The Persimmon Tree Read online

  I confess a disparate thought had begun to form in my mind: that this might be a conspiracy between father and daughter and that Anna had been playing me for a sucker all along. The supper, the butterfly hunt, was it simply all a come-on? If it was, it was more than I could bear to think about. She was so beautiful, so lovely; for her to turn out to be deceitful would have broken my heart. But now she obviously wasn’t part of a conspiracy. She’d freely admitted that her family’s destination was to be Australia. She couldn’t possibly have been implicated or she would never have proferred this information and so exposed the Dutchman’s motive. What’s more, she wanted to accompany me. I couldn’t believe my ears. There was no need for the Dutchman to con me. With Anna on board I’d happily accept the use of the cutter and give it back to him, to her, when we arrived. A month at sea alone with Anna was a wild and exhilarating thought.

  I turned to look at the Dutchman for confirmation. His large head had turned almost purple, the veins on his neck stood out like fat worms and the capillaries that normally flushed his chubby cheeks looked as if they might burst at any moment. He was snorting like a rhino. Then his huge fist came crashing down on the table. ‘Verdomme, nee! Nee! Nee!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Papa! Papa!’ Anna cried, rushing to her father’s side. She kissed him several times on the forehead and then started to knead his shoulders.

  ‘I think I’d better go,’ I said, standing.

  ‘No, please to stay, Nicholas,’ Anna cried.

  ‘I don’t think I’m welcome,’ I said in a whisper though conscious that the Dutchman could probably hear me.

  Anna walked from behind her father to where he could see her. ‘So, papa, for Nicholas it is okay to sail to Australia, ja? For me, nee, no?’

  The Dutchman ignored his daughter and looked directly at me. ‘She is too young.’

  ‘But, sir, you said it was safe, that she is a good sailor and knows how to sail the Vleermuis.’

  ‘She must look after her stepmother!’ he said, raising his voice.

  ‘She has already Kleine Kiki, papa,’ Anna protested. ‘Katerina wants only she.’

  ‘Nee! Too young!’ Piet Van Heerden shouted. I could see he was coming close to losing his temper again.

  Anna was not put off. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at her father, her eyes daring him. ‘For what, Papa? Why I am too young?’

  The Dutchman’s fist smashed down on the table. ‘Heere, man! Jy is te jong om te fok!’

  It was crude and direct and said in Dutch, but the one essential word needed no translation.

  ‘Sir, you have my word of —’

  ‘Sssh! Nicholas,’ Anna interrupted. I looked at her, surprised. Tears formed in her lovely eyes, then escaped to run slowly down her cheeks. Her voice was steady as she spoke to her father in English. ‘My mother was fifteen! Mijn moeder was slechts vijftien!’ she repeated in Dutch.

  The Dutchman brought his arm back to strike Anna as he rose from the bench. I saw the dark healing line of the superficial cut Ishmael, the barman I’d replaced, had made with the lime-slicing knife down the length of his massive forearm. I had the Dutchman in a headlock before he was halfway up, squeezing hard to cut off his air supply and pulling him backwards so that he was off balance and then forcing him back onto the bench. He was a huge man, but still enormously strong as he pulled at my arms. But I was standing and he was seated, giving me the immediate advantage, and I knew he couldn’t resist for long while I was choking him. Unable to pry my arms from his neck, his face near-purple from the constriction, he gave up and tapped the table with the butt of his hand to indicate that he’d had enough.

  ‘First promise you won’t hurt Anna, or punish her!’ I demanded.

  A croak followed and a slight movement of his head and shaking of his shoulders indicated to me that he agreed. He tapped the table a second time. I was happy to release him. I wasn’t small and I guess I was fairly strong, but had he been a younger and fitter man he might well have been too much for me. As it was I was panting from the effort of holding him down.

  Anna’s frightened face looked first at me and then down at her father. ‘Oh, Papa!’ she howled and rushed to embrace him, kissing his scarlet and furiously perspiring face.

  ‘Now I’d better go,’ I said emphatically, still panting. ‘Will you be okay, Anna?’

  ‘Ja, thank you, Nicholas,’ Anna said, glancing up, now wiping her father’s face using her tulip apron. I noticed that a small trickle of blood ran from his nose and that a smudge of it stained her pretty sarong. ‘Nicholas, please forgive mijn father,’ Anna said, appealing to me through sudden tears.

  The Dutchman looked up, but when he opened his mouth his voice, intended no doubt to sound as a fierce reprimand, came out as a gravelled rasp. ‘Go! You will not see again Anna. If you do I shoot you! You understand?’ In his newly acquired squeaky voice it didn’t sound too dangerous.

  But Anna screamed. ‘Nee, nee!’ she shouted. ‘Do not believe, Nicholas! He doesn’t mean.’ Then she began to sob, using the apron to cover her face.

  ‘Whore! Whore! Whore!’ It was Katerina, the stepmother, wheeling herself into the kitchen and shaking an accusing finger at the Dutchman. All that was needed was for Little Kiki to appear and to drop the dishes on the kitchen floor and we had a complete Mack Sennett scene, the full slapstick. But, of course, at the time I thought it far from funny.

  I picked up my canvas bag and turned to go when I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t given Anna the specimen I’d prepared of the Clipper. ‘Oh, this is for you, Anna,’ I said, removing the small display box from the bag and placing it on the table. ‘With my love,’ I said softly.

  Walking home I was close to tears on several occasions. ‘What a balls-up! What a total fucking balls-up!’ I said aloud, looking at the sky and wondering how love could possibly hurt so much and how lost love hurt even more.

  I lay awake for most of the night. Naturally I expected to be fired from the restaurant the following day. This meant losing my room and having to find alternative accommodation. It was high time to get out, to attempt to go home. I admit I felt thoroughly sorry for myself. I decided I would write a letter to Anna, telling her I loved her and giving her an address in Australia. But then I told myself confessing my love was a mawkish thing to do and she’d probably tear it up and laugh. In the two days we’d known each other, two pecks on the cheek, one quite close to my mouth, were the sum total of the affection she’d shown me. She’d admitted she liked me on two occasions, but this wasn’t exactly a burning commitment or a meaningful love affair. No promises, no lingering sighs, no ‘if only’s, not even a kiss on the lips. In total, a shared meal on a worn linoleum floor and a morning spent hunting butterflies followed by the utter fiasco of tonight.

  I packed my gear in anticipation of being given my marching orders in the morning. To my surprise there was no knock on the door first thing to tell me to hit the road. I spent the morning at the docks seeing if I could get a working passage out, but without any luck. I turned up at De Kost Kamer for the afternoon shift and nothing was said, nor was the Dutchman to be seen. I spent the early part of the evening visiting the dockside pubs questioning seamen about work on board, but again nothing. Crew were, for the most part, Malaccans or from Goa, and I didn’t speak Dutch so the various ships’ masters I talked to saw no point in my working as a third officer or a liaison officer on one of the tramps now hastily converted to take refugees.

  At 9 p.m., somewhat depressed, I arrived back at the restaurant compound to see a light in my room and Anna’s bicycle leaning against the wall. My heart started to beat rapidly and I felt a lump in my throat. Anna must have heard me coming because the door opened and with the soft lamplight behind her she stood, a slender silhouette, in the doorway.

  ‘So now you are coming, Mr Butterfly.’

  I grinned, so pleased to see her that I w
as momentarily lost for words. ‘Anna, you came!’ I managed at last.

  ‘Of course, Nicholas, why not?’

  ‘Well, last night… ?’

  ‘Ja, I am sorry.’ She stepped aside to let me in and the scent of lemons was back in my life.

  ‘And your father? He knows you’re here?’ I asked tentatively.

  She giggled. ‘You are afraid, ja? He will not shoot you, Nicholas.’

  ‘Afraid? Not for me, Anna… for you,’ I said, hastily correcting her.

  ‘Nooo! He is mijn papa! He will not hurt me.’ She seated herself on the stool and adjusted her dress as she had done the first night we’d met. ‘This morning he is coming to me, still he is talking’ — she cleared her throat, touching her thorax — ‘how you say?’

  ‘Hoarsely? I’m sorry, I thought he was going to hit you, Anna,’ I apologised.

  ‘Ja, hoarse. Then he says, “Nick is n regter man, Anna. Hy is n goede jange kerel.”’ She laughed. ‘It means you are a proper man. A good young man,’ she translated. She looked down at her feet, then slowly back up at me. ‘Nicholas, myself I think also the same,’ she said shyly.

  I was suddenly choked, tears blurring my eyes. I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. ‘Oh, Anna… can’t you see I’m crazy about you?’

  Anna jumped to her feet and, throwing her arms around my neck, kissed me, this time on the mouth, holding the kiss with her lips soft and tender and ever so slightly apart. So much for my masculinity. My knees started to tremble as I put my arms around her slender back and I drew her to me. Oh, God! Do I open my lips? Hers are slightly open. Do I put my tongue into her mouth? You’re supposed to do that, aren’t you? Oh shit! I should know all this! Will she know I’ve never kissed a girl before? Oh, Jesus, oh, oh, oh! Then quite suddenly Anna pulled away, her arms still about my neck. ‘Mr Butterfly!’ she murmured softly, then sighed. We kissed and kissed and kissed again and I was getting better at it by the moment and our lips parted. Oh, my God!

  Now I can’t say all this kissing and holding tightly didn’t affect the nether parts, the fire down below, because it did. But those were different times to today and I didn’t even have the courage to put my hand on Anna’s breasts, even through the material of her cotton dress.

  All good things must come to an end and Anna eventually pulled away from me. ‘You must eat, Nicholas,’ she said in a practical voice. ‘I have some ryst-tafel but it is not hot; also coffee, it is hot from the thermos.’

  I had been too miserable to eat the ample meal the restaurant provided before I went to work at the bar earlier and realised that I was positively starving. Whereas the misery of thwarted love left me without an appetite, love’s sudden recognition had the opposite effect and I wolfed down the rice dish followed by what remained of the peach pie of the previous night. Anna poured two mugs of coffee, handing me one.

  ‘Nicholas, mijn papa, he say you can have Vleermuis if you want,’ she said suddenly. I remained silent, placing the mug of coffee on the packing case. Anna quickly added, ‘The papers he will give, they are yours, you don’t pay. When you are in Australia you can keep always that boat.’

  ‘Anna, will he let you come?’ I asked.

  Anna shook her head slowly, then burst into tears. We were sitting on the edge of the iron cot and I took the mug from her shaking hands, placed it beside my own and took her into my arms as she began to sob, her head against my chest. ‘I must stay!’ she sobbed. ‘Mijn stepmother… mijn father… to look after them… Kleine Kiki, she cannot… she was only just turned thirteen… Mijn papa… he cannot… he is a man… I must… ’ She looked up at me tearfully. ‘Oh, Nicholas!’ Then she burst into fresh sobs.

  ‘Anna, Anna, don’t cry… it’s okay! You’re going to Australia. I’ll see you there.’ I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Anna, I don’t want to lose you!’ I cried.

  I withdrew my arms and reached for my handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Her own was a wet ball clutched in her hand. ‘Here, use this,’ I said, handing her my handkerchief. ‘Now listen to me,’ I said, trying to sound practical. ‘When I get back I’m going to join up — I turn eighteen in nine days.’

  ‘Oh, Nicholas, we are going in seven days! I cannot be here for your birthday!’ she cried, distressed.

  ‘I’ll be at sea, silly!’ I joked. ‘We’ll celebrate it together in Australia.’ I hesitated, then added tentatively, ‘It can be sort of our engagement?’ Then with my heart in my mouth I asked, ‘After the war… will you… er… marry me, Anna?’

  To my surprise she giggled and kissed me smack on the mouth. Like whack! Then pulled back. ‘Of course! Mijn papa says after the war I must find a man just like you, Mr Butterfly,’ Anna said, laughing.

  I don’t suppose I knew what her reaction might be, but her ingenuous response came as a surprise. I guess I still had a lot to learn about women. Still do, as a matter of fact. In an attempt to recover I said, ‘Well then, it will have to be me. I don’t suppose there are too many butterfly collectors in my age group.’

  Anna clapped her hands, delighted. ‘Then I can be Madam Butterfly!’ she laughed, rising suddenly and plonking herself onto my lap, hands clasped around my neck as she kissed me all over my face. Oh, Jesus, she’s going to feel it! Here I was at the happiest moment in my young life and I had a hard-on that could have demolished a brick wall. I could feel it pressed against her thin cotton dress. It was pressing right on the spot it shouldn’t be! Oh God, what if I come? I have to get her off my lap!

  I pushed gently at her shoulders. ‘Anna, I… ’ But suddenly her bottom started to press downwards and her lips closed over mine, her tongue inside my mouth. ‘Oh, Jesus!’ I cried. It was too late! I was gone! All over, red rover! I was no longer in control. It was simply marvellous! I had never, of course, done the real thing, but every young bloke ‘took himself in hand’ from time to time, yet this was different, quite different; if doing it was even better I couldn’t imagine how. I had disgraced myself. The next few minutes were going to be hell. There would be a wet patch the size of a football at the front of my khaki shorts. Oh shit! What do I do next?

  Anna withdrew her lips from mine and kissed me lightly on the forehead.

  ‘Anna, I’m… ’

  ‘Sssh! Now you are feeling better, Nicholas. That is good, ja, I think so.’ She rose from my lap, her hands placed on my shoulders, smiling down at me. ‘I love you, Mr Butterfly,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna.’ I looked down into my lap, shaking my head ruefully. I could feel the hot blush infusing my face. If the damp patch wasn’t quite the size of a football, it certainly wasn’t possible to conceal in the lamplight.

  ‘You have some other?’ Anna asked, her voice suddenly practical as she pointed to my shorts. ‘I can wash, in the morning they are already dry.’

  ‘Yes, no, I’ll do it, wash them, excuse me,’ I mumbled, panicking, then pointed in the direction of the door. ‘The washroom, it’s outside.’ I reached to the end of the cot and took the towel hanging from the iron rail that made up part of the foot of the iron bedstead.

  Anna touched me lightly on the shoulder and I turned to face her, the towel held to my front. She looked at me, her face serious. ‘Nicholas, I want to make love to you very much. But we cannot. We must not make a baby.’

  ‘Oh, Anna, of course, I understand. I never thought… I can wait… I… I want to wait!’ I added with some emphasis, giving her a sincere look. I loved her and although I don’t deny that I’d fantasised about making love to her from the first day, I was still a virgin. My father was an Anglican minister. I’d always known I’d have to do the right thing. Wanted in my heart to do the right thing. God says you must. It’s just that nature is such a bastard sometimes. I took a fresh pair of shorts from my knapsack and prepared to go to the outside shower-cum-washroom and laundry.

  ‘Nicholas, I must go home now,
’ Anna said, moving forward to embrace me.

  ‘Anna, no, please, can you wait until I get back? I’ll run home with you. But first there is something I need to say to you.’

  I filled the three-feet-deep concrete tub that was set on the floor with water and washed my pants and underpants, then emptied it, refilled it, stepped in and ladled the water over me, the cold water refreshing in the humidity. I placed the offending garments over a line in the yard to dry. In all, I guess I couldn’t have been gone much more than ten minutes. Anna was sitting on the three-legged stool as pretty as a picture, her basket packed. So much had happened between us, including my disgrace, that she seemed suddenly like a different person, a part of me, a loving, familiar part from which I felt I couldn’t ever be separated.

  I kissed her. That was a part of the new feeling. I could kiss her whenever I wanted. My mother had died when I was five when we’d lived in Japan. My father, always a pretty stern man, wasn’t big on affection and had consequentially turned from being the headmaster of the International School in Tokyo to become an Anglican missionary in New Britain, where, at the age of eleven, I’d moved with him and then been sent to boarding school in Australia. He was a solitary man and I don’t know whether it was the grief over my mother’s death or what, but he never remarried. I guess I’d been short of my share of female kisses, even of the maternal kind. Women, even the feel of them, were a complete mystery to me.

  ‘Anna, I’ve made a decision, I’ll sail the Vleermuis to Australia. But I don’t want your father to give it to me, only to sign the papers over to you. Put them in your name. If I get through the war, well, then it will be ours anyway. But I want him to grant me just one favour.’

  ‘Nicholas, I don’t want you to sail Vleermuis without me,’ she said, alarmed. ‘It is too dangerous! Mijn papa say, if you want, you can have that boat. It is only to say he is sorry. You know, what happens last night. It’s okay. You do not have to take it!’