It is a depressing Saturday afternoon, hot and muggy, so to relieve the boredom, slightly in the doldrums because of a silly quarrel with my boyfriend, Ruben, a medical student, who, to my mind, simply was not applying himself seriously enough to his medical studies, even though he was a genius... I look for a way to cheer myself up, and alight on the bright idea that what I need today is my favorite form of distraction, a movie...

I decide on a musical, showing at my favorite cinema, the famous His Majesty's Theater, built some time in the 1920's, in honor of King George the Fifth, of England. A large, beautifully appointed building of magnificent architecture on the outside, its interior is opulently decorated with plush, roomy seats of red velvet, with exquisite Greek statuary, carved in white marble, standing in subduedly lit wall niches, set at intervals along its veloured walls, topped by a star-studded ceiling, the whole theater comfortably air-conditioned, very elegant and posh.

I forget now what was playing, in view of the startling events that took place that afternoon, taking me completely by surprise... awakening poignant memories long buried... and heart-wrenching pain...

I duly purchase a balcony ticket for the matinee performance, and find myself a plushy seat in the already darkened theater, sinking back into its soft contours, feeling nice and relaxed, and looking around me, idly notice that the house is almost empty.

The Pathe Newsreel is about to begin, and I am subjected to the usual heartrending reports about more famine in India... high fatalities of the Korean war... floods, fires and typhoons... when a picture flashes on the screen, showing a nightclub scene in Tokyo... And my interest quickens, because I had spent the first eleven years of my childhood in the Orient - ten of them in fascinating Japan...

As I watch, incredulous with disbelief, I am dismayed to see the sexily gyrating form of a young Japanese girl, looking as if she had been poured into her shiny, slinky black cocktail dress, which seems to be glued to her body, accentuating her breasts and buttocks vulgarly, as she bumps and grinds her hips to the beat of the rock and roll music, belting out a cacophony of deafening noise in a raucous voice, putting me into a state of dazed, momentary shock...

What I am witnessing is mind-boggling, to say the least, as never before had I seen a "Nippon no shojo" behaving in such an unfeminine, lewd manner, in all the ten years I had lived in my beloved Nippon... "Land of the Rising Sun".

On the contrary, my experience of Japanese women, young or old, had always been most pleasant, and I had always particularly admired their very retiring air of modesty, their soft-spoken, genteel manner, whether beautiful or not, whether rich or poor... their graceful bodies draped in exquisite, colorful kimonos... their jet black hair traditionally coiffured in age-old, intricately elaborate creations of magnificence... always charmed and delighted to see their example of gentle graciousness, and exquisite femininity. In all the ten years I had lived in Japan, I had never seen any of them clad in Western dress, except for school girls, who, for practical and disciplinary purposes, were compelled to wear modern uniforms of tunics, or skirts and blouses..

So that the horrible news segment that I am now absorbing is very hard to accept indeed, and I sadly realize that, alas, even these delicate and most feminine of creatures, have also been mesmerized and seduced, and succumbed to joining the ranks of their more modern, Western sisters... coarse by comparison, in a by and large competitive world, ever since the end of World War II, when the American victors swarmed all over Japan in droves...

No sooner have I digested this bit of painful truth, when I am subjected to yet another shock, only this one is far more painful than the first..

Already finding the newsreel much too lengthy and much too depressing in my already heavy-hearted state, wishing fervently that it would end, so that I could be enchanted for an hour or two by the magical make-believe of the cinematic arts... my interest is suddenly reawakened by what the newsman is now reporting...

I look down at the screen, and see before me the scene of a ship about to sink off the Strait of Mozambique, along the coast of East Africa, and all at once, her name, "Klipfontein", leaps out at me... and I sit bolt upright... overcome by a flood of realization that I know this ocean liner... know her most intimately!

Everything in front of me becomes a blur as the tears spring to my eyes, and I remember what she means to me... the myriad scenarios of adventurous frolicking, when I was almost twelve years old, flashing across my mind... the poignant sight of my beautiful ship half submerged in the waters in front of me... evoking painful memories... making me think back to the carefree time when I happily hopped, skipped, jumped and raced across her gleaming decks...

This gallant vessel "Klipfontein", that had miraculously escaped being torpedoed... this streamlined 520 feet long magnificence that, during the dark, foreboding years of 1941 and 1942, had carried hundreds of frightened but brave refugees across the perilous seas... For about sixty days, people of all nationalities, desperately trying not to dwell on the very real and constant threat of either being torpedoed into Kingdom Come... or captured, detained and incarcerated in some horribly inhuman Japanese internment camp, where they would most likely be tortured and starved to death... had entrusted their lives into her keeping, as she stalwartly sailed across the Pacific Ocean...

I cannot help myself, I am choked up with memories indelibly printed upon the innermost recesses of my very soul... and I weep with unchecked emotion... as I watch her slowly sinking... thinking to myself:

"How tragically ironic... you sailed through so much danger during the war... and now, in peace time, you have to perish into the depths of the ocean by hitting a reef... what a senseless accident..!"

Apparently, on the 18th of January, 1953 - almost eleven years to the day after she deposited us safely in Los Angeles harbor - she was racing the British passenger ship "Bloemfontein Castle", to get to the single berth available at the port city of Beira, in Portuguese East Africa... and in her haste, sailed too far inland, striking a reef... Fortunately, since it took her a good three hours to sink, there was plenty of time for her passengers and crew to be rescued aboard by the "Bloemfontein Castle", which quickly went to her rescue... Naturally, she won the race, but at what a terrible cost...

"My dearly beloved "Klipfontein", I shall forever treasure you in my heart... how safe you always made me feel... and how valiant and courageous your master, "Captain Post", and crew always were... Thank you, intrepid "Klipfontein"...

Even as I am filled with deep sadness... I am grateful and honored to bear witness to your final hours... and wonder if any of my co-passengers in other parts of the world will see this newsreel, and how their reaction will be... Will they also recall your bravery, and weep, or will they not even remember the enormous part you played in bringing them all to safety? I wonder...

To me you were not just a mass of steel and metal and glass, but a spirit of benign power... Whenever I felt the throb of your heart under my feet, I always felt very secure, and filled with an inexplicable sense of safety. Who can explain how one ship can feel different from another? Something intangible gives one the feeling of rapport, of "knowing" that one is safe from harm. I just simply "knew"... instinctively... that no evil fate could ever befall us... not whilst on board your sturdy decks...

I remember falling in love with you at first sight, from the very first moment when I caught a glimpse of your beautiful, graceful lines, as you sat sparkling in the sunlight, at the docks of Surabaya, Java - you had such an air of proud confidence, and yet you looked so gentle..." Captain Post and his crew had always managed to put the passengers entrusted to their care, at ease, even when the ship was surrounded by the threat of Japanese submarines, destroyers and battleships, lurking in the waters of the Pacific Ocean... which might at any moment, in mistaking her for the enemy, turn hostile, pointing their cannons and torpedoes in her direction, intent on smashing the ship into oblivion... Furthermore, the news on the ship's radio was always unsettling, and a lot was withheld from the passengers, in order to prevent any possible spy activity that might be going on... or outbreak of panic and pandemonium... and jumping overboard... the captain and his men doing everything in their power to keep morale high on board ship for their often nervous, easily apprehensive charges...

Although the "Klipfontein" was a Dutch ocean liner, and therefore considered neutral, we never knew from one day to the next, when Holland might also be plunged into the terrible holocaust of the war... As a matter of fact, we found out, months later, that a twin Dutch passenger ship had, in fact, been an indiscriminate target for the Japanese fleet, on its second day out to sea, after leaving the port of Shanghai, its destination Surabaya, Java... the neutral ship being torpedoed and sunk on the very same day that Pearl Harbor was attacked and bombed... leaving not a single survivor on board... the ship having left Shanghai only one day before we did... and sailing the same sea route!

As I mull over these sobering thoughts, realizing for the millionth time how close a call we had had... several times coming to within twenty-four hours of being a target for annihilation ourselves on that fateful ocean crossing... I feel a swelling of pride filling my chest, even as my heart throbs with sorrow... now a witness to my beloved "Klipfontein's" inevitable, tragic end... And even as she lays dying, half submerged in the water, there is an indestructible dignity about her still...

I had periodically wondered what had become of her, during the twelve years, or so, that had elapsed, since that memorable, long, ocean voyage, sailing from Java to the United States of America, via Auckland, New Zealand, and here she was, as large as life, right before my astounded eyes...

With a lump in my throat, I finger the silver "Klipfontein" brooch, outlined in a fancy script, that I always wear in honor and memory of her, and that miraculous sea voyage on board a make-believe atmosphere of devil-may- care gaiety, the passengers of whom were a motley collection of international "neutrals"... including a Nazi spy... which journey, by far, had been one of the most exciting times of my burgeoning young life... a soul-shaking two- month slice out of what had already begun to be a turbulent existence, starting back in Japan... a never-to-be-forgotten journey that is indelibly etched even unto the very depths of my soul...

As I grieve, whispering "Farewell, my splendid, majestic ship of valor...", the agony of watching her slowly sink, like an enormous beached whale... is almost more than I can bear... and I almost wish that I was not being a witness to her sad demise... And yet, through the excruciating pain clutching my breast... there is a strange instinctive feeling inside me that I Had Been Singled Out for a "Greater Purpose"... that I Had Been "Directed" to this particular theater on this particular afternoon by Providence... and was not there merely by chance alone..!

The main feature is about to begin, and I deliberately try to push away the sad thoughts and memories of my undaunted "Klipfontein"... focusing all my concentration on the musical comedy I had come to see, instead...

But later, back home in the privacy of my room, once again overcome by the startling events of that bewildering afternoon, I give myself up totally to my anguish... And as I weep bitterly... the vivid memories of my beloved Nippon... and that incredible sea voyage across the Pacific Ocean, flooding back, unchecked... my heart, filled with an aching longing to turn back the clock... the thought begins to grow strongly inside me to tell the world about my ten tumultuous years, growing up in "The Land of the Rising Sun"... and of the part this indomitable ship "Klipfontein" played during those two long, uncertain months of my childhood... sailing from the Far East all the way across to the Far West... And I can picture it all distinctly and clearly now... as if it had all taken place... happening only just yesterday...

Muftiah Turin