Music on the Bamboo Radio Page 9

  It seemed, to Nicholas, impregnable, consisting of a steel deck with riveted iron sides at least a metre high. The supporting box girders, set into granite abutments at each end, were massive and obviously designed for extra strength.

  For some minutes, the partisans kept still. Everyone, including Nicholas, surveyed the bridge for any sign of a sentry. There was none.

  ‘You wait,’ Ah Kwan hissed.

  He and another man slipped away at a crouch, crossing the road so silently they might have been running on air. In seconds, they were at the foot of the embankment where they paused then mounted the steps by the bridge. A moment later came a tiny, reedy, barely audible whistle.

  ‘Open your package,’ Tai Lo Fu whispered.

  Nicholas unwrapped his packet. It contained two detonators and a roll of wire.

  One of the men took the end of the wire, running across the avenue and up the steps as Nicholas paid it out from the spool which spun in his hands. Meanwhile, Tai Lo Fu unwrapped the explosive and battery from the other packet.

  Leaving Nicholas behind to mind the battery and the end of the wire, the remaining men all headed for the bridge. They were not gone long when Ah Kwan returned.

  ‘We have a problem,’ he murmured tersely. ‘You come.’

  Nicholas ran with Ah Kwan to the embankment then up the steps. The problem was soon evident. The explosive had to be fitted to the interior of one of the box girders to maximise the effect of the blast but the inspection hole through which it was to be inserted was not much greater in diameter than a cricket ball. None of the partisans could get his hand through.

  ‘You can do it,’ Tai Lo Fu said quietly. ‘You have small hands.’

  ‘Take your shoes off,’ Ah Kwan whispered. ‘Get a better foothold.’

  Making no reply, Nicholas removed his shoes and took a lump of the explosive from Tai Lo Fu. It was cold and soft, reminding him of modelling clay. Thrusting it into his pocket, he started to edge his way out along the lip of the girder, using crossbars supporting the track bed above as handholds.

  The inspection hole was about two metres out from the granite abutment. Not daring to look down, Nicholas reached it and, with difficulty, extracted the sticky explosive from his pocket. He managed to get it into the hole with one hand whilst holding on with the other.

  ‘Long way in,’ hissed a voice in the darkness.

  Pressing with his fingers, Nicholas succeeded in getting the explosive to adhere to the top of the girder, using a bolt or rivet as an anchoring point. This done, he returned to Tai Lo Fu and was given yet more explosive and a detonator to which the wires had been connected.

  Once more, Nicholas edged out along the girder, feeling with his toes. The metal was cool and reassuringly firm under the skin of his soles. He got to the hole, pressing the rest of the explosive around the first deposit, and was just about to insert the detonator when he heard another faint whistle. At the same moment, above his head, he discerned two sets of footsteps start out across the bridge from the far end. The sound echoed slightly in the hollow girder. He stopped work and kept perfectly still.

  The footsteps came nearer. Low voices were interspersed with short, mirthless laughter. The steps halted above him. One voice spoke, briefly followed by a scratching sound like that of a match being struck. Immediately after that came two heavy thumps on the iron plating of the bridge. Something large and dense dropped past Nicholas to thud on the roadway below.

  ‘All safe now.’ It was Ah Kwan’s voice. ‘You ready?’

  Nicholas inserted the detonator well into the explosive, threaded the wire around a crossbar to secure it then made his way back to the embankment, taking care not to tangle himself in the wire.

  The charge laid, all the partisans retreated to the corner of the building. As he ran, doubled up, across Foch Avenue, Nicholas glanced under the bridge. In the roadway, he could just make out the body of the Japanese sentry thrown off the bridge.

  ‘You have done well.’ Tai Lo Fu praised Nicholas in a muted voice and he handed him the battery. ‘You light the pao cheung.’

  For a moment, Nicholas stared from the battery to Tai Lo Fu’s face.

  ‘Do it! Quickly!’

  His hands trembling with excitement, Nicholas connected the negative wire to the battery. The men crouched down behind the corner of the building.

  ‘Ready?’ Nicholas whispered.

  Tai Lo Fu gave a thumbs up.

  Nicholas touched the remaining wire against the positive terminal. A tiny spark jumped as the connection was made.

  For perhaps half a second, nothing happened. The thought flashed through Nicholas’s mind that he must have done something wrong.

  There was a large roar. The night filled with a sound so deep, so tremendous, so powerful it made the ground shake as if in an earthquake. Bits of plaster showered down on them. Windows shattered. The trees lining the avenue thrashed as if in a typhoon. A vast billow of dust obscured the embankment. Then all was silent save for the last tinkling of falling glass.

  Nicholas was numbed by the blast and the enormity of what he had just done.

  There was a creaking sound, like a squeaky door being opened slowly. Nicholas stood up. Tai Lo Fu and his men were already gathered in the middle of Waterloo Road. Nicholas followed.

  The bridge had not collapsed but the girder had torn free from the granite wall and buckled, causing the track bed to warp badly.

  ‘No trains to Canton tomorrow,’ Ah Kwan remarked laconically.

  The sound of vehicles suddenly came to them from far off down the road on the other side of the bridge.

  The party split up. Several men ran down Foch Avenue. Others disappeared up a hill beyond the bridge. Two raced up the embankment and vanished over the railway line, making for streets across the tracks. Nicholas, Tai Lo Fu and Ah Kwan headed at a sprint down Waterloo Road and into a side road just a few metres from the bus stop Nicholas knew so well. As they turned, he thought how, when the war was over, he would get off the Number 7 bus here on his way to school, look down the road at the bridge and remember this night.

  By the time the Japanese arrived, they were all well on their way back to the safety of the foothills.

  PART FOUR

  SUMMER 1944

  After the attack on the railway bridge, the Japanese stepped up security. Street patrols were doubled and road blocks were erected at key junctions. The number of platoons operating in the countryside was increased and, several times in the summer and autumn of 1943, Japanese soldiers appeared at Sek Wan. They ransacked the houses as a matter of course even though they did not expect to find any trace of the guerrillas. Sek Wan was too small a settlement to hide a band of brigands and comparatively too accessible, being within easy reach of Sai Kung by sampan or on foot.

  Reprisals were taken in Kowloon by the Kempetai, the Japanese military police. They arrested people at random, publicly executing them by way of example or shipping them off to Japan to work as slave labour in coal mines.

  Tai Lo Fu, Ah Kwan and the rest of the East River Column left Hong Kong and went into hiding in China. From time to time, Nicholas heard of their exploits through Tang who picked up rumours in Sai Kung when he went to sell his fish. The rumours were often wild and always unsubstantiated. It was said they had severed the railway to Canton further to the north, and Nicholas believed that story. The rumour that they had captured a Japanese warship and were using it to raid passing Japanese cargo ships, however, seemed too far-fetched to be possible.

  For Nicholas, his existence returned to the usual round of village life and he virtually forgot his former life before the war. For some peculiar reason, he remembered owning a steam engine that actually worked off steam. Other details were hazy and he could not recall quite how he had spent his days before they were filled with chores.

  He fed the pigs and cleaned out the sties, chopped firewood, gutted and dried fish and took his turn at scaring birds off the vegetables: yet he also picked up new sk
ills. When the sow produced a litter of piglets, he helped butcher them, pouring boiling water over their carcasses to make it easier to remove the hair. Venerable Grandmother instructed him how to pickle cabbage and preserve plums, first by soaking them in sea-water until they were puckered up like prunes then drying them in the sun. Venerable Grandfather gave him tuition in the advanced use of the abacus. However, the most intricate and difficult of his new abilities was taught him by Tang.

  One evening, Tang returned late from fishing. Ah Mee, fearing another bout of malaria, waited anxiously for him on the shingle. Nicholas was with her. It was almost dark when the sampan finally hove into view and headed for the beach.

  Once she saw he was not sick, Ah Mee grew slightly peeved and reproached her husband.

  ‘Why you long time? Wing-ming and me very worried.’

  Tang stepped out of the sampan, his trousers rolled up above his knees. Even in the half-light, they could see his legs were drenched in blood.

  ‘Ay-ah!’ Ah Mee exclaimed, instantly regretting her chiding.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Nicholas asked, somewhat puzzled for Tang seemed uninjured.

  ‘Blood not my blood,’ Tang replied and he pointed into the well of the sampan.

  Nicholas stepped into the waves and peered into the vessel. Lying on the boards was a large shark, its fin sticking up stiffly into the air like a rigid sail. He leaned over and touched the fish. Its flesh was as hard as seasoned wood.

  ‘We got good luck today,’ Tang remarked, bending down to wash the blood off. ‘Fin make good soup for us. Meat fetch good money in Sai Kung. But also, we got bad luck.’

  He leaned over the side of the sampan and pulled out his fishing net. The shark had bitten large holes in it.

  That night, after the shark had been butchered and lightly salted to prevent it going bad, Tang called Nicholas over to him.

  ‘I teach you something,’ he said. ‘My father show me long time before. He learn from his father. Now I – you Chinese father – teach you.’

  Taking up a large ball of tarred cord, he spent the next hour showing Nicholas how to weave and knot a fishing net. It was difficult for they had to work by the light of the oil lamp yet, by ten o’clock, Nicholas had more or less mastered the intricate crossings-over and tuckings-under, and he understood the difference between a tensioning and a sliding knot.

  Once Nicholas had acquired the knack, he and Tang talked as they laboured. The others had retired to their kangs.

  ‘How long do you think the war will go on?’ Nicholas asked after some minutes of silence.

  Tang paused and thought before replying. ‘Not finish yet. But I think not too long. Maybe one year.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I think because Japanese soldier getting…’ Tang paused again to gather his reasons. ‘I tell you, Wing-ming,’ he went on, ‘life no so good for Japanese. Soldier get tired. He no like live Hong Kong long time. No can go back his family in Japan. And in Hong Kong, life bad for everybody now.’

  He completed a square in the net, his fingers snapping the cord tight. Nicholas sensed a touch of anger or frustration in his action.

  ‘Chinese people say,’ Tang continued, starting on a new square, ‘ “No money, no talk.” This mean if you no got money you no can do anything. People in Hong Kong no got food, no got job, no got money. In Hong Kong, many people die because no food.’

  ‘But we have food,’ Nicholas said, ‘and you catch fish and sell it. Surely the people who buy your fish…’

  ‘Not so many people. Two year before, I sell fish easy. People got money, got gold. Now, people no got money, no got gold. He try to sell other things to buy fish.’

  Tang stood and trimmed the wick in the oil lamp, turning it up. The flame had been flickering down and getting smoky. When he sat down again, his face was grim.

  ‘I tell you something,’ he said, ‘I no tell Ah Mee. Not even my father. I tell you, but you no tell?’

  ‘I won’t,’ Nicholas promised.

  ‘Last week, when I go to Sai Kung, man come to me. He say, “I no got money. If you give me fish, I give you my jacket.” I say no want jacket. I got jacket. This man say, “I give you shoes.” I look at his shoes. They are very dirty, very old. Got holes. I say no. Man say, “I give you my wife.” ’

  ‘What did he mean?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘He mean, if I give him fish to eat, he give me his wife,’ Tang answered bluntly. ‘He life so bad, he give away his wife be servant for me so he can eat.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I give him fish. He say thank you but he look down. Very ashamed. I say, “If you hungry, never mind. No give you family away.” He say to me, “I sell my daughter already.” Then he cry.’

  Nicholas looked at Tang’s face. His lips were pursed in a thin line.

  ‘I tell you this because you no more small boy,’ Tang said. ‘You young man now, must know these things. We very lucky here. Got our field, got our pig, can catch fish. But you no tell Ah Mee, Qing-mai, my parents. I no want them worry, no want them know how bad life in Hong Kong.’

  ‘I’ll keep my promise,’ Nicholas assured him.

  Tang’s face lightened a little and he continued, ‘I hear one story. Man tell me plenty American airplane in China. Make ready fight Japanese.’

  It was past midnight when they finally completed repairing the net. Nicholas helped Tang carry it down to the sampan. There was no moon but the sky was cloudless and the whole of the heavens was a vast panoply of stars. The tide was coming in. The sampan bobbed slightly with its keel still on the shingle, little waves lapping at the polished hull.

  When they had the net safely stowed in the bow, Tang said, ‘You watch. I show you something.’

  He picked up a pebble from the beach and tossed it into the sea. Where it splashed there was a small, momentary explosion of ghostly green light on the surface of the water.

  ‘How did you do that!’ Nicholas exclaimed.

  Tang threw a larger pebble. The sea erupted with green light once more, the ripples fanning out from the splash, carrying blotches of green light with them which gradually faded.

  ‘Is no trick. You can do,’ Tang said.

  Nicholas picked up a stone the size of a hen’s egg and bowled it underarm over the sea. It curved through the air and struck the water. The green light phosphoresced in the darkness.

  ‘Every year, when the sea warm,’ Tang said, ‘you can do this. Green light make by very small animal. So small you no can see him.’

  Long after Tang had returned to the house, Nicholas remained on the beach, skimming flat stones over the sea, watching the green light magically shine and thinking about the man who wanted to exchange his wife for a few dried fish.

  One morning in August, Nicholas was working in the fields, hoeing weeds from between the rows of cabbages and diverting water from the stream to irrigate the plants, when Tang appeared at the edge of the trees.

  ‘Wing-ming,’ he said, his voice tense and curt. ‘You come!’

  Nicholas apprehensively followed Tang down the path through the trees. Something was wrong. He could sense it but he was afraid to ask what it was.

  A table had been set up under the shade of the lychee tree. Seated at it were two visitors, one with a leather satchel at his feet. Before them were bowls of tea and a dish of Nicholas’s preserved salted plums.

  As Nicholas approached along the terrace, one of the men left the table and came quickly towards him. It was Ah Kwan.

  ‘Nei ho ma, Wing-ming?’ he greeted Nicholas, holding out his hand and making a little bow. ‘How are you? Long time no see you,’ he added in English.

  Nicholas shook his hand and returned the bow, saying, ‘I am well.’

  ‘I been live in China,’ Ah Kwan said, still in English. ‘Place call Waichow.’

  ‘How is Tai Lo Fu?’

  ‘Tai Lo Fu good. No live China now. Live Hainan Island.’

  ‘Did you and Tai Lo Fu c
apture a Japanese warship?’ Nicholas wanted to know.

  Ah Kwan laughed and said, ‘This funny story people say because Tai Lo Fu big-time leader.’ He beckoned to Nicholas. ‘I want you meet my friend.’

  The second visitor stood up and turned around, saying in perfect English, ‘So you’re the famous Nicholas Holford. I’ve heard a lot about you and I’m delighted to meet you.’

  Nicholas, who had half bowed to the man on the assumption he was Chinese, gaped at him. He was of average height, dressed in a loose Chinese jacket and nondescript trousers. His hair was black, his eyes were dark and his skin was tanned. He might have been a local peasant – but he was English.

  ‘This Major Fox,’ Ah Kwan introduced him. ‘He English officer, live Waichow.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re somewhat taken aback,’ Major Fox said.

  ‘I’ve not met an English person for a long time,’ Nicholas replied.

  In his mind, he tried to work out how long it had been, but he could neither work out the length of time he had lived in Sek Wan nor who the last English person he had spoken to might have been. He was not even sure if it was one of his parents.

  ‘Indeed not,’ Major Fox answered. ‘And I’m sure you did not expect the next one to be dressed up like a rickshaw driver.’

  ‘I’m not…’ Nicholas began, then he stopped.

  He was suddenly unsure of himself. He had escaped through occupied Hong Kong, gone on the mission to fetch quinine and been within a hair’s breadth of being captured by a Japanese patrol. He had learnt how to set a charge, blow up a bridge and mend a net and yet, before this officer, one of his own kind – his own people – he felt inexplicably ill at ease.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Major Fox said, smiling. ‘I must be quite a shock. Please, come and sit down.’

  Nicholas sat at the table next to Ah Kwan. He felt safer, more at ease, with the partisan than the Englishman.

  ‘Let me tell you a little about myself,’ Major Fox suggested. ‘You will, of course, keep what I say secret. I know from Kwan here you are not a blabber-mouth.’ He sipped his tea, put the bowl down and went on, ‘I am a British army major posted to Waichow with an organization called the British Army Aid Group. BAAG for short.’