Chapter 3
“Suicide!”
The word, though whispered, woke me. Startled, I propped myself up on my elbows and peered through the haze of mosquito netting, unnoticed by the trio of strangers talking with my father.
“Damn fool jumped off the roof!” sputtered a short, red-faced man.
“Does anyone know why?” my father asked.
“Drunk, more than likely,” replied the second strangers, “and landed us in a worse pickle than himself. Now the Japs have forbidden us to go above the second floor. We’ll be packed like sardines before they get half of us in here.”
“Enough to make me jump, too, if I didn’t know the Yanks’d be here in a week or two!” the sputterer exclaimed.
At this point Mother and Emily stepped into the room, fresh from a trip to the bathroom.
The third man, who up to now had been chewing silently on an empty pipe, spoke, “Better get your family squared away on the second floor–that’s still the only space the Dominicans have released for our use. There’ll be more people arriving today, and space is at a premium.”
Dad nodded and shook hands with the pipe-smoker, who turned and led his companions away.
“Who was that?” asked Mother.
“Chap by the name of Earl Carroll,” Dad replied. “Apparently he’s in charge on our side.”
“Do you think we ought to follow his advice?” Mother asked.
“Yes I do,” Dad’s answer was unhesitating. “In view of all those Jap visitors we had last night, it would be prudent to go. Why don’t you pack while I hunt up some breakfast.”
Dad was a long time finding food. When he arrived with sticky buns and café au lait, Van was with him. While we breakfasted, Dad reported that Filipino vendors were patrolling the wrought-iron fence that fronted the University, selling all manner of things.
“And,” finished Dad, “I ordered for three cots, three mattresses, and a mosquito net for me. The Bay View one will do for you and Isabel.”
“Is that really necessary?” questioned Emily. “I mean, do you think we’ll be here long enough to need cots?”
“It can’t hurt to be comfortable while we’re here,” answered my father, avoiding Emily’s gaze.
“I suppose you’re right,” sighed Van. “We may as well be comfortable, too. I’ll order a couple for us.”
The sticky buns were gone by this time, and so was most of the coffee.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” said Van, rising.
“O.K.,” agreed Dad. “Why don’t I take the girls off to find a room, while you find space somewhere for us?”
“Can’t be done. Haven’t you heard? The Japs want the British and the Americans separated.”
“Whatever for?” gasped Mother.
Van and Daddy shrugged and gathered their respective goods together. I picked up my pillowcase and Teddy and followed the adults downstairs.
On the second floor, Van indicated that the rooms assigned to British women were to the right. We peeked into the first one. Bedlam reigned. Mounds of baggage were guarded by their owners, most of whom were shouting at the guardian of a neighboring mound. A variety of sleeping arrangements had been concocted; the lucky few had folding canvas cots; some had commandeered desks; still others had settled for the floor, where they had laid a petate or blankets. Several crying children, perched on suitcases, added to the din.
“No good trying to squeeze in here,” muttered Dad, motioning us on.
Each room we looked into duplicated the first, until we got to room 46 at the end of the corridor. Here a group of young women were arranging their things by the windows. Several big tables, made up as beds, had been grouped in the middle of the room under the light. The whole back wall was unoccupied. Dad darted in, ignoring glares from the residents, and put out things in the corner.
An elderly lady who looked vaguely familiar walked over.
“I’m Mrs. Rimmer.” she introduced herself. “Earl Carroll has asked me to monitor this room for the time being. Don’t I know you?”
“We’re the Cogans,” said Dad. “I believe we’ve met at the Manila Club. Isn’t your husband in the import/export trade?”
“You’re right on both counts. I just wanted to be sure you’re British, as this is a British room.”
“That we are,” Dad replied. “And of course, I’m leaving to find my own room. Stay put in this corner, Helen, till I get back with the cots.”
Mother and I marked off a space in the corner for two cots, using our suitcases and the cases of food to define our perimeted. Then we settled down to guard our belongings and wait for Dad to come with the cots.
When I got restless, Mother let me go over to one of the two big windows in the room. The back of the campus lay below me. A driveway stretched from the Main Building to a gate, which was shut and guarded by a Japanese soldier with a rifle on his shoulder. On both sides of the drive, high grass almost hid the trenches which had been dug beside it. A low building shaped like a fancy “H” was on the west side of the drive, while a small rectangular building lay on the east side. Enclosing everything was a ten-foot-high concrete wall, above which poked the roofs of the houses across the street.
Meanwhile, other newcomers were taking up residence in room 46, and the back wall was filling up fast. Finally, when only the space closest to the door was left, a fat lady with a suitcase in one hand, innumerable string bags in the other, and two bundles under each arm, staggered in. Seeing the space by the door, she heaved a huge sigh and plopped everything down with a clatter.
By mid-afternoon Dad had brought our folding iron cots, with wooden slats to support thin mattresses. We made the pair up like one double bed, with Bay View Sheets, a Bay View blanket, and the Bay View mosquito net over all.
We were chatting with Mrs. Rimmer when Auntie Emily called us into the corridor. There we foudn Van bearing a piece of meat wrapped in a palm leaf, and Dad carrying an empty gallon oil can, a chair leg, and a copy of the Manila Tribune.
“Is there anyone in your room with a frying pan?” asked Dad.
“Yes,” replied Mother, “the fat lady has one in a string bag. Why?”
“We need one right away. See if she’ll lend it to us for a share of Van’s meat.”
Mother reentered the room and soon emerged with the fat lady, gally brandishing her frying pan. Miss Allen, an Australian nurse, was delighted with the bargain.
The six of us traipsed down to one of the two patios around which the Main Building was constructed. Dad pulled a can opener out of his back pocket and began hacking a hole in the side pf the oil can. Van went to work on the chair leg with a pocket knife and his shoe, splintering the wood into bits that would fit in the oil can, soon-to-be-a-stove. By the time we ladies has looted half a dozen desk-chairs from first floor classrooms, the stove and fuel were ready.
Dad, who was the only one with any idea of how to cook on such a primitive contrivance, took charge. He stuffed a generous wad of the Manila Tribune into the bottom of the stove, overlaid it with slivers of chair leg, and topped it with two substantial “logs.” the paper lit easily, but went out just as easily. Innumerable matches later, amid much smoke, small flames appeared, and the wood slivers caught and lit the chair-leg-logs. Miss Allen, who had thoughtfully brought along her cooking fork, transferred the meat to her frying pan.
Van had procured the meat through the fence from an old Spanish friend. He had not liked to ask what kind of met it was, but he was sure it was beef, and he liked his beef rare. Dad was equally sure that meat of such a pale pink hue must be pork and ought to be well done. The argument was resolved by the meat itself, as it whitened and gave off a porky odor. Dad lidded the pan with a thick section of the Tribune, and we waited for the pork be thoroughly roasted, taking turns at fanning the fire with Aunty Emily’s Chinese fan.
People began filling up the patio, many showing great interest in our stove, asking about it’s manufacturer, care, and feeding. Several scurried off in search of an oil can, and trhee successful finders returned to borrow our can opener.
Over dinner Van brought up the suicide. “Guy named Weaver jumped over the room,” he began. “I’d have thought you’d hear it where you were last night.”
“We did,” replied Dad. “But I understand the Japs want the whole episode hushed up, and they’ve forbidden us to talk about it.”
“That’s right! It caused them to lose face–having an unhappy captive.”
By this time Mother had succeeded in catching Van’s eye and was nodding in my direction.
Van quickly changed the subject. “Anyone hear how many fellow guests arrived today?”
“No firm numbers, but enough to make them open up the third floor this afternoon,” replied my father.
“How inconsistent!” exclaimed Emily. “Just this morning they made us get off the third floor.”
“It seems that Earl Carroll persuaded the university authorities that the building would suffer less with less crowding, so they agreed to allot us more space, and the commandant went along with the idea,” explained Van.
“The Japs picked an ideal spot to keep us,” commented Dad. “That wall makes it seem like a real prison. Thank god for the front rail fence where we can communicate with the outside.”
“The Japs didn’t pick out this place,” Van contradicted. “The High Commissioner’s office cleared it with the Dominicans as soon as it became obvious the city would be occupied. When the Japs arrived and said they were going to round us up, we suggested this place as convenient for them and safe for us. Those walls keep trouble out, as well as us in.”
“What do you know about the chap who’s taken over for our side?” asked my father.
“Earl Carroll? He’s an Alabaman with the drawl to prove it,” chuckled Van. “He’s spent some time here in the early thirties–selling insurance, I think. He spent the rest of the thirties in Hawaii and got back here just in time for the war.”
“Well, he seems to be taking hold. He’s established some semblance of order among us with the room monitors, and has a committee or two functioning. How did he come to take charge?” queried Dad.
“Apparently the Japs picked him out of the blue,” Van replied. “The first night an officer came up to someone and said ‘Who’s your leader?’ The guy pointed at Carroll, and the Jap put him in charge, telling him to appoint one person to monitor each room, and to see that everyone was here in the morning, or else.”
“The grape vine says the commandant is please with the setup so far. But I hear Carroll is looking for a chap who speaks Japanese to interpret for our side. Seems the commandant knows no English. Have you seen him yet?”
“No I haven’t laid eyes on him,” answered Van “but I hear his name’s Hitoshi Tomayasu, he’s a Tokyo policeman, fiftyish, and balding.”
At this point a stranger strolled over to our group, introducing himself as Dan Raleigh. His accent proclaimed him an American as soon as he opened his mouth to tell Carroll had asked him to attend to discipline for a while.
“The Japs want us in bed by ten, and with nearly twelve hundred of us, we’ll need to get started early to get a turn in the bathrooms. That’s why I’m suggesting that you all drift up to your rooms now.”
Docilely, we gathered our belongings, returned the chairs, and went our separate ways.
Mother unpacked our night things, and we went to brush our teeth and wash up.
“How I wish we could have a shower,” Mother commented, as we joined the line outside the bathroom.
“Why can’t we?” I demanded.
“There aren’t any.”
Santo Tomas University, the oldest in the Eastern Hemisphere, was not residential. It’s usual complement of 6000 students had to find lodging at pensions in the city. To be sure there were a few showers in the gym and monastery where the Fatheres lived; however, in the three large classroom buildings there were no showers at all.
It took us half an hour to get our turn at the facilities, which bu then were filthy, with soap scum lining the basins, and waste remaining in the toilets, which could not keep up with the demands of constant flushing.
When we got back to Room 46, Mother read me a Just So Story–how the mariner of infinite-resource-and-sagacity had not only escaped the belly of the whale, but had insured that whales would henceforth be incapable of swallowing people.
“Go to sleep, now,” murmured Mother when she finished reading. “I’ll be out in the hall talking to the other ladies, if you need me.”
Even the wailing of other children and the bustle and talk around me could not keep me awake. Nor did I waken when Mother got into bed beside me for her first night away from Daddy.
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