It Wasn't A Bullet

Where is Sister? Why didn't I listen to her? Oh, where is she? Is this what dying is?

It was already hot around 6:00am. There was lots of noise in the early morning. Children ran around and mothers were fussy. Everyone had their tasks to get ready for. Young girls scampered to the kitchen, others were dragged to the building where Japanese soldiers lived. Those girls cried and struggled to free themselves. I thought of Greta. Where is Sister? "Do not be anxious, do not be anxious. Trust in the Lord." Where is Sister? "Please, Lord, keep the soldiers away from her."

I walked outside with other children. Mammie was near the fence. I wondered how long she had been there. How do the guards not see her? I see her, and I know what's she's up to. "Keep her safe also, dear Jesus. Close the eyes of the guards." Mammie is very good at not being caught. With a little bit of help from God, we should have bananas tonight.

A woman called to me from the mandi bak (wash basin). "Mari mandi!" I nodded and walked towards her. A quick washing will feel good. Leave Mammie to do her secret work, she will be fine.

On my way to the mandi bak I saw a little girl, my age, standing on top of the cement sewage pipe. It is dangerously high and the cement must be burning her bare feet. She's not moving. Her hands are tied behind her back. Don't cry, Becca. They will let you down soon. Don't cry and please don't fall. I walked slowly past her.

"Mari mandi!" someone else called out.

Finally, at the mandi bak I waited behind hundreds of people to fill my small bucket with water. Sister always said to stay in line and be patient. Yet other children were playing, so I joined them. I am the fastest runner in Tjeweng. Nobody could catch me. But today that became my curse.

I ran and ran. We laughed and jumped onto old machinery and over the slippery sheets of zinc which covered everything--no one stopped us. Suddenly, I lost my footing and the sharp edge of the zink flooring slashed into the inner part of my left thigh. The world became very bright for just an instance, with a million tiny flashing stars, then almost black. I saw lots of blood draining from my leg yet I did not feel any pain. Don't cry, I thought. But then I felt a piercing pain.

The children who were playing with me immediately stepped into line at the mandi bak. Adults turned their backs but tried to hide me. The line to the mandi bak was now my human shield. If the soldiers knew I had been running they would punish me and anyone who dared to help. I heard the whispers. "Stand up, get up Laney." It was hard to stand, but I did.

My body seemed too heavy and the sounds of the world were strange. Voices whispered and echoed. I cupped my hand over my ears. My leg didn't feel connected to my body which scared me more than anything. The other leg trembled terribly. Mammie told me once to just call out His name and it would make me feel strong. I whispered His name--Jesus. God is with me. God is with me. Mammie was right. Though I was still scared, His name did gave me strength.

I walked on, dragging my leg behind me. I fell a few times in a cloud of dust, got up time and time again. Then I heard the clangs of old pots and smelled the old oil drums they used to cook rice in. I had somehow made my way to the kitchen. I crashed into the bamboo door leaving bloody fingerprints. Where is Sister?

Am I dying? "Is Sister here?" The last thing I hear is Greta's voice yelling, "Mammie!" And I let myself collapse into Sister's arms.

War Comes Home

These are the first stories my mom can remember as we try to put the pieces of her life all in order. Information of dates, times and places are still sketchy but I can feel it come together. She does want to make it clear that she harbors no anger against the Japanese or the Indonesian people. These are her earliest memories . . .


March 1942:

Japanese soldiers came today. They took my Pappie and Opa away. Mom won’t tell us where they’ve been taken, only that we will see them again. She’s a good Christian woman but today she told a lie—maybe even two. I don’t think we’ll see Pappie and Opa again, for one, and she also said that my older brother was only ten years old. He’s really twelve. Though I do think that God will forgive her because that lie allowed us to keep our brother home, it was still a lie. I don’t like what this war has done to all of us.

The Japanese soldier in charge said that we were not to leave our house. If we did they had the right to shoot us. I’m not quite sure who gave them that right but I believe they really will shoot us and without one feeling of guilt. So we are under house arrest, I think that’s what adults call it.

Most of the Dutch soldiers left before the Japanese soldiers came to Soerabaja. We could have used their help. Some of them stayed. Unfortunately most of them were captured and killed. I don’t understand all this killing. What is it we have done to make them so mad?

I learned in Sunday school that we are to love our enemies. This is hard to do for me, but I know I must try. Furthermore, it seems that if we are to get back to Sunday school we will have to break the new law—all Indonesian people must stay inside their homes. Like most kids, I thought it would be exciting to be known as a criminal, but it really isn’t fun at all. Let me explain.

A few days locked up in our house was enough to drive a normal person a little crazy, especially when you have to share everything with your sister and brothers. Mammie announced that this was the night we were going to leave the house for a few hours. “We’re going to church,” she said.

We were very happy, indeed, but we were ill prepared for what was coming.