“He’s going to the ball in that,” Johnnie says. The soldier whirls around and barks out something, clearly that they are to remain quiet while they finish up. He then flings the shirt on the dirty floor.
In the end, they come out better than most. They have given up a few gold cuff links (“Thought they might come in handy for bartering.” Johnnie shrugs), a little box of tools that Johnnie had smuggled in, with pliers, a hammer, and scissors; and a wool hat.
“You did such an atrocious job of packing, they didn’t want anything of yours,” Johnnie observes to his roommates after the men are gone. “Congratulations! ”
“It’s lucky few of us are their size,” Will says. “I think we’d be going around starkers.”
“They can take the women’s clothes. They’d look quite fetching in a nice poplin garden dress, I think.”
They gather in the hallways and compare what’s been lost. Some are beside themselves at the loss of family heirlooms, others happy that they managed to hide their valuables away.
“Did you hide them in your bum, then? ” asks Harry Overbye to the group, an unpleasant sort who is smug because he has a Chinese girl on the outside who he is sure will provide for him. He has a wife he sent back to England some months before, and then he acquired the girlfriend. He is ignored.
“While we’re here,” Will says, “I’m organizing a cleaning detail to make our conditions more pleasant. I’ll have a sheet up when I can acquire cleaning supplies, and I expect everyone will want to pitch in and help keep our temporary home as clean as possible.”
Overbye snorts, but there are general noises of assent from the others.
“Good,” he says. “It’s not the Ritz but it will have to do for now.”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Johnnie says.
Will is getting very worried about Ned. He speaks only when spoken to, and then only in one- or two-word replies. He says he feels all right, but he is wasting away, hair thin and matted, eyes dull. He sleeps all day and shows little interest in food.
“Shock,” says Dr. McAllister, when Will asks him. “He’s had such a shock, he can’t process anything. Who knows if he’ll come out of it. This is certainly not the ideal situation for convalescence.” Asked for a tonic, or anything, he throws up his hands. “I have nothing! Not even an aspirin! I’ve put in a request with Selwyn-Clarke and the authorities here for some basic medicines and supplies, but they’ve yet to reply. Just keep an eye on him. Unfortunately, that’s about all we can do right now.”
At dinnertime, they gather in the dining hall, where the separation of countries is again evident. A tall, rangy American businessman, Bill Schott, has been elected camp representative to the Japanese, by the Japanese, and he stands up to address the whole camp.
“The Japanese have decided that we are to man the kitchens and cook our own meals. These will be coveted jobs, so we are going to rotate them so that everyone gets a chance to serve.” He doesn’t say why the jobs will be so desirable, but everyone can see that proximity to food is only a positive thing. “We will also be assigned what I’ll call housekeeping duties, not only our private rooms, which should be kept clean and which will be inspected on a regular basis, but also sweeping the courtyard and other duties as they see fit. I have been assured that these tasks and our conditions will be in keeping with the Geneva Convention, although, technically, Japan is not under its auspices, as they signed the agreement but never ratified it. They say they are agreeing to it for goodwill. We will be given adequate food, as per the Convention, which I believe is some twenty-four hundred calories a day. I have inquired as to mail and contact with the outside world and we are to receive letters and packages on set days of the week. Obviously we will not know whether that is reliable, but they have said they are willing to do it. Our governments are to be notified of our presence here and of the living conditions and we are to have Red Cross representatives come periodically and make inspections. In the best case, of course, there will be arrangements for repatriation and there will be some sort of swap of citizens between countries.” He pauses. “Obviously it is unclear when all this will come to pass. We are, it is important to remember, in a war that is still very much going on. It could be weeks, it could be months. In the meantime, I hope we can all live together in harmony and try to help each other as much as possible while the situation is like this. If anyone has any complaints or comments, please come to me and I will try to make our views known to the camp supervisors, but I’m afraid we are not operating from a position of great power. At any rate, I wish everyone well as we go forth from here. Let’s make our countries proud.”
He sits down. There is an exhalation of air, as everyone digests what he has said. And then hands pop up in the air. Schott stands up again to take questions.
“Do we have any idea how long we’re to stay here? ”
“None at all, unfortunately.”
“Are we allowed to have money? Or can we get money from the outside?” asks a Dutchman.
Schott laughs. He is very rich himself and has already acquired a great many comforts for the American faction, which have all been diligently and enviously noted by the other groups.
“I imagine you’re allowed to have whatever you want, if you can keep it a secret, or if you want to share it with them. I don’t know. This is one of those murky areas you don’t really want to get into officially. Just use your common sense.”
“Can we write letters to the outside? ” Hugh Trotter asks.
“I don’t think so. Or if we did, I think the people we wrote them to would never receive them or get such censored letters that they would be rendered useless-an exercise in futility, I suspect. I will certainly ask, but it seems unlikely. I’ll try to get Ohta, that’s the head of the camp, in a good mood, and ask him then.”
The questions fly fast and furious, mostly routine matters, prisoners worried about their daily comforts. Will starts to eat.
“What about me?” Ned says suddenly to the table. It’s the first time he’s spoken all day.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m registered as British, but there’s no British Ned Young. It’s going to be all messed up. No one at home is going to know I’m here. Where are all the Canadians? ”
“I think your compatriots are at the POW internment camp at Sham Shui Po. It is odd there are no other Canadian civilians, but perhaps they went home before all this erupted. I think you’re better off here than with the troops. And I’m sure Britain has enough Ned Youngs or Edward Youngs-it’s a common enough name-that they’ll take you in first, and then you can sort it out when you’re in. It will be asking for trouble to get you back with your colleagues.”
“No, no,” he says. “It’s all messed up. It’s all messed up now. I’ve done it for myself, haven’t I? No one knows I’m here. Nobody. My mum won’t know I’m alive or anything.”
“It’s all right. You’re here and you’re alive. That’s the important thing. Don’t worry too much about registration and things like that.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” the young Canadian snaps. “You’re all proper and accounted for. I’m alone here.” He stands up and walks out.
“He needs to have a moment,” Johnnie says. “Leave him alone. He’ll be all right.”
Will looks after Ned’s receding body. “It’s hard for him. I don’t think he’s eighteen yet. He’s here, halfway across the world, all by himself, with no hope.”
“Join the club,” Johnnie says. “It’s misery all around here at Camp Stanley. And it’s only the second day.”
After dinner, he and Johnnie go back to their room. On Will’s bed is a neatly wrapped package, with a note. It’s unsigned but it’s apparent that it’s from Ned.