accent was slightly French. The man smiled as he held out his hand.
Yoshiro inclined his head and took the proffered hand and wished he hadn’t. It was sweaty and he had the urge to take out his handkerchief and wipe his hands. The smile on the man’s gaunt face did nothing to ease his feelings. Yellowed teeth, a day-old beard and a whiff of stale sweat added to his distaste.
‘Gerard Boise. Mr Robert MacPherson was unable to come and has asked that I take you to him at the estate. He is unwell and the drive is only a few kilometres. Do you mind? Mr MacPherson is anxious to speak to you.’
Yoshiro was not happy but he agreed saying only that he would follow in his own vehicle. He had come so far to see this man that despite the repellent figure of Boise, he wanted to meet MacPherson as soon as he could. He felt Boise’s withdrawal as soon as he mentioned his own car and wondered, but the man said, ‘Please follow me,’ and walked to the carpark.
They drove across the bridge that spanned the Jelai River and followed the road for about twenty-five kilometres before turning off to the right along a narrow winding road that went uphill for another two kilometres. The house was a large two-storey bungalow and comparatively new as planters’ houses go. Twenty or so years old, Yoshiro guessed. Oil palm trees marched in regular rows, spread out and stretching beyond the bungalow into an infinity of blurred green. The house was beautifully calm and peaceful nestled under a group of wonderful old rain trees and he was impressed.
The main part of the house was a timber structure built on cement stilts a metre and a half off the ground but towards the back the concrete became a walled area. Six concrete pillars supported a large covered portico above the entrance. A wrought iron rail on top of it indicated a veranda. Bougainvillea plants climbed the columns and potted ferns graced the entrance. The house was painted white with a blue trim giving it a light, inviting appearance. It went a long way towards relieving Yoshiro’s slight feeling of alarm occasioned by Boise.
Two massive Great Danes came loping towards the land rover as Yoshiro opened the door. He stepped down and waited for them to come to him. They stood for a long moment looking at him, their great heads held high on a level with his chest. Having made up their minds, they turned and walked slowly away towards the front steps and waited there in an invitation, or so it seemed. He waited for Boise, and together, without speaking, they entered the house. The dogs followed, passed them by in a gracious entry hall and continued side by side up a flight of wide stairs leading to a long passage with doors on either side and into a large, light-filled room whose doors stood open onto what Yoshiro realized was the main entrance below. The wrought iron rails around the patio were swathed in massed bougainvillea flowers. Boise followed the dogs then stood aside and motioned Yoshiro into the room. The door closed softly behind him.
Robert MacPherson lay propped against pillows in a large carved bed. He looked older than Yoshiro had expected. His grey hair lay silky and shining on the pillows and his clean-shaven face broke into a delighted smile making the myriad wrinkles dance. ‘There you are then.’ The Scots burr was soft and the voice was weak. He coughed slightly. ‘Glad I am, that you’ve come. You have a look of your daddy. Did you know that?’
Yoshiro went to the bed and bowed deeply. ‘I am honoured to meet you, sir. My father would be so happy to know that I have seen you.’
‘You must call me Mac. Everyone does. Do you ken about us? How far Akiro and I go back? Seventy years, and a letter every month or so for over fifty. They are there, in that bureau. Every one of them. I want you to have them. I won’t be around much longer to send anymore to anyone myself. You will know what to do with them from now on. But sit yourself down, boy. Sit down. Pull that chair close so that I can see you.’
Yoshiro shut his eyes tightly and did as he was told. Wiping his eyes with a finger he sat on the chair at the bedside. He reached forward and taking the old man’s hand, he placed it on his bent head saying, ‘MacPherson sama, my heart is proud to see your face but I am sad.’ Mac was touched by the younger man’s use of the Japanese honorific. Yoshiro continued, ‘Before he died, my father told me that I must come to you when you called me to hear what you have to tell me that he could not.’
‘Do you mean that he did not tell you?’ Mac sounded scandalized.
Yoshiro looked up helplessly. ‘I am afraid so, Macpherson sama. He sent me here to tell you so, and to say, that he could not do what you wished him to do.
‘Did he tell you nothing about your grandfather?’
‘Yes. He told me a lot. He said that he was a Gensui, which I knew - that is like a field marshal in English - but not quite.’ He shook his head. ‘Grandfather was the head of the military police in this region and,’ Yoshiro took a deep breath, ‘he was responsible for atrocities during the war.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Yes. After…after he assured me that it was true.’
‘Did he tell you what we were now planning to do here?’
‘No, MacPherson sama. No. He said you would tell me that.’
‘He did, did he?’ Mac was angry. Akiro had left the dirty work to him and as he looked at the young man in front of him, he felt older than ever and sadder than he thought possible.
’Yes. He did.’ Yoshiro looked into the faded blue eyes and said steadily, ‘My father became emotional about it all, at the end. He sent me to help you to finish whatever this is. He said there was danger. I am willing to help, if you will allow me to.’
The hand he held trembled and the fingers closed on his. ‘You would do this?’
‘Yes, Macpherson sama. My father asked me to help. I would be unfaithful if I did not. I could not bear to live if that was the case. So, yes, I will help, if I can. Papa told me everything he thought I should know about my grandfather.’ His face darkened and his hand shook. He took a deep breath and continued, ‘He said that you would tell me the rest. Will you?’
This somewhat stilted speech touched Mac with its sincerity. His fingers tightened. ‘Be sure young man. Ye must be sure.’
‘I am, Mac-Sama. I am very sure. I think I know a little of what I am to face. I do wish my father had not been so secretive, but I am not afraid. I will do as you tell me I must. Papa said it had taken the two of you years to find what you were looking for. He told me you would tell me, and that I must not fail to help you.’
‘What if you fail to understand, and feel you cannot be a part of it?’
‘I will be shamed.’
‘And that would hurt your pride?’
‘Yes.’ Yoshiro waited for MacPherson to speak. He knew the man would have doubts. He was not known to him and though his father had been in close touch for so many years it was not the same. He was asking this man to hand over everything he had learned over years of quiet investigation by both men.
‘And how old are ye now, me proud wee cockerel?’ MacPherson asked.
‘I am thirty-two years old. My father was in his sixties when I was born,’ Yoshiro answered.
‘Aye, so he was. And here you are! We, your father and me, we made it into our nineties. Who would have thought it? Ye know, I couldna believe the telegram when it came.’ he chuckled. ‘We thought we were to be childless, the pair of us. Elsie and I had no children and Akiro married in his fifties, it was a good ten years before
