The Empire Trilogy Part 51

'You don't mind, Papa,' asked Joan, smiling mischievously, 'if I climb into bed beside Matthew until the rain stops? I'll be much more comfortable. We can have the "Dutch wife" between us.'

'Oh, the little rascal,' chuckled Walter. 'Oh, the little hussy! What d'you think of that, Major? And before her own father's very eyes! And what what, I should like to know, young lady, would your mother say if she could see you now?' And while Joan hung her dress on a coat-hanger to dry before climbing into bed Walter beamed at Matthew more expansively than ever. 'Well, there you are, my boy,' he seemed to be saying. 'There are the goods. You won't find better. You can see for yourself. It's a good offer. Take it or leave it.'

Presently, when the rain had stopped, Walter and Joan made their way back through the compound beside pools of rainwater which were now reflecting the stars. Father and daughter did not speak as they made their way through the drenched garden but they did not have to: they understood each other perfectly. Abdul, the old major-domo, was waiting for them, concerned that they should have got such a soaking.

'What news, Master?'

'Good news, Abdul!' replied Walter in the conventional manner, but as he went upstairs to change his clothes he thought: 'Yes, good news!'

33.

'Well, I suppose it might might be true,' the Major was saying doubtfully. 'One never knows. I was in Harbin in 1937 and there was still a lot of White Russians there at the time. A lot of the poor devils were starving, too.' be true,' the Major was saying doubtfully. 'One never knows. I was in Harbin in 1937 and there was still a lot of White Russians there at the time. A lot of the poor devils were starving, too.'

The Major and Matthew were sitting in the office which had once been old Mr Webb's. Matthew, drained of all energy, had at last managed to leave his bed and drag himself as far as his father's desk where he sat drowsing over an untidy pile of reports, accounts and miscellaneous papers concerning the rubber industry. The Major, filled with concern by the young man's sombre and listless frame of mind, attempted from time to time to engage him in cheerful conversation. But these days what was there to be cheerful about? about? Only the subject of Vera Chiang had aroused a tiny spark of interest in the patient: Matthew had remembered a dream conversation between Vera and Joan in which Vera had claimed that her mother was a Russian princess and her father a Chinese tea-merchant ... or something of the sort. What did the Major think of it? The Major, it turned out, had heard the same story from Vera with one or two added details and had politely suspended disbelief. After all, far-fetched though it sounded, one never knew. Stranger things had happened in that part of the world in the last few years. Only the subject of Vera Chiang had aroused a tiny spark of interest in the patient: Matthew had remembered a dream conversation between Vera and Joan in which Vera had claimed that her mother was a Russian princess and her father a Chinese tea-merchant ... or something of the sort. What did the Major think of it? The Major, it turned out, had heard the same story from Vera with one or two added details and had politely suspended disbelief. After all, far-fetched though it sounded, one never knew. Stranger things had happened in that part of the world in the last few years.

'By the way, where is she? I thought she was supposed to have a room here still.'

'One of Blackett and Webb's vans came to pick up her belongings the other day. Not that they needed a van, mind you. There was only a small bag and a parcel or two. I gather Walter wanted her moved out for some reason, he didn't say why. But she's a friendly sort of girl and I expect she'll look in to say h.e.l.lo one of these days.' The Major stood up. 'I must go and do some work. Monty said he'd be dropping in to see you presently.'

Matthew had begun to drowse over his papers once more when Monty suddenly appeared.

'Congratulations,' he said. Monty was looking preoccupied for some reason.

'How d'you mean?'

'Well, I hear you and Joan are thinking of teaming up.'

'Oh, it hasn't quite come to that, has it? I mean, I know your father did say something the other night about it being a good idea, or something on those lines. But I don't think anything, well, definite definite was decided, you know ... At least that was my impression. After all ...' was decided, you know ... At least that was my impression. After all ...'

But Monty merely shrugged; he did not seem particularly interested in the matter. He said vaguely: 'I expect I got hold of the wrong end of the stick ... But from what they've been saying I thought they were planning a wedding ... You know, bridesmaids and all that rubbish.' Monty collapsed into a chair and put his feet up on Matthew's desk, upsetting a tumbler full of pencils as he did so but making no effort to gather them up again. 'I suppose this means you aren't going to want to come in with me and the other two chaps in sharing this Chinese filly,' he said morosely, 'that, is, if you and Joan are are teaming up. It's going to make it d.a.m.ned expensive for the rest of us,' he added accusingly. teaming up. It's going to make it d.a.m.ned expensive for the rest of us,' he added accusingly.

'But Monty ...'

'The other two are regular fellows. Great sports. And it's not as if there were enough white women to go round (if there were I'd tell you). I don't suppose you know that there's only one to every fifty white blokes.'

'I told you ages ago, Monty, that I wasn't interested. It's not my cup of tea.'

'Oh, all right, all right. Don't go on about it. It doesn't matter to me whether you come in or not, though you'll be missing a splendid opportunity. That's your look-out, though.' Monty sighed heavily. 'I really came over to explain about the replanting of rubber trees on your Joh.o.r.e estate. The Old Man said I ought to keep you in the picture though you're probably not interested. The answer is simply that it's more profitable to replant now than to go on tapping.'

'But how can it be? I thought there was someone clamouring for every sc.r.a.p of rubber we produce.'

'It's to do with the excess profits tax ... You don't want me to go into it, do you?'

But Matthew evidently did want him to, and so, with a much put-upon air, Monty removed his feet from the table and began to explain. When the war had broken out in 1939 a sixty per cent excess profits tax had been slapped on all sterling companies either at home or abroad. Blackett's hadn't minded too much at first. Propitious years, as far as they were concerned, had been chosen for the calculation of 'standard profits'. 'We found we could still keep our hands on a satisfactory chunk of the profits. All well and good. But then I'll be d.a.m.ned if they don't increase the excess profits tax to one hundred per cent! Can you beat it?' Monty, his eyes blue and bulging like his father's, stared at Matthew in disgust.

At the same time the price of rubber had risen and more of it could be released under the Restriction Scheme. 'The next thing we find is that we can make the b.l.o.o.d.y "standard profits" (all we're allowed, the British Government confiscating the rest) by producing a smaller amount of rubber smaller amount of rubber than we're actually allowed to release to the market! Can you beat it? What's the point in producing more when we don't make any profit by doing so?' than we're actually allowed to release to the market! Can you beat it? What's the point in producing more when we don't make any profit by doing so?'

Monty's gaze had momentarily become troubled for, although on the whole he believed he did understand his father's commercial strategy (and admired it, too, his father was hot stuff when it came to spotting opportunities), there was one of Walter's initiatives for which a sound commercial reason had so far eluded him: the signing of contracts with the Americans, for huge quant.i.ties of rubber for which no shipping could be found. The acc.u.mulation for this rubber on the quays directly contradicted, as far as Monty could see, the other policy of not producing rubber from which no profit could be made. The excess profits tax would apply just as much to the American contracts. It was a mystery which Monty could not explain ... though there must be an explanation. Monty had even, for want of anything better, come close once or twice to suspecting his father of patriotism. But no, it surely could not be that. He had, of course, asked Walter for an explanation, but he had shown signs of extreme exasperation and had declined to reply. However, the truth was at last beginning to dawn on Monty in the past few days following the j.a.panese attack. It was a terrible truth, if Monty had guessed correctly, but was there any other explanation? Walter, in his omniscience, had foreseen the j.a.panese attack. More than that, he had foreseen the capture of Malaya or destruction of Singapore. He was actually wagering on the capture or destruction of all that rubber and planning to demand compensation from the Government in some more healthy part of the world! True, this did seem, even to Monty, an extravagant wager, but what other reason could there be? His father never did anything in business without a sound reason.

'Anyway,' he said, returning his attention to Matthew, 'we decided that the only sensible thing to do was to replant ... Why? Because replanting expenses are allowable against tax.'

'Even if it means replanting perfectly healthy and productive trees!' exclaimed Matthew.

'Certainly! Because we're replanting them with these newly developed clones I was telling you about. When they're mature in a few years time they'll produce almost twice as much per tree.'

'But what about the War Effort? Everyone's crying out for rubber now now not in a few not in a few years years' time. And we're cutting down the trees that produce the stuff and-planting seedlings in their place. And we aren't even slaughter-tapping, as far as I can make out! It's madness.' Casting off his apathy Matthew had sprung to his feet and now gripped Monty's arm with one hand and the lapels of his jacket with the other. Monty uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry of alarm and flinched away under this onslaught, convinced that he was about to be a.s.saulted by Matthew whose reason clearly swung on very fragile hinges. Monty was not surprised: he had suspected as much for some time. Next time he would see to it that his father dealt with this madman.

'Well, it wasn't my idea,' he murmured soothingly. 'Don't blame me. You'll have to take it up with Father, though I must say ...' he added more confidently as Matthew released him and began to pace up and down the room, waving one fist certainly, but otherwise not looking so dangerous, '...that I really don't think you should take this pious att.i.tude the whole time. People don't go in for that sort of thing out here. As a matter of fact, they think it's deuced odd, if you want to know. But of course, you must suit yourself,' he went on hurriedly, as Matthew turned towards him once more.

'But it's not that, Monty ... it's a matter of principle.'

'Yes, yes, of course it is,' agreed Monty. 'Anyway, I must be on my way now. I've a lot to do. You don't want to change your mind about that Chinese girl... No, no, I can see you don't. It's quite all right. Well, goodbye!' And Monty beat a hasty retreat, thankful to have escaped without any broken bones.

Matthew sank back into his chair, exhausted once more. He poured himself a drink of iced water from the vacuum flask on his desk and gulped it quickly; he must soon have a talk with Walter and try to persuade him to stop all this ridiculous replanting. How much had already been carried out? He searched in vain among the papers on his desk but he could not find the figures he wanted before lethargy once more stole over him. With an effort he roused himself and went outside to the tinroofed garage where the Major was performing a laborious inspection of the trailer-pump. He intended to discuss the replanting issue with the Major and installed himself in the Major's open Lagonda nearby: but the heat and his la.s.situde were too much for him and soon he was drowsing again with his feet poking out of the open door while the Major inspected and cleaned the pump's sparking-plugs. The Major suspected that it would not be very long before this machine found itself in service. Meanwhile, The Human Condition, diminutive, elderly and frail, dozed perilously under one wire-spoked wheel of the motor-car which was on a slight gradient and might decide to roll forward at any moment, putting an end to its miseries.

The Major was thinking of Vera Chiang as he worked, and of Harbin in 1937. 'How hard life can be for refugees!' he mused, squinting at a sparking-plug (his eyesight was no longer what it had been). 'We don't realize in our own comfortable, well-ordered lives what it must be like to lose everything in one of these political upheavals that bang and clatter senselessly round the world like thunderstorms uprooting people right and left.' He sighed and the sparking-plug which lay in his palm grew blurred and changed into a picture of Harbin ... what was it? ... four, no, five years ago almost. Harbin had surely been one of the most depressing places on earth.

That had been on the Major's first trip out East ... when he had suddenly, on an impulse, decided to give up the settled, comfortable life he was leading in London and see the world, visit Francois in Indo-China, visit j.a.pan, too, and see what all the fuss was about ... see what life itself was all about before it was too late and old age descended on him. You might have thought that Harbin was a Russian city from the great Orthodox cathedral towering over Kitaiskaya and Novogorodnaya Street, and from the Russian shop-signs you saw, the vodka, the samovars, the Russian cafes and the agreeable sound of the Russian language being spoken everywhere. But it was a Russian city which had turned into a nightmare of poverty for the White Russians who had been washed eastwards on the tidal wave of the Revolution. How helpless they were! How few human beings, the Major thought with a sigh, can exert by hard work, thrift, intelligence or any other virtue the slightest influence on their own destiny! That was the grim truth about life on this planet.

Until Manchukuo had bought the Chinese Eastern Railway from the Soviet Government the year before the Major's visit, there had at least been a large contingent of Soviet railway employees in Harbin to patronize the Russian shops and cafes, but by the time he had arrived even this flimsy economic support had been pulled from under the refugees. The railwaymen had returned to Russia, leaving the refugees to dest.i.tution. At one time there had been 80,000 of them; by the time the Major had arrived this number had dwindled by half. Those young and strong enough had gone south to look for some means of support in a China which was itself ravaged by famine and bandit armies. Those who stayed in Harbin very often starved. The Major himself had seen ragged white men pulling rickshaws in Harbin.

Vera Chiang had spent her childhood and adolescence in Harbin: that much was certainly true for when the Major had questioned her about it she had known every corner of the city. Her mother had died there, 'of a broken heart', she said sometimes; 'of TB' she said at others. She had only been a child then. Her father had gone south to try to establish another business to replace the one he had lost in the Revolution in Russia, leaving her in a school run by American missionaries. Thus she had learned to speak English. How sad and lonely she had been! she had told the Major with a tear sparkling in her eye, while the Major murmured comfortingly; he had never been able to resist a woman in distress. But how much worse her life had become when a message, long-delayed, had reached her from her father. He was lying ill, broken by poverty, in Canton. 'Selling the last of my mother's rings I set out ...' Easily affected by feminine distress though he was, the Major had been a.s.sailed by misgivings at this point ... But still, one never knew. One thing was certain: you had to account for Vera Chiang somehow somehow! Her Russian recollections were not very convincing, though. Furs, and icicles on window-panes, and snow on the rooftops, steam hanging in the 'biting air' from the horse's nostrils, and jewels winking at the throat of the n.o.blewomen who had leaned over her cot, for she had been a baby at the time of the Revolution, of course, the sleigh's runners hissing in the snow as they glided east to escape the Bolsheviks, her own little black almond-shaped eyes completely surrounded by fur, gazing out over the interminable, frozen wastes of Russia. That sort of thing. It was not impossible, of course. Above all, it was the mother's rings that made the Major uneasy. The reason was this. In a Shanghai nightclub the Major had found himself talking to one of the hostesses, a beautiful Russian girl, also a princess, who after one or two decorous waltzes had confessed her predicament to him: the following morning, as soon as the p.a.w.nbroker's shop opened for business, she would have to p.a.w.n her mother's wedding ring in order to prevent her younger sister from selling herself as a prost.i.tute. Good gracious! What a business! What could the Major do but try to help avert this calamity? Well, you see, the Major's dilemma was that sometimes these stories were true sometimes these stories were true. Not very often, perhaps, but sometimes. sometimes.

The Major had frozen into an att.i.tude of despair, staring unseeing at the sparking-plug in his hand. Perhaps sensing that his thoughts had taken a bleak turn, The Human Condition left its perilous couch under the wheel of the Lagonda and crept over to lean its chin on his shoe, revolving its bulging eyeb.a.l.l.s upwards to scan the Major's gloomy features. Could it be that the Major was brooding over the best way to have a dog done away with? But no, the Major was still thinking of refugees, this time of those who had managed to escape from Harbin, moving south to where there were other cities with foreign concessions, to Tientsin and farther, to Shanghai. But even in Shanghai there were many Russians who found themselves starving side by side with the most wretched of Chinese coolies, obliged to sleep on the streets or in the parks through the bitter Chinese winter, candidates to join the grim regiment of 'exposed corpses'. These gaunt scarecrows for a few years had haunted the foreign concessions. But time is cruel: people get shaken down into a society or shaken out. History moves on and the problem gets solved, one way or another, without regard to our finer feelings.

And Vera? Her father, she said, had had a stroke and was half paralysed. She had gone to Canton to support him as best she could (the Major had tactfully refrained from asking how). They were in dest.i.tution. Presently he had died and she had moved on to Shanghai. She had lived there for a couple of years until there had been some trouble with a j.a.panese officer. Then, with the help of some friends, she had come here to Singapore.

Well, was she indeed the daughter of a Russian princess and a Chinese tea-merchant? Was it likely that a Russian princess would marry a Chinese tea-merchant? No, but many strange alliances had been bonded in the bubbling retort of the Revolution in its early years. Vera, now in her early twenties, would be just about the right age, certainly, to be the product of such a desperate union. In Harbin, he recalled, it had been a common sight to see young women of n.o.ble blood sweeping out the Russian shops on Novogorodnaya Street or waiting at cafe tables beneath the inevitable, gradually yellowing portrait of the last Tsar. In such desperate circ.u.mstances people will do whatever is necessary to survive. Moreover, as the circ.u.mstances grew more desperate it had turned out, like it or not, that an attractive Russian girl, princess or dairy-maid, had at least something something to sell ... if only herself. In Harbin, he had heard, British and American visitors were sometimes approached by dest.i.tute Russians inviting them to abscond with the wives they could no longer support. The Major himself had been approached in that nightmare city by a young Russian girl in rags, anxious to exchange the use of her body for a meal. He sighed. Sometimes in Harbin he had wished he had never left London; if this was what finding out about 'life' entailed he would rather have remained in ignorance. to sell ... if only herself. In Harbin, he had heard, British and American visitors were sometimes approached by dest.i.tute Russians inviting them to abscond with the wives they could no longer support. The Major himself had been approached in that nightmare city by a young Russian girl in rags, anxious to exchange the use of her body for a meal. He sighed. Sometimes in Harbin he had wished he had never left London; if this was what finding out about 'life' entailed he would rather have remained in ignorance.

In Shanghai things had not been quite so bad. Attractive Russian girls could do better there, it transpired, because white taxi-girls were very popular with wealthy Chinese and could earn a reasonable living in the city's dance-halls and cabarets. They earned, he had been told, two Chinese dollars commission on every bottle of champagne they sold. Moreover, in the brothels of Shanghai, while a Chinese girl was available from one Chinese dollar upwards, the minimum price for a white girl had been ten dollars. And for the princely sum of fifty dollars, so the Major had been informed on good authority, you could have a nude dance performed in the privacy of your own home or hotel room, by six Russian girls. The Major, despite the urgings of his informant, had not been tempted: it was not that he had been daunted by the expense; it was simply that he could not visualize himself cloistered in his hotel room with six naked White Russian ladies ... perhaps even unclothed members of Russia's fallen aristocracy. Besides (he found himself calculating providently), even for the libidinous it did not seem such very good value since, for another ten dollars, you could have enjoyed the six girls severally at the going rates.

Now in turn the nightclubs of Shanghai grew blurred and were replaced by a sparking-plug lying in a wrinkled palm and by a pair of bleary, anxious eyes. The Major turned the palm over to look at the watch on his wrist. The light was beginning to fade and it was a little cooler. Matthew, still looking weary, was struggling out of the Lagonda. With a sigh the Major replaced the plug in the pump and went to wash his hands. He had accepted an invitation to eat with Mr Wu, the Chinese businessman who had joined the Mayfair AFS unit. As he climbed the steps to the verandah he paused for a moment to look up while a single Blenheim bomber droned acros the opal sky in the direction of Kallang aerodrome. Later, he picked up the Straits Times Straits Times, while waiting for Mr Wu, to read about how black things were looking for the j.a.panese.

34.

From the beginning the Major and Mr Wu had conceived a great liking for each other. Each, indeed, recognized in the other a person so much after his own heart that it swiftly became clear to Mr Wu that the Major was simply an English Mr Wu, and to the Major that Mr Wu was nothing less than a Chinese Major. Mr Wu had even, some ten years earlier, served in what the Major supposed must have been the Kuomintang Air Force in China, for on one occasion he had given the Major a card on which, beneath a sprinkling of Chinese characters, one could read in English: 'Captain Wu. Number 5 Pursuiting Squadron.' The Major, in any case, since his arrival in the East had realized that there was no other race or culture on earth that he admired so much as the Chinese, for their tact, for their politeness, their good nature, their industry and their sense of humour. And Mr Wu combined all these virtues with a great warmth of character. He and the Major got on like a house on fire, a friendship conducted as much with smiles as with words because while Mr Wu's grasp of English was loose the Major, for his part, could get no purchase on Cantonese at all.

Now they were sitting together smiling in a companionable silence in the back of Mr Wu's elderly Buick on the way to some restaurant. Meanwhile, the Major was once more pondering the question of whether the Chinese community would remain loyal. If all the Chinese were like Mr Wu they would certainly help defend Malaya against the j.a.panese as staunchly as if it were their own country. For the Straits-born Chinese, of course, it really was was their own country, but did they regard it as such? For the Major, no less than Walter, was worried about the prospects for Malaya's plural society when faced with the h.o.m.ogeneity of j.a.pan. What chance would muddled, divided Malaya have against the efficiency and discipline he had seen everywhere on his visit to Manchukuo and to j.a.pan itself? their own country, but did they regard it as such? For the Major, no less than Walter, was worried about the prospects for Malaya's plural society when faced with the h.o.m.ogeneity of j.a.pan. What chance would muddled, divided Malaya have against the efficiency and discipline he had seen everywhere on his visit to Manchukuo and to j.a.pan itself?

After several months in the Far East the Major had been amazed to find trains running more regularly than they did in Europe: on his way to Harbin from Dairen he had taken the Asia Asia, the 60-m.p.h. luxury express that was the pride of the South Manchuria Railway Company. Why, it had even had a library of books in English for the delectation of its Anglo-Saxon pa.s.sengers! But you should not, for all that, think that you were in an imitation Western country: if, as the train began to pull out of the station, you happened to look out at the people on the platform who had come to see their friends off, you would see no emotional waving or shouting: you would see instead that they folded themselves to the ground and bowed low to the departing train, all together like a cornfield in a sudden gale. The Major had received a little shock when he had seen that; he had allowed himself to forget just how different the j.a.panese were from Europeans.

Yes, the j.a.panese, thought the Major beaming at his friend, Mr Wu (where were they going, by the way?), were an astonishingly determined and disciplined people. They believed in doing things properly, even in Manchukuo. In the barbers' shops there they even went so far as to wash clients' ears in eau de Cologne! You only had to see what they had accomplished ... the rebuilding of Changchun, for instance, formerly a mere collection of hovels, into a modern city with electric light, drains, parks, hospitals, libraries and even a zoo. There was, besides, that which no civilized modern city could possibly do without: a golf course!

Some young j.a.panese officers, seeing that the Major, from force of habit, was travelling with his ancient wooden golf clubs in his luggage, had invited him to play a few holes with them at the golf links on the outskirts of the city. He had declined the opportunity to play but had gone along to watch. For half the year, the officers explained, one was obliged to drive off into the teeth of the Siberian winter, for the other half into a Mongolian dust-storm. The Major had watched from the club-house, intrigued, as his new friends, wearing respirators, vanished gamely into the clouds of dust, driven here for hundreds of miles over the plains by the never-ceasing wind. Here and there the Major could see a patch of snow but not a single blade of gra.s.s (gra.s.s had been imported, he was told, but had not survived). Certainly, the j.a.panese were determined to do things properly!

In due course the young officers had returned, having surrendered a prodigious number of golf b.a.l.l.s to the Mongolian plain, true, but with the obligations to civilized modern living thoroughly satisfied. Next they had whisked the Major, whom they had now identified not only as golfer and gentleman but as a brother officer into the bargain, off to a nearby inn for a meal of raw fish and eggs washed down by gallons of warm sake sake. With the utmost sincerity and good fellowship they explained to the Major as best they could in a mixture of English, French and German, how distressed they had been by certain apparently anti-j.a.panese demarches demarches taken by the British in their China policy. They themselves, they explained, did not feel the ill-will towards the British that many of their young comrades felt. No, they felt more sorrow than anger that Britain should support the Nanking Government in its anti-j.a.panese behaviour and believed it was because the respected British people were so far away that they did not fully understand what the bandit war-lords of the Kuomintang were up to. taken by the British in their China policy. They themselves, they explained, did not feel the ill-will towards the British that many of their young comrades felt. No, they felt more sorrow than anger that Britain should support the Nanking Government in its anti-j.a.panese behaviour and believed it was because the respected British people were so far away that they did not fully understand what the bandit war-lords of the Kuomintang were up to.

The Major, at the best of times, had trouble making up his mind about these perplexing international issues; but squatting on the floor of the inn with his new friends, some of whom wore military uniform, others kimonos, he soon found that the sake sake had stolen clean away with even those few elements of the situation which he believed he had grasped. To make matters worse, just as he felt he was beginning at last to get his teeth into the problem, a geisha girl dressed and painted like a charming little doll suddenly appeared and sang a song like that of a lonely wading-bird in a remote Siberian river, so charming, so melancholy, on and on it went, reedy, lyrical, moving, and sad ... the Major was transfixed by its sadness and beauty and could have gone on listening for hours, but wait, what was it he had been about to say about the Nanking Government? had stolen clean away with even those few elements of the situation which he believed he had grasped. To make matters worse, just as he felt he was beginning at last to get his teeth into the problem, a geisha girl dressed and painted like a charming little doll suddenly appeared and sang a song like that of a lonely wading-bird in a remote Siberian river, so charming, so melancholy, on and on it went, reedy, lyrical, moving, and sad ... the Major was transfixed by its sadness and beauty and could have gone on listening for hours, but wait, what was it he had been about to say about the Nanking Government?

'It is sincere wish, Major Archer,' declared one of his more articulate companions, throwing off yet another thimbleful of sake sake, 'that when we have cleared away bad China policy j.a.pan and England co-operate in friendship for economic develop of China.'

'Well, I must say ...' the Major agreed affably, while someone else was saying that they were not interesting in helping Osaka merchants attack Lancashire merchants ('Well, that's splendid!' declared the Major heartily). They were against Big Business and their only desire was to spread j.a.panese National Spirit, although for the moment they might be obliged to make use of Big Business for their own ends such as develop of Manchuko. Yes, it was the j.a.panese National Spirit which was the important thing!

'I must say I thoroughly approve of your j.a.panese National Spirit,' said the Major holding his thimble of sake sake aloft and smiling. aloft and smiling.

'Ah so?' His companions looked surprised and gratified by this remark. The Major, who had merely been attempting a pleasantry, was a little disconcerted but thought it best not to explain. It was not the first time that one of his jokes had failed to find its mark.

Encouraged by the Major's approval, his friends now began to enlarge on National Spirit though this was not easy to define. There were many aspects of it: Loyalty to Emperor: the Major had perhaps visited Tokyo and seen ordinary citizens stand beside the huge moat surrounding the Imperial Palace and bow towards the gate which the Emperor sometimes used? Then there were Morals, too: not long ago a group of patriotic young students had burst into a dance being held at a fashionable Tokyo hotel and obliged all j.a.panese couples to leave the floor as 'a disgrace to the country' ... ('I say, that's a bit steep, isn't it?' murmured the Major) ... but, of course, foreigners were not molested. It was, the Major should understand, to protect national ideals and national customs against the taint of foreign influence that such action was necessary. In schools, too, it was most important that national purity and loyalty to Emperor should be maintained. An officer on the Major's right, who took a particular interest in education, now withdrew a book from the folds of his kimono and began to talk with great emphasis, his dark eyes burning.

The Major had noticed this particular fellow earlier because he had made a bit of a scene out at the golf club. While his comrades had been teeing up their b.a.l.l.s and peering at them through the windows of their respirators before driving off into the swirling dust-clouds on a compa.s.s bearing for the first green, this man had begun shouting at them from a distance and waving his arms, making quite a din despite the howling of the wind. Since they paid no great attention to him he came, presently, to stand directly in front of where they were shifting their feet and waggling their wrists over their golf b.a.l.l.s, in the very direction in which they were about to drive off. Not content with that, he even unb.u.t.toned the tunic of his uniform to expose his naked chest to the bitter wind. And he had gone on standing there, still shouting, until two or three of the golfers had thrown down their clubs and led him gently aside. He had watched them morosely then from a distance while they began their ritual once more, shouting at them from time to time.

'Ah Scotland tradition bad j.a.pan tradition,' muttered the officer who had stayed behind in the club-house to keep the Major company, and he had looked quite upset about something or other.

This man who had tried to stand in the way of the golf b.a.l.l.s was the fellow who had now launched into a pa.s.sionate discourse. Although, his companions explained, he had mastered several Western languages 'as a mental discipline' and spoke them fluently, he declined to use them, even speaking with a foreigner ... so one of his brother-officers was obliged to interpret for the Major as best he could. This book in his hand was, he explained, a text book used in schools: he began to translate what the Major supposed must be chapter headings: Tea Raising, Our Town, The Emperor, Healthy Body, Persimmons, Great j.a.pan, Cherry Blossom, Getting Up Early, The Sun and the Wind, Loyal Behaviour ... and so on. ('Charming,' said the Major, 'but I don't think I quite ...') These subjects in book were designed to make good loyal j.a.panese citizen working hard for good of j.a.panese nation!

The officer at the Major's elbow, his eyes (no doubt refuelled by the sake sake) smouldering more fiercely than ever, was now reading excitedly from the chapter on Military Loyalty, only pausing occasionally to aim a look of hatred and loathing at the Major. 'The object of lesson is to arouse Loyalty-feeling and foster purpose of self-sacrificing for Emperor. He tells story of how in war with China our soldiers fall into ambush at dead of night and enemy fire on them at close range. Instead of cowardly retreating they are full of Self-Sacrifice-feeling and rush on and Bugler Kikuchi, who badly wounded, keep bugle to lips and sound bugle with dying breath ...' ('Well, upon my word ...' said the Major.) 'If at any time Emperor give command, he who is j.a.panese must bravely advance to battle-place. When he has reach battle-place he must carefully obey command of superior officer. Bugler Kikuchi, who offer life, perform duty n.o.bly and manifest magnificent Loyalty-feeling to Emperor!'

The Major, not used to squatting for long periods, was becoming decidedly stiff in the joints and felt it was time to return to his hotel and sleep off the sake sake he had consumed. But the officer at his elbow kept on and on reading from the school text book. Presently, he had finished reading the chapter on Persimmons and was declaiming exultantly from that on Great j.a.pan. At length, however, he was quelled by his brother officers who wanted to say something to the Major, they had a most sincere request to make of him. Would he kindly give them permission to sing old school song? he had consumed. But the officer at his elbow kept on and on reading from the school text book. Presently, he had finished reading the chapter on Persimmons and was declaiming exultantly from that on Great j.a.pan. At length, however, he was quelled by his brother officers who wanted to say something to the Major, they had a most sincere request to make of him. Would he kindly give them permission to sing old school song?

'Why, certainly!' said the Major, unable to think what a j.a.panese old school song might sound like (perhaps a chorus suggesting a whole flock of wading-birds standing in a lonely Siberian river).

But no, the Major had not understood. They wanted to sing his his old school song. 'You go perhaps to famous academy like Eton and ...' The officers groped for a name and consulted each other ... 'Eton and Harromachi.' old school song. 'You go perhaps to famous academy like Eton and ...' The officers groped for a name and consulted each other ... 'Eton and Harromachi.'

'Something like those but smaller,' agreed the Major cautiously. 'Mine was called Sandhall's.' The young officers looked very pleased at this information and, smiling at the Major, rolled the word on their palates to savour it. And so it was that, in due course, after a great number of rehearsals and false starts, the Major's old school song, sung by one light, not very certain tenor and a chorus of wading-birds which included even the officer with the burning eyes, had begun to echo out over the lonely expanses of Manchuria.

'Alma mater te bibamus, Tui calices poscamus, Hanc sententiam dicamus Floreat Sand ... ha! ... ha! ... lia!'

Now, although he was at war with them, the Major, sitting beside his friend Mr Wu, could not help but think of the young officers with pleasure. The Major admired their idealism: what splendid young chaps they were! But at the same time one had to admit that their National Spirit had its disquieting side: he had felt it even at the time: he felt it all the more strongly now. One expects a patriotic spirit from military officers, of course. The British officer, though less voluble on the subject, was probably no less determined to do his duty. But what had struck the Major was that even in peacetime even in peacetime the entire j.a.panese nation seemed to be imbued with this fervour. Later in that same year he had visisted the vast Mitsui industrial and mining centre at Miike in Kyushu and had seen other signs of the nationalistic spirit which pervaded j.a.pan. He had seen, for example, the entire staff of a factory, several hundred men, bow down three times in the direction of the palace in Tokyo. He had been shown a laboratory where special phosphate pills were prepared to make the miners work harder, each man being given a pill to swallow before he went down the mine-shaft. And if it had been like that in j.a.pan in 1937 what must it be like now that the country was at war with the British Empire and America? The Major uttered a gloomy sigh as he climbed out of the Buick. For in the meantime they had arrived. the entire j.a.panese nation seemed to be imbued with this fervour. Later in that same year he had visisted the vast Mitsui industrial and mining centre at Miike in Kyushu and had seen other signs of the nationalistic spirit which pervaded j.a.pan. He had seen, for example, the entire staff of a factory, several hundred men, bow down three times in the direction of the palace in Tokyo. He had been shown a laboratory where special phosphate pills were prepared to make the miners work harder, each man being given a pill to swallow before he went down the mine-shaft. And if it had been like that in j.a.pan in 1937 what must it be like now that the country was at war with the British Empire and America? The Major uttered a gloomy sigh as he climbed out of the Buick. For in the meantime they had arrived.

While the Major had been engrossed in his melancholy thoughts they had entered the maze of Chinese streets which lie between Bencoolen Street and Beach Road. They had only reached their destination, it transpired, to the extent that the Buick would no longer fit into the streets along which their route lay. The Major found himself following Mr Wu down a series of very narrow and strong-smelling alleys until, beaming and murmuring: 'This way, please,' his host led him into an amazingly dingy restaurant. It was deserted except for a rickshaw coolie who sat, barefoot, on a bench, his knees to his ears, quickly shovelling fried mee mee from a bowl propped against his lower lip into his mouth. An elderly woman mopping the floor paused to gaze impa.s.sively at the Major. Chuckling, Mr Wu led the way upstairs. But even as he climbed the stairs the Major had to deal with a final disquieting recollection from his visit to j.a.pan. One of the young officers had told him that the readiness of the j.a.panese to die for their country may be compared to the ants in the 'j.a.panese Alps' which, when threatened by fire, ma.s.s themselves round it and extinguish it with their burning bodies so that it will not destroy their nests. Had not the j.a.panese infantry defied the Russian machine-guns at Port Arthur in exactly such a way? 'But surely no one is threatening your nest,' the Major had replied. The officer, after a moment's pause, had explained ominously that an attempt to deprive j.a.pan of raw materials and markets was just such a threat. from a bowl propped against his lower lip into his mouth. An elderly woman mopping the floor paused to gaze impa.s.sively at the Major. Chuckling, Mr Wu led the way upstairs. But even as he climbed the stairs the Major had to deal with a final disquieting recollection from his visit to j.a.pan. One of the young officers had told him that the readiness of the j.a.panese to die for their country may be compared to the ants in the 'j.a.panese Alps' which, when threatened by fire, ma.s.s themselves round it and extinguish it with their burning bodies so that it will not destroy their nests. Had not the j.a.panese infantry defied the Russian machine-guns at Port Arthur in exactly such a way? 'But surely no one is threatening your nest,' the Major had replied. The officer, after a moment's pause, had explained ominously that an attempt to deprive j.a.pan of raw materials and markets was just such a threat.

The room into which Mr Wu was now ushering the Major was densely crowded and very, very hot. The table to which they were shown was already occupied, at least in the sense that a young Chinese was sprawled over it in a stupor, whether the result of weariness or narcotics it was hard to tell. He was swiftly dragged away, however, and the table was given a swift polish with a damp cloth. It was evident that Mr Wu was a respected client. Meanwhile, the Major had been unable to resist putting to Mr Wu that same question which had been gnawing at his mind earlier (and apparently, elsewhere in Singapore, had been disturbing the peace of mind of the Governor, and of other prominent citizens): what would be the response of the Chinese, Indian and Malayan communities to the invasion?

Mr Wu, who had been smiling cheerfully, became grave instantly. The Major, unable to hear what he was saying because of the noise from the other tables, craned forward, but he still could not make out what it was, though Mr Wu's round face grew steadily longer as he spoke. Ah, now he was looking cheerful again, thank heaven for that!

It soon became clear, however, that Mr Wu's change of mood derived from the preparations being made for their meal rather than the state of the Colony ... a rickety gas-burner connected to a rubber pipe had been set on the table and lit. On top of it was set a concave metal ring forming a bowl which was swimming with a clear broth. Then the gas jet was turned up so that blue flame roared out of the open funnel at the top of the metal bowl and the soup inside it began to bubble.

'We call ah steam-boat,' explained Mr Wu.

'No wonder it's so hot up here,' thought the Major who was suffering from the heat. Similar blue flames roared at other tables and the noise from the men sitting around them was deafening. He sipped the hot tea which had been set before him and longed for a cold beer. A young waitress who had joined them at the table busied herself with chopsticks, picking morsels of raw meat, chicken and fish off a plate and dropping them into the seething soup. When they were cooked she fished them out and dropped them now into the Major's bowl, now into Mr Wu's. The Major, anxious to be polite, struggled to maintain a conversation on fire-fighting of which it was all he could do to make out his own words, let alone those of Mr Wu.

The noise from the other tables continued to grow in volume. The Major was astonished; he was accustomed to think of the Chinese as quiet and well-behaved but these Chinese were shouting their heads off. Mr Wu himself appeared not to notice his fellow-diners until the Major drew his attention to them. He had to shout to make himself heard ... Who were these young men at the other tables?

'National anti-enemy society of ah Kuomintang!' shouted Mr Wu. 'They drink ah whisky for defeating ah enemy!' And he roared with laughter while the Major had a look. Mr Wu was quite right: each young Chinese had a half-bottle of whisky planted on the table in front of him and from time to time he took a swig from it to moisten his gullet before resuming his shouting.

The evening pursued its course. The heat and the noise grew steadily more acute. This, the Major decided, his brain reeling, could only be a local chapter meeting of the Youth Blood and Iron Traitor-Exterminating Corps. He could not help but make a dubious comparison between these wild and vociferous young men and the disciplined j.a.panese officers he had met. What chance would they have? Why, none at all. Their eyes bulged, their faces grew red, though not as red as the Major's, and the veins stood out on their temples. Many of them wore string singlets over their stomachs and as they got drunker they lifted them to cool their navels. Presently, tired of shouting their lungs out at each other they gathered round the Major and Mr Wu instead and shouted their lungs out at them.

Meanwhile, unconcerned, Mr Wu, continued to pick delicately with his chopsticks in the bubbling soup, searching for choice fragments of squid and sea-slug to drop in the Major's bowl. Only when he had finished this search did he notice the Major's hara.s.sed expression. Then he tried to explain something but the Major, deafened, could not hear. Mr Wu turned to the shouting young men and with a barely perceptible frown murmured something under his breath. Instantly, the young men stopped shouting and fell back, watching the remainder of the meal in eerie silence from their own tables.

'They make you member society,' explained Mr Wu genially. 'Society call ah Prum Brossom Fists Society.'

'Good heavens!' exclaimed the Major, touched. 'Please thank them on my behalf. He wondered why the name of the society should stir some distant recollection in his mind. It was only later that it came back to him. Was it not something to do with the Boxer Rising in 1900? Surely one of the factions pledged to drive foreigners out of China had been called the Plum Blossom Fists Society? He was almost certain. He must remember to ask Mr Wu.

35.

'My dear Herringport, nothing could give me greater pleasure now that your country has entered the War than to accede to your request.' Thus it was that Brooke-Popham, ambushed by Ehrendorf as he was leaving a conference, gave him the opportunity to satisfy his most pressing need: to leave the city in which Joan lived without delay. Brooke-Popham had spoken in what was, for that kindly gentleman, a somewhat surly tone: he was tired of being ambushed by people; he was tired of conferences, too; he was tired of the War, even, although it had only just begun. In a few days from now, however, someone else would be stepping into his shoes as Commander-in-Chief and he would be able to return to Britain. Not a moment too soon, as far as he was concerned.

Noticing that Ehrendorf was looking somewhat taken aback by the brusqueness of his tone, Brooke-Popham relented and placing a friendly hand on the young man's shoulder he walked with him a few paces down the corridor for, after all, this was the charming young Herringport, not one of the aggressive blighters on the War Council.

'What would you suggest, Jack?' he said over his shoulder. 'This young man wants a closer view of the action.'

'I should think a spell on Heath's staff in KL would be the place for a ringside seat,' came the amiable reply.

'Good idea! Clear it with Percival and Heath, will you? I take it,' he went on, this time to Ehrendorf, 'that your own chaps have no objection. After all, now that we've got allies we don't want to get off on the wrong footing with them, do we?' And the Commander-in-Chief strolled on, still with a paternal hand on Ehrendorf's shoulder but with a wary eye open lest one of the Resident Minister's minions should choose this moment to pounce on him. 'By the way, Jack,' he said over his shoulder again. 'Have you come across a fellow called Simson? No? Obsessed with tank-traps. Says j.a.panese tanks could be through Malaya like Carter's Little Liver Pills and we'd have no way of stopping 'm. Still, one never knows, he could be right. One must be fair, after all. What d'you think? All I can say is, thank heaven that's Percival's pidgin! Nothing to do with me. Quite a presentable looking fellow, actually. Says he's an Engineer. No reason to doubt it, of course ...'

Seeing that the Commander-in-Chief's attention had moved on to another problem, Ehrendorf seized the opportunity to escape, though not before having made swift arrangements with another member of Brooke-Popham's train for the necessary doc.u.ments. Then he hastened out to where his car was waiting ... but on the way, something rather curious happened. He had been aware for some days of a growing strain running in a line down the centre of his body. This strain, since his last meeting with Joan, had become steadily stronger. Suddenly now on his way to the staff-car (it was most unexpected) he split into two Ehrendorfs. While one Ehrendorf gave brisk instructions to the driver, who seemed not to have noticed anything unusual, the other took his seat in the back, shaking his head sadly, as if to say: 'It doesn't matter in the least where you tell him to drive you, because one place is exactly like another.' And while the first Ehrendorf, ignoring this, tried to decide whether to send a last 'final letter' to Joan (there had already been one or two), perhaps mentioning that he was 'off to the Front' (a slight exaggeration since the HQ of 111 Indian Corps, where he was going, though the centre of operational command for northern Malaya, was actually situated in reasonable comfort and security in Kuala Lumpur, but never mind) and wishing her well for the future with Matthew or the guy with the stammer, the second Ehrendorf continued to watch him with detachment and contempt, as if to suggest that the writing of such a letter was quite as useless as any other course of action he could take and a sign of weakness into the bargain, the aping of n.o.ble sentiments which he did not feel in the least.

Pa.s.sing across Anderson Bridge the car's progress was slowed by a convoy of armoured troop-carriers; glancing down at the river, Ehrendorf saw the cl.u.s.ter of sampans sampans and and tongkangs tongkangs riding the slime: here entire families of Chinese were fated to spend their lives. For a moment the misery of this waterborne population caused the two Ehrendorfs to merge into one again. But they separated once more on the other side of the bridge. One can hardly be expected constantly, day in and day out, to measure one's own slender but personal misery against the collective misery of the world! That is asking too much. And about that letter, would it really be self-pitying to send Joan a note wishing her future happiness with Kate's Human Bean, who was also his own best friend, after all? Yet the truth was (was it not?) that under the guise of these silken good wishes he would really have liked to send Joan a rasping sarcasm. Admit it! Thus brooded the two Ehrendorfs sitting in the back of the car. riding the slime: here entire families of Chinese were fated to spend their lives. For a moment the misery of this waterborne population caused the two Ehrendorfs to merge into one again. But they separated once more on the other side of the bridge. One can hardly be expected constantly, day in and day out, to measure one's own slender but personal misery against the collective misery of the world! That is asking too much. And about that letter, would it really be self-pitying to send Joan a note wishing her future happiness with Kate's Human Bean, who was also his own best friend, after all? Yet the truth was (was it not?) that under the guise of these silken good wishes he would really have liked to send Joan a rasping sarcasm. Admit it! Thus brooded the two Ehrendorfs sitting in the back of the car.

When he had returned to his apartment in Market Street, he packed his kit and left it by the door; then he wandered aimlessly from sitting-room to bedroom and back again, now and again picking up a small object (a bottle of ink, a comb, a cotton reel of khaki thread), inspecting it and putting it down again. He stared for a long time at a section of the wall by the window where the whitewash, thickly applied, had begun to flake away: he examined it with great attention as if for some hidden significance, but at length, with a shrug of his shoulders he moved away, unable to make anything of it. He paused to look down into Market Street for a moment. Normally this was one of his favourite occupations: he loved the smell of c.u.mmin, cinnamon and allspice which drifted up to his window when sacks and kegs of spices were being unloaded at the spice merchant's below. On the other side of the street were the money-lenders' shops: there Chettyars in white cheesecloth dhotis dhotis dozed over their accounts in dim interiors, lounging or squatting on polished wooden platforms while they waited for business, or poring over ledgers at ankle-high desks whose wood was as dark and gleaming as their own skins. They reminded Ehrendorf of somnolent alligators waiting until chance should bring them a meal on the current of pa.s.sers-by flowing down the street. He smiled at the thought but the street, too, had grown oppressive and he moved on, this time picking up a snapshot of himself and his brothers and sisters. On an impulse he put it in an envelope and scribbled Matthew's name and address on it: he explored his mind for some friendly comment he might write on the back of it but could find nothing, his mind was perfectly empty. In the end, unable to think of anything suitable, he simply sealed it, stuck a stamp on it and put it in his pocket. 'What time is it?' he asked himself aloud. An overwhelming desire to sleep came over him, although he had slept soundly all night and most of the preceding afternoon. 'This won't do at all. If I leave now I could catch an early train and be in KL by ...' Instead he picked up a newspaper and began to read an article on the developing friendship between Chinese and Indian ARP wardens. 'Perhaps I should eat something?' dozed over their accounts in dim interiors, lounging or squatting on polished wooden platforms while they waited for business, or poring over ledgers at ankle-high desks whose wood was as dark and gleaming as their own skins. They reminded Ehrendorf of somnolent alligators waiting until chance should bring them a meal on the current of pa.s.sers-by flowing down the street. He smiled at the thought but the street, too, had grown oppressive and he moved on, this time picking up a snapshot of himself and his brothers and sisters. On an impulse he put it in an envelope and scribbled Matthew's name and address on it: he explored his mind for some friendly comment he might write on the back of it but could find nothing, his mind was perfectly empty. In the end, unable to think of anything suitable, he simply sealed it, stuck a stamp on it and put it in his pocket. 'What time is it?' he asked himself aloud. An overwhelming desire to sleep came over him, although he had slept soundly all night and most of the preceding afternoon. 'This won't do at all. If I leave now I could catch an early train and be in KL by ...' Instead he picked up a newspaper and began to read an article on the developing friendship between Chinese and Indian ARP wardens. 'Perhaps I should eat something?'

'... This little incident is typical of the comradeship now to be found every day of the week in the streets of our city among Asiatic and European volunteers in the "Pa.s.sive Defence" services ...' What little incident? Ehrendorf, though he began doggedly to read the article again, was unable to find 'the little incident'. He even counted the pages of the newspaper; he must have lost a page somewhere. But no, it was all there. He threw it aside. What did it matter? Should he go to sleep again or should he go to the railway station? He went into the kitchen and opened his refrigerator: it contained eggs, milk, a lettuce, some corned beef on a saucer (frozen on to it), a boiled potato that for some reason had turned a dark grey colour, some beetroot and the ma.n.u.script of a novel he was writing about a gifted young American from Kansas City who goes to Oxford on a scholarship and there, having fallen in love with an English girl who surrounds herself with cynical, sophisticated people, goes to the dogs, forgetting the sincere, warm-hearted American girl whose virginity he had made away with while crossing the Atlantic on a Cunard liner ... et cetera ... 'How could I write such rubbish?' Still, he could not quite bring himself to tear it up ... ('All I need now is the sincere, warm-hearted American girl.') He left the novel where it was but transferred the food to the table, having fried the eggs and the grey boiled potato.

Then he began to eat. He still did not feel in the least hungry but his Calvinist conscience would not allow him to leave the food to spoil while he was away from Singapore. It would have been a better idea, he realized, to give it to some hungry Singaporean but he was unable, in his present frame of mind, to face the problem of finding and communicating with a suitable recipient. He ate his way remorselessly through the food on the table, trying to make himself belch from time to time to lessen the strain. When he had finished he obliged himself, as an extra penance, to eat his way through a wedge of cake he discovered in a biscuit tin. As he ate, taking frequent swigs of milk to reduce the cake to a gruel he could swallow, he mused on the natural tendency, observable in human affairs, for things to go wrong, a law which in his blind optimism he had not perceived until this moment. Since n.o.body else appeared to have given it much thought, either, he felt justified in christening this discovery: Ehrendorf's Second Law. It a.s.serted: 'In human affairs things tend inevitably to go wrong.' Or to put it another way: 'The human situation, in general or in particular, is slightly worse (ignoring an occasional hiccup in the graph) at any given moment than at any preceding moment.' This notion caused him to smile for a moment: he must pa.s.s it on to Matthew. The reflection which caused him to wince immediately after having smiled (namely, that as Matthew was a rival he had most likely lost not only Joan but his best friend into the bargain), he saw merely as a demonstration of the universal application to Ehrendorf's Second Law.

Ehrendorf, having overcome with great difficulty a desire to retire to bed and sleep for several more hours, finally persuaded himself to take the evening train to Kuala Lumpur: it was Thursday, II December. By the time he set out he was already very tired; he also felt bloated and ill from the unwanted food he had consumed. The cavernous Railway Station in Keppel Road was already thronged with bored, weary or resigned-looking troops: British, Australian, Indian and Ghurka; their kit and rifles lay piled haphazardly; men shouted orders but without apparently diminishing the chaos, causing Ehrendorf, who for some weeks had been contemplating the conversion of his novel into an epic of Tolstoyan dimensions, to wonder whether war was of interest to anyone but the commanders who were conducting it. Was it not, for the troops themselves, a matter of standing around for hours on end speechless with boredom, perhaps with now and then a moment of terror?

The train, when he succeeded in finding it, was already crammed with troops. He forced his way into a first-cla.s.s compartment with a number of British officers who eyed him with hostility; one of them reluctantly removed his kit from a seat by the window, the only place unoccupied. It was extremely hot in the compartment and the atmosphere of ill-will among its occupants showed no sign of dissipating, nor the train any sign of moving out of the station. The insignia of the Federated Malay States Railway, palm-trees and a lion, had been engraved on the window beside Ehrendorf: he gazed at it, thinking of the vanished comfort and security of earlier days in Malaya, and found it beautiful. At last the train began to move; they crept out of the station, pa.s.sing the General Hospital and the old Lunatic Asylum on their right and then curved away across the island towards the Causeway. Almost immediately the redtiled roofs of Singapore gave way to jungle, so astonishingly dense that one might not have known that a great city lay just on the other side of it a few hundred yards away; after the jungle, mangrove swamps, a wretched Malay village scattered with rusting tin cans, a banana grove, a rubber smallholding or two, a few frail-looking papaya trees, then more jungle and mangrove until they reached the Causeway and the flashing water on either side.

Once out of the dilapidated streets of Joh.o.r.e Bahru the jungle returned, a solid green wall in which it was hard to distinguish individual leaves and fronds; Ehrendorf had the impression of travelling through an interminable dark green corridor. Presently, it grew dark and began to rain heavily, making it necessary to shut the windows. The heat quickly grew intolerable. The only illumination was a single light-bulb painted blue in deference to the black-out: in the faint glow that it cast it was barely possible to make out the faces of the other men in the compartment. Time pa.s.sed. The rain stopped and it was possible to open the windows again. When, for no apparent reason, they halted, Ehrendorf could smell the steam from the locomotive which hung in the saturated air and refused to dissipate.