No one was certain how long he remained in that fire-filled hell. Some said as little as ten minutes, others said a whole hour. All, however, agreed that it felt like a lifetime. The mornings heavy rain continued to fall, but it did not seem to lessen the ferocity of the blaze. Where each raindrop fell on the inferno, a thin column of mist hissed into the air, and as the fire grew stronger the whole shop became transformed into a giant spitting monster, shrouded in haze. It was later said that this hellish creature could be seen fifty miles away, from the slopes of Maxwell Hill.
The crowd backed away even further, for the heat was too intense now even for their rain-soothed faces to bear. They could feel the glow of the fire throbbing on their cheeks, even as they covered their noses and mouths to protect against the choking smoke. Several of them exhanged glances now and then. No man on earth could withstand that fire; only a god could survive that long in a fire like that, their eyes said. Another small explosion caused half the shopfront to collapse across the entrance. Many people thought: Surely this is the end of Johnny now.
What happened next is not disputed by any of the surviving eye-witness accounts. Old or young, man or woman, Chinese, Indian, Malay all say the same thing. They were not crazy from the heat or the shock, they did not imagine it. It actually happened.
The flames, they say, parted.
The dancing fire opened up, separating in two as if commanded by Allah, Guan Yin, Moses, Shiva whomever.
And out of the parted flames emerged Johnny. All around him the great fire burnt strong and bright, but it did not touch him. He walked steadily and firmly, his magnificent head held proudly. On his shoulder he supported the limp, soot-blackened body of his father-in-law. Next to T.K., Johnny appeared fresh and unspoilt. Though his face was dirty, his eyes shone brightly. He carried T.K. out to the crowd of people and laid him gently on the ground. Slowly, Johnny took off his own shirt and held it aloft to catch the rain. He touched it to T.K.s face, cleaning away the soot; he put his ear to T.K.s mouth, listening for the faint breaths, and then, slowly, he looked up at the anxious faces around him. He smiled a gentle smile and his eyes said, I have saved this man.
Everyone remained still and silent. There was no need to speak. As they looked at Johnny the same thought ran through their minds: This man was no mere human, he was something more.
T.K. lay on the wet dirt gasping thin breaths. His smoke-burnt lungs would never serve him properly again. He would spend the remainder of his days frail and infirm and in gratitude to Johnny, to the man who had saved his life when it seemed lost for certain. With his head resting on Johnnys knee, T.K. opened his eyes to the soft rain. In the distance the famous Tiger Brand Trading Company lay smouldering, lost forever. Like everyone else present, T.K. knew that it was the end of his time as a great and powerful man. He knew it was the beginning of a new time in history.
9. The End
NOT LONG AFTER the shop burnt down and Johnny saved T.K.s life, the Japanese invaded Malaya. They marched unimpeded through the Northern states and in just two months took control of the entire country. Penang, Pearl of the Orient, and Singapore, the great Lion City both surrendered in a matter of days. Between these two treasures the Valley fell swiftly, almost unnoticed, into the hands of the Japanese. They ran through the towns and villages, barely pausing to plant flags of the Rising Sun before moving on. The red dust kicked up by the soldiers boots hung in the air, turning it crimson before settling on the leaves of the trees; all along the roads the trees turned red, and in some parts of the Valley it was said that the streams ran deep scarlet. A hush fell across the land. At night people closed their eyes and covered their ears. They did not want to hear the sound of locked doors being broken down or the distant crackle of a village set on fire.
It was here, in the early months of this strange new land, that Johnny committed his most terrible deed. Nothing in his later life can ever be compared to what my father did on 1 September 1942, the day my mother died and I was born.
By the end of January 1942, a Japanese administrative office had been firmly established in the Valley and was beginning to put things in order. The head of the Kempeitai, the Japanese secret police, was a man called Mamoru Kunichika. After the war he published a book about his memories of the war called Memories of Wartime Malaya. The photograph of him on the dust jacket shows a genial-looking man, thin and angular, with smiling eyes. The book presents a picture of the Valley so calm that you wonder if war was actually taking place at the time. It tells the story of a young man plucked from the relative obscurity of Kyoto University and thrust into the Secret Service solely because of his academic brilliance and fluency in Southeast Asian languages. He finds himself in Malaya, where the local people are welcoming and cooperative. They are glad to be rid of the British and thankful for Japanese rule. Of course there are disturbances now and again, for Communist guerillas are active in the jungles, but by and large the Occupation runs smoothly, without incident. The book is full of anecdotal incidents of Japanese and local people sharing cigarettes and whisky and other such wartime luxuries; minor altercations with deceitful servants; amusing misunderstandings of local customs; etc.
We are told how he acquired his nickname, The Marquis. Not long after he arrived in Malaya, he was visiting the regional administrative office in Tapah when he was introduced to an (unnamed) eminent and influential leader of the Chinese community. This Chinese gentleman seemed young but very enlightened, unlike most sullen-faced and devious Chinese Kunichika had come across. Although, through his education, Kunichika had managed to overcome the traditional Japanese prejudices against the Chinese, he nonetheless felt the need to be cautious when dealing with them. Mistrust runs deep between the two peoples, he says. This Chinese gentleman, however, made him feel perfectly at ease because of his dignity of bearing and propriety of etiquette, and Kunichika felt no need to be wary. The gentleman thought that Kunichika himself must be a man of good breeding and considerable education; he asked Kunichika if he was of samurai descent, for he had read about the histories of the great samurai families and recognised Kunichikas surname. Bashfully, Kunichika answered: yes, he was. It was a relief to have ones background appreciated, writes Kunichika, especially by such an unlikely person. This gentleman went on to say that it was an honour to meet such a distinguished person, and that if Kunichika did not mind, he would address Kunichika by his proper title, Marquis. Kunichika felt inclined to tell him that this was technically not his correct title, but refrained, so as not to cause any offence. That was how he got his nickname. As for the Chinese gentleman, well, Kunichika and he became good friends during the Occupation, spending much time together despite comment from Kunichikas colleagues and the mans Chinese friends. After the Japanese surrender in 1945, Kunichika took his leave from his friend and parted with tears in his eyes.
The war was a happy experience for Kunichika, so his story goes.
Yet it is not difficult, if you bother to read old newspaper reports and books on the Occupation, to piece together what Kunichika did when he got to the Valley. It is not difficult to know why his other nickname, the one given to him by the ordinary people of the Valley, was the Demon of Kampar.
Kunichika did not think like a soldier. He had other ways to fight a war, ways more dangerous than bayonets and bullets. The very first thing he did was to send his agents across the Valley with bundles of cash. They used it to pay for information: who was a Communist, who was in touch with British officers still in the jungle, who was planning a movement against the Japanese. Above all, Kunichika wanted to find out who was the most influential man in the Valley. He knew such a man could be of immense help to him. It took just two days for his men to return with an answer.
Johnny had been waiting for this moment for many months. He wanted to be found; he wanted to be taken to the head of the dreaded Kempeitai. Just as Kunichika had decided, long before he reached these new shores, what he would do if ever he was in this position, Johnny knew too what his own course of action would be. The two men were destined to find each other. Their first meeting had already taken place in their minds, many times over. When Johnny walked into the room and saw Kunichika, he felt comfortable, as if he had known the other man for many years. Kunichika smiled and Johnny bowed slightly. Kunichika knew that he had found the man who could help him achieve everything he wanted. An offer was made and accepted. There was never any doubt as to this outcome. There was no bargaining, no hesitation, no need even to shake hands. For Johnny the price had never been so right.
Johnny had been waiting for this moment for many months. He wanted to be found; he wanted to be taken to the head of the dreaded Kempeitai. Just as Kunichika had decided, long before he reached these new shores, what he would do if ever he was in this position, Johnny knew too what his own course of action would be. The two men were destined to find each other. Their first meeting had already taken place in their minds, many times over. When Johnny walked into the room and saw Kunichika, he felt comfortable, as if he had known the other man for many years. Kunichika smiled and Johnny bowed slightly. Kunichika knew that he had found the man who could help him achieve everything he wanted. An offer was made and accepted. There was never any doubt as to this outcome. There was no bargaining, no hesitation, no need even to shake hands. For Johnny the price had never been so right.
Johnny called a meeting of the most important men in the Valley. He told them that they had a duty to protect the interests of the people, and that it was up to them to ensure that the Valley survived the Occupation with minimum damage. He had thought about it long and hard, and had come to a difficult conclusion. There were no easy options in war. They had to get on the right side of the Japanese. They had to flatter, placate, and please in order to deceive and survive. They had to accept that the British were gone and the Japanese were their new masters.