Eden Read online

  Peter Watt has spent time as a soldier, articled clerk, prawn trawler deckhand, builder’s labourer, pipe layer, real estate salesman, private investigator, police sergeant and advisor to the Royal Papua New Guinea Constabulary. He has lived and worked with Aborigines, Islanders, Vietnamese and Papua New Guineans, and he speaks, reads and writes Vietnamese and pidgin. He now lives at Finch Hatton in Queensland.

  Good friends, fine fishing and the vast open spaces of outback Queensland are his main interests in life. Peter Watt can be contacted at www.peterwatt.com

  Excerpts from e-mails sent to Peter Watt since his first novel was published:

  ‘… thank you for the hours of entertainment you have given me …’

  ‘As much as it pains me as a Kiwi to praise an Aussie, your books are bloody marvellous … They say you’re the next Wilbur Smith; you have already passed him. Can’t wait to read more of your work.’

  ‘I wanted more! … no superlative would be sufficient to describe your work.’

  ‘Your books are marketed here [UK] as being as good as Wilbur Smith … or your money back. They certainly live up to that billing. Keep writing!!’

  ‘I can honestly say in all my years of reading, your books have to be on my list of the best ever.’

  ‘… Cry of the Curlew was a fantastic read. Never have I enjoyed a novel as much.’

  ‘They are the most enjoyable books that I have read in a long time … I look forward to reading more of your books in the future.’

  Also by Peter Watt

  Cry of the Curlew

  Shadow of the Osprey

  Flight of the Eagle

  To Chase the Storm

  Papua

  EDEN

  PETER

  WATT

  First published 2004 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited This Pan edition published 2005 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited St Martins Tower, 31 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Peter Watt 2004

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

  Watt, Peter, 1949–.

  Eden.

  ISBN 0 330 42188 3.

  1. World War, 1939–1945 – Fiction.

  2. Male friendship – Fiction. I. Title.

  A823.3

  Set in 11.5/13 pt Bembo by Post Pre-press Group

  Map by Laurie Whiddon

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2007 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd 1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Eden

  Peter Watt

  Adobe eReader format

  978-1-74197-164-4

  Microsoft Reader format

  978-1-74197-365-5

  Mobipocket format

  978-1-74197-566-6

  Online format

  978-1-74197-767-7

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  This book is dedicated to Naomi Howard-Smith, whose love and patience defies even an author’s ability, to search for the words of gratitude.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Excerpts from e-mails sent to Peter Watt since his first novel was published

  Also by Peter Watt

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MAP

  PALESTINE

  PROLOGUE

  Part One: KARL’S WAR

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  Part Two: THE KELLYS’ WAR

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Part Three: FUJI’S WAR

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE: IORA CREEK

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Foremost, I would like to thank the team that worked with me on the production of this novel: my publisher Cate Paterson, editor Julie Crisp and copy editor Jan Hutchinson. My many thanks to Jane Novak and her wonderful mum and dad, John and Jill Novak. And to all at Pan Macmillan Australia in Sydney, Melbourne or on the road somewhere in Australia selling books. Many thanks to my wonderful agent, Geoffrey Radford of Anthony Williams Management.

  Since the release of my last novel I have discovered a real Eden. A little village called Finch Hatton, west of Mackay in Queensland and located in the scenic Pioneer Valley. As such I have had the fortune to meet many wonderful and hospitable people, whose friendship has indirectly or directly influenced the creative process of writing. So, my thanks go out to the following: Mel and Alice Lowth; the Camilleri family of Joe, Heather, David and Michelle; our two local police officers, Ian Galpin and Jamie McClean, and their respective wives, Dani and Tain; our ambulance officers, Steve and Carlin Eggleston, whose services have been used; Bob and Jeanette from the corner store; Barb from the second hand shop; Karl and Anne-Maree, from our local café; Heather and Errol from the post office; our local council representative Gary Parkinson and his lovely wife, Trudi. I should also mention Marg who looks after our injured wild life. A special thanks to the wonderfully helpful ladies from the Mirani Library whose assistance was invaluable.

  An important place for an author to go and relax and meet friends and readers is the local pub. In this case my thanks go out to Carmel and Dave Blann from the Criterion Hotel who have quietly done so much for the community. To Michelle and Tony behind the bar, my many thanks also. A fellow writer, Blair Hunt, and Jack and Jan Bobbins. Around the bar I would like to recognise Les Thomas, Gary and young Jim, brothers Pat and Pike. Not to forget Heather, who sells the raffle tickets on Friday night.

  My alternative place to meet friends is the Pioneer Valley Hotel, at Gargett, and my thanks go out to Lyn and Peter Goodale for their hospitality and cold beer. Also my thanks to Lisa and Ja
n behind the bar and Marg in the kitchen. And not to forget Ian Barnes, OAM, at the bar.

  My continuing thanks go out to my old friends Robert Bozek and Nadine. And to Phil Murphy in Cairns, for his ongoing advice on military matters. A special thanks to Jenee Molyneux for her assistance with prewar aircraft information.

  My continuing thanks also to my family for their support. To Aunt Joan and Uncle John Payne in Tweed Heads, sister and brother in law, Kerry and Ty McKee, and my mother, Elinor Watt, who is cared for by the wonderful staff at the Pioneer Valley Retirement Centre, Mirani.

  I would like to make a special mention of a true, great Australian who served both his country and community with distinction. Mr John Warby, OAM, ED passed away in 2004 but has left us with a story of courage and dedication to ideals we often forget are the basis of a just and stable society. A special welcome to the world of writers goes out to Dave Sabben, whose novel Through Enemy Eyes will be released soon.

  Last but not least, my thanks go out to my old wantok, Lawrie Norgren, former member of the engineers who served his country in South Vietnam, for his critiques on the novel and the hours spent discussing the life known to former soldiers and residents of Papua New Guinea.

  EDEN

  PALESTINE

  July 1941

  PROLOGUE

  Only the woman’s dark eyes showed from behind the heavily veiled face. She stood with the crowd that had gathered in the marketplace to gaze with curiosity at the strangers who now walked the streets of Old Jerusalem. They were uniformed men wearing khaki and their demeanour had a cockiness about it that spoke of self-assuredness.

  ‘They are the English,’ a woman, similarly dressed in the voluminous, traditional chador of the good Moslem, muttered in Arabic.

  Fatima strained to hear the words of the woman standing beside her. Arabic was not Fatima’s native tongue. It was a language she had learned when her husband, a French citizen from Corsica, had moved from North Africa to avoid the war raging between the Allied and the Axis forces in the deserts of his adopted country.

  Two of the soldiers moved closer as they picked their way through the marketplace like the tourists that they temporarily were. As curious as children, the two men examined all that was on display. Fatima could clearly hear them. With a start she realised that not only were the two soldiers speaking English, a language she was fluent in, but they had a distinctive accent she was all too familiar with.

  ‘They are not English,’ she said to her female companion. ‘They are Australians.’

  The other woman glanced sideways at her. ‘I have heard of the Australians from my father who said they were here many years ago when the Ottomans were fighting the British. Why have they returned?’

  Fatima did not reply. For now she felt a joy she had almost forgotten existed. She was reaching the fortieth year of her hard life. She had not always been known as Fatima. It was a name she took when she chose to follow the way of the Koran. The product of a European father and Chinese mother, once she had been known by the name of Iris. But that seemed a lifetime ago when she had been young and beautiful.

  Captured, sold into a form of slavery to the man who was her husband, Iris had lived to experience many cultures from China to Papua. From Papua to North Africa and now to Palestine.

  Her immediate reaction was to step forward and address the two soldiers. She would proclaim who she was and ask for their protection. But the thought died as it had come. She was no longer Iris, the young woman who once loved an Englishman in a faraway place. She was Fatima, a follower of Allah.

  Iris watched from behind her veil as the two soldiers idled away. What use was it now to seek her old identity? For all she knew, those who had once loved her probably thought she was dead.

  Part One

  KARL’S WAR

  July 1941

  ONE

  The township of Port Moresby was little changed, Leading Seaman Fuji Komine of the Imperial Japanese Navy thought as he gazed at the approaching shoreline of Ela Beach and the protruding wharf where a Burns Philp steamer was unloading its cargo. The bare hills were brown under the hot tropical sun and the capital of Papua still retained a frontier appearance.

  But Fuji was not wearing his uniform and to all intents and purposes he blended with the Asian crew of the small coastal steamer as nothing more than a deckhand. He wore a loin cloth and at twenty-five years of age his slight body was defined by muscle. Only his dark eyes gave any hint of his high intelligence and behind them burned the fanaticism of a man on a sacred mission for God – or, in the case of the Japanese sailor, the Emperor.

  ‘You savvy you all come back tonight,’ the European skipper bawled from the bridge at his motley crew as they gathered to disembark to explore the streets and shops of Port Moresby. ‘No givee trouble whiteman,’ he added by way of warning to his predominantly Filipino and Chinese deckhands. ‘You givee trouble and white fella lock you all up, you hear?’ The crew nodded, mumbling their understanding. They were very aware that once ashore they would be considered less than human by the Australian authorities who had an inbred contempt for Asians.

  Fuji scowled at the skipper’s attempt at pidgin English, never letting on that his own grasp of the language was probably more fluent than the burly, red-faced captain’s. For Leading Seaman Fuji Komine was born in Papua and even now thought about meeting his father, Isokihi the Boat Builder as he was known to the barbarians of Papua and New Guinea.

  Fuji left the deck to go below and change into clothes that marked him as a Chinese coolie: cotton pants and shirt. To many Europeans his switch in nationality made little difference – one Asian was like any other in appearance.

  The steamer docked, the gangplank rattled down and Fuji stepped ashore for the first time in seven years after having fled Papua when his involvement with the criminal O’Leary was violently terminated. It had been four months since the beginning of his mission to covertly locate suitable sites in the islands surrounding Papua New Guinea and the Torres Strait to dump fuel and essential supplies for Japanese submarines prowling the southern waters. He had worked aboard an old but sturdy, low-slung Japanese fishing boat with other members of the navy, all working under the guise of fishermen, not an uncommon sight in these tropical waters. They would be put ashore under cover of night. During the daylight hours Fuji would photograph and mark the sites on admiralty charts for future reference. When the targeted area reconnaissance had been completed he was left behind to assume the role of a nomadic sailor-cum-labourer, working the ports and plantations of the scattering of islands between Australia and Papua. He had befriended and eventually recruited a few local natives with vague promises of them being well rewarded should he call upon their services in the future. He exploited their resentment of the Europeans lording themselves over the natives in the islands but had to be extremely careful as much of the native population of the Torres Islands were loyal to their Australian bosses and his covert activities could easily be betrayed to the police.

  Although a lowly, non-commissioned officer in the Japanese Navy, Fuji was a member of its elite naval intelligence and, if successful, the assignment promised recognition with its subsequent reward of promotion. To the dedicated Japanese military man, to fail left only one recourse to avoid interrogation – suicide. Such was the way of Bushido. His controllers had supplied him with a good supply of Australian currency and false papers describing him as a marine engineer, and these were the only weapons he carried in his precarious life as a spy. Both had been useful in gaining a job aboard a coastal steamer out of Thursday Island and heading for Port Moresby. The Filipino second in command accepted the young Chinese sailor as part of the crew although he did not need another engineer. The money in the palm of the Filipino sailor’s hand told a different story and he did not ask questions as to why a Chinese engineer would need to bribe his way aboard. With a shrug the Filipino had dismissed the gesture. Believing Fuji was probably on the run from one of those Chinese criminal gangs
in Shanghai, he gave him a working passage.