wounds okay. The last I heard, he was at Cabanatuan. He may not recover from
that
. Count your lucky stars, this pisshole’s a walk in the park compared to what’s up north.”

“Tell me what I can do,” Wade said.

“For Henry? Not a goddamn thing. For us? Keep the messages moving. Those wealthy guys at the top are opening their corporate wallets. The prisoners up north are grateful.”

“I’m not doing much.”

“It’s enough. The resistance is growing. And we’ve got God on our side. The priests are doing more than saying prayers.”

“And Mary Poppins?”

“She’s got a nice operation going, but she’s pushing her luck. Too many girls, you know what I mean?” Charles got up. “Keep your chin up, Bro. You too, Margie. Wish I could stay longer, but I have other stops to make. You remember my name?”

“Kodak.”

“Good. You need me, you let the okra-man know.” He hugged Wade, saluted Margie, and stepped to the door.

Wade said, “The last dispatch. Did you get it out?”

“Yeah, man. Just under the wire. Good article. Great pictures of the docs at Sternberg too.”

Margie’s ears perked up.

After Charles left, she watched until his shadow disappeared before addressing Wade. “Kodak? The okra-man?”

“I shouldn’t have let you come. You shouldn’t be involved.”

“I am involved. I have been for a while.” She told him how she had been recruited to spy on the guards, and report those likely to accept bribes. “I identify the loners and pass the information on. That’s all.”