The Orchid Tree (6 page)

I hold Mama’s hand as she groans and thrashes about, then I help Papa sponge her down. Finally, Mama slips into a fitful sleep, but neither Papa nor I can bear to leave her side.

‘I’ll take your mother to the camp hospital,’ he says at daylight. ‘They’ll be able to help her. She’s probably got malaria and they must have some quinine.’

Regret surges through me as I remember my harsh words to my mother. I stay in and do my chores. How long has Mama had malaria? No wonder she’s been even colder than usual these past weeks. I scrub the toilet. How to make sense of things? Mama doesn’t resent me. She’s just ill, that’s all . . .

Papa returns at lunch-time. ‘They’ll keep her in there for a few days,’ he says, his expression grim. ‘Your mother would like you to visit.’

I follow the path around the headland to arrive at a three-storey red-brick building. Mama is in a ward on the second floor with four women and their new-born babies. I perch beside her on the bed.

‘Oh, darling,’ she says. ‘It’s dreadful. I can’t sleep with all the noise. Can you read to me, please? I need distracting.’

There’s a bookshelf in the corner of the room where I find a well-thumbed copy of
Gone with the Wind
. I read aloud as my mother dozes.

“Let’s don’t be too hot-headed and let’s don’t have any war. Most of the misery of the world has been caused by wars. And when the wars were over, no one ever knew what they were all about.”

Then, later.

“Hunger gnawed at her empty stomach again and she said aloud: As God is my witness, and God is my witness, the Yankees aren’t going to lick me. I’m going to live through this, and when it’s over, I’m never going to be hungry again. No, nor any of my folks. If I have to steal or kill - as God is my witness, I’m never going to be hungry again.”

I put the book down and wipe her forehead with a damp cloth. Mama has to survive this. She has to . . .

At the end of the week, Mama comes out of hospital. Her fever peaks and troughs, but Papa says she’s out of danger. Even so, my chest aches with worry.

I hope he’s right; he has a tendency to be over-optimistic.

***

On the morning of my birthday, I roll out of bed onto Mama’s mattress. She pulls an item from under her pillow. ‘I made it myself.’ Two of Papa’s silk handkerchiefs have been stitched together to make a halter-neck top. ‘I hope you like it.’

I take the gift and hold it against my chest. With joyful tears, I hug her and receive a peck on the cheek in return.

‘And I’ve got this for you.’ Papa hands me a bar of chocolate. ‘It’s the last one from my comfort parcel. I managed to save it from the ants.’

If anyone had told me a year ago I’d be happy to receive such gifts, I’d have thought they were mad. My usual presents are cashmere cardigans, Yardley’s toiletries, riding accessories and books. When the war is over and life returns to normal, I’ll appreciate every single thing I used to take for granted. It’s a firm promise I make to myself.

Once dressed, I go to queue for hot water. I took over the duty months ago, supposedly to give Papa some respite. But, actually, it’s a way for me to see Charles, even though he usually ignores me. This morning, though, he waves and I go up to him. ‘Happy Birthday,’ he says, touching my arm.

My heart dances. I’ve known him for about eight months now, but never tire of looking at him. I’ve such a crush. If only I were more gown-up and knew what to do where boys were concerned . . .

How can I tell if he likes me as much as I like him?

***

On the 30
th
of October, I’m at an informal celebration for Charles’ eighteenth birthday on the village green. Even though the weather is still hot, the air has turned dry and we no longer drip with sweat. Mrs Pearce has saved her flour rations and has baked a sponge cake in one of the communal ovens. I’ve contributed the few biscuits I kept from my comfort parcel.

The Red Cross deliveries indeed included some desperately needed medicines. Only a small amount of quinine, though, which has to be shared among countless others. Mama sits on the edge of the group, sipping watered-down tea. She’s receiving treatment, but she’s still weak.

I bite into the unaccustomed floury texture of the cake and lick my fingers. There were tears as I struggled to find something pretty to wear. In the end, I put on one of Mama’s blouses. It’s too big for me and looks funny worn over my shorts.

I giggle at Charles; he’s doing an impression of Professor Morris, and has got his “now for your Latin homework” saying spot-on. A loud drumming noise echoes. A flock of silver planes soars above. I can just make out the stars of the US Air Force under their wings. ‘Look! They’ve come to rescue us!’

‘They’re probably headed towards Canton,’ Charles says calmly.

Gunshots ring through the air. The Japanese soldiers at the fort on the other side of the camp have started firing at the planes, even though they’re a mile high. ‘Ha,’ Charles laughs. ‘They’ll never hit them.’

‘Come indoors,’ Mama says briskly. ‘We don’t want to catch a stray bullet.’

In our tiny room I huddle with my parents, Charles and his family. Explosions boom in the distance and, through the window, a cloud of black smoke rises behind the mountains.

‘They’re bombing the airport,’ Papa says in a loud voice.

Charles leaps up. ‘It’s begun.’

‘At last,’ Mama murmurs.

‘The Americans are going to set us free,’ I squeal, excitement making me dizzy.

***

The next afternoon, I set off for school as usual. There hasn’t been a repeat of the bombing raid. Surely there’ll be another one soon? Then the Japanese will be so badly hit they won’t be able to do anything but surrender Hong Kong.

I sit on a mat spread on the floor. Charles lowers himself down next to me, and I give him a surprised glance before going back to the algebra problem scribbled on the back of an old piece of card. There aren’t any exercise books available for school. I chew the end of my pencil; I haven’t got the faintest idea how to do the sum.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Charles talks me through the working-out step by step.

‘I’ve think I’ve got it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No. Not really. I hate maths. I’m much better at geography.’

‘Then, when we do geography, you can help me.’

I’m sure he’s good at geography too, but the lie doesn’t matter. He fixes his gaze on me and our eyes lock. I glance away then back again, not knowing what to say.
Idiot! Ask him something about himself!
‘Is it strange for you to be in your old school?’

‘A bit. I keep expecting to bump into one of my old teachers. Which school did you go to?’

There’s only one school considered suitable for expatriates. ‘The Central British School in Kowloon. It took me ages to get there and back every day. I would have gone to boarding school if it hadn’t been for the war.’

‘I’m hoping to go to university in London. When the war ends.’

‘I sometimes wish my mother and I had been evacuated. Papa was ill so we stayed on. My parents never believed the Japanese would dare attack.’

‘My mother tried to get us evacuated, you know.’

‘Did she?’

‘She thought we’d be eligible as we’ve got British passports. She was told by the authorities they didn’t know what to do with the likes of us.’

‘That’s terrible,’ I say, shocked.

A shuffling sound, and Derek Higgins sits down behind us. ‘Stop talking or I’ll tell the teacher.’

‘Don’t be a snitch!’ Charles glowers at him before giving me a smile that makes my heart miss a beat.

After class, he walks me back to the Indian Quarters. At the bottom of the stairwell, he turns to me as if about to say something. Then he takes my hand and gives it a brief squeeze. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Smiling, I run up the stairs and into our room. Papa is sitting on his own. ‘Thank God you’re back, Kate. I’ve just taken your mother to the hospital. The fever’s returned and her temperature is sky high.’

***

Mama is in a side room, apparently fast asleep. A nurse leads Papa and me to one side. ‘Mrs Wolseley has slipped into a coma. There’s very little we can do, I’m afraid.’

‘Nooo!’ All the saliva drains from my mouth. ‘She can’t die.’

Papa grabs me to him and whispers, ‘Be brave, my dear girl. Your mother might be able to hear and you wouldn’t want to upset her.’

I pull out a chair for him, and we sit in silence, giving each other worried glances until the nurse makes signs that visiting hour is over. For the next three days we visit and watch helplessly as Mama slips away. Each day, I feel it’s like being in a living nightmare. Each day, the sense of unreality grows. Each day I ask myself,
how can my beautiful vibrant Mama have been reduced to this inert creature lying wraith-like on a bed?

Sofia stands at her bedroom window peering at two coolies pulling a cart up the road
. It’s laden with dead bodies!
She shudders. People have literally been freezing to death on the streets. A year now since the fall of Hong Kong, and Natalia has told her about rumours of the terrible conditions in the old British colony: food shortages, massacres, atrocities against women, starvation of prisoners and the rampant spread of typhoid and cholera. The misery goes on and on . . .

Here in Macau, things aren’t much better. Thousands of homeless beggars and this winter has been so cold. Even if the poor had any money, they wouldn’t be able to buy much to eat. When did she last have any meat? Sofia can’t remember. And she’s fed-up with fish, in spite of it keeping her from feeling hungry all the time.

She leaves her room and marches down the corridor to the front stairs. Leo is in the hallway. ‘I’m just going to see Uncle,’ she says. There’s something she needs to tell him, and she’d better get on with it before he finds out from someone else.

‘Give him my regards, won’t you?’

Sofia opens her mouth in surprise. Leo has never expressed anything other than disdain for Uncle in the past. Come to think of it, he hasn’t been nasty to her for ages, either. ‘When you get back,’ Leo says, ‘I’ll show you those kung fu moves you keep asking about.’

She’s been dying to learn from him. She’s watched him practising - kicking and punching the air as he fights imaginary enemies. She’s begged Father for lessons, but he says it isn’t seemly for a girl. ‘You could show me now.’ She can barely contain the eagerness in her voice.

Leo’s brow creases. ‘Later. ‘I’ll be on the front terrace at four o’clock.’

Her shoulders sag, but then she remembers her mission to visit Uncle.

The iron gate clangs shut as she steps onto the pavement. It’s Natalia’s afternoon off, otherwise she’d be with her like she always is. Normally, Sofia wouldn’t go out on her own. There are too many desperate people on the streets. Starving people who’d rob her and throw her body into a ditch. Is she being rash? No, what she has to tell Uncle is far too important to wait. The risk isn’t that great, anyway. Not in broad daylight. Perhaps she should have telephoned him to say she was coming? It’s too late now. She’ll just have to surprise him . . .

She hails a passing rickshaw and jumps in. The rickshaw puller is so, so thin. How can he stand on his own two feet, let alone pull this cart? Thankfully, she doesn’t weigh much. They get to the last, steep part of the road. She climbs out, pays the man his full fare plus a generous tip, and walks on. At Uncle’s door, she knocks. No answer.
Where can he be?
He’s usually at home in the early afternoon and, in any case, his houseboy should have opened.

Sofia goes down the alleyway at the side of the house. The gate might be unlocked. She lifts the latch and lets herself in.
Rather careless of Uncle’s staff not to have bolted it.
Tall bamboo shades the small patch of land. There’s a smell of damp vegetation, and the path is mossy beneath her feet.
There’s Uncle!
He’s on the patio with two Chinese men, surrounded by boxes. Sofia stomps up to him. ‘What are you doing?’

Uncle gives a start and drops a lumpy-looking package. ‘How did you get in here?’

‘Someone left the gate open,’ she says, surprised at his tone. She points at a packet of white pills. ‘Who are those for?’

‘Nobody with whom you should be concerned.’ Uncle takes her arm and practically drags her indoors. She glances around for his servants. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Cook and amah have gone to the market.’

‘But I’m here,’ says a voice from the pantry.

Sofia lets out a gasp. What’s her governess doing spending her afternoon off at Uncle’s? ‘Why?’ Sofia asks, in English.

Uncle’s English is heavily accented, but Natalia doesn’t speak Chiu Chow and Uncle doesn’t know any Russian. They continue in the language of Perfidious Albion, as Natalia likes to refer to it. ‘I’ll tell you why I’m here later. First of all you’ve got some explaining to do. You know you’re not allowed out on your own. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘I wanted to let Uncle know about Leo.’ Sofia crosses her arms. ‘But I suppose you’ve already told him.’

‘Told me what?’

‘That he’s getting married to Michiko.’

There, she’s said it. She plants her feet firmly apart. Uncle slams his fist down on the kitchen table, his face puce, and his fat cheeks wobbling. ‘Collaborating with the enemy, I’d call that.’

‘Actually, I really do believe he loves her. He’s been different lately.’

‘How can your father agree to this?’

‘You’ll have to ask him that yourself. He won’t say anything to me on the subject. He says I shouldn’t concern myself. I’m fed up with being told I shouldn’t concern myself. It’s all you and Father say to me these days.’ She’s so annoyed, she’s in danger of sulking.

Uncle blows out a sigh. ‘Natalia, take the child home. I’ll leave it up to you to fill her in with what she needs to know. I trust your discretion, but you should have told me yourself.’

‘We only found out this morning,’ Natalia says quickly. ‘I was about to tell you. You know I tell you everything . . .’

‘Tell him everything?’ Sofia grabs her governess’ hand. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Come along,’ Natalia says in a brusque tone. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’

They walk down the hill towards the
Avenida.
There’s a bench underneath one of the banyan trees and Natalia sits, motioning that Sofia should do the same. ‘You know your uncle is a communist, don’t you? He was recruited to spread Anti-Japan and Save the Chinese Nation propaganda years ago.’

Sofia bats away a fly, buzzing by her ear. ‘So?’

‘I met him when he visited Shanghai shortly after your mother died. I was working for the Party too, in a very minor capacity, mostly distributing leaflets when I was a freelance translator.’

‘You? A communist? I thought you left Russia because of the revolution . . .’

‘That’s the story I let people believe, not the real one. I was regretting my decision to leave the mother country, thinking I could have done more at home. Then I met your uncle, who suggested I come here to keep an eye on your stepmother and her nationalist connections.’

‘Then you’re a spy?’

‘Not really. I’m your governess first and foremost. In fact, I hardly tell your uncle anything, as there hasn’t been that much to tell. I merely let him know when Siu Yin’s family visits. You’re my main priority these days, Sofichka.’ Natalia strokes her hand. ‘The Party has taken second place in my heart for years.’ Natalia has called her by her pet name, and Sofia feels her governess’ warmth through her fingers. But all this subterfuge? It’s the stuff of espionage novels, not everyday life. And there she was, thinking Mr Kimura was a spy when all along it was Natalia. ‘Who’re all those boxes for?’ She’s fighting another attack of the sulks. How can her beloved Natalia have been deceiving her all these years?

‘Your uncle is helping the anti-Japanese guerrillas smuggle medicines into the POW camps in Hong Kong. It’s a wonderful thing he’s doing. You should be proud of him. And you must never, ever breathe a word of this to anyone.’

‘I won’t.’ And she definitely won’t. Father would be upset. And Leo? Leo would go back to being horrible to her and that’s the last thing she wants.

***

A month later, Sofia is standing at the entrance of Macau cathedral. She runs a hand down the white silk of her bridesmaid dress and clutches a posy of pink roses. Leo is waiting by the altar with Father. Michiko is due to arrive at any minute now. Sofia glances at Natalia. Her governess is standing next to her, dressed in a dark red suit. Red like her political affiliations.

Sofia remembers the story of how her parents met. Father had fallen for Uncle’s favourite sister, Sofia’s mother, on a visit to China, and brought her back with him to Macau. He provided Uncle with a fleet of junks in compensation. Uncle more or less sold Mother to Father, but that’s the way things are done in China. For the past month, ever since she found out about her governess, she’s wondered if Mother was the intended spy in Father’s household, substituted by Natalia after Mother’s untimely death. Then she’s told herself not to be silly. Uncle wouldn’t have used his own sister like that.

Leo is standing tall and handsome, his thick black hair styled like Cary Grant’s, her favourite film star. Will Leo stop teaching her martial arts after he’s married? There’s still so much she wants to learn. Leo has been patient with her, just like he used to be while he taught her to swim. The old Leo back again. It was Siu Yin who poisoned him against her. Her step-mother was furious when Father decided to give Sofia equal status to his legitimate son, in spite of the fact he never married Mother. Sofia can feel eyes burning a hole in the back of her neck. Siu Yin is glaring at her, hatred in her expression.

A limousine pulls up in front of the church. Sofia grips her flowers and goes to help the bride. Father insisted the Japanese girl converted to Catholicism. He likes to be seen as a good Catholic and benefactor of the various religious orders in Macau. Sofia has been brought up in the faith, but for her it’s more a tradition than a conviction. What does Michiko make of the sudden change in her life? Sofia studies the girl and she’s reminded of one of the pawns on her chessboard. She pushes the thought away.

Michiko is wearing a traditional white gown, on Siu Yin’s insistence. It’s the way all Catholic women get married in Macau. The Japanese girl resembles one of those figures on top of a wedding cake. She places her hand on her father’s arm, and Sofia falls in behind them. They progress down the aisle. Mr Kimura looks from left to right, and smiles at the congregation. His daughter keeps her eyes downcast.

At the altar, the Japanese man bows to Leo, and he returns the bow. Hysteria bubbles up inside Sofia. She claps a hand to her mouth; she must keep quiet. Her eyes water with the effort, her shoulders shake, and a muffled giggle escapes. Why is she laughing? She should be crying. She’ll have a Japanese sister-in-law and Japan is the enemy. Leo, towering over his future father-in-law, shoots her a thunderous look. She’s really ruined things now . . .