The Empire Trilogy Part 46

Presently they came to the entrance beneath an archway on which was written in streamlined neon script: The Great World. The Great World. Here a dense crowd of men and women struggled for admission; among them several men in uniform. Suddenly a man in a lighter uniform caught Matthew by the arm: it was Ehrendorf. 'I just got here this moment,' he said cheerfully. 'Hi there, Monty! Hiya Joan!' Here a dense crowd of men and women struggled for admission; among them several men in uniform. Suddenly a man in a lighter uniform caught Matthew by the arm: it was Ehrendorf. 'I just got here this moment,' he said cheerfully. 'Hi there, Monty! Hiya Joan!'

'What a surprise,' said Monty without surprise.

'Jim, I'm not sure that you know, ah, Sinclair ...' said Matthew.

'Let's get inside before we get crushed to death,' said Joan, ignoring Ehrendorf. 'These soldiers smell like pigs.'

'Look, I just want to hire someone to watch my car while I'm inside so could you wait a moment?' said Ehrendorf, his cheerfulness evaporating. 'I'm afraid the local gashouse gang will have it stripped down if ...'

But the young Blacketts had pressed on through the entrance dragging the hesitating Matthew and Sinclair with them.

'Look, shouldn't we wait for Jim?'

'Don't worry, he'll find us all right.'

Matthew had a last glimpse of Ehrendorf's face as Monty propelled him through the entrance and was harrowed to see the expression of suffering on it.

'See you in a minute then,' Ehrendorf called after them and hurried away.

21.

Matthew now found that he had been shoved into a great circular concourse in the middle of which stood a thicket of bamboo and palms. On one hand was an open-air cafe whose tables were thronged with rowdy troops drinking beer, on the other a billiards saloon through the tall open windows of which Matthew glimpsed green pyramids of smoke-filled light above the tables and oriental faces glimmering in the surrounding darkness. Farther along was a great hall from within which there came the regular thump of drums and sighing of saxophones.

Together they struck off through the crowd which in some places was so thick that they had to shoulder their way through, pa.s.sing along a street of stalls with corrugated-iron roofs and flimsy, brightly lit fronts. Some of these stalls were open-air eating-houses festooned with lurid, naked, pink-eyed chickens hung by their necks on hooks, lidded eyes closed in death; beside them were piled varnished ducks and lumps of meat swimming in grease and studded with fat flies gorging themselves; next to the meat laboured a wizened specialist in fish dumplings, and next to him a family of plump Malays beside bubbling cauldrons of nasi padang nasi padang, giant prawns, curried eggs, nuts and ikan bilis ikan bilis (dried fish no bigger than your fingernail), all being shovelled on to plates or twisted in cones of leaves. Here a groaning lady was being sawn in half, there another was being put through a mincer with blood horribly gushing out underneath; next came a shooting-gallery where an Australian sergeant in his wide-brimmed hat was using an air-rifle to smash blackened light-bulbs to the jeers of his comrades, and a striptease stall; a neighbouring stall displayed a sign warning of (dried fish no bigger than your fingernail), all being shovelled on to plates or twisted in cones of leaves. Here a groaning lady was being sawn in half, there another was being put through a mincer with blood horribly gushing out underneath; next came a shooting-gallery where an Australian sergeant in his wide-brimmed hat was using an air-rifle to smash blackened light-bulbs to the jeers of his comrades, and a striptease stall; a neighbouring stall displayed a sign warning of Waning Virility Waning Virility: 'Please swallow our Sunlight Pill for Male Persons, Moonlight Pill for Female Persons. Guaranteed.' Beneath the sign was a display of medicine bottles together with a crude and alarming diagram in coloured crayon which was evidently intended to represent s.e.xual organs.

As Matthew paused to study it his arm was suddenly taken by a tall and slender Tamil girl with a pigtail (in which jasmine flowers were intricately braided) hanging to her waist. He nudged up his spectacles to see her better, gazing with surprise into her dark face where a silver stud gleamed in the whorl of each nostril. She was very pretty and he would have liked to talk to her, but the others were already disappearing; and so he disengaged himself apologetically and hurried after them, his heart thumping. How exciting it all was, how much more interesting than Geneva!

Now, hurrying through the crowds in search of his friends, he almost ran full tilt into a makeshift stage (merely boards and trestles) on which a Chinese opera was taking place. Actors and actresses in glorious costumes were declaiming in a penetrating falsetto, impervious to the scene-shifter in khaki shorts and singlet and with a cigarette dangling from his mouth who was rearranging the furniture around them. One of them, with a forked beard reaching to his knees, stalked off into the wings, rolling his eyes in histrionic rage, and a murmur went up from the crowd of Chinese who had gathered to watch. On his way round the side to rejoin the alley which he had left Matthew found himself gazing into the dressing-room, for the sides and back of this miniature theatre were covered only by cloth hangings blowing about in the breeze and allowing him a glimpse of the actresses making-up for the next scene: elaborately rouged and pink-powdered faces glared at mirrors while tweezers prepared a further a.s.sault on already well-plucked eyebrows. Several tiny Chinese girls clung to wooden spars also peering in at this arresting sight.

Afraid that he had lost his friends altogether, he pressed on; his progress was slow, nevertheless, for his attention was captured by various wonders which sprang up one after another: a man selling bunches of dried frogs tied together by their legs, a family of acrobats turning somersaults, a stall selling the juices of unfamiliar fruits by the gla.s.s, a wizened cashier in a bamboo cage, satay satay morsels skewered on hundreds of bamboo spills roasting over charcoal, sellers of morsels skewered on hundreds of bamboo spills roasting over charcoal, sellers of soto soto soup, and soup, and won ton mee won ton mee, and apple fritters fizzing in rancid-smelling oil, and nasi goreng nasi goreng, and heavenly ice-cream flavoured with mango and durian, and the durian itself, so desired and so dreaded for its peculiar odour, piled in pyramids like cannonb.a.l.l.s ... and other astonishing sights and events beyond description, taking place, too, in a street crowded with men and women of every shape, size and colour, from a family of performing pygmies, to the graceful, delicate Chinese, to floury, bucolic British and Dutch in voluminous khaki shorts; and accompanied by a cacophony of musical instruments and gramophones in an atmosphere heavy with perfume, incense, sandalwood, sweat and tobacco smoke in the soft, humid air of the tropics.

Matthew recalled the conversation he had had earlier in the evening with Walter and began to ponder the commercial enterprise which had brought about this extraordinary mixture of races and cultures. It was as if the sudden appearance of Western capital in Malaya had created a vacuum which had sucked in people from all the surrounding countries and from much farther away. Would this nation of transients who had come to seek a livelihood under the British Crown one day become a nation with a culture of its own, created somehow out of its own diversity? It had happened in America, certainly, but would it happen here where the divergences of culture were even greater than they had been among the American immigrants? Was a colony like Malaya, as the Communists claimed, a mere sweat-shop for cheap labour operated in the interests of capitalism by cynical Western governments? Or was Western capital (which included his own capital, too, now that his father had died; he must not forget that!) ... or was Western capital, as Walter insisted, a fructifying influence bringing life and hope to millions by making hitherto unused land productive? Or was it perhaps both things at the same time? (Had not Marx himself suggested something of the sort?) To what extent were the affairs of the Straits Settlements and Federated Malay States directed by Britain with the welfare of their inhabitants at heart and to what extent with British commercial interests? that was the root of the question! Matthew had halted again, perturbed. He could see Monty and Joan and Sinclair not too far ahead and he wanted to think this out before rejoining them. But at this moment something odd happened.

Among the strollers, diners and revellers Matthew had been aware, while sinking his teeth into these weighty problems, of a number of painted girls, Chinese or Eurasian, unusually graceful and attractive in their high-collared, straight-cut Shanghai gowns, slit at the side to above the knee. These girls wore their blue-black hair short and marcelled in the Western fashion, but as Matthew stood there, immobilized by thought, he could not help noticing that one of them, strolling arm in arm with another girl, was not only wearing a Western summer frock but also wore her hair long and loose. And even more surprising, for she seemed to be Chinese, when she pa.s.sed in front of a brightly lit food-stall her hair, which had seemed to be as black as her companion's, glowed dark red around the edges, like a bottle of red ink held up against the light.

She was saying something to the girl beside her and accompanying her words with a sweet smile which revealed a glimmer of white teeth. Matthew, captivated by her appearance, could not help staring at her. Looking up, she noticed his glance and gave a start of surprise, as if she recognized him. With a word to her companion she came boldly up to him, still smiling, and said in a low voice: 'Matthew, I knew your father.' Then, since Matthew merely goggled at her, she went on: 'He was very kind to me. I was so sorry when he died! My name is Vera Chiang ... I saw you when you came to the Mayfair with Mr and Miss Blackett, who has also been kind to me ... and she is beautiful, too, don't you think? just like Joan Crawford she reminds me of, so lovely ... and now, Matthew, you are all alone in the world ...' Her eyes had filled with tears of sympathy.

'Good gracious!' murmured Matthew and continued to peer at her in astonishment. He cleared his throat, however, in order to say something more adequate and was about to nudge his gla.s.ses up on his nose, but she took hold of his hand and clasped it feelingly in both of hers, saying: 'I was in trouble and your dear father, like a saint of heaven, from the depths of my misery gave me "a bunk up" (please excuse my slang expression of speaking!) and now he has died, it is so sad, it really does give me "the blues" when I think about it and sometimes at night I cry by myself, yes, but forgive me, for you it must be very much worse than for me!' And with emotion she clasped his hand tightly to her chest with both of hers.

'Actually, my father and I weren't all that ...'

'Yes, I know know how you were feeling when you heard this news and I thought "Poor Matthew" because your father had shown me a "snap" of you when small baby and I wondered: "In whatever country in the world will this news reach him?" and your father had told me that when one day he was no more, you, his only son, would be left alone in the world because your dear mother had "kicked the bucket" long ago and there was no one else to look after you.' On an impulse she flicked open a b.u.t.ton of her frock and gently slipped his hand through the opening, clasping it with both of hers more tightly than ever to comfort him, with the result that Matthew now found his rather damp palm moulding what appeared to be, well, a naked breast: whatever it was, it was certainly silky, soft, plastic, agreeably resistant and satisfying to the touch. He continued to stand there for some moments enjoying this unusually pleasant sensation, though distinctly bewildered. Meanwhile, they gazed into each other's eyes, hypnotized, and currents of feeling flowed back and forth between them. how you were feeling when you heard this news and I thought "Poor Matthew" because your father had shown me a "snap" of you when small baby and I wondered: "In whatever country in the world will this news reach him?" and your father had told me that when one day he was no more, you, his only son, would be left alone in the world because your dear mother had "kicked the bucket" long ago and there was no one else to look after you.' On an impulse she flicked open a b.u.t.ton of her frock and gently slipped his hand through the opening, clasping it with both of hers more tightly than ever to comfort him, with the result that Matthew now found his rather damp palm moulding what appeared to be, well, a naked breast: whatever it was, it was certainly silky, soft, plastic, agreeably resistant and satisfying to the touch. He continued to stand there for some moments enjoying this unusually pleasant sensation, though distinctly bewildered. Meanwhile, they gazed into each other's eyes, hypnotized, and currents of feeling flowed back and forth between them.

At this moment a torrent of inebriated Dutch sailors, their arms on each other's shoulders, half running, half dancing the remains of a drunken hornpipe, scattering the crowd right and left, suddenly came bearing down on them. One moment Matthew was standing there, immobilized by the question of colonial welfare and progress, with the damp palm of his hand neatly moulding a young woman's naked breast, the next he was being jostled by a crowd of chuckling Chinese as they fled before the hornpiping sailors. He was pushed this way and that. He and the young woman were sundered ... the hand through which such agreeable sensations had been flowing was brushed away, his spectacles dislodged from his nose and swung perilously from one ear as he struggled to keep his balance. Now a gale of deep-throated laughter blew in his ear, his wrists were grabbed and slung around enormous damp necks, powerful hands closed round his chest, and the next instant he had been whisked away as part of a giant spider's web of sailors from which one or two diminutive Chinese were struggling like flies to extricate themselves. Matthew found himself carried along in a blur of rushing lights and figures, swaying and horn-piping at a terrifying speed, his feet hardly touching the ground, until at last the spider's web's progress was arrested by crashing into a tent where what might have been some rather intimate ma.s.sage seemed to be taking place. By the time that he, too, had managed to disengage himself and adjust his spectacles, which by a miracle he had not lost (he would have been helpless without them), he was some distance from where he had seen the girl. He went back a little way, looking for her, but the crowd had surged over the place where they had been standing and he could no longer even be quite sure where it had been.

He felt a hand on his arm. He turned and found that it was Monty.

'We thought we'd lost you. What have you been up to? Come on, it's this way.'

'Monty, I must tell you, a really strange thing just happened ...'

But Monty was anxious not to miss the beginning of the show and without waiting to hear any more had set off again towards a distant spot-lit enclosure. From that direction, too, there now came a high-pitched, piercing laugh, like the creaking of a dry pump, or perhaps the lonely cry of a peac.o.c.k in the dusk.

22.

A considerable crowd had a.s.sembled to witness the unusual sight of a European lady being fired from a cannon; canvas awnings had been erected to screen the event from those reluctant to pay the price of admission but here and there the fabric was torn and small boys fought for places at peepholes. Inside the enclosure an elaborate scene had been set: on the right stood the cannon, its long barrel, mottled with green and brown camouflage in the best military manner, protruding from a two-dimensional cardboard castle on which was written Fortress Singapore. Fortress Singapore. Behind the cannon loomed the giant papiermache heads of Chiang Kai-shek and King George VI, the former with a legend hung round his neck: Behind the cannon loomed the giant papiermache heads of Chiang Kai-shek and King George VI, the former with a legend hung round his neck: 'Kuo 'Kuo (Country), (Country), Min Min (People), (People), Tang Tang (Party). World friend with all Peace-loving Peoples!' together with a similar legend in Chinese ideographs beside it. 'G.o.d Save King' said a more prefunctory legend around the King's neck. (Party). World friend with all Peace-loving Peoples!' together with a similar legend in Chinese ideographs beside it. 'G.o.d Save King' said a more prefunctory legend around the King's neck.

On the left, at a distance of some fifty yards, stretched a large net and, in front of the net, an impressively realistic armoured-car constructed of paper and thin wooden laths. From its turret there reared, like snakes from a basket, a fistful of hideously grinning bespectacled heads in military caps; towering above these heads, like a king cobra ready to strike, was yet another bespectacled snake's head which was surely, thought Matthew, intended as a caricature of the young Emperor Hirohito. Any doubt but that this was intended to be the cannon's target was dispelled by a sign on the armoured-car which declared: 'Hated Invader of Beloved China Homeland.'

'But where are the Da Sousa Sisters?' demanded Monty. 'I thought they were part of the show.' The programme he had bought consisted of a single folded sheet, on the outside of which was a blurred photograph of a bulky, helmeted figure, presumably the human ammunition; inside, it read: 1 Advance of atrocious enemy.

2 Cannon fires.

3 Miss Olive Kennedy-Walsh, BA (Pa.s.s Arts), H Dip Ed, TCD will hurtle through air towards advancing disagreeable aggressor.

4 Treacherous aggressor smashed. (Mgt not responsible.) 5 Voluntary contributions to China Heroic War Effort gratefully received.

6 G.o.d sake King.

7 End.

8 Please to exit. Thank you for custom.

Paper model supplied courtesy Chou & Son, Undertaker and Funeral Preparation. All Religions catered for. Sago Lane, Singapore.'End as you wish you had begun.'

'Oh, that's nothing,' said Monty to Matthew, who had remarked on the excellence of the imitation armoured-car. 'You should see the Cadillacs and houses and ocean liners and whatnot they make for rich towkays towkays to take away with them to the next world. It's a skilled profession. The Chinese can be pretty simple-minded,' he added with a sneer. to take away with them to the next world. It's a skilled profession. The Chinese can be pretty simple-minded,' he added with a sneer.

'Where are are those suh ... suh ... suh ... sisters? This is a duh ... hm ... liberate swindle, don't you think so, Monty?' those suh ... suh ... suh ... sisters? This is a duh ... hm ... liberate swindle, don't you think so, Monty?'

But a pink-faced young planter nearby, overhearing Sinclair's complaint, a.s.sured him that the Da Sousa Sisters had already made their appearance. They had sung a number of songs, including 'Chocolate Soldier' and, of course, their signature tune: 'Halloa! halloa! halloa!' He doubted whether they would appear again that evening.

'Just our luck,' grumbled Monty.

'I don't think Jim will ever find us,' Matthew was saying, but at that moment he saw Ehrendorf shouldering his way into the enclosure. Meanwhile, a portable gramophone was being vigorously wound by one of the stage-hands. Another Chinese in a white dinner-jacket took the microphone. 'Just in time,' said Ehrendorf cheerfully. 'I wouldn't have missed this for anything.' Joan was sitting at the end of the row and he sat down next to her. But she stood up immediately, saying to Monty and Sinclair: 'Move along. I want to sit next to Matthew.' With some confusion, because the gap between the rows of seats was narrow, she struggled to the place which opened up between Sinclair and Matthew. Ehrendorf flushed and stared grimly down at the arena.

Now the star of the performance, Miss Kennedy-Walsh, was being announced: she was a strongly built woman in her thirties, dressed from head to foot in an aviator's suit of white silk which perfectly modelled her impressive figure: the audience murmured in appreciation of her well-formed thighs, her generous b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her strong jaw and pink face.

'Will she ever squeeze down the barrel?' joked Ehrendorf tensely.

'Big ah blests number one!' remarked a smartly dressed young Chinese beside Matthew giving the thumbs-up sign. Matthew had already noticed by the pin-ups displayed at the 'virility' stall how the Chinese seemed to admire big-bosomed women.

Miss Kennedy-Walsh, indeed, was not finding it easy to insert herself in the barrel. Her splendid thighs she fitted in with comparative ease; somehow, aided by the slippery material of her suit, she also managed to cram her hips into the muzzle. But her b.r.e.a.s.t.s remained obstinately stuck on the rim and with her arms pinned to her sides she was helpless. Stuck! Her face flushed with irritation. A murmur of concern arose from the audience. 'Glory be to G.o.d, will ye give us a shove, y'lazy gombeens!'

A hasty conference of the Chinese organizers was already taking place. They scratched their heads and stared at Miss Kennedy-Walsh's too ample bosom and then they stared at the cannon and scratched their heads again. The master of ceremonies put his hands on her shoulders and shoved politely, but that did not help. If anything it made things worse. Miss Kennedy-Walsh slipped down a few inches but her bosom remained on the rim and her face grew redder.

'Will we be stayin' here all the night or what?' she demanded furiously. Her mouth could be seen working but her further comments were drowned by the martial music which suddenly started up. Matthew, who had been watching with interest and concern, stiffened suddenly as he felt Joan's hand creep into his own and his pulse quickened.

In the meantime someone had had an idea and a Chinese lady had been invited on to the stage. She was heavily made-up and, despite the heat, wore a brilliant feather boa round her neck. She had evidently been hastily summoned from other duties and appeared fl.u.s.tered. The master of ceremonies, explaining what he wanted her to do, made kneading motions and pointed at the recalcitrant b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A sheet was modestly thrown over the muzzle and Miss Kennedy-Walsh's protruding head and torso. The lady with the boa vanished underneath it; the gramophone continued to play martial music. When, after a few moments, the sheet was whipped away again, there was no sign of Miss Kennedy-Walsh. A ripple of applause echoed around the enclosure.

Now the show was beginning in earnest. The master of ceremonies, first in Cantonese, then in Malay, then in English, asked the audience on a given signal to count down from ten. A spotlight was directed on a man by the breech of the cannon holding a lanyard: he smiled nervously; a wheel was spun and the barrel elevated. Another spotlight was directed on to the model armoured-car with its wavering, two-dimensional j.a.panese effigies. Long ropes had been attached to the front of the armoured-car which now began to move very slowly, dragged by two Chinese stage-hands, from behind the net and on towards 'Fortress Singapore'. A high ramp had been set up in front of the net and the armoured-car obligingly diverted from its course and, instead of continuing to advance directly on the Fortress, started to climb it. The martial music had come to a stop, replaced by a long roll of drums. The counting began. Ten ... nine ... eight ... The armoured-car had almost reached the top of the ramp ... Three ... two ... one ... Fire! The man holding the lanyard jerked it, but nothing happened A gasp of dismay went up from the spectators. In the silence that followed, m.u.f.fled comments could be heard from inside the barrel of the cannon. Monty consulted his programme: 'We seem to have got stuck on number 2: "cannon fires".'

Another hasty conference took place, this time around the breech. While it was taking place the men with the ropes, somewhat apprehensively, darted up the ramp under the eye of the cannon, seized the armoured-car and carried it back to its original position; then they took up their stations once more with the ropes. Presently, after another roll of drums and a few adjustments by a man with a spanner, they were again given the signal to start pulling. The armoured-car began to climb! Ten ... nine ... eight ... The nervous strain was clearly telling on the men with the ropes: the vehicle was advancing jerkily, now halting, now bounding forward. Three ... two ... one ... Fire! A tremendous explosion echoed around The Great World and a white projectile went winging its way in a glittering arc beneath the black vault of the sky. Swooning with excitement, the men with the ropes gave a great pull: the armoured-car shot over the top of the ramp and down the other side just as Miss Kennedy-Walsh hurtled by where it had been standing an instant before; on she went to land helmet first in the net; there she jumped and arched and flapped like a netted salmon.

Missed! This was not a contingency for which the men holding the ropes had prepared themselves. They looked at each other helplessly. What were they to do? Even the most perfunctory realism required them to continue pulling. The armoured-car turned its nose hesitatingly towards 'Fortress Singapore' and continued, slowly but steadily, to convey its wavering cargo of grinning, bespectacled j.a.panese towards where the cannon loomed, bereft of ammunition. A roar of indignation went up from the crowd. The master of ceremonies hurriedly intervened and the armoured car was whisked away, Miss Kennedy-Walsh took a bow. A collection in favour of the Nanyang Anti-Enemy Backing-up Society was announced.

'Let's go and have a drink,' said Monty, who seemed satisfied with the way the show had turned out despite the nonappearance of the Da Sousa Sisters. As they made their way towards the exit the crowd was beginning to sing: 'G.o.d save glacious King!'

They set off down another alley; the crowds strolling up and down had grown even more dense than they had been earlier. Monty, Joan and Sinclair walked in front. Matthew followed at a little distance with Ehrendorf; he wanted to think of some way of comforting his friend who was still clearly upset by the way Joan had changed places in the enclosure. Moreover, he was worried that if he walked beside Joan, she might not be able to resist the temptation of holding his hand in full view of the others, thus causing Ehrendorf further unnecessary chagrin. Matthew could not help thinking it curious that she should find him attractive. Very few other women ever had. He had tried to accept this, as he tried to accept everything, philosophically.

But above all Matthew simply wanted to talk with his old friend and to recover their former intimacy, for Ehrendorf was one of those rare people who could be interesting whatever he talked about. Matthew enjoyed argument and speculation the way other people enjoy a game of tennis. Furthermore, although he did not mind the particular, it was the general which really stirred him. It was not enough for him to know, for example, that two Catholics were pitched out of a window in Prague in the interests of the Jesuits and Ferdinand of Styria early in the seventeenth century (as it would be for you and me), Matthew immediately wanted to investigate the general implications of the deed. And he would speculate lovingly on whether or not it had been necessary necessary (not merely a coincidence) that a period of intolerance should follow the Emperor Rudolph's liberal reign, or on some other quite different aspect of the matter ... on religion as against economics as a cause of war, or (even more far-fetched) on the effect of windows, and of gla.s.s generally, on the Bohemian psyche, or on the marriage of physical and mental enlightenment (windows, lamps, electric light advancing hand in hand with rational thought) in the progress of humanity. (not merely a coincidence) that a period of intolerance should follow the Emperor Rudolph's liberal reign, or on some other quite different aspect of the matter ... on religion as against economics as a cause of war, or (even more far-fetched) on the effect of windows, and of gla.s.s generally, on the Bohemian psyche, or on the marriage of physical and mental enlightenment (windows, lamps, electric light advancing hand in hand with rational thought) in the progress of humanity.

Of course, people change. Matthew and Ehrendorf had both undoubtedly changed in the years since they had argued into the night in Oxford and Geneva. Matthew had realized even in Geneva that he himself was beginning to change: he no longer enjoyed arguing with his friends, above all those who had embraced the academic life, quite as much as he had once done. It was not simply that these friends had tended to adopt the lugubrious and self-important air which distinguishes academics: surrounded by the paralysing comforts, conveniences and irritations of university life what else could they do? He sensed that what distressed him was a gap which had opened up between thought and feeling, the remoteness, the impartiality of his friends to the subjects they were teaching or studying. Objectivity, he had had to agree with them, was important obviously. But what was required, he had declared, striding up and down with their vintage port inside him while they eyed him dubiously wondering whether he would wake the children, was 'a pa.s.sionate objectivity' (whatever that might be). He had usually found himself taking the last bus home feeling muddled and dissatisfied with himself as well as with his friends. Yet with Ehrendorf it had always been a little different, perhaps because, coming from a military family, he had chosen to become a soldier rather than an academic, though more likely it was simply a difference of personality. Whatever the reason, in Geneva he had always found it delightfully easy to discuss things with Ehrendorf.

Now, just as if they had been strolling along the Quai Wilson instead of through a pulsing, perfumed, malodorous, humid, tropical evening, Matthew brushed aside some trivial enquiry from Ehrendorf about Sinclair (who was he? how long had Joan known him? were they particularly close friends, perhaps even childhood friends?) and reverted to the important matter which had stopped him in his tracks earlier. Could the coming of western capital to the Far East be seen as progress from the natives' point of view?

'I'm sure you've heard Walter's lecture on how he and my father and some other merchants transformed Burma from a country, where, unless a coconut fell off a tree, n.o.body had any supper, into a modern rice-exporting nation ... I gather he delivers it to everyone he comes across ...'

'Well,' sighed Ehrendorf, automatically falling into his old Oxford habits, 'it all depends what you mean by ...'

'Progress? Or natives?'

'Well, by both, I guess,' Ehrendorf smiled faintly, 'since there was ma.s.sive immigration of Indians and their their situation must have been different from that of the Burmese. Walter certainly exaggerates. Burma was a fertile and prosperous country before the British took over. But you mustn't think that a barter economy is like Paradise before the Fall: a cash economy has more resources to survive floods, typhoons, and whatnot, even if it does introduce certain difficulties of its own which were not there before.' situation must have been different from that of the Burmese. Walter certainly exaggerates. Burma was a fertile and prosperous country before the British took over. But you mustn't think that a barter economy is like Paradise before the Fall: a cash economy has more resources to survive floods, typhoons, and whatnot, even if it does introduce certain difficulties of its own which were not there before.'

'Difficulties! Why, the rice merchants knocked Burma for six! The whole culture was destroyed. The old communal village life collapsed. Almost overnight it became every man for himself. People started fencing off grazing land which used to belong to the whole village and so forth. Profit took a grip on the country like some dreadful new virus against which n.o.body had any resistance. When the Burmese were reduced to becoming migrant seasonal workers in the paddy fields the old village life was finished off completely ... and with it went everything that made life more than a pure money-grubbing exercise. At one time they used to hold elaborate cattle races, and water festivals, and village dances and theatricals and puppet shows. They all vanished. And what replaced them? A huge increase in the crime rate! To be happy people need to live in communities. If you don't believe me you can read it in the government reports!'

'Sure, I believe you,' said Ehrendorf rather vaguely. 'But still, this is a partial view. You must look at the whole picture.

'By the way, just look at that Indian bloke over there in his striped tie and cricket blazer, modelled on some fatuous English tradition that has no real real meaning for him at all. He's borrowed a culture that doesn't fit him any better than his jacket.' meaning for him at all. He's borrowed a culture that doesn't fit him any better than his jacket.'

Ehrendorf, while looking at the whole picture, had also had his eye on the Blacketts and Sinclair some way in front of them; perhaps he, too, was no longer as keen as he used to be on abstract discussions, or perhaps he was preoccupied with other matters. He had grown thinner since he and Matthew had last met in Europe and had developed one or two hesitations in his manner which had not been there before. Once or twice Matthew had been on the verge of that nightmare sensation when you suddenly find yourself thinking: 'But I don't know this person at all!' and the person in question happens to be your closest friend. But now a glance at Ehrendorf rea.s.sured him: it was the same old Ehrendorf, except for the moustache; a little older, of course, and not quite so cheerful and self-confident as he had once been. But then, he himself had aged, too.

Ehrendorf's fine eyes rested on Joan's botttom as she walked some distance ahead between her brother and Sinclair; the light blue, neatly ironed cotton of her dress picked up the glow of naphtha lanterns as she pa.s.sed each stall so that, from a distance, it seemed that her figure flared and died, flared and died, almost hypnotically. Very often a girl's bottom begins to sag in her twenties (which does not matter particularly since few people notice or care whether a bottom has dropped or not) but Joan's had not done so; from behind you might have thought that she was simply a mature adolescent. Nor had she developed those over-bulging cones of tissue at the top of the thigh which sometimes bestow even on a slender woman a saddle-bag effect. 'Her bottom is too perfect,' Ehrendorf might have been thinking as he stared ahead in a trance. 'It's too beautiful to get a purchase on, like everything else about her, it simply slips out of your hand.'

Matthew, however, could not be expected to notice this sort of thing. Besides, it was doubtful whether, even if he had been interested, he would have been able to see far enough without taking off his spectacles and polishing them: in the course of the evening a thick film of dust had collected on the lenses.

'Sinclair must be a new arrival in Singapore, I should think,' remarked Ehrendorf. 'Although he seems to know his way round OK.' This was undoubtedly a statement rather than a question but, nevertheless, a vague air of interrogation lingered about it. Matthew, however, paid no attention: he was evidently still too busy trying to express what was in his mind.

'Let me give you an example, Jim, of what happens when cash and the idea of profit strike root in a country unaccustomed to them like Burma. It seems that's there a ghastly Darwinian principle of economics known as the Law of Subst.i.tution which declares, more or less, that "the cheapest will survive". This has all sorts of unpleasant consequences, one of which is that non-economic values tend to be eliminated. In Burma they used to build beautiful, elaborately carved cargo-boats which looked like galleons: these have been entirely replaced over the past fifty years by flat barges which can transport paddy more cheaply. And it's the same everywhere you look: native art and craft replaced by cheap imported subst.i.tutes, handlooms have disappeared, pottery has given way to petrol tins. Even the introduction of new crops by western capital has tended to impoverish rather than enrich the life people lead. In Burma the natives used to cook with sesamum oil, now they use ground-nut oil because, though it doesn't taste so good, it's cheaper. In Java people have taken to eating ca.s.sava instead of rice because it's cheaper ...'

'If it's cheaper,' protested Ehrendorf, 'then they have more wealth to spend on other things.'

'Not so! If they can live more cheaply it stands to reason that they can be paid less, provided there's no shortage of labour. Yes, exactly, it's our old friend "the iron law" up to its tricks again! What additional wealth may be generated by the use of cheaper methods and cheaper foods doesn't cling to the natives: the extra saving goes to swell the profits of the western businesses which control the land or the market ... like Blackett and Webb! The native ma.s.ses are worse off than before. For them the coming of Capitalism has really been like the spreading of a disease. Their culture is gone, their food is worse and their communities have been broken up by the need to migrate for work on estates and in paddy fields. Well, am I right?'

'But Marx believed, did he not, that such a stage is necessary in the progress of society from feudalism to Communism and therefore even saw the British in India as a force for progress.'

'You can't have it both ways! What you and Marx say is fine ... that is, if Communism is what you want. want. But what if we reach this stage where the poor are made poorer and organized into gangs of coolies and then ... lo and behold, But what if we reach this stage where the poor are made poorer and organized into gangs of coolies and then ... lo and behold, there is no revolution there is no revolution! Are the natives not worse off than they were in their traditional communities? Of course course they are! You still have to show me what advantages the coming of western capital has brought, in Burma at any rate.' After a moment Matthew added: 'In any event, my bet is that in practice Communism would be scarcely any better than Capitalism, and perhaps even worse.' they are! You still have to show me what advantages the coming of western capital has brought, in Burma at any rate.' After a moment Matthew added: 'In any event, my bet is that in practice Communism would be scarcely any better than Capitalism, and perhaps even worse.'

Ahead of them Monty, Joan and Sinclair had disappeared into the Wing Choon Yuen Restaurant whose palatial entrance was partly screened from the alley by a substantial brick and pillar wall: on top of this wall neat rows of palms had been set in brown earthenware pots decorated with dragons. Ehrendorf said: 'This is still a partial view, Matthew. No doubt there is something in what you say. But in the West, too, craftsmen have been unable to survive ma.s.s-production, capitalism and the Law of Subst.i.tution. That's life, I guess.' He shrugged and added with a smile: 'There's another principle which I shall call Ehrendorf's Law which is now in operation in all prosperous Western countries and which a.s.serts "the survival of the easiest". Twenty years from now coffee beans will have disappeared and we'll drink nothing but Camp Coffee, not because liquid coffee tastes better ... it tastes worse ... but because it's easier to prepare. Pretty soon n.o.body will read books or learn to play the piano because it's easier to listen to the radio or phonograph. Mark my words! Ehrendorf's Law will do just as much damage in the long run! All the same, Matthew, I can't agree with you because you neatly avoid mentioning all the benefits of western civilization, the social welfare, education, medicine and so forth. But let's discuss that another time. And by the way, it has just occurred to me, if this guy Sinclair had had been an old family friend of the Blacketts I'm sure I'd have seen him or heard of him in the last couple of years ...' been an old family friend of the Blacketts I'm sure I'd have seen him or heard of him in the last couple of years ...'

'Let's not bother with the Blacketts ... I want to discuss my theories,' said Matthew.

It was then that Ehrendorf suddenly went silent and looked rather upset. It had occurred to him that Matthew, far from being too preoccupied with his own ideas to discuss Sinclair and his mysterious relationship with Joan, had all this time been deliberately keeping the conversation away from the Blacketts.

Matthew had not noticed his friend's reaction and, following him into the restaurant, muttered grimly: 'Oh, education and medicine. Don't worry. One could say something on that score, too!'

23.

Monty, Joan and Sinclair were seated at a table set among foliage on the terra.s.se. terra.s.se. As Matthew and Ehrendorf approached, Sinclair got to his feet saying: 'Got to duh ... duh ... ash off, I'm afraid. Got to do my duh ... duh ... duh ...' As Matthew and Ehrendorf approached, Sinclair got to his feet saying: 'Got to duh ... duh ... ash off, I'm afraid. Got to do my duh ... duh ... duh ...'

'Of course you haven't,' said Monty. 'Sit down, Sinclair, you're being a bore. It's nowhere near midnight yet. You said you didn't go on duty till midnight. Well then?'

'Got to duh ... duh ... duhoo ... well, a whole lot of things, a fearful amount, in fact. So, have a nice time and I'll be suh ... seeing you,' he added in a fluent rush. He kissed Joan's hand, rolling his eyes for some reason, waved to the others and departed.

The young Blacketts had ordered ikan merah ikan merah (fish, Matthew understood) and chips and a large bottle of Tiger beer between them. Matthew and Ehrendorf ordered the same. While they waited a rather tense silence fell over the table: even Monty, not usually at a loss for words, seemed disinclined to speak. In the dark shadows behind Joan glowed a shower of delicate, speckled marmalade-coloured orchids, framing her perfect face and shoulders. Ehrendorf s.n.a.t.c.hed a quick glance in her direction and then, though he had already given his order, buried himself in the menu. While his eyes moved silently over (fish, Matthew understood) and chips and a large bottle of Tiger beer between them. Matthew and Ehrendorf ordered the same. While they waited a rather tense silence fell over the table: even Monty, not usually at a loss for words, seemed disinclined to speak. In the dark shadows behind Joan glowed a shower of delicate, speckled marmalade-coloured orchids, framing her perfect face and shoulders. Ehrendorf s.n.a.t.c.hed a quick glance in her direction and then, though he had already given his order, buried himself in the menu. While his eyes moved silently over won ton won ton soup, crab sweetcorn soup, sweet sour prawn, Taoist fish ball, cornedbeef sandwich, lychee almond beancurd ... his face took on a strained and innocent expression, as if he were thinking: 'The trouble about such perfection is that you can't get a grip on it, it slips away. There's no perspective.' soup, crab sweetcorn soup, sweet sour prawn, Taoist fish ball, cornedbeef sandwich, lychee almond beancurd ... his face took on a strained and innocent expression, as if he were thinking: 'The trouble about such perfection is that you can't get a grip on it, it slips away. There's no perspective.'

'Will you kindly stop that!' said Joan suddenly and with anger.

'Stop what?'

'Looking at me in that stupid way.'

'I wasn't looking at you at all. I was reading the G.o.ddam menu, if you don't mind.' Ehrendorf's voice had grown shrill and his accent, which normally might have been taken for English, suddenly became that of an American again. Matthew took off his dust-filmed spectacles, polished them on a rather grey handkerchief, put them on again and stared unhappily at Ehrendorf.

'What I wanted to say, Jim, about education and medicine ...'

Silence, however, fell over the table once more. Matthew examined the wall and the dragons which decorated the earthenware pots; from beyond the palms which grew out of them came the constant murmur of voices and laughter and the throbbing of music. Presently, a Chinese girl appeared with a bowl from which she took a steaming face-flannel with a pair of wooden tongs and placed it in Joan's hands: she then offered one to Monty, Matthew and Ehrendorf in turn. Matthew mopped his perspiring face: the sensation of relief this afforded was extraordinary. More waiters presented themselves, bringing fish and chips and beer. As they began to eat the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Matthew, knife and fork raised and ready to pounce on his fish (he was hungry), cautiously raised the subject of education. Admittedly, he had yet to delve deeply into the matter as it affected Malaya but he did know what the British had managed to achieve in this line in India ... namely, a prodigious number of unemployable graduates. 'The Indians have always had a tremendous desire for education. The only trouble is that there are hardly any actual jobs jobs for educated men to do, unless they want to be clerks or lawyers, and there are already several times too many of for educated men to do, unless they want to be clerks or lawyers, and there are already several times too many of them. them.'

Monty had taken knife and fork and begun vigorously to chop up his fish, first laterally into quarters, then diagonally, as for the Union Jack, but most likely this was not the mute response of a patriot to the drift of Matthew's argument so much as a convenient way of reducing the fish to pieces small enough to deal with; he speared one of the pieces together with a bundle of chips and stuffed the lot into his mouth.

'All we needed in India were Indians educated enough to serve as clerks and petty officials: in no time at all there were enough of them, and several times too many. Curzon did his best to launch vocational and technical education and I gather it's been tried here in Malaya, too. But with miserable results. You may well ask why.'