Under the Pong Pong Tree

Radio Singapura reported news of the invasion without urgency. “The Japanese incursion at Kota Bharu has been thwarted. Their landing craft have gone out to sea, stranding several hundred invaders on the beach. Mop-up operations are under way. Governor Shenton Thomas urges all Singaporeans to carry on in a normal fashion. We are in no immediate danger.”

The British command nursed stengahs at Raffles, while Captain Hideo Hoda led his troops westward from Kota Bharu, following oxcart furrows that carved a meandering course between dense walls of rank vegetation. Hoda was a seasoned veteran of the Kwantung Army. He carried his malignant hatred of the Chinese in a mind scarred by the bitter memory of his family being wiped out by Chinese bandits on the Manchurian steppes. His standard-issue Showa sword was well tempered with Chinese blood.

A Kempeitai officer, Colonel Kosaka, was assigned to Hoda’s platoon as a guide to Mr. Tan’s rubber smallholding in the Kelantan rain forest.

***

Mr. Tan’s sixtieth birthday was on December 11, 1941. Preoccupied as he was with the rubber business and the more profitable drug trade, he spent little time with his twenty children—except on his birthday, when he viewed them as a group from the comfortable height of the wooden balcony above the veranda.

On that day, the sisters Ah Yeng and Su Yin, both married to Mr. Tan, arranged a special lunch. The master of the house presided at the head of the table, gazing contentedly at his two Chinese wives and four Thai mistresses, seated in the order of their acquisition. The women sat in silence, making no eye contact and moving only to spoon contents from the platters offered by the kitchen amahs.

After the meal, Mr. Tan stood and said, “Summon the children.” He left the dining room and slowly climbed the stairs, wheezing and gripping the railing to help hoist his bulk from step to step.

At the top of the staircase, he shouted, “Abdul, bring the bag!” A Tamil attendant appeared from the servants’ quarters at the rear of the villa, toting a canvas bag the size of a chicken. He trotted up the stairs and accompanied Mr. Tan to the mullioned door that opened out to the balcony.

Abdul opened the door, and Mr. Tan stepped out. He stood with his palms resting on the wooden balustrade and surveyed the courtyard as his wives and mistresses herded the children into position below the balcony. The women nudged and prodded the children until their reedy, piping voices rose in shouts. “We love you, Papa.”

Mr. Tan worked his face into a smile and reached into the bag held open by Abdul. He cast a handful of coins out over the heads of the scrambling children. Two of the youngest, a three-year-old boy and a four-year-old girl, were knocked to the ground, crying and rubbing their heads where they had been struck by large copper coins.

Mr. Tan took no note of the crying children but continued hurling the coins out to different parts of the courtyard, causing the children to move in waves, following the metallic rainstorm.

“Papa loves you, children!” he shouted as he continued to shower largesse on his progeny.

Suddenly, gunshots crackled from the rubber trees. Several of Mr. Tan’s bodyguards ran toward the villa, but before they reached the gates, they were cut down by uniformed soldiers dashing through the grove.

Mr. Tan abandoned his family and stumbled downstairs to a gate concealed in the rear wall of the compound. He ran through the gate and found himself surrounded by Japanese soldiers under the command of Captain Hoda, who looked past Mr. Tan to a man in civilian clothes, standing in the shade of a pong pong tree. The civilian nodded crisply. Two soldiers seized Mr. Tan and forced him to his knees. Hoda drew his sword.

Mr. Tan craned his neck to gaze imploringly at the civilian, who looked away. Mr. Tan shouted, “Mr. Kosaka! Help me, please! I am your friend, and—”

Hoda swept his sword in a deadly arc and stepped back, avoiding the crimson spurts.

The women and children huddled in the courtyard as soldiers ran through the villa, chasing the household staff out to join them. Mr. Kosaka approached Hoda and said, “Captain, as an officer of the Kempeitai, I have authority in the operation of this plantation. Sergeant Hayashi’s squad will remain here and be responsible for meeting the rubber quota. Make that clear to your men.”

Captain Hoda, still brandishing his bloody sword, shouted, “Leave them alone for now. Put them to work to run this place, and if they give you any trouble …” He drew an index finger across his throat.

Kosaka and Hoda were interrupted by two soldiers dragging a Chinese field worker into the courtyard.

“We found this one hiding in a hut out there. What shall we do with him?”

“Finish him,” said Hoda.

Kosaka peered at the cringing Chinese. “Wait! You are Wu Feng, are you not?”

“Yes, sir,” said the Chinese man, sagging in the grip of his captors. Then, recognizing the civilian in charge, he asked, “Mr. Kosaka?”

“You have a good memory.” Kosaka turned to Hoda and said, “Let us not waste this man. He knows the property and is a capable field manager. He is to continue in that capacity.” Then he turned back to Wu Feng and said with a cruel smile, “That is, as long as you are agreeable.”

Wu Feng answered promptly, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir, it would be a privilege.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Kosaka. “You have much work ahead of you … and now, Captain Hoda, on to Singapore.”

Ah Yeng stood defiantly and shrieked at Mr. Kosaka, “So this is how you repay our hospitality.”