Janice Lee - The Piano Teacher

“It’s so quiet,” Trudy whispers.

“No cars or people anywhere,” Will says.

But inside the Gloucester, it is bustling, with more people than they’ve ever seen in the lobby of that elegant hotel. They are sleeping on sofas, on the marble floor, the potted plants all moved tidily to one side, forming a verdant fringe to this strange refugee camp. Uniformed hotel boys are scurrying around with cups of coffee on silver trays, trying to serve the unorthodox guests as best as they are able.

“There’s Delia Ho!” Trudy cries. “I thought she had gone to China. And there’s Anson and Carol. And Edwina Storch with Mary. The whole world’s here!”

People throng around the new arrivals, asking where they’ve been, what they’ve seen.

“Can’t help you,” Angeline says. “We’ve been hiding out at home.”

“Undisturbed?” asks an American.

“Quite,” says Trudy. “But eating like dogs. Is there any food here?”

There isn’t much, unfortunately, the hotel trying their best to supply their guests with what remains in their cellar. Trudy sits down to share a rice pudding with Delia, spooning some into Will’s mouth, and then, seeing Ned off in a corner, gesturing him over to have some as well.

“The coffee is atrocious,” she says. “They’ve gone to well water.”

“What’s going on?” Will asks Dick Gubbins, an American businessman who, even before all this, always knew what was going on.

“I’ve been at the American Club, came here to see if I could find out anything. They’re starting to rampage through town, celebrating their victory. Mitzy, that old bird with the antiques store on Carnavon Road, was stabbed by a drunk soldier for nothing at all, for not handing over her purse fast enough, or something.” His voice drops. “And you know what happened at the hospital.”

“I don’t.”

“Awful stuff. They’re just animals, sometimes. The nuns were violated, the other nurses too, doctors bayoneted while trying to defend them. They’re not supposed to touch hospital workers, obviously, but tell that to a bloodthirsty mob. Drew McNamara’s over there trying to clean the whole mess up and see that those responsible are apprehended but everything’s so chaotic now. Under the Hague Convention, police are supposed to be able to keep order, the old Hong Kong police, but I haven’t seen much of them. It’s complete madness out there, I tell you. The Japanese are using some of the British constables to stand guard outside their consulate. I don’t think they understand the concept of irony.

“The Chinese and Indians should be able to move freely. Trudy’s cousin, that Victor Chen, is doing a good job acting as a go-between, trying to lessen the violence and looting. The neutral Europeans should be all right, but it’s touchy there. The Japs have asked for prostitutes, in addition to swarming all over the Wanchai brothels. Hopefully that’ll get some of their energy out. If you get a drunk or crazy one, they’ll swing at your head with a sword and not care if they’ve cut your head off. They’re demanding money and watches and jewelry from anyone they meet on the street. There’s supposed to be a victory parade on the twenty-ninth.”

“Any word on what they’re planning to do with us?”

“No. But if you can get to China, I would. I’m trying to arrange passage now for me and some of my men.”

“I don’t know why Trudy doesn’t go.”

“And you should as well, big guy. Nothing for you here, right? Listen, best of luck, and we’ll have a drink when this is all over, okay? Call me if you’re ever in New York.” They shake hands and Gubbins leaves, trailing palpable clouds of American prosperity and assurance.

Trudy comes over.

“You remember Sophie Biggs and her husband; we just saw them at Manley’s party,” she tells him. “Well, her husband knows some Japanese and so he spoke some to a few soldiers in the street and they thought he was being disrespectful and they shot him in the knee. And he was lucky, Sophie says. He’s not in good shape because the hospitals have been bombed and are operating on the barest of levels. Delia says they’re setting up checkpoints soon, so we’re not going to be able to get around without passes. Should we go back up and get our things? Should we stay up there or come back down here? It is rather more convivial down here in town. I was going a bit stir crazy up there.”

“I think it would be nice if we moved into town, yes. But there’s no room here. We shouldn’t sleep on the floor here when we have perfectly good beds at home. We should conserve our strength to prepare for whatever might be ahead. Who knows when we’ll get to sleep well again.”

“So you think we should stay at Angeline’s?”

“I just don’t know where we would stay in town. I’m not going to stay here.” He gestures around. “This is a riot waiting to happen. I think it’s going to get ugly here, and I don’t mean with the Japanese.”

“So cynical. Isn’t that my job? ” But she doesn’t disagree. “Isn’t it funny,” she says. “We’re at war but most of what we’ve done is wait around for something to happen.”

“You don’t want anything to happen, Trudy. We want everything to remain boring and uneventful.”

“But you know what I mean. We just sit at home and look at each other. Is that what war is? I wonder what Vivien Leigh is doing right at this very moment.”

He slaps her lightly on the bottom. “She’s fast asleep,” he says.

Edwina Storch comes over with Mary, her partner.

“How are you, my dear,” she says to Trudy.

“All right, darling. How are you all faring?”

“Can’t complain, but trying to figure out the new order and how to go about things.”

“It’s like quicksand, isn’t it?” Trudy says.

“You’re a survivor, though,” says Edwina, with an odd cast in her voice.

Trudy pauses.

“As are you,” she says lightly. “I’m sure we’ll all be raising a glass of champagne to each other after this is all over.”

“I certainly hope so,” says Edwina. “You’re at home?”

“No, at Angeline’s,” says Trudy. “Don’t know if that’s the best place, but that’s where we are for now.”

“Well, be well,” Edwina says. “I’m sure we will see each other soon.”

“I certainly hope so,” says Trudy. When the women leave, Trudy makes a face at Will, sticking out her tongue.

They gather up Ned and Angeline, Trudy kissing everyone in sight, and stop by a newly sprung market to buy rice, choi sam, and rambutans at an exorbitant price, then drive home carefully, avoiding the main roads, feeling like some strange, newly orphaned family.

The electricity finally goes out on New Year’s Eve. Will has been making quick, urgent drives to town to get information and supplies, trying to avoid running into any Japs. He’s been successful for the most part, with the exception of one day when he was in the car with Ned, leaving town with a sack of rice, melon seeds, and some tins of bully beef, feeling rather victorious at his successful scavenging. A Japanese soldier appeared suddenly on the road ahead of them and waved down their car. Will’s stomach had plummeted into the seat.

“Don’t say anything,” he warned Ned. The soldier had them open the trunk. He looked at the rice and looked at them, and then had them get out of the car. Gesturing with his rifle, he had them empty their pockets and take off their wristwatches.

“American?” he asked.

“English.”

The man laughed. He looked to be around twenty-two, with a wide, naïve face.

“We win!” He pushed up his sleeve to reveal five wristwatches, lined up on his pale arm.

There was no reply for that, so when the man took their money and their watches and the rice and beef, Will and Ned got into the car silently and went back home. They had felt lucky.