“And you and Angeline go to teach this man? ”

“He told me to drop her, says he doesn’t need two teachers, but I bring her back loads of food. Told him I’m staying with her and I’m obliged. He wants me to teach him Western table manners. Isn’t that a scream? He wants to know the whole thing, fish knives, dessert spoons. He can’t pronounce the word etiquette since I’ve brought it into his life, but he means to be a master of it. We had lobster the other night and he wanted to know the proper way to eat it. I just smashed away at it merrily and he thought I was joking.”

“So now you’re having lobster dinners with this man? ”

“Oh, it’s not what you think-Dommie was there too. They’re best friends. It’s really quite sickening. I’m just along for the free food. I brought you some too, darling, look.” She looks behind her to make sure the guard isn’t watching, and spills out a duffel sack of fruit and some tins of meat and a small bag of rice. “I slipped the guard who checks the bag some cigarettes at the door so he didn’t bother me but I don’t want this one to go getting any ideas. Don’t go being noble and share this with everyone. I want you to have it, not little Oliver or Priscilla, no matter how gaunt and adorable their wee faces are. It’s for you, and I wouldn’t give it to you if I thought it was going elsewhere. You have to develop a thick skin, Will, it’s wartime.”

“What makes you think I don’t have one?”

“You’re too good, that’s your problem. People like you have trouble surviving in times like these.”

“But you’re having dinners with this man,” he says again.

“Yes,” she says patiently, as if he’s mentally impaired. “It’s not the sort of situation where I can tell him to bugger off. I have to keep on his good side.”

“But surely you can do that without having these inappropriate…”

She cuts him off. “You’ve no idea what it’s like outside. It’s quite the norm. We have to get along with these beastly people until we prevail. Have a plum and shut up.”

When he doesn’t take it immediately, she snatches it back petulantly and takes a bite. Juice comes out of her mouth and Will thinks suddenly that she looks like an animal.

When it rains, it is difficult to rouse oneself. On a cold, damp Tuesday, Will lies in his bed, thin mattress hard against his body, and listens to the rain splatter rhythmically on the roof. He’s not sad, just immobile. The gray wall opposite is trickled with water leaking in, and there is a pool forming on the concrete floor. It’s become a routine faster than he would have thought, internees shuffling around, arguing about food distribution, pilfering, work duties.

There is no damn color here in camp. Their clothes have long faded to gray, the food is all one color-an indistinct muddy brown on the plate, the buildings concrete. He longs for red, magenta, sunflower yellow, a vibrant green. The only relief from gray and brown is the sky, sometimes a glorious bell-clear blue, and the sea, a choppy turquoise. Sometimes he sits at the fence and just stares out. It is absurdly beautiful still, the horizon and the water and the clouds. Dr. Selwyn-Clarke chose the site because he thought the seaside location would reduce cholera outbreaks and other infectious diseases. Unfortunately, it is not the infectious diseases that are the issue, but the lack of vitamins and proper nutrition.

Johnnie walks in, soaked from the rain.

“Lovely day.” He sits down heavily on his bed.

“Can you believe we’re here?” An inane response is all Will is capable of.

“Rather be home, that’s for sure.” He brightens. “There’s a rumor that Red Cross packages have arrived. They might distribute them after dinner.”

“What’s in a Red Cross package? ”

“Food, man! Chocolate sometimes. Diversions. The children have been talking about it all day. I might have to wrestle a little girl for her package.”

In the afternoon, Will hears little Willie Endicott shouting as he runs through the camp as fast as his spindly legs will let him.

“The packages are here! The packages are here!”

Looking out the window, Will can see little Willie’s arms are covered in mosquito bites, which he has scratched until they are red and runny, making his mother worry herself to death because of the malaria. She has covered his welts with valuable toothpaste. He runs, the white-toothpaste-speckled boy, shouting his message, delirious with the notion of food.

The line is tense as everyone waits. When it comes to their turn, the guard hands them a soft brown paper package wrapped in twine. They retire to their room in high excitement to open it.

“Feels like Christmas! ”

Will is finding the package hard to open. His fingernails are as soft as the paper. Finally he is able to undo the knots. They store the string away carefully-nothing is ever discarded these days-and gaze in grateful wonder at what is inside.

“It looks like a scientist packed this! ” Johnnie exclaims.

There are six chocolate bars, slightly moldy, but no matter, a large tin of McVities biscuits, coffee, tea, a good amount of sugar and powdered milk, and some knitted socks and a muffler. These ordinary items look as valuable as gold coins. There is also a bonus: a tiny chess set and, hidden discreetly within, a small piece of paper with rounded, girlish writing.

Johnnie reads it aloud, the muffler tied comically around his head like a turban:

“ ‘Our thoughts and prayers are with you. Keep your spirits up and good WILL prevail. My name is Sharon and I would love to correspond with you if you are able. I have blond hair, blue eyes, and, people say, a ready smile.’ ”

“Lovely penmanship,” says Johnnie, sniffing the paper. “Nice sense of balance, just enough so that the censors wouldn’t get her, yet still unambiguous. And look, here she’s written her address.”

“Delightful,” says Will drily. “ Sharon from Sussex, our savior.”

“I’m going to look Sharon up when I get home,” says Johnnie, tucking her note into his shirt pocket. “She seems like the kind of girl I should settle down with.”

“What about me? ”

“You already have a sweetheart. Don’t be piggy. Sharon ’s mine.” Johnnie shoves an entire bar of chocolate into his mouth.

“Do you know how to play chess?” Will begins to assemble the pieces.

“Is there any money in it?”

“No, but there is your mental well-being to consider. Our brains are beginning to rot in here.” Johnnie is his first friend, Will realizes. He hasn’t made any in the colony, didn’t have to, with Trudy. It feels good.

The next morning, Will sees the little boy from the hotel, Tobias, squatting alone outside the bathroom with his airplane.

“Did you enjoy your chocolate?” he asks.

There’s no answer.

“Where’s your mother?”

The boy just stares at him, his face pale, his fair hair lanky and matted. He works the ragged airplane around his hand, smoothly. It’s become a part of his anatomy.

“Is your mother not feeling well?”

The boy starts to cry.

“It’s all right. If she’s in there she’ll be out in a minute.”

Just then the door bangs open with a crash. Fujimoto steps out, buttoning his trousers. Will steps back instinctively but the man ignores him and walks away.

“I guess she’s not. Do you want to come find your mother with me?” Will extends a hand. The boy looks down at the floor and shakes his head vigorously.

“Listen,” and then the door opens again and Mary Cox comes out. He blinks. Her hand goes to her mouth when she sees Will. She turns away.

“Come on, darling,” she says to Tobias. “Let’s go get supper.” She brushes past Will and scuttles down the hall, dragging the child with her. Then she turns around and stares at him, her face hardening into something unapologetic, fierce.

So that’s how it goes, he thinks. That’s the beginning of how it all changes. We become survivors or not.