Page 13 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
To answer, Phyllis stands on wobbly legs, stretches, shrugs her shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’
Slowly, they head for the lighthouse, remaining just inside the jungle, and peering around them all the while.
‘What were you doing in Singapore?’ Nesta asks.
‘I work for British Intelligence,’ Phyllis replies.
‘You’re a spy?’
‘Hardly, administration.’
Nesta is intrigued but decides not to probe.
The local men are still in the lighthouse and the women gesture imploringly at their mouths. It is understood they are hungry and thirsty and, reluctantly, they are given a small quantity of rice each and some water.
‘Can’t stay, you must go,’ one of the men insists.
‘Where? Where do you suggest we go?’ an emboldened Phyllis asks.
‘Muntok. Go to Muntok.’
The two men herd the women out of the lighthouse and onto a path that leads into the jungle. ‘Muntok.’
‘I guess we’re going to Muntok,’ Phyllis says matter-of-factly.
‘I don’t have any other ideas and I’m not going back into the sea,’ Nesta replies.
Not far along the path, Nesta and Phyllis come across a small group ofVyner Brookesurvivors, dazed, disoriented, arguing about which direction to follow. Before Nesta can say a word, one of the women lets out a high-pitched scream. The group startles and begins to wildly scan the jungle for the threat. They see it. Japanese soldiers are walking towards them, bayonets held aloft. They move fast to form a circle around the survivors, letting them know, with a nudge of their rifles, which way to go. There’s nothing they can do and so they begin to walk, and not long after, they enter the village of Muntok.
They are marched through the village, which is nothing more than a small collection of huts, with street vendors selling fruit and vegetables from mats on the ground. There are mothers with children, faces peering from windows, men spitting at the survivors in a show of support to the Japanese. At the far end of the village, a pier stretches out into the ocean and there Nesta spies hundreds of men, women and children sitting in the blazing sun. There are more soldiers here, standing watch over the displaced survivors. She looks desperately into the masses for a familiar face, a familiar uniform, but there are too many people. Nesta, Phyllis and the rest of their small group are led into a nearby building. One of the survivors translates the sign above the door: it is the Customs House.
‘Can we sit, please, darling? Can we all just sit down?’ John says and Norah can see that he is about to faint.
Norah, Ena, John and June are standing in the baking sun, trying to take in their surroundings. Norah is watching the soldiers close by, desperate for a sign of what fate has in store for them.
Taking his hand, Norah guides him down onto the wooden planks of the pier. June snuggles up to John; thankfully, it seems as though she feels secure with any of her three rescuers. They sit close together, trying to shield John and June from the sun.
‘You look terrible,’ Norah tells Ena, trying to distract them from what lies ahead.
‘Thanks, Norah. You should see yourself – pot, kettle and all that,’ Ena responds, and the sisters share a forced smile despite the pain in their hands and their overwhelming thirst. ‘How can we get this oil off?’ Ena asks.
‘Let’s try to help each other. My hands don’t work, but my feet do. John, can we please have your singlet? You can keep your shirt,’ Norah says with a cheeky grin.
John begins unbuttoning his shirt, but his hands are shaking and, watching him struggle, June pushes his fingers aside and pulls off his shirt, before helping remove his singlet. Handing the vest to Norah, she helps John put his shirt back on.
‘Let’s see, how can we do this?’ Norah ponders, examining Ena, nudging the strip of cloth towards her feet.
Grasping the garment between her toes, Norah tries to wipe the oil from Ena’s arms. The sisters twist and contort as they successfully remove some of the tarry steaks from the arms and legs of the other. Their laughter reaches others up the pier, who watch in amusement. When Norah attempts to wipe Ena’s face they both nearly roll off the pier. As they regain their composure, June takes the now very dirty black vest from Ena and gently wipes both sisters’ faces. She is rewarded by hugs from both women.
Others around them share in this funny moment, laughing and pointing at the sisters’ comic attempts at bathing.
‘Your hands need attention,’ John tells them, having joined in the laughter.
Norah is delighted that John seems buoyed by this ludicrous scene. He must feel better if he can take a moment to appreciate the absurdity of their actions in this idyllic setting of lush jungle and brilliant tropical flowers, set against serene blue waters and the white sandy beach. She feels like they’re in a painting.
‘Be my life short or long, I’ll remember this moment forever. How, in the worst possible circumstances, two women, whom I love more than life itself, found a way to laugh and make me laugh. Thank you, my darlings.’
Ena and Norah pause in their efforts to give him a kiss on each cheek.
