Above the Fold Page 10

  “Easily.”

  “Don’t be glib. It’s not easy. I hate the thought of two years, but five minutes after saying no, you’ll realise what you’ve chucked away. All because of me.” Her face was flushed, he’d never seen her so intense. “I don’t want that burden, Luke. I can’t bear to think of it, years from now, imagining what might have been. Stuck in some job, and thinking of what you’d lost. If you turn this down for my sake, darling, I get a feeling we won’t last.”

  “Claudia, that’s bullshit.”

  “It’s not. Listen to me, please,” she begged. “I would always be the reason you gave up the chance of a lifetime, and eventually it would get to us. It might not be this year or next, but ultimately … it would spoil our lives. Two years is not forever, Luke.”

  “It feels like it.”

  “If he keeps his word, and from what you tell me he seems like a man who does, you could come back with the experience you’ve always wanted. Remember how you got the bum’s rush at the local rag from Mr whatever-his-name-was …”

  “Thorley. James Thorley.”

  “You see, you haven’t forgotten. It was humiliating.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “You were angry. I know you were.”

  “Yes …”

  “Do you want that sort of thing to go on happening?”

  “Of course not, but …”

  “My darling, I think you’d better do it. Please, do it. For me.”

  “Truly?” He was torn. Somewhere deep in his mind the prospect thrilled him, but … leaving her.

  “I’ll be here,” she said, as if mind-reading.

  “Oh God,” he sucked in a deep breath, “if you mean that. But I think I’m going to hate the next two years.”

  “Not once you’re there. I read that Kure is on the Inland Sea, which is supposed to be a beautiful place.” She put her arms around him. “You really should go, my love. Deep down, be honest, you know you should.”

  He sighed and nodded. She kissed him.

  “Now, ring up your friend Harry before the army changes its mind.”

  I hope to God we don’t live to regret this, Luke thought, but decided not to say so.

  THIRTEEN

  The Kure waterfront, as the troopship drew near, was an untidy wreckage of twisted steel girders, broken jetties, shattered buildings and bomb craters.

  “Welcome to Japan, folks,” said Corporal Ted Munro, tall and skinny as a bean pole, standing with the radio unit on the crowded deck.

  “Bugger me, we’ve drawn the short straw,” was Tobias Langley’s comment. Tobias, bald-headed, a stocky figure in his forties, was the senior announcer. Beside him, looking equally dismayed was nineteen-year-old tousle-haired Jimmy Marks, the unit driver. The small group were all together, Luke, now wearing his sergeant’s stripes, alongside thirty-year-old Ben Warren, the lieutenant in charge of the station. Their unit, small in numbers, had rapidly become acquainted on the two-week voyage from Australia.

  It was their first view of the base where their transmitter and studios were located. The superstructure of a Japanese battleship sunk near the shore was evidence of the fierce pounding this place had taken in the final days of the war that had ended in August. It was mid-November, just a month away from Christmas in Australia, and on the verge of winter in Japan.

  “Two years of this, lads,” Ben Warren said, “is going to test us all. No wonder they didn’t show us happy snaps of this dump before we signed on.”

  The beautiful Inland Sea, Luke thought of Claudia’s words, deciding he’d take some of his own photos to send to her. But his mind was more absorbed, thinking of the last two weeks they’d spent together. It was Louisa who’d insisted there be no pretence, and, provided Claudia’s parents didn’t object, the pair of them should have the main bedroom and she’d move into Luke’s room. Claudia, unsure if her parents were as liberal-minded, and not willing to risk their disapproval, told them she was on night shifts. The brief fortnight was like a honeymoon, if shadowed by the awareness of its brevity. It was the thought of two years apart that drove them to make passionate love with such urgency.

  Luke had found time to confer with Alistair Tate, whom he’d asked to be a trustee of the Foundation, and when the solicitor suggested there should be two trustees Luke nominated Helen. “Two lawyers,” he said. “I like the sound of it.”

  “But I’m not a lawyer yet, Luke,” Helen reminded him.

  “In a few weeks you will be,” he replied, “and I want someone I can trust.” She flushed at the compliment and agreed. His father’s estate had been a surprise, the fund Helen organised had a healthy balance sheet, and apart from the regular payments to Louisa, he asked them to arrange that £50 each month be secretly paid to Steven Pascoe, for as long as he was unable to work, or while his family refused to give him any financial support.

  “He’s not well enough to get a job yet, and his deferred pay from the army will soon run out. But he’s not to know where it comes from, because he’s independent enough to refuse it if he found out.”

  “How will we do that?” Tate asked, but it was Helen who once again supplied the answer. She talked to Legacy, a charitable organisation set up for soldiers’ dependants. The money would be paid through them, so Steven couldn’t trace the source, and no-one else would know.

  Helen had been an inspired choice, he thought, although she was a reluctant guest at his farewell party because of Barry’s presence. It was an afternoon when Bazza was in full voice, giving his views on everything.

  “I’ve become friends with Bob Menzies, who’s putting together a good team to win the next election,” he told the gathering.

  “Pig Iron Bob!” Steven said. “Australia will never elect a bloke who wanted to sell steel to Japan. Remember they turned it into bullets and shot it back at us.”

  “Wrong as usual, Steve. The public have short memories.”

  “Here we go again,” Rachel heralded another mates’ dispute.

  “You watch,” Barry insisted, “The country’s tired of wartime rationing and restrictions. Remember they kicked out Churchill in England after he won the war. They’ll give Ben Chifley the old heave-ho next time.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Bazza,” said Rachel, who was bursting to tell them her big news. After being in several stage plays and some radio shows, she was taking the plunge along with other actors and heading for London. “If all else fails there, at least I’m a secretary with skills in shorthand and typing. The parents have staked me for the fare and I’ll give it two years,” she said.

  It was a strange afternoon, just the six of them. It was an awkward number with Helen and Barry carefully avoiding each other, Rachel and Steven no longer close, Claudia sad at Luke’s imminent departure, and all of them trying not to mention his father’s death. Luke, knowing two years would pass before they met again, felt it was the end of their youthful life. An end of the close friendship that had seen them through the war years, but was no longer what he sometimes fondly thought as the ‘sextet’. It was all coming apart. They drank to Rachel’s success in London, then Barry climbed on a chair and proposed a toast to Luke. “Bon voyage and good luck to him, and let’s hope he doesn’t get entangled with any geisha girls.” He gave a sly grin as he raised his glass in the direction of Luke and Claudia.

  “But you won’t, will you?” Claudia said, after they had made love on their last night. “Get entangled with geisha girls?”

  Trust bloody Bazza, Luke had thought. Putting that in her mind, when they were about to part for so long. “He might be a mate from childhood, but what a pain in the arse. Sometimes I wonder how we stay friends,” he fumed.

  “Sometimes I wonder how you ever became friends,” said Claudia.

  “I never told you,” Luke had answered her, “and I should have. I was six years old, my first day at kindergarten. Four playground bullies got together and decided I was fair game. They were bashing me when Bazza took on the lot, knocked one down, kicked an
other and the rest ran away. There was no more bullying after that. So, yes, my darling, he’s an acquired taste and often behaves like a pork chop, but I owe him. And always will.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” Claudia had said. “I’m still not sure I like him, but it does explain the vagaries of the friendship.”

  Luke tried to obliterate thoughts of Barry and dwell on fond memories of Claudia, as the troopship moved slowly past the sunken wrecks towards the shore.

  Kure could never be called a beautiful township, but there were surprises when they disembarked. Away from the port, the air raid damage was far less severe, and the broadcast unit was billeted in a two-storey wooden house on high ground away from the devastated waterfront. They had a studio building half a mile from there, complete with broadcast and control booths, as well as a music library. Technical equipment was already being installed by the engineers.

  The real surprise was their lodgings, a house large enough to provide private dining and recreation areas, and a single bedroom for each of them, a comfort no-one had experienced in the army until then. As well there were housemaids to clean rooms and take care of the laundry, another moment of disbelief. The girls were mostly young, some wore traditional Japanese clothing, some western skirts or trousers, each assigned to look after four rooms. There was jostling for the youngest and best looking, who was instantly named ‘Bubba-san’, and less rush towards an older one dubbed ‘Mama-san’. Luke chose Mama-san and his clothes were whisked away each night, reappearing the next day washed and ironed. He had never been so well apparelled in his life. In the manner of army compliments, Tobias declared he was “done up like a pox doctor’s clerk”.

  Their entire unit staff was only sixteen in total; four announcers, four technical, and the rest clerks, cooks and a driver. As the detachment was so small in numbers, they had to take on some other nominal posts. Luke thought it was a joke when he was told he was to be the transport officer in charge of the unit jeep and its driver, Jim Marks.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he’d said to Ben Warren. “I know nothing about cars or jeeps, can’t drive and I haven’t got a licence.”

  “You don’t need one,” said Ben. “It’s just army bullshit. All you have to do is sign an occasional form.”

  Would you believe it, Luke wrote to Claudia. I not only do my share of broadcasting and write the scripts, but I’m Transport Officer. Fortunately I don’t have to drive the unit jeep, as I wouldn’t know how.

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Jimmy Marks pleaded. “Don’t look at the cherry blossom. It’ll still be here when you’ve learned how to drive.”

  “Ben distinctly said a driving licence wasn’t necessary.”

  “Ben, like the rest of us, is finding out about the army’s bloody red tape. The transport officer must have a licence, and be able to drive. Luke, you’re in the middle of the road. Try driving on the correct side, mate. We’re less liable to collide with anything if you do.”

  Ben had apologised for his mistake, suggesting there was an easy answer. “Jimmy can teach you,” he’d grinned The unit had thought it a great joke, the transport officer being taught how to drive. So the next day they’d set forth. Once out in the countryside, Jimmy had stopped the jeep and told Luke to take over.

  “Are you certain about this, Jim?”

  “Boss’s orders. Driving a jeep is simple. Any dill can do it.”

  “I’m not too sure about this dill,” Luke answered.

  He proved it by a series of juddering kangaroo leaps until the engine stalled. “Carefully does it,” said Jimmy, who was starting to look anxious. Luke tried again, and eventually, after clashing his way through the gears, it began to feel easier. The passing scenery was superb. All the hills were a mass of blossoms. Luke found the sight entrancing.

  “Eyes on the road, please,” Jimmy again instructed, and indicated a laden cart travelling slowly in the distance ahead of them. “That’s a honey cart, Luke. You know about honey carts, don’t you?”

  Of course, Luke assured him, he knew all about honey carts. In the countryside where there was no sewage and farmers believed the best fertiliser was human effluent, the carts collected the contents of family dunnies for distribution. When their jeep drew nearer this was more than obvious, the stink was profound.

  “Don’t get too close,” Jim warned.

  “I’m trying to get past him and away from the perfume. Bloody turds. I never knew Richard the Thirds could pong like this. It’s as bad as being behind a brewery horse that can’t stop farting.”

  Luke’s remark made Jimmy start to laugh and relax, then he yelled in sudden fright. “Luke, the cart! For Christ’s sake, be careful!”

  Startled by his shout Luke swung the wheel the wrong way, and the jeep hit the back of the cart. Pushed off the road, it tipped over, the contents in small wooden buckets splashing on the bonnet of the jeep and the rest landing on the Japanese driver. The former smell was as nothing compared to the new aroma.

  “Oh, shit!” Luke shouted.

  “Well, of course it’s shit,” Jimmy’s replied, “and we’re right in it.” They’d come to a halt with the engine still running.

  “What the hell do I do now?”

  “Shove it into gear! Reverse gear, then any fucking gear!” Jim urged. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “But what about the bloke on the cart?”

  “He’s covered in crap. You want to shake hands and say sorry?”

  The driver was dressed in clothes and a cap, just like the Japanese soldiers in newsreels. He was covered with ordure, shaking his fist while hurling furious shouts of aggression and national prejudice at them.

  “What do we do?”

  “We fuck off double-quick,” Jim said.

  Luke somehow got the vehicle into reverse, then clashed through the gears again and they speedily drove away, taking their share of the smell with them.

  Before it could become a cause for complaint, Lieutenant Warren sent a letter of apology to the local company. It was Luke’s first and last driving lesson; Tobias was hurriedly appointed the transport officer. For weeks after this everyone who walked past Luke held their noses and performed the charade of pulling a dunny chain.

  Claudia’s letters kept him in touch with news from home. Helen had done it again:, not only topped the law school results for her final year, but won the University Medal. The local newspaper run by Luke’s bête noir, James Thorley, had given her success a big spread on page one. The cutting and a nice photo of Helen was enclosed. Rachel had settled down in London, and loved it there. She had found a typing job, been doing the rounds of the agents and so far there was no news, but the BBC repertory group had asked her to audition. Steven was still unwell; he was unable to take a regular job because of recurring bouts of malaria, so it was lucky some charitable organisation supplied him with a part pension to supplement his army savings and deferred pay, otherwise it would run out.

  Luke felt pleased the trustees had stuck so carefully to his instructions, and only Alistair and Helen knew the source of the funds. But Claudia was clearly concerned for Steve. No sign of peace with the family, she reported. His relatives are a bunch of bastards.

  And speaking of bastards, your catty correspondent hasn’t seen him, but hears Barry has broken up with his latest girlfriend. No great surprises there. He is still talking of going into politics. He apparently has a job with the new Liberal party, has met Bob Menzies again and is a bit full of himself about it. (When was he otherwise?)

  To Luke it seemed their group had now fractured. Would they ever again have those parties that could escalate into rowdy arguments? He found he missed them greatly. From far away he forgot the occasional rancour, and remembered only the boyhood camaraderie.

  At the broadcasting studio they settled down to a gruelling schedule, on the air from six in the morning until ten at night. To help fill in some hours Luke asked the Macquarie Network for some plays and shows that were on long-playing record. These
arrived with a message from Rupert Meredith-Lacey.

  So you’re a sergeant! Just as well hostilities are over, or you might have to lead your troops into battle. Send me a play or two if you get the time. ‘Them upstairs’ have relaxed the rules a bit. You can now have a man and woman alone in the same room, even if they’re not married. Heavens, where will it all end? We may soon have rooting on the radio. You can see I’ve picked up a bit of Aussie argot. I hope you’re staying faithful to Claudia, and not doing any rooting while off the leash over there. Yours affectionately, Rupert.

  Typical Rupert. He’d met Claudia when invited down to the beach for a long weekend, Luke having warned Barry against comments about Pommy poofters. In fact, Rupert had got on well with them all, and was much taken with Claudia in particular, telling Luke he could easily fall in love with her. He also thought Helen was a sweetie. In fact, he went on at some surprising length about dark-eyed Helen.

  Luke wrote back assuring him that while a certain amount of illegal fraternisation was taking place here, he was involved with no-one except Mama-san who was devoted to the task of keeping him looking spotless. Tomorrow, he told Rupert, I’m going to Hiroshima.

  FOURTEEN

  He knew so much about it, had read every article he could find, but was totally unprepared for the shocking impact. To stand amid the utter devastation in what had once been a busy city street with traffic, crowded trams and masses of unsuspecting people, was a searing experience for him and nineteen-year-old Jimmy Marks who drove him there. Soon after their arrival Jimmy found it difficult to cope. Starting to shed tears and abruptly vomiting, he had gone to sit in the jeep, feeling nauseated and shocked at what he’d seen.

  From his reading on the subject, Luke’s knowledge of the details was extensive. For instance he knew the bomb had been carried in a plane from an island in the Pacific, and even when they were approaching Japan the pilot had not yet been advised of his target. It had to be one of the three possible sites that had been nominated, but it would be the one with the best weather, so the crew could witness the result. A clear day was essential, for the mission included a report to the President as well as his military and scientific advisers, on the success or otherwise of this new weapon.