Enemy Camp by David Hill Page B

camp this afternoon, and said we kids can ride out with him, so that’s good.
    He and Mum just sat around this morning, and drank a million cups of tea, and talked over the fence to the Watsons. I took my bike to show Barry and Clarry the carrier. They got new pullovers their gran knitted them, and some books from the Railways Staff Christmas Club.
    I hadn’t actually gone there to show them my carrier. I wanted to ask Barry about Susan Proctor liking me. I lay awake last night, trying to make sense out of it.
    I couldn’t ask him, though, since Clarry was there. But he can’t be right; not snobby Susan.
    After lunch, Dad put on his uniform. Barry andClarry arrived, and we all saluted him the way he’d taught us. We set off for camp, Dad towing Clarry. (‘I need the exercise, after all I ate yesterday.’)
    The streets of Featherston were quiet. The Tararuas were clear and greeny-blue. Cows and sheep chewed on their Boxing Day lunch. ‘Corker day, boys!’ Dad exclaimed. ‘You OK there, Clarry?’
    ‘Fine, thanks. Mr MacKenzie? Do you think there’ll be an invasion now?’
    My father chuckled. ‘I reckon we’ve got the Japs on the run. Mustn’t count our chickens before they’re hatched, but I don’t think you’ll need to live in the bush after all.’
    I remembered something. ‘Miss Mutter asked us once: “I hope you all know how to find food in the bush?” Terry O’Donaghue said “I’d look for a meat-pie tree.” He nearly got the strap.’
    It was over a week since I’d seen the camp. Nobody was waving a rifle around today, thank goodness. There seemed to be even more wooden huts; the tents where the prisoners lived at first were all gone. Groups of blue uniforms moved or stood behind the high rows of barbed wire. A ring of figures watched two others moving around in the middle. The Japs were wrestling again.
    We stopped at the barrier. ‘G’day, Jack,’ the guard wheezed, and I recognised Dad’s friend Bruce. ‘G’day, lads. Have a good Christmas?’
    ‘Great, thanks, Bruce,’ my father replied. ‘OK if the boys come up to the gate with me?’
    Bruce winked. ‘Colonel’s away in Wellington. I haven’t seen you.’
    As we began wheeling our bikes forward, a figure turned away from those watching the wrestling. I recognised him straightaway.
    ‘Alright, lads,’ Dad went. ‘Best behaviour, eh? Very polite.’
    As we reached the gate, where two other guards stood with rifles and bayonets slung, he nodded to the man behind the barbed wire. ‘Good day, Lieutenant Ito.’
    The Jap inclined his head a fraction. Then to my surprise, Dad said, ‘This is my son, Ewen. And his friends, Barry Morris and Clarry Morris.’
    Lieutenant Ito said nothing. I hesitated, then went, ‘
Konnichiwa
. Hello.’ Barry did the same, after a struggle. Some people stare or look embarrassed when they hear his stammer, but the Jap officer remained expressionless. His burn marks were fading. After a second, he gave us another tiny nod.
    My father was turning towards the gate guards when Ito spoke. He was gazing at Clarry. ‘You do not walk today.’
    ‘No. But I can. Look.’ Clarry began lifting his legs off the trolley.
    The Jap lifted one hand. Clarry stopped. ‘I have seenyou. Do not be foolish. What is your age?’
    I think we all felt surprised. Dad watched. ‘I’m ten,’ Clarry said.
    ‘I have the son.’ Ito did not raise his voice, but it carried clearly. Other prisoners had turned, and watched quietly while their officer spoke. The wrestlers had stopped.
    ‘He is also ten,’ the dark-haired figure said. ‘You are … high. Tall.’
    Clarry was pulling himself up, holding onto the seat of Dad’s bike. My father reached out a hand, then drew it back.
    ‘What’s your son’s name?’ Clarry asked. After a second, he added, ‘Sir’.
    Ito kept gazing. Then: ‘He is Haru.’
    Clarry repeated it. ‘Haru.’ Then he asked, ‘Will you teach us some Japanese?’
    Another voice spoke from inside