Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms (21 page)

Joan shakes her head at Kevin, who shrugs his shoulders as if to say
What?
and walks out of the room.

On Christmas night, Mary takes some chicken down to Hiroshi. She ate as little as she could so there would be something special left for him, something different in case he hadn't had roast chicken before. She has struggled all day knowing he has been alone on such an important day; a day for family and celebration – and for some people, gifts.

‘Chicken,' she says as she hands the meat over. ‘We really only have it on Christmas Day.' Mary wonders what Hiroshi must think about them being so poor. What his own life was like back home and if they ate chicken often. ‘Merry Christmas,' she says. ‘Do you like chicken? My mum roasted it.'

‘I like chicken,' he says, taking the small piece of white meat from her. ‘Yakitori,' he says, hungry. ‘Our chicken is called yakitori, we cook it under the heat,' he adds, gesturing to show how they serve chicken back home.

There is very little meat and it disappears quickly. But there is watermelon too, which he puts aside to eat later. Mary stands, waiting for the opportunity to hand over his gift.

‘What?' Hiroshi asks because she is beaming. It's contagious and he smiles back. ‘Why are you so happy?'

Mary hands him the book of poetry, pleased with herself for the find, and also feeling like an accomplished ‘borrower' from the Smiths' house.

‘Under the u-i-ru-ga-su,' Hiroshi sounds it out the way a Japanese person reads English characters and looks to Mary for approval.

‘Willll-gaaahss,' she says. ‘It's a tree. A wilga is a tree. And my Uncle Kevin told me wilga means orange tree.'

Hiroshi nods and to Mary he looks happier than he has since arriving. ‘Merry Christmas, Mary, I am sorry I have nothing for you.'

‘Oh no, I don't need gifts,' she says, stopping short of telling him that
he
is her gift. That his sharing, his friendship and what he has given to her heart is her gift.

25 February 1945

E
VEN
D
EAD
J
APS

Mary reads out the headline on the front page of the
Guardian
, and then puts her hand over her mouth. She reads to herself the rest of the story that suggests the bad smell in the town's water can be blamed on rumours of dead horses, cattle and ‘even dead Japs' found at Lithgow water supply. She summarises the claim for her parents and then adds, ‘It's okay because it's been emphatically denied by Lithgow Council.'

The three of them screw up their faces anyway at the thought of dead anything in the water supply and wonder what is actually coming through the one and only tap at the front of their hut.

‘Cuppa anyone?' Joan asks, trying to break the moment with some humour. ‘The water's boiled so most of the germs
will be gone anyway.' Neither Mary nor Banjo accept the offer, both thinking about what they had possibly already consumed.

Thankfully it's not long before the sweet, sugary juice of watermelon is dripping down everyone's chins – Kevin and a few of the other men have swum across the Lachlan to the Chinese gardens and pinched a few of the region's best fruit. Joan has struggled to cut the massive fruit into pieces the kids can manage with the only half-decent knife she has, but once done, the slices are shared and enjoyed.

‘Where did you get this, Uncle Kevin?' James asks innocently. Everyone knows stealing is bad, but eating watermelon this way has been part of life at Erambie for a long time; all the locals indulge in the treat but no one thinks of it as really stealing. And it's always shared around, so the guilt is shared around too, until there is none left.

‘I found it,' Kevin says, rubbing the young boy's head. ‘I found it on the other side of the river, and I thought I heard it calling out to me to go get it and bring it here.'

James starts giggling. ‘Don't be silly, watermelons can't talk,' he says, lightly slapping his sticky hand on his Uncle's arm. James looks at his mother. ‘Why don't we grow watermelon in our garden?'

Joan gives her son the biggest smile he's ever seen. ‘There's not enough room out there, and potatoes are a bit more filling, don't you think?'

James nods enthusiastically.

‘This is better than the speck fruit the fruito gives us,' Jessie says, referring to the local fruit grower who sometimes gives away apples with spots on them.

‘Yeah, it's not damaged. This is the most perfect watermelon ever,' Dottie says with a big slurp before giving her Uncle a hug. ‘Thank you.'

Everyone jumps when there's a thumping on the door.

‘Banjo, it's John Smith, open up.'

‘Dear Lord,' Joan says, looking at the watermelon. ‘There's no time,' she says to Kevin and Banjo.

‘It's fine,' Kevin says. ‘Leave it to me.'

John Smith walks in looking hot and bothered, his few strands of hair straggly and damp, and his shirt half hanging out and covered in sweat patches.

‘Where'd you get that watermelon from?' he asks, knowing there's been thefts reported.

‘I got it given to me for some droving work,' Kevin says.

‘Would you like some, Mr Smith? It's very sweet,' Joan asks.

‘I haven't got time.'

‘Here, you can take a piece with you.' She hands him the largest piece she'd cut. ‘And that's a nice shirt.'

Smith is taken aback by the compliment but tucks his shirt in and smoothes his hair over. ‘Mrs Smith does like me to look good at work.'

‘Of course she does,' Joan says.

‘Was there something you wanted, John?' Banjo asks. ‘I'm sure you didn't come for the watermelon.'

‘No, that's right. There's been some sightings of a stranger around the station. Especially late at night. You know what's going on everywhere, Banjo, I want you to come to me if you hear or see anything. You got that?' With that, Smith walks out, slurping on his watermelon.

F
UTURE OF
A
BORIGINE
M
ISSION

A story Mary is reading in the
Guardian
causes her great concern: there's a proposal to either rebuild or relocate Erambie Aboriginal Station. She informs Banjo, Fred and Sid that two members of the Aborigines Board have already visited Cowra; one was a part-Aborigine named Mr W. Ferguson, who was a railway worker in Cowra from 1915 to 1916 and then a shearer at a number of district shearing sheds. ‘“Mr Ferguson admitted that the present camp was a disgrace and that the homes were little better than humpies.”' She looks at her parents, knowing how proud they are about their home.

‘Well, I don't like people saying Erambie is a disgrace,' Joan says. ‘We all keep our homes as clean as any of the white people in town and we don't have any fancy cleaning tools or anything.'

Mary knows that her mother and Aunties Marj and Ivy and the other women are very proud of their efforts in maintaining their homes, even though the conditions they live in are generally well below the standards of the white people in Cowra.

Banjo stands and puts his arm around his wife. He's growing angrier by the minute but trying to remain calm for the benefit of maintaining peace. ‘What else does it say, Mary?'

‘“Mr Sawtell said that the policy of the Aborigine Board was to gradually assimilate the Aborigine into the white race.
The number of full Aborigines was growing smaller each year.”' She stops reading, wondering if it is true.

‘They think we are dying out,' Fred says, ‘that eventually there'll be none of us left.'

‘That's what they want, then we won't be a problem to them anymore,' Sid adds.

Banjo takes a deep breath.

Kevin walks in with a paper of his own and sits down. Mary keeps reading to herself while the others discuss their future and the proposed relocation. She thinks about the article she had read a few days before, about the evacuation of Tokyo. One million civilians have left the city. Mary has no idea what that means for the Japanese at war, for the Japanese in Cowra – for Hiroshi. She wonders if Hiroshi's family has been evacuated too, not really knowing how far his home is from the city. Mary decided not to show Hiroshi that day's newspaper, not wanting to upset him unnecessarily and make him worry. Her concern for him has been heightened since they kissed; Mary is consumed by her feelings for Hiroshi. She wonders if this is what her parents felt when they met. Did they think about each other constantly? Did the well-being of one become the main concern of the other? She wishes she could talk to her mother about this but she knows that's impossible.

When there's a gap in the conversation she finishes summarising the article to them. ‘Mr Sawtell says he is doing interviews in town also and apparently there is considerable local opposition to the station remaining where it is as it covered a large part of an area that would be a future residential area of Cowra.'

Kevin lights a cigarette and it's stuck to his bottom lip as he says bluntly, ‘It's all about land. They took the land that was ours. Then they moved us onto this land, and now they want to take
this
land from us too.'

Joan looks her brother-in-law square in the eyes and says with conviction, ‘It will never happen, Kevin. Most of the people here will never want to leave. They'll have to physically remove us.'

Easter doesn't really mean much to most of the people at Erambie, except for Joan. She gets up early on Good Friday and says her Rosary with an extra Hail Mary for the community and one for Hiroshi. For everyone else, Good Friday is just another day but without school and work, for those who are lucky enough to have work. While Mary is at the Smiths' preparing breakfast for the family, most of the kids are playing rounders and kicking footballs while the men are smoking and yarning. Joan and the other women are busy doing their usual chores and preparing what food they have for later in the day.

When Mary gets home, Jessie walks in behind her. ‘Mum, the Aunts want to know what time they can eat meat today?' On Good Friday the women on the mission check in with Joan because she works at the church and everyone reckons she'll know what the proper rules are around Easter time – even if they're not really Catholic, people still try to do what they think is the right thing.

‘Tell them after twelve o'clock they can eat all the meat they want,' she says. ‘And,' she adds as Jessie gets to the door, ‘let them know cards are at Aunty Marj's again tonight.' The girl skips off cheerily.

When it's dark and everyone has been fed, Mary heads to her Aunty Marj's house where the ladies have started playing cards. She sits with the children as she always does. Mary is maternal and has always thought about the family she will have one day. In recent times when she gets carried away with her daydreams, she has wondered what a life and family with Hiroshi might be like. She can't imagine moving away from the mission, because Erambie is all she has ever known, but the thoughts of cherry blossoms and Japanese mochi rice cakes and rabbits in the moon are very exotic to her, and something she is convinced she would like to try, just for a little while. Meeting Hiroshi has opened her up to a whole new world and way of thinking. She has never travelled away from Cowra before and she has only really thought about as far away as Sydney, because some other girls her age had gone there to work. But now she is dreaming about a life in Japan with its Shinto religion and four main islands, and lots of fish to eat. What a different life she could have if she married Hiroshi. No more cooking and cleaning for the Smiths. No more rations. No more wearing calico dresses.