The Orchid Tree (7 page)

Charles is staring at a plate of cold rice and turnips, practically all he’s been given to eat for the past six months. The American air-raid last October raised such false hopes of freedom. Conditions in the camp are worsening by the day. The pets people brought in with them have all disappeared; the dogs and cats have either died from starvation, or they finished up in someone’s cooking pot. Another thing, and it’s odd, but he doesn’t hear the croaking of frogs anymore.

He thinks about Kate. She’s not the giggly, sparkly Kate of before. Will he ever hear her laugh again? As a form of self-preservation, he’s become almost immune to the awfulness of everything and, by the dull look in her eyes every time he sees her, numbness has seeped into her soul as well. Her mother’s death has crushed her.

Charles glances at Pa, sitting opposite him and so thin his rib bones jut out over his concave stomach. Pa fiddles in the back of his mouth and pulls out a piece of molar. ‘Blast! I’ve broken a tooth. Must have been a bit of gravel left in the rice. Bugger! I thought I’d rinsed it all out before we cooked it. And here’s a black too.’ He gingerly picks up a piece of cockroach dung. ‘What a pong!’ Pa opens his mouth.

Charles staggers to his feet. ‘Don’t eat it!’

‘Might as well.’ Almost jauntily, Pa crunches on the offending morsel. ‘It’s the only protein I’m likely to get.’

Half-digested rice rises up in Charles’ gullet. He rushes out of the room and onto the balcony. Although he’s starving, he can’t make himself eat such things. His guts twist. Last week, Pa caught a rat behind their quarters. Ma cut it up and pan-fried it for their supper. She lied to him and Ruth, saying it was chicken.

Chicken, ha!
Charles found out later. A long, grey tail was left at the bottom of the rubbish bucket and he’d rushed out of the room then too.

A shout echoes, and he eyes the path below. Bob is waving at him; he waves back. ‘Just a minute. I’ll come down,’ Charles calls out, glad of the distraction.

‘Japs are looking for someone ta’ repair their radio in the prison.’ Bob’s voice is barely above a whisper. ‘I remember you saying you’re a radio ham. Do you think you can manage it?’

Charles built his set himself. Of course he can manage it, but does he want to? He’s been in that prison once before and doesn’t fancy setting foot in the place again.

‘Might be useful to have a contact,’ Bob says. ‘Someone neutral like you who can speak the lingo.’

‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job. Why should we help the Japs?’

‘The men who escaped and were captured last summer are from the police. We need ta’ find out how they are.’

‘The problem is I’ve already had a run-in with the guards.’

‘When was that?’

‘Over a year ago.’

‘The guards in the prison are a new lot.’

Charles thinks for a moment.
Might as well.
It would distract him from constantly fretting over his next meal and worrying about Kate. ‘I’ll do it.’

***

The following morning, Charles presents himself at the prison gates. A bandy-legged sentry looks at him with a narrowed gaze. Charles explains the purpose of his visit, and the guard takes him to an office at the side of the main building. He introduces him to a Chinese man, Fung, an electrician, who is tinkering with the radio.

‘You show him how to repair set,’ the guard barks, turning on his heel and striding out of the door.

Fung has a box of spare valves and Charles explains how to replace the faulty one. He chats with Fung in Cantonese. Fung is probably in his mid-thirties, is balding, and has a mole on his cheek with a long hair growing out of it. He keeps referring to the Japanese as
Law Pak Tau
, and says he’s allowed out of the prison every Friday morning to go into town and visit his wife. He also tells Charles he’s seen the police officer prisoners; they’re so emaciated they’re probably dying.

The guard comes back and escorts Charles to the prison gate. Bob is waiting at the top of the main road. ‘Alreet?’

‘I got on well with the electrician,’ Charles says, then explains about Fung’s weekly visits into town.

‘I wonder if he’ll agree ta’ smuggle some food in for us.’

‘I could wait for him on the main road the next time he comes out and ask him.’

***

On Friday, Charles spends the whole morning meandering up and down the road, on the off-chance he’ll bump into Fung. One of Bob’s contacts has written a note in Chinese, which Charles will pass to Fung. It’s highly dangerous, as Fung might well be a Japanese spy, but a feeling in his gut tells Charles that Fung is anti-Japanese.

At about eleven, Fung comes out of the prison gates. Charles walks up to him and deliberately stumbles. Fung bends down and helps Charles up, his mole hair quivering. Charles quickly slips him the note.

The following week Charles bumps into him again, praying the Japanese on the hill are looking the other way. It might be considered one stumble too many. Fung passes Charles a slip of paper.

Bob is waiting for him on the village green and Charles gives him the message. Although he speaks fluent Cantonese, he can’t read or write it. But one of Bob’s fellow policemen can.

‘Fung agreed,’ Bob says the next day in the supper queue. ‘He’ll hang a towel out of his window in the prison just before he leaves on Fridays. You’ll be able ta’ see it from your balcony and get down ta’ the main road in time ta’ meet him.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ve managed ta’ arrange chocolate fortified with vitamins sent in from outside. It’ll be packed in small flat tins you can easily give ta’ Fung.’

***

For three months, every Friday, Charles casually passes Fung on the main road. He pulls a couple of tins from his pocket and drops them into a bucket carried by the Chinese man. Clammy sweat breaks out over Charles’ body. At the same time, he finds himself becoming increasingly addicted to the adrenalin rush.

In late July, Fung announces that he’s leaving for Macau. Will his replacement carry on with the ruse? The new electrician, a man called Lai, meets Charles the following Friday. ‘How much money you give me?’ the man asks.

‘Sorry?’ There’s something fishy about Lai. Fung never asked for payment. Charles shoves his hands into his pockets and shakes his head. ‘No money.’

‘Then no can do,’ Lai says, skulking off.

Charles shrugs.
Good riddance, but what about those poor policemen?

***

Charles’ summer task is to help with the gardening. Fortunately, they’re now able to grow their own vegetables; otherwise all they would eat would be rice, rice and more rice.

Last winter, Pa cleared a small patch in the scrub on the other side of the pathway from the Indian Quarters and planted tomatoes, lettuces, carrots, peas, and even celery. Others in the camp have done the same and these days everyone participates in a thriving seeds trade. The adults exchange them for food and cigarettes and give the rest to friends. Pa grew his first crops from the pips saved from early fruit and vegetable rations.

Now the plants produce their own seeds, and Charles spends the evenings with Ruth helping sort them into old envelopes. Instead of proper gardening equipment, they use sticks and improvise hoes and rakes by hammering what nails they can find into them.

‘The tomatoes are nearly ready for picking,’ Pa says.

Charles collects a rake. ‘I don’t need to queue for any fertilizer, do I?’ Whenever the septic tanks are cleaned out, long lines form of people wanting the excrement for their allotments. Those who are first get the best bits - the ones that are firmest.

‘No, son. We don’t need any at present.’

Pulling up the weeds, Charles grumbles to himself. Sweat runs down the back of his neck and he’s dizzy with tiredness; he should be taking a nap like Ma and Ruth.

He lets out a heavy, pent-up breath. He hardly sees Kate now that school has broken up for the summer. And in the autumn he won’t be going back to class, as Professor Morris said he’s taught him everything he can. Soon he’ll have to join one of the working parties with the other men in order to earn more rations for his family. He’ll never get the chance to spend time with Kate then.

I’ll miss her.

She’s become important to him. If a day goes by without seeing her, the relentless drudgery of the camp becomes a hundred times more unbearable.

Footsteps sound on the stony path. Bob arrives, perspiration running down his face.

‘I had to send Lai packing,’ Charles whispers. ‘He wanted money. I hope he doesn’t spill the beans.’

‘That would implicate him as well. I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ve been in touch with the BAAG on me radio. They might be able ta’ help me mates in the prison.’

‘What’s the BAAG?’

‘The British Army Aid Group. They smuggle medicines and other supplies in and out of the camps and gather intelligence for the Allied Forces. They’re in cahoots with the anti-Japanese guerrillas and even manage ta’ get escapees from the POW camps into Free China.’ Bob glances around and lowers his voice even further. ‘Have ta’ be careful, though. There’re spies in our midst.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m telling you because you’ve helped us out. And you never know when the information might come in handy.’

Charles puts a finger to his lips.

***

It’s roll-call, and Charles is standing next to Kate, surrounded by the sullen faces of their fellow prisoners. ‘Come on, Japs have finished registering us.’ He takes hold of her hand. ‘Let’s get away from here!’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for Ruth?’

‘I’d rather it were just the two of us.’

People mill around and he leads her away. Where to take her but the hill above the cemetery? Even though her mother is buried below a rough-hewn headstone, there’s nowhere else they can be alone. He leads Kate past the graves, and she keeps her eyes fixed on the path ahead.

He finds a patch of dry grass under an orchid tree and gently pulls her down. Kate leans back on her arms and looks at him. He averts his gaze from the hip bones jutting through the thin material of her shorts, and focuses his attention on two men sculling their sampans across the bay. A tanker has lain half-sunken in the water for as long as they’ve been in the camp, and its dark hulk floats like a surfaced whale. The tide is out and the reek of seaweed fills the air. ‘God, I can’t wait for this war to end,’ he groans. ‘I’m fed up with being hungry all the time.’

‘Me too. I sometimes think it will never end. We’ve been here forever. No one cares about us. No one has come to rescue us. The whole world has forgotten us.’

Her hand is close to his; he could move his little finger and touch it if he let himself. He looks at her profile; she has the prettiest nose: narrow and just the right length for her face. The corners of her bow-shaped mouth, which always used to be upturned as if she was about to explode into one of her irrepressible giggles, are now turned downwards.
How to cheer her up?

‘The Japs are suffering a real hiding at the moment.’

Kate tucks a curl behind her ear. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘I’ve got a radio hidden in the wall of our room.’

‘Charles!’ She frowns. ‘That’s terribly risky.’

‘Pa and I listen to the overseas news when we can manage it. We’re very careful. No one else knows.’

‘Even so. I think you should get rid of it.’

‘But how else would we know what’s going on in the outside world?
The Hong Kong News
is full of lies.’ He takes a breath. ‘I found out that the Allies have practically defeated the Japs in New Guinea.’

‘That’s miles away from us.’

‘I expect they’ll go from island to island until they eventually get here.’

‘It could take years. In the meantime, if the guards catch you with that radio, they’ll put you in the prison.’ She blinks. ‘Or worse.’

‘Bob has a transmitter. He receives messages in Morse from people who’ve escaped to China.’

‘Gosh! What he’s doing is even more dangerous. We must tell him to stop.’

‘Don’t worry!’ Kate’s amber eyes fix on his, the golden lights in them distracting him.
Best change the subject.
‘What are your plans for when we get out of here?’

‘Boarding school, I suppose. My father would like to go to Australia. He thinks it’s a better place than England to recover his health. What about you?’

‘We’ll probably end up in London. An uncle on Pa’s side of the family will take us in. A letter came from him via the Red Cross. I fancy studying law.’

‘I think you’ll make a wonderful lawyer. You’re good with people and you’re terribly clever.’

‘Not true. I didn’t realise you’d be going to Australia. Somehow I imagined you’d end up in England like me. I’ll miss you.’