Page 113 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
‘Finally,’ yawns Nesta. The internees awake to the train’s engine firing up. A long hiss of steam erupts and the train begins its journey.
Hours later, after rumbling through the countryside and past small communities, they eventually arrive at the village of Loebok Linggau.
Nesta stands along with everyone else and bangs on the door to be let out.
‘You stay! You stay!’ a soldier barks at her, waving his rifle at the window.
‘For how long?’ Nesta yells.
But the soldiers turn away from the women and leave them on the train to endure another sweltering night.
‘Ladies.’ Nesta calls over her nurses to let them know seven stretcher patients died in the night. ‘Even more will die if they don’t let us out soon.’
And then, just as the words leave Nesta’s lips, the order comes. ‘Out now! Out now!’ and the prisoners disembark and are counted, over and again.
‘Not the right number!’ a soldier screams.
‘That’s because some of us died in the night,’ Nesta tells him with as much venom in her voice as she can muster.
Finally, they are ordered to board the waiting trucks, and driven further into the jungle on roads barely wide enough for the vehicles to fit.
When they eventually come to a stop, Nesta is in the back of one truck helping to soothe the stretcher patients with nothing more than words. She feels a hand on her arm and turns to find Norah outside, her eyes alive with worry.
‘Nesta, you have to come quickly. It’s Margaret.’
Jean appears at Norah’s side as if summoned by magic.
‘I can handle this, Nesta. You go to Margaret,’ Jean says, climbing in the back to take her place.
On the ground beside another truck, a large group of women have gathered around the frail figure of Margaret Dryburgh. They move apart for Norah and Nesta. Ena is on the ground cradling Margaret’s head in her lap, while Audrey is gently ushering June away.
‘How long has she been like this?’ Nesta asks.
‘She stopped talking the first night we were on the train,’ Ena tells her. ‘I said I wanted to get you or one of the nurses to look at her, but she said no, she was just tired and needed to rest. This morning when I woke, she could barely open her eyes.’
Nesta checks Margaret’s pulse, takes her hand in hers. ‘Margaret, it’s Nesta. Can you open your eyes for me? Please? Just a little.’
Nesta feels a slight squeeze on her hand. Slowly, painfully, Margaret opens her eyes and looks at the women around her, and a small, radiant smile fills her face before she closes her eyes for the last time.
Howls of ‘No!’ travel down the tracks.
Mrs Hinch stumbles from her truck and runs towards Margaret, pushing her way through the mourners to kneel beside her beloved friend. She looks at Nesta, who shakes her head. For the first time since being captured Mrs Hinch allows herself to cry.
The new camp, Belalau, is a disused rubber plantation. The huts are dilapidated and dank, yet some are relieved to see the camp is bisected by a running stream. The weakest amongst them take the first huts available. Everyone else, including those on stretchers, must negotiate a small hill down into a gully and over a narrow wooden bridge to the remaining huts. The nurses stay on the hill side of the stream, and it is here they carry Margaret’s body, placing it respectfully inside one of the huts.
While Norah and Audrey occupy themselves carving the names and dates of death into eleven wooden crosses to honour the women who have died since leaving the ship, the twelfth cross sits on the ground, daring them to start carving Margaret’s name.
They watch as a steady stream of women visit Margaret’s body. A queue forms outside the hut as they wait their turn to say a final thank you and goodbye to the woman who brought so much joy and light into their lives in the jungle.
‘I can’t do it!’ Norah weeps, thrusting the twelfth cross at Audrey.
‘I think we both should do it,’ Audrey says softly. ‘You should at least write her name, you were her dearest friend, and I’ll do the rest,’ she offers, handing the cross back.
Norah gives a small nod of agreement. She holds her screwdriver over the naked flame, not backing away from the intense heat, hoping that physical pain will take away some of the ache she feels acutely in her chest.
Audrey pulls Norah’s hand away from the fire, as the screwdriver is glowing red. Norah snaps from her trance, looks at the cross in one hand and the screwdriver in the other.
Gently, she places the cross on her lap and slowly starts to burn in the letters: M … a … r … g … Her tears fall on the seared initials and hiss.
