The Harmony Silk Factory

“She’s just a plump little carrot dangled oh so temptingly.” He leant in very close to me, inclining his head towards mine. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and over the brilliant pain of my headache I could almost feel the clamminess of his skin. “She’s here as bait for the professor, who may or may not rise to accept this tasty morsel. He’s only interested in Johnny, that filthy Commie guerilla. Why do you think he saved Johnny and not Snow from drowning? The whole trip’s been arranged so that Kunichika can become best chums with his soon-to-be chief informer.”

“I’m not listening to your revolting lies.”

He laughed amidst a plume of purple smoke. “Listen. I’m only telling you this because you’re one of us, and it’s my job to look after our kind, even if they’re as foolish as you. And you really are very stupid, I must say — you still haven’t worked things out for yourself. That’s what love — or lust — does to you, I suppose. Her father’s a clever man, isn’t he? He knows the Japs are coming. I do too. And when they come, he wants to be in their good books, he wants all the favours he can get. What can he give them to make sure he gets this? Mining concessions, certainly. Information on his dirty Bolshie son-in-law, gladly. And of course, there’s his daughter too, oh yes. No, it’s not nasty, it’s a question of survival. Everyone’s just doing their bit.”

“And what about you — what’s your bit?”

“Keeping the peace. Making sure everyone’s able to do their bit. Saving what I can for our lot.”

“Aren’t you afraid things might backfire?”

He laughed. “No fear of that. That’s why I’ve been sent along, to make sure business happens as usual. As long as I’m here, nothing will rock the boat.”

“So you’re here as a chaperone, I take it.”

“I suppose so,” he said, moving closer to me. I felt the hot smoke of his cigarette on my neck. “But I told you — I’m also looking after our kind,” he said.

“You’re lying about all of this,” I said.

“Am I?” he said, flicking the stub of his cigarette into a tangle of bushes. “Put the woman out of your mind. You’ll walk away from her and in a few months’ time you’ll forget she ever existed.” He reached across and put his hand on my thigh, his fleshy fingers gripping hard. I pushed him away, feeling a sudden rush of strength in my arms. He fell against a stone step, looking at me quizzically.

“I shan’t forget her.”

He smiled, his body supine and relaxed. “Come come, dear,” he sneered, his teeth showing in the hazy darkness. “You’re being silly. She loathes you; you’re a freak. Johnny hates you too. Everyone does except me. Come here.”

And then I was upon him, hitting and scratching and kicking. His neck was soft as mud as I forced my hands around it, pushing and pushing and pushing until he struggled no more. A sneer remained etched on his face as I dragged him out into the sea, letting the waves take his body. It was nearly morning and I felt very strong.

I NEVER SWORE not to see Johnny again. There was never any need for such dramatic oath-making. I simply knew our paths would never cross.

After the war I drifted slowly from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur and then embarked on aimless wanderings around the country, never staying in one place for very long. I walked in the thickly forested hills that ran down the spine of the peninsula, but the jungle induced panic within me and I had to leave. I went to Port Dick-son and watched young families at play on the beach; the swell of the waves made me anxious and I moved on again, heading inland, away from the coast. All over the country I saw things that unsettled me — a young woman scribbling in a notebook in Kuantan, a smiling square-shouldered youth cycling under an indigo sky on a sultry afternoon in Terengganu. I did not know whether I was escaping or searching: it felt as if I was doing both, and neither.