King of the Cloud Forests. Michael Morpurgo

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      CHAPTER 2

      I WAS CONSCIOUS OF DUST AND SMOKE AND OF Father’s weight on top of me. I could hear screaming from the compound and I thought I should say a prayer if I was going to die, but as the fifth and sixth bombs fell, and fell further and further away, I thought there was no need. The drone of the bombers faded and all about me was a terrible stillness.

      ‘Is it over?’ I whispered. ‘Have they gone away? Father? Father, can you hear me? Will they come back?’ There was no answer. I twisted under my Father’s weight to look at him. His eyes were closed and there was blood in his black hair and on his forehead. I looked past him and only then understood that the house had collapsed on top of us. The table top was on my Father’s back and all around us lay the splintered, torn timbers that had been our walls and ceilings. The teapot with the blue fish on it that Uncle Sung had given us one Christmas long ago lay so close that I could reach out and touch it with my fingers. It was broken in half so that the fish was cut in two. There was tea trickling out of the spout, warm on my hand.

      I do not think it was the bombing itself that frightened me so much. Indeed I remember feeling momentarily exhilarated that I had survived. It was the growing fear that my father was dead that fetched up the terror from inside me. With my free hand I shook his shoulder and screamed at him to wake up, but he did not. His eyes remained obstinately closed and his body limp and heavy around me. Exhausted at last by my own fear I lay still. Only then did I feel Father breathing rhythmically on top of me. In my confused state of mind it took me some time to understand that if he was breathing then he must at least be alive. I tried again to shake him awake and was rewarded at long last with a murmur and a half smile.

      That was how Uncle Sung and the others found us some minutes later. Through a forest of timbers I saw Uncle Sung’s sandalled feet, the sun on his dusty toes. He was standing where the chapel wall should have been. There was the sound of whimpering and wailing from the compound beyond and then they were pulling away the timbers to get to us. But they were taking so long, and Father’s weight was making it difficult for me to breathe. Uncle Sung was constantly there, encouraging me, reassuring me, and I heard the strident voice of the Chinese army doctor as he organised the rescue. I remember how Lin and I used to imitate his strutting gait and squeaky voice. I’d never really liked the man ever since his argument with Father on the hospital steps. We had put him down as an arrogant, unfeeling man who cared for little except his own dignity. Now here he was urging his men on to yet greater efforts as bit by bit they pulled away the timber and fought their way through to us. Lin and I had been a bit unfair on him I decided.

      The rescue was painfully slow – each timber it seemed had to be extracted carefully for fear of further collapse – but at last the table top was being lifted and there were hands grasping at Father’s shoulders and pulling him off me. Uncle Sung asked me whether I was all right. I tried to speak but could find no voice. I felt suddenly free of Father’s body and saw Uncle Sung’s smiling face above me. ‘Playing hide-and-seek?’ he said. ‘Bit old for that aren’t you?’ A searing, sudden pain invaded my chest. Uncle Sung’s face swam into a dark void full of distant echoes and I slipped away from him. If this is dying I thought, then it’s not so bad, just a pity that’s all.

      I woke to find myself in the hospital. I could feel there was a bandage tight around my chest and my arm was held in a sling. There were three figures at the bottom of my bed who came into focus as they spoke. ‘At least he was the only one,’ said the Chinese army doctor. ‘We were lucky,’ he went on. ‘The only bomb that fell in the town itself did not explode. They think nothing of bombing towns. Life is cheap to them. It was more to frighten us than anything else. The nearest Japanese soldiers are a hundred miles away, maybe more. Headquarters have assured me they are no closer.’

      ‘But they’ll be back, won’t they?’ said Father. ‘And you have no planes to stop them with, have you?’ There was a white bandage across his head and he was leaning heavily on a stick. ‘If they can do it once, they can do it again. What’s to stop them? You tell me that. And next time we might not be so lucky – it might not be just one boy. One bomb in that warren of a town and there’d be hundreds dead.’

      ‘I have faith in our soldiers,’ said the Chinese army doctor, stiffening. ‘The Japanese will come no closer, Mr Anderson, I can assure you.’

      ‘I have faith only in God, Major,’ said Father. ‘Fifty yards the other way and every one in the compound, everyone in the hospital would have been killed. The chapel we can rebuild – we will rebuild; but the first thing we must do after the funeral is over is to paint a red cross on the roof. There’ll be some safety in that surely.’

      ‘I doubt it,’ said the army doctor. ‘The Japanese are barbarians, but you can try.’

      ‘Mr Anderson,’ said Uncle Sung, who had his back to me. He spoke softly, almost secretly. ‘What do we say to Ashley? How do we tell him about Lin?’

      ‘Let’s wait till he’s better,’ said my father, ‘though God knows where I’ll find the courage from to tell him even then.’

      ‘I can’t think what made him do it,’ said the army doctor. ‘Everyone hid when the planes came, everyone except that boy. He was warned. They told him to keep down. They told him it was no use shooting at planes, but he wouldn’t listen. He ran out into the open and began firing. You might as well spit at a tiger. Someone said he was only fourteen years old, just a boy.’

      I wished at that moment that I had died in the ruins of the house. I closed my eyes and swallowed the scream inside me.

      ‘He was sixteen,’ I said as they walked away. ‘He told everyone he was fourteen because he was so small.’ The three of them turned and stared at me and then my father came back and sat on the bed beside me. ‘Fourteen or sixteen, he was still too young, Ashley. But we must thank God he was the only one killed. It could have been much worse.’

      ‘Not for Lin,’ I said. ‘And why did God pick on Lin, Father? What did Lin ever do to God to make him that angry?’ There was pain and bewilderment in Father’s eyes and I regretted at once the venom in my question.

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