My Beautiful Enemy Page 17

  At a petrol station in Rushcutters Bay I stopped to wash and shave and change into some clean work overalls I kept in the truck. In the cracked mirror of the station restroom I saw not the madman I undoubtedly was by then, but a well-meaning youth with an honest gaze and a winning smile. After I was done admiring my disguise I drove straight to the docks down at Circular Quay and inquired about a Jap ship. I couldn’t pronounce the name, I told them, but the cargo was unmistakable. When the shipping clerk refused to reveal what he knew, I explained that I was a driver for a Melbourne transport company with a couple of stray Jap enemy aliens in my load who’d been left behind at the camp for health reasons but were now fit to travel.

  ‘But if I’m too late, mate, I’ll just have to hand them over to you blokes so you can find them another boat.’

  He went off to check with his superior. I could see them talking through a glass partition in the centre of the office. I lit a smoke and waved when they glanced in my direction, my heart bouncing around in my ribcage like an India rubber ball.

  Eventually the shipping clerk came back with the name of the ship written on a slip of paper. He handed it to me as if it was something unspeakable.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ he said.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Sails in the morning. Out of Woolloomooloo.’

  It was already late afternoon. I drove around from the Quay to the docks on the other side of the Domain and found a place to leave the truck. I saw straightaway where the Daikai Maru was tied up because there was a small crowd gathered two or three deep along a mesh wire fence at the end of the naval dockyards. The boat listed at the very end of the wharf, battered and barely seaworthy, with a rickety gangplank dangling off its side. I counted six machine-gunners stationed along the jetty beside it. You could hear the crowd half a mile away calling out like it was a football match. About twenty cops were lined just the other side of the fence, keeping an eye on things.

  I calculated that if I could somehow talk my way inside the fence I might be able to find Colonel Hollows, give him Stanley’s secret report and stories, and try to plead with him on Stanley’s behalf. I walked along to the end of the crowd where it was just office girls who’d come down after work to see what all the fuss was about. There was a policeman standing guard at the gate there, a mountain of a man with a barrel chest and a bushy ginger moustache. I walked straight up to him and flashed the papers in front of him. I told him they were to be handed to the camp colonel from Tatura in person. He opened the gate a few inches, took the papers and started to leaf through them with his massive hands.

  ‘I’m just the messenger,’ I said. ‘My brother-in-law’s company is in charge of dismantling the camp. They’re turning up all kinds of sensitive stuff.’

  ‘I can’t leave my post,’ said the policeman.

  ‘I can take them to him and come straight back,’ I said. ‘If you can tell me where he is.’

  The policeman stared at the papers some more. He seemed particularly interested in the report and kept flipping the pages back and forth.

  ‘The Japs had them hidden under the floorboards in the latrines,’ I said. ‘That’s why they’re a bit grubby.’

  He snapped the report shut and handed the bundle back to me. Without a word, he pushed the gate open just wide enough for me to squeeze through.

  ‘In the warehouse,’ he said, gesturing to the long, low building behind him where about two hundred Japanese were lined up in rows, watched over by armed soldiers.

  I made my way past a row of army transport trucks over to the nearest soldier and was about to tell him the same story as I’d told the policeman, when McMaster appeared in the entry to the warehouse. I waved to attract his attention and he waved back, signalling to the soldier to let me pass. McMaster motioned for me to join the line of women and children waiting alongside him. I pulled my felt hat down to hide my face, and on the order I shuffled along beside a mother and her small son, trying to appear as if I belonged to them. We were called to a halt about halfway across the deserted stretch of dock between the warehouse and the ship. About a hundred Japs were already standing there clutching their children and their meagre possessions.

  McMaster grabbed hold of my elbow and dragged me back towards the warehouse. ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ he said, keeping his voice down.

  ‘I came to see Hollows.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Stanley doesn’t want to go.’

  He turned and glared at me fiercely. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ he said. ‘He’s got no bloody choice. You see those men?’

  I glanced at the row of soldiers. Now that the dock was filling up with people they’d all raised their weapons and stood with them ready to fire.

  ‘They’re desperate for an excuse to shoot someone,’ said McMaster.

  I’d already attracted attention: an officer was approaching from the direction of the ship.

  ‘Go home to your wife,’ said McMaster, smiling now, making a show of shaking my hand.

  On an impulse I ran towards the officer as if I had something urgent to tell him.

  ‘Stop!’ he shouted.

  I stood breathless in front of him. ‘Mechanic,’ I said. ‘Trouble with a vehicle.’

  He hesitated. ‘Where’re your tools?’

  ‘Left them in the truck.’ I gestured at the transports.

  He looked at the trucks, then at me. ‘Piss off then.’

  I tipped my hat, sprinted across the tarmac and climbed into the first vehicle I came to. From the driver’s seat I could survey the whole dock. As far as I could tell, the loading had been in progress for some time because I could make out dozens of internees up on the deck of the ship, most of them men.

  I thought if I could spot Stanley before he boarded I might be able to attract his attention. I envisaged spiriting him into the truck somehow and hiding him there until nightfall. But as hard as I looked I couldn’t see him anywhere. When the sun went down, a row of weak lamps came on along the side of the warehouse then the Daikai Maru’s own dim lights came to life, making the wreck of a boat seem even more forlorn.

  I watched as more and more people were herded out of the warehouse. They were made to line up in rows on the dock before they could proceed in single file to the gangway where a soldier shoved them one by one up onto the narrow boards that led to the lower deck of the ship.

  All the time the shouting from the crowd behind the police barrier grew louder and angrier as more and more drunks spilled out of the dockside pubs, no doubt a few ex-servicemen among them. The yelling reached a crescendo when one of the Japs refused to set foot on the boards. I watched the soldier at the gate step towards him and pull out a pistol. Encouraged by the crowd, the soldier held the pistol to the man’s head and started shouting at him to move.

  That’s when Colonel Hollows appeared. He marched from the warehouse straight over to the soldier, snatched the pistol out of his hand and shouldered him aside. The drunks disapproved. Hollows took the pistol over to the fence where they were gathered and aimed it straight at them. When they refused to quieten down he fired twice in the air above their heads. Then he marched back to the gangway and did something I’d never seen him do before. He bowed to the Jap who’d caused the problem, not once but two or three times, until eventually the man gave in and started to climb.

  The man was halfway up the gangway when I saw his face for the first time. It was Shigeru, Stanley’s uncle. He was looking up towards the deck to where Stanley, having appeared out of nowhere, was standing waiting, with both arms outstretched. His uncle waved to him almost casually, then in one swift movement he launched himself over the side ropes and dropped thirty feet into the water. Scarcely able to breathe now, I watched Stanley lean over the railings to see where his uncle had landed; and then it was only a matter of seconds before he threw himself after him.

  When I recall Stanley’s descent now it seems to take an agonisingly long time. He is standing on the top of the
ship’s railings in his patent leather shoes. He stretches his arms out wide. He takes a step into thin air, his suit jacket lifting like a cape at his back. He plummets down past the dismal lights and disappears into the shadows. I imagine that the instant before he hits the water he hears me yelling his name.

  No one gave the order. One of the soldiers just started taking pot-shots into the water. I remember leaping out of the truck and taking a run at the marksman, then pushing him over the edge of the dock before diving in myself. After that I have trouble recollecting the exact order of events. I know the water was cold, and that it tasted of oil. I recall sinking as soon as my clothes were saturated: no matter how hard I struggled, my overalls conspired to twist around me and weigh my body down like a sack of stones. I thought of the kittens my father had drowned. I imagined them fighting to escape from their hessian sack and failing.

  Stanley found me by accident, colliding with me as he circled around in search of his uncle. He even called me by his uncle’s name as he hauled me out of the water. The last thing I remember was him crying like a baby as he was frogmarched away between two soldiers. When Stanley wouldn’t stop wailing one of the soldiers raised his rifle and smashed the butt of it hard into the side of his head.

  ‘That’ll give you something to cry about ya Jap bastard,’ said the soldier.

  ‘Fuck you,’ sobbed Stanley.

  20

  I told the police sergeant at King’s Cross my name. ‘I’m a reporter,’ I said. ‘I smuggled myself in to get a story.’

  ‘Prove it,’ he said.

  ‘I would,’ I said. ‘Except that my wallet and notebook are at the bottom of the harbour.’

  He kept me locked up in the cells for an hour and then he let me out because some more deserving customers showed up.

  ‘Stay away from the docks,’ he said. ‘Or I won’t be so nice the next time.’

  I slept in my truck and the next morning at dawn I drove back to the wharf to watch Stanley’s ship sail. I was just in time to see it vanish round the headland. Whether Stanley and his uncle were on board I had no way of knowing, but I waved anyway. And then I drove all the way to Watson’s Bay to wait for the ship to come through the mouth of the harbour and head out to sea. When I could no longer make out the tiny speck on the ocean I left.

  For three days I holed up in a pub in Darlinghurst and drank. On the fourth day I ran out of money and took to sleeping in my truck, and then, when I was too hungry to cling to my pride any longer, I rang my parents. They were living down on the Georges River by then, after my father had been transferred to the Sutherland Shire. The last time I’d seen them was Christmas 1944. I’d arrived home unannounced with a busted ankle and no uniform and my father had turned me away at the door. You’re no son of mine, he said.

  To my relief it was my mother who answered the phone.

  ‘Where are you?’ she said.

  ‘Central Station. In the tearoom.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Her voice was so thin I could hardly hear her. ‘Wait for me there.’

  I waited two hours.

  When she arrived she was flustered and nervy. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I had to take three buses and a train. Your father thinks I’m at the pictures.’

  She held me for a moment and that seemed to calm her.

  ‘You’re here now,’ I said. ‘That’s the main thing.’

  I was pleased to see her, but it wasn’t a successful meeting. My mother cried the whole time and wouldn’t eat her sandwiches.

  ‘They’re stale,’ she said.

  ‘They’ll do me.’ I wolfed them down. I’d already put away a plate of roast pork and vegetables but I was still hungry.

  She didn’t say much. She just sat in her chair by the window and stared at me while the tears rolled down her papery cheeks.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ I said. I was starting to think I’d made a mistake calling her. We had spoken twice in eighteen months and both times we’d argued.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t write to you.’

  ‘So am I,’ she said.

  ‘I joined the army.’

  ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You keep saying that.’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ I said. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves for a bit.’

  I lit a smoke while she kept staring at me.

  ‘You look awful,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, turning my head away to blow smoke at the neighbouring table. There was a boy sitting there with his mother and father. He scowled at me then went back to reading his book.

  ‘I got married,’ I said. I didn’t tell her about the baby because I couldn’t. ‘Her name’s May. I met her at a dance.’ I smiled at my mother and she frowned back.

  ‘Where do you live?’ she said.

  ‘Melbourne. I drive trucks for my brother-in-law.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be an artist?’

  ‘I wanted to be a lot of things.’

  My mother brushed a few crumbs off the table then looked out the window again. ‘I had a phone conversation with Bill,’ she said. ‘You remember Bill?’

  My scalp tingled like someone had run their fingernails through my hair.

  ‘He asked after you,’ she said.

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I said we’d lost touch with you. I thought he might know where you were.’

  ‘Why would he know where I was?’

  ‘I thought all kinds of things, Arthur. You can’t imagine.’

  She poured herself some more tea even though it was cold by now.

  ‘Does Dad ever talk about me?’ I said.

  Her face seemed to collapse internally, like a cake taken out of the oven too soon. She didn’t say anything. It was like she’d lost the use of her tongue.

  ‘It was his fault,’ I said. ‘He never understood me.’

  I paused because I’d started to shake very slightly in the legs. It was a struggle not to sound like I was whining.

  ‘He was jealous of you,’ she said in her thin voice. ‘From the moment you were born.’

  ‘I know that,’ I said. ‘That’s what makes it so fucking tragic.’

  My mother stared down at the teacup in front of her where there was a dark skin forming on the top of her tea. ‘I should have left,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘It’s true though. I should have walked out years ago.’

  The most unsatisfactory thing about my mother was the way she always turned things around so that they were her fault, and invited you to blame her instead of the person who was responsible for the damage. This was the smokescreen my father had operated behind for years.

  ‘Tell me about your wife,’ she said, dabbing her eyes. ‘You should have let me know you were getting married.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It was a mistake. I knew you’d be worried.’

  ‘Are you unhappy?’

  The question was pointed. She wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity. I could tell by the way she was looking straight at me that she expected the truth. I took a drag on my cigarette and stared out the window at the people milling about in the station. I envied them. They all had trains to catch and places to be while I sat marooned, my mother beside me, the past threatening to eviscerate the two of us in its huge maw.

  ‘I’ve left her,’ I said. ‘I’ve run away.’

  She stared hard at me then sighed.

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘You asked if I was unhappy. I’m telling you.’

  She waved to a waitress who was busy with another customer. As if this was the most important thing in the world to her right now, my mother made an elaborate show of taking the lid off the teapot and filling it with imaginary hot water.

  ‘I’m going up north,’ I said.

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Start again.’

  We sat in silence until the waitress arrived with t
he hot water, then we watched her pour it and replace the lid on the teapot. ‘Will that be all?’ she said.

  ‘For the minute thank you,’ said my mother. She slumped in her seat and put both hands up, cupping her cheeks with them. She appeared to be holding her face on like a mask. After a minute or so she dropped her hands and drank her tea in silence while I smoked another cigarette.

  ‘I never knew what to do with you,’ she said finally.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I felt the same way.’

  When it came time to go she opened up her purse and handed me a few fivers. I could see it was all the money she had apart from a few coins. I stood dumbly while she folded her arms around me and squeezed me tight.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said.

  I waved to her as she walked away, hoping she’d turn and see me but she didn’t.

  I wrote to May:

  I’m going away for a while. Please direct my mail to Poste Restante at Brisbane GPO. Tell Ian I’ve sold the truck and there’s a cheque for half the money in the post. I’ll start paying the other half as soon as I can. Don’t worry about me. I think this is the best thing for everyone. Take care of yourself and Stuart.

  With love, Arthur

  I boarded a train to Brisbane because I’d heard from the bloke who’d bought the truck that there were opportunities up north for someone interested in buying and selling ex-military vehicles. It wasn’t a plan so much as an excuse not to go home, and that is how I imagined I would live my life from then on, finding one excuse after another.