was at all happy to receive it.’
‘It was your idea for me to ask him, Magnus. You didn’t tell him that I had been interned in a Japanese camp, I hope?’
‘You asked me not to,’ he said. ‘I’m glad he’s agreed to design your garden.’
‘He hasn’t. He’ll only decide after he’s spoken to me.’
Magnus adjusted the strap of his eye-patch. ‘You resigned even before he’s made up his mind? Rather irresponsible isn’t it? Didn’t you like prosecuting?’
‘I did, at first. But in the last few months I’ve started to feel hollow . . . I felt I was wasting my time.’ I paused. ‘And I was furious when the Japan Peace Treaty was signed.’
Magnus cocked his head at me; his black silk eye-patch had the texture of a cat’s ear. ‘What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’
‘One of the articles in the treaty states that the Allied Powers recognise that Japan should pay reparations for the damage and suffering caused during the war. However, because Japan could not afford to pay, the Allied Powers would waive all reparation claims of the Allied Powers and their nationals. And their nationals.’ I realised that I was near to ranting, but I was unable to stop myself. It was a relief to uncork myself and let my frustrations spill out. ‘So you see, Magnus, the British made certain that no one – not a single man or woman or child who had been tortured and imprisoned or massacred by the Japs – none of them or their families can demand any form of financial reparation from the Japanese. Our government betrayed us!’
‘You sound surprised.’ He snorted. ‘Well, now you know what the fokken Engelse are capable of. Excuse me,’ he added.
‘I lost interest in my work. I insulted my superiors. I quarrelled with my colleagues. I made disparaging remarks about the government to anyone who would listen. One of them who heard me was a reporter for the Straits Times.’ Thinking about it brought back a flood of bitterness. ‘I didn’t resign, Magnus. I was sacked.’
‘That must have upset your father,’ he said. Was there a mischievous – even malicious – glint in his eye?
‘He called me an ungrateful daughter. He had pulled so many strings to get me that job, and I had made him lose face.’
Magnus clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Well, whatever Aritomo decides, I hope you’ll stay with us for a while. A week’s too short. And it’s your first time here. There are plenty of nice places to see. Come to the sitting room later, say in an hour’s time. We have drinks before dinner,’ he said, before returning into the house through the kitchen.
The air became colder, but I remained out there. The mountains swallowed up the sun, and night seeped into the valleys. Bats squeaked, hunting invisible insects. A group of prisoners in my camp once caught a bat; the ravenous men had stretched its wings over a meagre fire, the glow showing up the thin bones beneath its skin.
On the edge of Nakamura Aritomo’s property, the failing light transformed the firs into pagodas, sentinels protecting the garden behind them.
Chapter Four
I left Majuba House at half past six the next morning. Even after more than five years the routine of the camp had never left me, and I had been awake for the past two hours. I had slept fitfully, worried by how I would be received by the Japanese gardener. In the end I decided I would not wait until half past nine to see him, but go as soon as there was enough light in the sky.
Tucking a roll of papers under my arm, I shut the front door quietly and walked to the gate. The air stung my cheeks and the clouds from my mouth seemed to make my breathing sound louder than usual. The Gurkha outside was sharpening his kukri and he slid the curved blade into its sheath before unlocking the gate for me.
It was Sunday, and the tea fields were deserted. In the valleys, the points of light from the farmhouses were as faint as stars behind a weave of clouds. The smells of the nearby jungle transported me back to the prison camp; I had not expected that. I stopped and looked around me. The moon was retreating behind the mountains, the same moon I had seen at almost every dawn in the camp, and yet it seemed altered to me. So long after my imprisonment, there were still moments when I found it difficult to believe that the war was over, that I had survived.
I thought back to my conversation with Magnus at the bar of the Selangor Club a month before, when I was still a Deputy Public Prosecutor. Returning to my office after I had finished a case, I had cut through one of the narrow lanes behind the courts. Turning a corner, I found my way blocked by a crowd. Men in white singlets and black pants were setting up paper effigies of Japanese soldiers, the life-sized figures shown being disembowelled by the demons of hell. I had heard of these rites, but had never witnessed one. They were held to soothe the spirits of those killed by the Japanese, spirits now wandering namelessly for all eternity.
Standing at the back of the crowd, I watched the Taoist priest in his faded black robe ring his bells and write invisible amuletic words in the air with the tip of his sword. The effigies were then set ablaze, the heat from the flames pushing the crowd back. All around me people wailed and keened as the ashes rose to the sky, leaving behind a charred odour in the air. Perhaps the spirits were appeased, but I felt only a renewed sense of anger when the crowd dispersed. Knowing that I would not be able to concentrate on my work for the rest of the day, I decided to go to the Selangor Club’s library. I had not seen Magnus in eleven or twelve years, but I recognised him in the foyer – I remembered his eye-patch – and I called out to him. He was with a group of men surrendering their guns to the clerk, and he had looked at me, trying to remember who I was. A smile sprawled over his face when I reminded him, and he insisted on buying a round of drinks. We sat at a table on the verandah overlooking the cricket padang and the court buildings. ‘Boy!’ he called for the waiter – an elderly Chinese – and ordered our drinks. The ceiling fans rattling at full speed above our heads did nothing to dispel the humidity. The clock above the courthouse rang out across the padang. It was three o’clock and the usual crowd of planters and lawyers would not show up for at least another two hours.
Magnus told me he was in KL to get money from the Chartered Bank for his workers’ payroll, which he did once a month. ‘I heard your parents are living in KL now,’ he said. ‘I never thought your father would ever consider leaving Penang. Your mother. . .’ Magnus had lowered his voice and looked at me intently. ‘How is she?’
‘She has good and bad days,’ I replied. ‘Unfortunately the bad days seem to be happening more often.’
‘I tried to visit her, you know. It was just after you went to England. But your father wouldn’t allow it. I don’t think he lets anyone see her.’
‘It upsets her too much when someone she doesn’t recognise speaks to her,’ I said. ‘And she has trouble recognising most people.’
‘I heard what happened to your sister. Terrible,’ he said. ‘I’ve only met her once. She was keen on gardening, I remember.’
‘She always dreamed of building her own Japanese garden,’ I said.
He studied me, his eye sweeping down to my hands before rising up to my face again. ‘Build it for her.’ His finger stroked the strap of his eye-patch. ‘You could make it a memorial for her. I’m not sure if you remember, but my neighbour’s a Japanese gardener. He was the Emperor’s gardener, would you believe? He might be willing to help you out. You could ask him to make a garden for – Yes, ask Aritomo to design
