“Do you remember what it was like just three months ago?” she asks. “Conder’s Bar, the Gloucester, the Gripps, the parties. Can you believe it was just a few lousy months ago?”
“No,” he says. “Have you any news of what’s going on out there? We’ve no way of getting any reliable information and it’s driving us mad.”
“Carole Lombard died in a plane crash, that’s the biggest news.” She winces at his reaction. “Sorry, irreverence not appropriate? All right, reality, then. It’s grim all around, darling. I don’t know much but I’ll try to find out for you. The paper now is all Japanese propaganda and says everything is going swimmingly. We can get rice at one of fourteen depots, so that’s usually our main task, getting food. We send the maids to one, and we go to another, and hope one of us gets lucky. But that’s not so grand in the way of news, is it? What else. In the days right after you left, they were in a democratic mood so they were encouraging one and all to go to the old colonial bastions, so you would walk into the Pen and see laborers squatting on the chairs, having tea! They came with the cash they made from looting, to try to see how the other half lived. It was just beyond! It’s difficult to get reliable information-the paper just says that the Japanese are conquering everything in sight and it’s hard to read between the lines.” She pauses. “Dommie’s doing fine, fraternizing with the Japanese. He seems to think he’s one of them. He’s in business with Victor now, a bit shady, but what isn’t these days? When I go to visit him in his offices-he has offices in Central-he always opens up a bottle of champagne. The whole thing makes me quite ill but I drink it anyway. And I see some of Victor. He’s the one who got me in here. Had a word with someone he does some business with.”
“Dommie’s never had a job before and now he’s a businessman?”
“War does strange things to people. I think this might be the best thing to happen to him. He’s rather found himself.” She laughs, an odd laugh.
“He should be careful. At the end of all this, he’s going to have to account for himself. And Victor too.”
“Dommie doesn’t think that way. He’s always lived in the present-you know him. Victor is another story. I’m sure he’s covering his tracks well.”
“But you should warn Dommie that he should think ahead this time. And tell him to be careful of Victor.”
She waves her hand impatiently. “So I’ve been summoned by a Japanese,” she says. “A man named Otsubo who lives in the Regent Suite and is in the gendarmerie, which I’m told is a good thing to have on your side. They’re the military police. He wears a special chrysanthemum pin on his collar, which signifies gendarme-ness. I think he might want me to teach him English. Do you think I should do it?”
“Not you too,” Will says. “Are you going to be best friends with the enemy? ”
“I resent that,” she says. “You know me.”
“I do, darling, and I love you despite it.”
“Very funny, my idiot.”
How are they back to this already? This needling, their sophisticated parrying, from a time when such things mattered.
“Do you think it’s safe?” he says after a moment.
“Well, I’m bringing Angeline with me. She’ll be a chaperone, so don’t worry.” She pauses. “It’s the funniest thing… I’ve had a phrase running through my head all week-plutocrats and oligarchs-and I haven’t the slightest idea what it means. It must have been something I heard somewhere. You’re clever-what does it mean exactly?”
“Plutocrats are the ruling class,” he says. “And oligarchs are governments ruled by a few. I suppose they mean the same thing, really. Why do you think you’ve had that on your mind?”
“Haven’t a clue,” she says, dismissing it as quickly as she brought it up. “So I’ll be a tutor. He’s very important, apparently, head of the gendarmerie. And he lives at the Matsubara-I mean the Hong Kong Hotel. They’ve renamed everything, you know. The Peninsula ’s the Toa now. Maybe I’ll get some special privileges and then we’ll be on easy street.”
“Yes, maybe,” he says. He notices, but is not suitably appreciative of, the “we.” He wishes she would go. He is tired. But when she gets up to leave, he feels bereft.
“I’ll see you again?”
“Of course. I’ll bring things too, what I’m able to scrape together, if you think it would be helpful. Maybe next week if they’re less irritating about the visiting hours.” And she’s out the door, elegant even in her reduced circumstances. He smells her jasmine perfume in the sweep of air she’s left behind.
There are five guards assigned to their building. They patrol the adjacent grounds, do random inspections, and make their presence felt. Most leave the prisoners alone, but one, Fujimoto, a skinny fellow who smells like rancid fish, is particularly cruel and delights in making the men sweep the yard or do one hundred jumping jacks when they are so tired and weak they can barely stand up. Fujimoto has it in for Johnnie, for some reason, and whenever he sees him, he will stop him and have him clean the latrines or dig up holes in the garden-senseless tasks that just reveal the hardness of the man. But he is mild compared with the men who are assigned to investigate covert activities. Word of a shortwave radio gets out and the three men who are supposed to have the components are dragged off to a distant room. Only one comes back, and he is barely alive, bones broken and one eye almost gouged out. He dies later in the makeshift infirmary. “They let him come back alive as a warning,” says Trotter. “That much is clear.”
Lack of food makes them tired. The promised twenty-four hundred calories turn out to be more like five hundred per person-a large bowl of rice is supposed to feed a roomful of adults for the whole day. Sometimes, there is a protein, conger eel or red mullet, but it is often spoiled and melts away to oil when cooked. Still, they eat it hungrily, their bodies ravenous for any fat or taste. People are sick constantly-pellagra, dysentery; wounds never heal, teeth rot, fingernails don’t grow. Will’s lids are hooded and his limbs leadlike. All he wants to do is lie in bed, especially in the late afternoon when everything is dragging. He forces himself to get up and find tasks to do. Many sleep the days away but he can’t abide that. “Doesn’t it seem as if we should be getting something out of this time?” he asks Johnnie. “When people ask what we did during this time, I don’t think the answer should be slumber.”
“Such a good man,” Johnnie says. “Industrious little bee.” But he is also the first to help Will, and never complains.
The next week, Trudy is allowed to visit again, and others are allowed in as well. She is ebullient. The head of the gendarmerie says she is to come twice a week to teach him English at the hotel where he is quartered.
“The food there! You wouldn’t believe it!” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I eat enough to last me until the next visit. And he’s had me up to the house he’s requisitioned in the Peak, the old Baylor place. He has it as a sort of weekend place. The old staff are still all there and were so thrilled to see me! An odd scene, though. When I went up, he was practicing archery on the lawn and had someone bring me a glass of champagne. It’s as if he were mimicking the life of an English lord. One can almost believe life’s back to normal when it’s like that. And he just wants to chat, get his conversational English up to par. Of course, he’s pumping me for information too, thinks I’m an idiot, but who cares when you’re eating bananas and fresh fish and all the rice you can finish! Can you believe I’ve become such a peasant about food? Anyway, Otsubo is obsessed with lining his pockets. He thinks I will help him, unknowingly, or knowingly. It’s a time-honored tradition of war, I suppose, the officers getting rich off the conquered.”