The Man Who Got Out Of Japan

CHAPTER ONE

The British Protectorate of Tanganyika, 1941

A red moon hung in the sky, drums thundered and every mother in the region looked at Sam as he arrived at the dance. He couldn't understand why, but it made the village celebration into a daunting event. Girls huddled together, keen to fill the African night with their singing. One young woman giggled, whispering to her friends. Turning to avoid their attention, he caught sight of a lady standing alone by the thatched meeting house, which struck him as strange. She looked directly at him before drawing a purple shawl about her shoulders and stepping back into deep shadow.

'Sam! Come, have some beer,' Asha called. It was his party. The summons could not be ignored. An elder of elders, Asha had been made Kiongozi, chief of the Northern Highlands, eligible to wear the regalia of his forefathers. This battledress included ostrich feather headgear and shuka cape lined in leopard skin. 'Here come the beauties,' he declared, raising his hands to greet the maidens who shuffled forward in single file wearing oiled leather garments embroidered with cowrie shells to symbolise destiny and prosperity. Strings of seeds tied around their ankles made rhythmic clicks to appease the ancestors. As they formed a circle and began to sing in the firelight, Sam caught the scent of wild lavender anointing their smartly shaven heads and moved back. The giggling girl he had once courted jostled last in line, shining with perspiration. They hadn't spoken in weeks, but her father nodded, blessing the prospect of a union each time he took a sip of beer. Although she was sweet-natured and not without allure, it was unlikely she would be able to help him to establish a farm-mechanic's workshop. It had been made clear that she wanted ten children.

He was about to walk towards the meeting house when Asha grabbed him by the arm. 'Your drink! Try this.' He handed Sam what looked like watery porridge. 'My daughter has become adept at brewing. You must go and talk to her. She is looking beautiful.'

It was the last thing Sam wanted to do. Asha's daughter was aged fifteen and intensely irritating. 'Is this made from millet?' The pombe beer tasted thick, warm and gritty.

'Sorghum. I added a dead skink and more.' Asha was joking. It was considered good luck for a chief to spit in the communal pot.

'Tony says we should add cordite.'

'That boy is obsessed with the war in Europe. I leave the secrets of inebriation to Mganga.'

'Is Mganga here?'

'He's coming this way, surrounded by women as usual.' Asha took a swig and belched triumphantly, pointing out the one authoritative figure Sam had never respected.

'Why are girls always drawn to medicine men?' He couldn't think how long fingernails or distended earlobes were deemed attractive and inched away, but the diviner caught hold of his scarred hand.

'Do you ever experience pain in your thumb?' Mganga's breath smelt of coarse tobacco.

'Not anymore. It was stitched up firmly.'

'I expect a little engine oil was included at the time.' Mganga tightened his squeeze, adept at overwhelming customers with compliments. 'When are they going to make you an elder? Let me know if you are keen to prove yourself worthy. I may be able to help.'

Thanks to the sorghum beer, Sam answered him with nothing but a small burp. Mganga looked at him in derision, but was distracted by the choral procession and began clapping. Dust rose as the maidens stamped in rhythm with the drums, bowing their heads. A line of young warriors followed them, adorned in body-paint, grasping any opportunity to display virility. They leapt high, defying tradition each time they brushed behind girls they were forbidden to touch. The air hummed with anticipation, drumbeats gaining momentum as sparks from the fire rose into the night sky.

Sam decided to make better use of his time, and retreated to the meeting house to introduce himself to the stranger. He found her standing in the cooler air, wrapped in her purple shawl. As she moved towards him, the fabric fell back, revealing the face of a striking woman he had known long ago.

'Meru?' He was stunned for a second. It was Asha's eldest daughter, born of his first wife.

'Sam!' She acknowledged him in a low voice, mumbling customary greetings.

'Forgive me.' He touched the fabric of her wrap. 'I didn't recognise you at first.'

'I have returned from the cattle lands.' She looked fragile, on the edge of collapse.

'For how long?'

'Forever, I hope.'

Memories came plunging forward, jolting his senses. He hadn't seen Meru since they were children. Her eyes had always been huge, but her high cheekbones and straight nose now granted her nobility and stature. She had gained unexpected beauty. 'You've grown your hair,' he mumbled. A thousand tiny plaits were piled on the back of her head.

'One of the other wives enjoyed braiding it.' She seemed breathless. 'It's so good to see you. Are you well?'

Sam realized why the older people of the village had been staring at him. They must have remembered how upset he'd been when Meru had left at the age of fourteen, that he'd always wanted to marry her. 'Your father suggested we might speak.' He wanted to be polite, but the noise of revelry made this difficult. 'Can we sit down?'

Meru turned and led him back towards her parents' thatched dwelling where a simmering pot of cornmeal demanded attention. She gathered her garments with grace and knelt by the outdoor fire, inviting him to rest while she raked embers with a stick. 'How is your baba, your revered father?' she asked.

'Ageing, but eager for news of the war.' He knew Baba Hasani would be excited to see her.

'He taught me so much. I often think of him.'

'Tell me why Asha needed to grant me permission to talk to you.'

She took a deep breath. 'Everyone will know soon. My husband has passed away.' Her voice sounded hollow, devoid of emotion. 'It's the reason my father is to be a spokesman for the people.'

'I didn't realise you had been widowed.' She was too young for such a status. 'I am sorry. How did he die?'

'He was stung by a bee.' Flames illuminated Meru's profile as she explained what had happened. 'We summoned a European doctor, but he said the shock must have been too much for Imba's heart.'

'Why have you left his village?'

'His boma,' she reminded him, referring to her husband's status as chief and cattle baron. 'Imba's family are in uproar. They think I should not have made honey when I knew bees posed a threat to his health.'

The drums calling up spirits of the ancestors continued to interrupt them, but Sam ploughed on. 'How can a bee belong to anyone?'

'They were my hives.'

'Are you in trouble?'

Meru glanced at him twice, her face filling with tension. 'Imba was always quick to take offence and could not accept that his days were over. He resisted death, blaming me for his pain.'

'Please accept my condolences.' Sam swallowed, knowing his words came across as trite. 'I should have come to the funeral.'

'My father came,' she muttered, beginning to weep. 'I returned here with him,'

'You're back. You're home, safe and well.' He reached out to touch her, but Asha came striding towards them.

'You've found my beautiful daughter,’ Asha called, 'along with hot food.'

'Say nothing more,' she whispered, pulling back. 'I don't know how long I can stay.'

*

On the long walk back from Imba's boma with her father, Meru had sworn never to marry again. Yet, as her father joined them at the fireside, the years fell away and her resolve melted. Sam sounded different, but the light in his spirit was just the same. He was ready to listen, concerned for her well-being. As a recent widow, she was forbidden to look a man in the eye, and yet she stared at him in wonder. Short with even features, he had the same steady gaze and quick smile. The connection they had known as teenagers had not changed, a dancing union of souls that spiralled back through time, rooting her in the very earth of Africa.

With her soul alight and thoughts tumbling, Meru didn't think she would ever sleep that night, but her grandma put her to bed like a child. Lulled by the clicking of cicadas she slept until the comforting smell of woodsmoke filled the air, a little dog barked and a cup of spinach tea was being lifted to her lips by her sweet mother. She couldn’t believe it was morning. The younger sister Meru had only just met waved as she left for work, a hoe balanced on her head. Little else had changed.

Too tired to speak, Meru handed back the tin cup, drew a blanket over her head and slept again. Two days passed before she rose, wrapped a kanga around her body and walked down to the river to bathe. Birdsong and the sheer relief of being beneath the tall trees of home granted her peace and serenity. She stood, naked in the clear mountain water, scrubbing the odour of cow dung from her hair, thankful to be in a place without dust or buzzing flies. She was free, liberated from countless obligations. It was as if the ancestors were smiling.

Since their conversation that first evening, Sam had been elusive, which puzzled her. 'Is he married?' she dared to ask her grandmother.

'Too poor. Always covered in grease.'

Meru hid the sudden elation that flowed through her being, but he remained distant. She assumed that he was being kept busy fixing farm machinery, but as she shared mushed pawpaw and cornmeal with the old ladies, she began to fear that he might have heard about the murder of Imba's idiot son. It had been some time ago, but the violent tale would repulse anyone. She was concerned someone might equate the incident to her late husband's death and almost expected to be hauled up before the authorities in Arusha, the daughter of one chief and widow of another, displayed for all to ridicule.

Asha became increasingly animated, talking of the exploits of the East Africa Force in Ethiopia with The Emperor Haile Selassie returning to Addis Ababa. He called menfolk of the village into the low thatched meeting house next to her grandma's compound to listen to his wireless radio. Meru stepped outside to collect firewood just as Mganga joined them. She had not seen him since she was a girl. His facial scarring seemed more pronounced, but he looked fit and impressive, dressed in a ceremonial monkey-skin cloak with discs of wood set into his earlobes, power exuding from his being. He acknowledged Meru with a nod before lifting his stave high to salute Asha. It was embellished with vulture claws, labelling him a diviner of distinction. Something within her stirred. She had always respected Mganga as a thinker and philosopher. He had spirit-blessed artisans' carvings on the roadside to protect them from being stolen and was adept at sourcing ivory or giraffe hair, which could be made into jewellery. She smiled at him, wondering if he would be able to help her sell beeswax or honey for medicinal purposes.

There was still no sign of Sam, but his old father ran up to greet her, clapping his hands and doing a little dance to illustrate his delight. Dressed in the smart blue kanzu of a cook, Hasani was full of fun, wearing the battered fez that she remembered as being a hat with no brim.

'We have missed you, ma!' he whistled through the gap in his front teeth, clasping her hands in his. 'You must come and see what Sam has been up to. We have taps in the kitchen.'

Meru laughed for the first time since returning home.

'He's very bright, as you know, but can be shy. You'll find him down at the workshop, wanting to learn about the insides of a motor car. ''Forever looking around the next bend,'' as Hans would say.'

'Hans? Have you heard from him?'

'He remains in Europe. I guard his mother's piano, hoping the family will return someday.' Hasani rattled on, talking about paths at the farmhouse that needed endless sweeping. Hans-Werner had been an ally when they were young, willing to help her in times of trouble. Meru now had neither money nor transport, curtailing her options and stirring worrying dilemmas that he would have tossed aside.

'The time has come for Sam to prove himself as a warrior and acquire a wife,' Asha proclaimed, emerging from the meeting house to thump Hasani on the shoulder.

'Does he have the funds?' Mganga asked, winking at Asha.

'Ten head of cattle would be nice. What do you reckon, Meru?'

She had forgotten how aggravating her father could be, but any reply would not have been deemed honourable. Smarting, yet crippled by shyness, Meru retreated to her grandma's dark hut, to find the family matriarch rubbing oil into her joints.

'Have you seen Sam, Mama?'

'That young man does nothing but lie under motor vehicles. You need to get rid of those blotches under your eyes. Come, let me soften your skin.'

*

Sam wanted to be bold and straight-forward but was daunted by Meru's grace and beauty. He told himself that any interaction needed be her choice. What he did not expect was for her to wave a can-opener under his nose.

'Are you able to operate such a device?' A small tin of fish in tomato sauce was thrust in front of his face. 'My father has been presented with this gift. I must prepare it for the evening meal.' She was smiling.

He took his time opening the pilchards. 'We could walk up to the shambas to find onions or wild spinach to add to your dish.'

'I cannot leave the cooking.' She wrapped her shawl around her. 'Darkness is falling.'

'It won't take long.'

'You think like a bee.'

'You're the hard-worker,' he pointed out, longing to take her hand.

'But my brain is similar to that of a she-elephant.'

Sam wanted to laugh. Hans used to liken Meru to a baby elephant when they were children as she was forever rushing around. She was now so regal and composed. 'I'd better tell Asha neither the bee nor the elephant wants to cause offence.'

They heard her father's laughter.

'Don't worry. He will never abandon a guest.' Meru shifted her pot from the heat. 'Certainly not a man wearing uniform.'

Asha was introducing a diminutive army officer to a group of youths who had descended from Momella carrying ceremonial shields. They had been strutting about like crowned cranes, each one eager to possess a rifle.

Sam led Meru through the maize field beyond the village, as he had as a boy. They were soon immersed in a hushed, green world, the wholesome smell of leafy plants enfolding them in calm. It was like walking back to the days of their youth, except that Meru now moved with her chin lifted slightly, her hands parting the leaves with grace. They ventured less than fifty paces when she turned, bending a stem between them. 'We are not going to find onions or spinach here.'

This was true. 'But it is quiet.' Nothing could be heard but the calls of bush-babies and gloop, gloop songs of tree frogs.

She caught Sam smiling. 'Why are you not amongst the warriors?'

'Those boys can find nothing better to do than plaster down their hair with grease.'

'Do you not like to see them in ceremonial dress?'

While she wore soft material that lay draped across her shoulders before it fell around her body, Sam's torn cotton shirt and European trousers had seen better days. 'We need to better ourselves and move forward. Head-bands and knobkerries have become little more than artefacts.'

Meru raised an eyebrow. 'It is good to utilize symbols of our heritage.'

'I'm scared of being bound by tradition. It is like being dictated to by the dead.'

'Young men need to prove their worth. I have been confined by custom, but it has its place. We must endure a time of suffering or risk being defeated by insignificant trials.'

Sam stepped back, adjusting to her insight and maturity. 'You're right. I learned to befriend heart-ache as a child.'

Meru knew that Blackwater fever had taken his mother and so many in the Usambara Mountains that his father had brought him west to escape the sorrow. She looked downwards, in respect for the dead, but Sam was not one for mourning.

'I'm told that if you survive sickness, as I did, you will live forever.'

'Mere survival is not enough.' Meru's shawl slipped from around her shoulders leaving her neck to catch the moonlight. She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

'What's wrong?' His chest tightened. 'What ails you?'

'I thought returning here would being me joy, but everyone has sped forward without me.'

'You have me,' he said in a rush, reaching for her hand.

She breathed in sharply, shaking her head.

'Nothing has changed.'

Meru moved out of reach, looking at him in dismay. 'I'm far too old for you.'

'We're almost the same age.'

'It is not as if we even be seen together. The whole community would express their disapproval. You need an eighteen year-old with child-bearing hips,' she added, smiling sadly.

'Do I?' Sam was stunned.

Meru wrapped her shawl around her. 'I would not make a suitable wife.'

He turned, defeated by her rejection.

'Imba had many children,' she went on, 'but I could not bear my own. I wanted them with all my heart, but they never came.'