Sit Amygdala Sit

By Robert W Fisk

George Chamberlain lived through the Depression and World War Two. His father was violent towards him and threw him out when he was fourteen.  George was decisive and clever and not shackled by the social rules of the times. After he died he left an oral record of his experiences for his great grandson Nic. George left money to Nic so when he is old enough, Nic can fulfil George's wishes.

Nic Chamberlain lives through the Covid-19 epidemic.  Like George, he is small in a family of large people. Nic is clever but not wise.  Like George, he is brave and impulsive.  He breaks the law and is punished  with a year's probation.

During the Covid-19 pandemic,  Arisa Abe, a student visiting from Japan, is forced to remain in New Zealand.  She moves into the Chamberlain household with Nic and his sister Talia.  They fall in love but Nic is absorbed with physical fitness, and is fascinated by orangutans and Gorge's tape recordings.

Between fifteen and seventeen, Nic and Arisa mature.  As the lockdowns of the Covid-19 pandemic are eased, Arisa wishes to have fun.  Nic has some difficulty with the physical side of their relation
With school over, Nic sets off on his journey to study orangutans and to follow George's wartime footsteps in Borneo.  He seeks Su Ang, the young woman who lived in a longhouse in the jungle and Abe Hideyoshi, the Japanese soldier who befriended him.  He also seeks Arisa to find why she left so urgently.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FOXBURR PUBLISHING
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227474186

Robert W Fisk

Robert lives in Mosgiel, a small town near Dunedin, New Zealand. Robert has been a primary and secondary teacher and school Principal, and later was a Senior Manager of Special Programmes at the University of Otago Language Centre. His writing has been mainly research papers and reports, and while in Brunei Darussalam, a series of dramatised Radio Brunei scripts. He has always enjoyed reading light fiction and now turns his hand to writing it with six published books.

Book preview

Sit

Amygdala

Sit

FINDING OUT

––––––––

ROBERT W FISK

First published in 2024 by Foxburr Publishing

Mosgiel, New Zealand

© Dr Robert W Fisk

Copyright © 2024 by Dr Robert W Fisk.

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by international copyright laws.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental. 

CONTENTS

GEORGE

NIC

YOUNG NIC

NIC THE TEEN

LEAVING SCHOOL

SINGAPORE

GEORGE IN SANDAKAN

NIC IN KOTA KINABALU

GEORGE AT STESEN HUTAN TIGA

NIC IN SANDAKAN

FINDING

GEORGE

1.

I struggle out of the deepest sleep ever. I am hot, so hot. My head hurts like never before. I can’t open my eyes. My eyelids are glued together. This is a nightmare. This is malaria and my body is so seriously weakened it is just a question of whether malaria kills me, or starvation.

Water splashes over my face. There is so much water I am drowning. The water loosens my eyelids. I open my eyes.

Above me are thick green trees with vines dangling.  Jungle.  I have escaped from the Death March and I am hiding from Japanese soldiers.  My view is blocked by a ginger-haired face, rounded at the chin.

Big, round brown eyes look down at me. Over the eyes I see a fringe of long spiky orange hair. The brow is flat, unlike a gorilla with its projecting ridge. The skin is a soft grey leather. Two eyes are like buttons, brown and shiny with concern. There are no cheeks, just flat leathery skin. The nose is wide and flat with large oval nostrils.

A crooked finger traces my lips, washing them with water. A hairy arm goes behind my head and lifts me up. At the same time, a large leaf touches my mouth, tilts, and cool water flows into it.

Then my nose kicks in. The stench makes me gag, and I splutter and water goes everywhere.

The face moves away. A body appears, a body leaning on its arms. I see my caregiver is an orangutan.

Things begin to make a little sense.

I am George Chamberlain. I am an escaped prisoner of war, exhausted, suffering from starvation, dying of malaria, and far away from my Nancy and our son Neville. I know I am dying.

NIC

2.

I am Nicholas Chamberlain.  Please call me Nic.

This is the story of a little over one year in my life, from the time I was seventeen. It is really two stories, one about me growing up and one about my Great Grandfather. Was he a hero or just a nasty person?

Let me start my story with the promise I made eight years ago when I was nine.

When I was young, I had three grandfathers. One was Grandad Sinclair, Mum’s father. He is eighty-one now. The second is Grandad Neville Chamberlain. He was born during the Second World War and is the father of my dad, Edward. The third Grandad is George Chamberlain, Grandad Neville’s father. He is really my great-grandfather, and we sometimes call him Old George.

It was his idea. Just call me Old George or Grandad George, he told me when I was young and struggling to say his name. Your other Granddads were just kids like you when I came home from the war.

This story is about George Chamberlain, Old George, Grandad George. My mission is to retrace his war-time steps and fulfil his wishes.

YOUNG NIC

3.

Mum and I stayed with Old George after Grandma Nancy died. I was seven. He lived in a large house with a big garden in Dunedin.  What had been lovely when Grandma Nancy had been alive was now overgrown, even to the eyes of a small boy.

Grandad George, Old George, walked down the pathway to meet us. He was small. Not as small as a gnome. Not as big as Mum. His skin was white and sort of yellow. I liked him at first sight. He looked old to me but no older than my other Granddads.

His smile lit up his face when he saw Mum and me. He hugged us both, Mum first and then me. I knew right away that he was my favourite Grandad.

I spent a lot of time with him. Mum asked him to sell the house, which was now too big for him. He said he wanted to stay in the home until he died. While the grownups talked, I went exploring.

I saw a photo of him in the army on the table in his bedroom. On his head he had a funny hat like a lemon squeezer, the old-fashioned kind before juicers were invented, where you had to cut a lemon in half and then press it down on this shape that looked like a pyramid to squeeze out the juice. The photo was grey, black, and small. His trousers looked funny. They were baggy in the pants and tight below the knees.

I asked him about the photograph and the funny pants.

They were the colour of sand, he said, touching the uniform. We called them sandpaper suits. Boy were they scratchy. All right for riding horses in the desert but not so good in the jungle where I was.

Grandad, what did you do in the war, I asked.

Not a lot, son, he replied. War is a lot of sitting around, waiting for something to happen.

Did you kill anyone Grandad?

Probably but usually, you can’t tell because they are a long way away.

Were they Germans?

No, Japanese. Look at this.

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. There were more pictures. There was a lengthy line of people, all men. Most of the men were in singlets and shorts or underpants. I could see two uniforms, but they were ragged and worn.

That was a very long walk, he said. See the Japanese soldier?

There’s only one Japanese soldier in the photo. There’s lots of you, why didn’t you kill him?

Grandad looked at me sadly. His name was Sergeant Abe Hideyoshi. He saved my life. Although we were enemies, we were friends. There were too many Japanese soldiers for us. And they had guns.

I was disappointed. Old George could have been braver. I would have killed Sergeant Ar Bay Hidday Yoshi.

One man in the photo looked like a skeleton. He was sitting on the ground on his bottom. His bony knees were up by his face. His eyes were large, like the pictures in advertisements to give money for starving children. His shorts were ragged; he had a torn singlet, no shirt, and no shoes. His feet were cut and bleeding; at least, I think the black marks were blood.

Who’s that? I asked.

Me. I was a prisoner of war. Sergeant Abe took the photos and hid the reel in my shorts when he left me in the jungle. A brave ...

Old George stopped talking.  I turned and saw Mum coming for me. Old George quickly put away his pictures.

What are you up to George? she asked sharply.

Young Nic was asking me about the war, he said.

I hope you didn’t upset him, she said. Come along both of you. We were getting worried for you.

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4.

Sometimes adults have plans they do not explain. Grandad had a plan for me but he did not explain it and I was too young to know what he meant.  Even though he didn’t want to do it, Mum and Dad helped Grandad to sell his house because he was on his own and the garden was overgrown.

You need someone to look after you, said Mum.

I can manage on my own, he said. This house was mine and Nancy’s.  I want to stay where we were happy.

I’ll look after you Grandad, I said, but of course I could not. I was too young.

No dear, Mum told me. He needs to go into a home.

I did not really know what she meant.

He has a home already, I said.

He should be in a rest home for old people, said Mum. They will cook his meals and make his bed and do his washing.

That sounded like a good deal to me but when I looked at Old George, he had tears in his eyes.

I saw him again in his small house in a retirement village in Mosgiel. It was a big village with lots of similar houses. He asked Mum if he could take me for a swim.

He walked quite fast along the road past the houses to the swimming pool.

We got changed. He was a small man. As we stood together in our swimming togs, he looked strong and lean with muscles in his arms like kanuka wood. When we left the changing room and went to the pool, I saw that he was the smallest man there. He was way the best swimmer though. After the swim we walked through the retirement village to a rose garden. He found a bench to sit on.

Grandad, I asked. Mum says you haven’t got long to go. Are you going to die of cancer like Grandma Nancy?

No, Nic, he said. Just old age. Every living thing must die. You fight and fight to stay alive but you know when it’s your time to die. It’s my time soon. Don’t worry about me.

That worried me.

Nic, you are too young now but when you grow up, I want you to do something for me. That’s why I wanted to get you away so we could chat.

He took a picture out of his pocket. His hands were shaking a little. I saw his wrists poking out from his shirt sleeves were a blue-purple colour. His skin looked like the crepe paper we used in primary school when we made Christmas decorations.

This is the young lady who saved me. She looked after orangutans. One of them, Doreen, got Su Ang when I was drowning and too weak to help myself. I still dream of that orangutan’s face as she poured water on my face to revive me.

I couldn’t make sense of the black and white picture. There was a big orangutan hanging from a tree. I loved orangutans. A young woman was pointing at it and laughing. She had a dark face and black eyes. Her hair was black and hung down over her shoulders. Her breasts were showing. She had no clothes on, only a long skirt.

I was shocked. I was nine and bare breasts were porn.

She’s got no clothes on! I cried.

It’s extremely hot in Sabah and in those days women didn’t cover their bodies. I suppose it’s all changed now. Listen carefully, Nic. Do you have a tape recorder?

No, but Dad has an old Sony Walkman.

That will do. My lawyer will send my books and tapes to you when you are grown up. Listen to my story.

Mum said I mustn’t keep secrets. Did that rule count if a Grandad asked you to keep a secret?

When you are older, you will understand what I want you to do. Go to Sabah and find the Ang family. Then go to Nagasaki in Japan. It is famous for the atom bomb dropped on it. Please find the family of Sergeant Abe. I will give you photos to help you search. Mister Dobbs, my lawyer, will have money for you and will help you on your search.

His face was like an autumn leaf, all wrinkled and creased. I saw that he was crying. I was shocked. Granddads don’t cry.

I’ve tried so many times to get back to Sabah to see what happened to Su Ang, he said. I never made it. If I’m still alive, will you take me there?

I will, Grandad, I said. But I must wait until I leave school. That’s when I’m eighteen. That’s, I hesitated while I worked it out, nine years away.

To me nine years was a lifetime. To Old George it was more than his lifetime but I was too young to understand.

I don’t know if I’ve got that long, said Old George. Would you go alone if I can’t make it? And then find Sergeant Abe’s family?

He was so earnest, so sincere. He gripped my wrist so tightly with his bony hand I wondered where he found the strength. His pale blue eyes bored into mine. Suddenly I knew I had to take him to Sabah. Or go alone.

Sure Grandad, I said. I promise.

Two years later, Old George died in his sleep. He was ninety-six and he died just before his 97th birthday. He left money to Dad and some to me to pay for my promise if I choose to keep it.  My promise was to find two people or their families in Sabah and in Nagasaki. I can’t do that until I am seventeen and school is finished for me.

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5.

A third of young people fly through their teenage years with few problems. Arisa was like that. I’ll tell you about Arisa later.  A third of teens struggle at times but otherwise come through the experience wondering what all the fuss was about. That is my sister Talia. A third of teens struggle and have times where they are not nice and have real problems.  I’m like that.

It’s not to do with their upbringing or whether they are rich or poor. It has something to do with the  genes you inherit. You see, Mum says the brain is only partly formed in a young child. During adolescence, the brain changes. The part called the amygdala grows upwards from the bottom and the part called the pre-frontal cortex grows downwards from the top.

The bottom part, the amygdala, generates action, fear, impulse, emotion – all good things when balanced and controlled but during puberty things can get out of kilter. Like they did with me. The top part is logical, analytical and rule-following.

My body was a hot soup of testosterone held in check by my family values.  In other words, I was a holy terror.

As my dad says, Nic, it’s not you I am concerned about. I love you. It’s your behaviour I can’t accept. I hate it.

Mum says, As your pre-frontal cortex grows stronger, your behaviour will change. You will learn to process emotions and balance your reasoning.

Don’t you hate it when parents treat you like a child? Or use words that you don’t understand?  Like amygdala, just when you think you are on top of things.

At the time Mum and Dad’s advice didn’t make much sense to me, but over time I began to separate myself from my behaviour. I was able to say, I need to think about why I acted that way.

So, what has this got to do with Old George?  It turned out Old George had similar problems but it took me a while to understand them.

NIC THE TEEN

6.

Let me tell you about my life.  First, I was happy with my life.  Second, Mum and Dad had their problems during the Covid-19 pandemic.  Third, other people did things that affected my life, things I felt I had little or no control over.

I’ll tell you about my before ten years old life because that was when I knew Old Grandad.  Then I’ll try to explain my life from ten to fifteen, most of which I understood backwards, after things had happened.  They say teens are out of control; that’s because like me they were never really in control.  I’ll tell you about Andrew Wilson, who got me in a heap of trouble.  Then I’ll tell you about Tip, who first drove me crazy and then became my friend and teacher. Tip was a dog.

You will be thinking that in between ten and fifteen I went through a load of problems.  You would be right.  There were kind people who believed in me and led me through my troubles; Mister Ellis, Constable Steve Bayley, my sister Talia, who later needed my help, and Arisa, a student from Japan.

I didn’t help matters.  I had some shortcomings. First, I was determined. It did not matter what was in my way. I always got where I wanted to be. Where I prided myself on being determined, others saw stubborn, selfish, nasty when opposed, surly, even violent at times.

Secondly, I was exceptionally clever. Take away exceptionally and think arrogant. I knew it all. When a question was asked in class my hand was up first so often that teachers ignored me. That got to me. They should answer the first hand, not choose. (I told you I was arrogant.)

Third, I was small, very not tall, and that concerned me.  I kept waiting to grow but that never really happened.  My people are large. My father is 1.85 metres tall. He is strongly built with square shoulders and thick thighs. Women look at him when he goes swimming. Of course, he is a brilliant swimmer. And runner. And rugby fullback. He coaches rugby now, but he still swims regularly.

Fourth, I did not know the difference between being clever and being wise. Even now, I will choose clever over wise. That gets me into heaps of trouble.

I learned about the clever/wise thing from my teacher, Mister Ellis.

Mister Ellis teaches geography. I had him first in Year Nine and again in Year Ten when Mrs Hennessy took time out to have a baby. I didn’t like many of my teachers. But I liked him. Like me, he is small but clever.

On the stage at the weekly assembly, he always stood next to tall people. It was as if he were saying, ‘Look at me. I know I’m small but I’m as good as you.’

Last year, Mister Ellis played in the Staff softball team on Sports Day. He made a difficult winning catch for the Staff team. Usually when that happens players crowd around the hero and pat him on the back, shake his hands, make a fuss. For Mister Ellis, they just ignored him. They walked off leaving him to follow. Have you seen that happen with teachers? Ever?

After the softball match I went to watch the First Cricket Eleven play the Old Boys team on the Big Field. As usual I was entirely on my own. Nobody wanted to be with me. Who cares.

Mister Ellis sat down on the embankment next to me. He watched the game for a while. Then he said, looking at the game not at me, The hardest lesson I had to learn was the difference between being clever and being wise.

Then he got up and joined the group of boys nearby. I thought of his words and went and sat with Christian Fellowes, who was so religious nobody ever sat with him.

I found Christian to be a nice guy. We decided he wouldn’t talk religion if I didn’t talk about things he couldn’t believe in. By this he meant things science based or superstition or magic. He was what they call a Creationist.  Nonetheless, because of my interest in orangutans, we had discussions on Darwinism and Divine Creation. They were fun. He acted the role of his Pastor in church. I acted the role of a Darwinist studying orangutans.  We entered the annual debating contest using our discussions as a basis. We came first. Suddenly we were not nerds anymore.

Our success had a damaging effect on me. I used my tongue to cut people to pieces. I found a new power that I wielded without mercy. I was a right pain in the arse.

It was Mum who brought me down to Earth as only mothers can.

You know we always say, if you can’t say something nice, just smile? she said. Well, Nic, you have a lovely smile but you don’t use it much.

I thought it was always ‘say nothing.’  Then I realised why she changed the saying. Instead of smiling I was being nasty. She was right. I was so embarrassed I lay awake at night going over some of the things I had said during the day.

At thirteen I not only had a sharp tongue, but I also quarrelled with Mum and Dad. I resented their senseless rules and their boring way of life. And Dad began drinking heavily.  Mum said he was frustrated being in a dead-end job.  I think it also had to do with new sports heroes taking over and making him feel he was history.

I was always off-side with people. I suppose it was my bad temper – I was on the computer till the early hours each night–- plus my arrogance. I was right. I knew best. I was impatient.

I told you that yesterday, I would say.

Don’t you ever listen to me? I would ask.

I also gaslit situations. Mum and Dad were easy to fool. They believed every credible story I told them. Or so I thought. 

Matters came to a head when I went too far. That involved the fifteen-year-old boy I mentioned, Andrew Wilson.

The Scott boys and the Wilson boys lived up the hill. They went to the Catholic school. They would come into our garden in North East Valley and smash stuff. There were six of them, four Wilsons and two Scotts. The two older boys sent the four smaller ones to let the dog go. Tip was a lively Border Collie cross. It could take hours to find him, round him up and lead him home.

I knew I wasn’t meant to hurt younger kids, but they were bigger than me. Except for one. I decided to use weak vinegar to teach them a lesson not to mess with me.  I filled my water pistol with weak white vinegar.

The following day, my little sister Talia came to me terrified.

Nic, they’re hurting Tip, she cried. They are poking him with pointed sticks. They are whacking him hard with a chain.

When I reached Tip he was bleeding. By then the two older boys had set the four young ones on Dad’s vegetable patch. They were smashing everything to the ground.

I attacked them.

Yahoo! I screamed. Out! Get out!

I squirted them with my pistol, aiming for their eyes. I told you I was nasty at thirteen.

There was a Scott about three years younger than me, about ten. There were three Wilsons, probably thirteen, twelve and eleven years old. The oldest Wilson looked older than me, around fifteen. They turned and ran out on to the road, shouting abuse at me.  I shouted at them, telling them I would shoot them if they came on to the property again.

I thought I had handled things well.  They wouldn’t dare to come back. I was wrong.

7.

Like all use of violence, there was a price to pay. The violence escalated. Mum was at work in the cake shop. Dad was an engineer, working on the new fuel oil depot at the waterfront. Talia was doing her homework on the verandah.

Hey, poofter, called the oldest Wilson. You’re crazy. We’re going to burn your house down with you and your sister in it.

He had rope in his hands. Talia ran screaming into the house. She yelled, I’ll get the police.

While I turned to see if Talia was safe the oldest Wilson threw a rope around me. I pulled hard on it and he fell over. I ran for the house, Talia opened the door, and I slipped through the gap. The oldest Wilson thudded into the door just behind me.

The Law says you can defend yourself with reasonable force if you feel you are in imminent danger. For the moment we weren’t. Talia was trying to convince the operator that six children had a can of petrol and were planning to burn the house down with us in it.

I went into Mum and Dad’s bedroom and got his air pistol from the gun cupboard in the corner. I knew the lock combination. I did not load it. It was a spring-loaded air gun used for target practice.  I left by the kitchen door and ran around the house. The young kids had poured petrol all along the verandah.

I held the barrel of the air pistol against the oldest Wilson’s head.

If they set fire to the house, I’ll blow your head off, I threatened.

He wet his pants.

You’re crazy! he said. I’ll have the police lock you up.

Talia opened the door a crack.

You lot clear off before my brother shoots you. He’s crazy, you know.

They all ran off.

Talia and I went into the kitchen. I made coffee, Talia had milk. I heard a siren. It was approaching fast. At last, someone had believed Talia.

To cut a long story short, the lady officer saw the petrol and the can. Then she drove up the hill leaving the male officer to deal with us.

Tell me what happened here, he said.

Talia was brilliant. I was an oaf. I mumbled and I lost the thread of what I wanted to say.

The lady officer came back about half an hour later. The other officer made us go to our rooms and stay there. Then Dad arrived, and then Mum. Then two more people I couldn’t name from their voices, only one was a man and one was a woman.

I heard raised voices. The talk seemed to go on for a long time. Then Dad opened my bedroom door.

Come with me, son.

The lady officer sat beside Mister Wilson. Mum sat next to Dad and Mrs Scott on the other side of the table. Talia was next to her. Her face was drawn and white, as if she were about to spew. The other officer stood in front of the kitchen door with his hands behind his back.

Mister Wilson, please.

I am Brian Wilson. I have four children. Since my wife left me I have had to bring them up on my own, as well as work in the meat works. I left fifteen-year-old Andrew in charge. He was not up to the job. I apologise to everyone for the actions of my children. It seems now I am to lose them to Social Services. I tried so hard.

He began to sob, like silent hiccupping. Mum had tears run down her face.

Mister or Mrs Chamberlain, please.

Mum and Dad looked at each other.

You start, said Dad.

Mum said, About Nicholas.

My full name. This was serious.

Teens have undeveloped brains. They have knowledge but little wisdom. It was right for Nicholas to defend his sister and his home. The way he chose was not wise and I apologise to Mister Wilson and his children for the trauma they suffered.

Dad spoke next. Nicholas, your actions were extreme. You have a phone with an emergency button. What do you think would be wiser, to threaten someone’s life or to call emergency services? 

My voice broke as I