During the strange two years in Hong Kong under the Japanese, our lives touched the lives of many others, whose sorrows and adventures were interwoven with our own. The friendships and even the acquaintances which we made in those years had an unforgettable and poignant quality, for starvation was staring us all in the face, and it was only the mercy of God which kept us alive.
Jimmy took an intense interest in the fate of his friends and used to take some trouble to find out how they were getting on. Soon after that first Christmas when Hong Kong surrendered to the Japanese, he discovered that there was an old English lady living with some Indians not far from our flat.
We had once known the old lady, Mrs. A., very well, as she had lived in one flat opposite us. She took care of a little Pekingese dog which belonged to a very rich Jewish family who lived abroad. The dog had an account in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, and cashed monthly checks by pressing his little paw, wet with ink, on the back of the check. In fact, Mrs. A. was largely supported by the dog, to whom she was deeply devoted. She used often to say, “I have no one in the world but my dog, and she is not really mine.”
At the beginning of hostilities, the looters entered Mrs. A.’s flat, took most of her things and frightened her almost to death. She was found, however, by two kind neighbors who acted the part of the Good Samaritan, and took her and the dog to their own little flat. They were all Roman Catholics and had formerly gone to church together. Mr. Lima was a very tall, black, dignified Indian from Goa. He was a sculptor who had studied art in Rome, and for many years, he had supported himself by making or mending plaster saints for Roman Catholic Churches. Mrs. Lima, who was his second wife, was a Fiji Islander, black as a coal, with fuzzy hair and an engaging smile. In those evil days, as no one could afford plaster saints, Mr. Lima could not earn any money, and became so discouraged that he contemplated suicide. As the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank was closed to enemy nationals, Mrs. A. could not get any money either, and the support of the little family fell upon Mrs. Lima. Her courage and cheerfulness never failed, and she was constantly thinking of new plans for raising money.
Soon after Jimmy found Mrs. A., Mrs. Lima came to visit us, and told us all the details of Mrs. A.’s hard case. Whatever we could spare, we always gave to Mrs. A. and she in turn divided whatever little food she had with her dog. Both Mrs. A. and Mrs. Lima had a good many friends, and Mrs. Lima visited them all in turn, eloquently setting forth Mrs. A.’s troubles, so that by drawing a little help from each one, she managed to get enough to keep going. She would often sell things for us and of course would have a percentage of the money. She was a very frequent visitor, and with her brilliant smile and her sad eyes would ask, “Want to sell anything today Madam?” One day she came with a tiny bundle. It was a newborn girl baby which she carefully unwrapped and suggested that I should adopt. The poor little thing lay there with the expression of peace and aloofness of the newborn. “Take me or leave me! As you like!” But we had no resources to bring up an infant, and did not know when the Japanese might find us and intern us, so felt it impossible to undertake the care of a baby.
“Why not take it to the nun’s foundling hospital?” I said.
After some persuasion, Mrs. Lima wrapped the baby up again and carried it over to the convent where the kind nuns took it in, though they had few resources for the future.
Mrs. Lima, at this time, was earning a living by making new clothes out of old, so she was constantly coming to all her friends to beg for old clothes. She was so smiling, though obviously getting thinner and thinner, that it was impossible to be angry with her. Those first eleven months when we were so straightly shut up, I was glad to have another woman to talk to, even if it was only Mrs. Lima. She would tell me her troubles and her anxiety over her husband. “I am afraid he will be ‘desbrit’,” she said, and I knew she feared he would kill himself.
Mrs. A. gradually lost courage and when the cold, raw days of March came she caught cold on her lungs. “I want to die” she said bitterly to Mrs. Lima. Her last words were “Take care of my dog.” But after her death, the little creature would not taste food again. Mrs. Lima held her in her arms and tears fell from the poor little dog’s eyes. She died two or three days after her mistress.
After Mrs. A.’s death, it was perhaps a little easier for Mrs. Lima. She and Mr. Lima decided to sell curry, (a highly spiced stew favored by East Indians). They had wonderful East Indian recipes and made the hottest and most delicious curry I have ever tasted. For a little while, the curry business was quite a success, but finally people got tired of the curry and found it rather dear. By this time, however, the Portuguese Government was doling out rations of bread and rice to its poor nationals. As Mr. Lima came from God, a Portuguese Colony, he was eligible for these rations, but, alas, he never seemed to be any less hungry. He was so big that it was impossible to fill him up, and he hated the invariable diet of sprats, the small, cheap fish which were all that he could afford. I have a vivid memory of him sitting in our living room, as with an eloquent flourish of his hands, he exclaimed in disgust, “Feesh! Feesh! Feesh!”
Several times, we had them both to a meal, and tried to really fill them both up. I think they enjoyed these occasions immensely, but of course, my efforts at curry were not nearly hot enough. Poor Mr. Lima scarcely knew any English, and with many gestures and head shakings would try to unburden his heart to my husband. In vain, my husband would try in the simplest language to point him to the Savior. He never showed any response or understanding. Mrs. Lima, on the other hand, had a very real, though simple faith, and we often spoke together of these things.
Finally, the Portuguese Government undertook to take all their nationals who desired it, back to Macao, and support them there. After many weeks of waiting, the Lima’s turn came at last. But poor Mr. Lima had suffered too much, and he only lived twelve days after reaching Macao. We received several heartbroken little letters from Mrs. Lima. She had kept up so long, hoping to save her husband, whom she almost worshipped, and when he was gone, she felt there was nothing left to live for.