The Empire Trilogy Part 54

'Sans blague!'

'They had the advantage of surprise and that counts for a great deal. But the further they drive our chaps back, the more concentrated our forces become ... like a spring which is being compressed. In due course we'll spring back all the more powerfully.'

'Sans blague!'

'Would you mind not saying "sans blague" all the time? It gets on my nerves.'

'Sorry.'

It had grown very dark outside and the rain fell so heavily that it filled the room with a noise like a roll of drums. Through a crack in the floorboards the Major could see a sheet of rainwater sliding under the bungalow between the pillars on which it stood. From time to time a flash of lightning lit up Dupigny's face across the room, a cynical ma.s.s of wrinkles. He had put down the newspaper which he could no longer see to read.

'What a storm!' said Matthew, wandering in from his office next door and joining the Major at the window.

'They don't usually last very long,' said the Major. He added presently: 'By the way, Mr Wu was here earlier and said he had heard there had been more trouble up-country.' The Major, though he did not say so, was afraid that Malaya might be beginning to fall to pieces. Nor was it simply a question of the military situation. He explained to Matthew what he had heard.

Last week there had been talk of Australian troops wrecking a hotel somewhere. Now rumours had reached Mr Wu, who had business contacts in Penang, Kuala Lumpur, Ipoh and Kuantan, that civil disorder, looting and inter-racial strife was spreading like a shock-wave in front of the advancing j.a.panese bayonets. In some places the retreating British troops, instructed to destroy stores that might be of value to the enemy, had set the example by looting jewellers and liquor shops, eagerly a.s.sisted by the local population and even by the police who had discarded their uniforms and joined in with a will. Open season had been declared on anything of value left behind. A cloud of locusts descended on every abandoned European bungalow: in no time it was stripped of everything down to light-bulbs, door-handles and bathroom fittings. When European bungalows had all been stripped the looters turned to those abandoned by rich Chinese, Indians and Malays ... and, presently, to those that had not not been abandoned, stripping them regardless and, if the owner did not promptly produce his valuables, torturing him until he did. Sometimes, according to Mr Wu's all too circ.u.mstantial and convincing account, Chinese looters would wear masks, or pretend to be j.a.panese soldiers; sometimes two rival bands of looters would arrive to sack the same premises, which now included Government rice G.o.downs, Land offices and Customs premises, and do battle with each other for the right to pillage. And all this accompanied by wholesale violence and rape, not to mention old scores being paid off. The country was foundering in anarchy! been abandoned, stripping them regardless and, if the owner did not promptly produce his valuables, torturing him until he did. Sometimes, according to Mr Wu's all too circ.u.mstantial and convincing account, Chinese looters would wear masks, or pretend to be j.a.panese soldiers; sometimes two rival bands of looters would arrive to sack the same premises, which now included Government rice G.o.downs, Land offices and Customs premises, and do battle with each other for the right to pillage. And all this accompanied by wholesale violence and rape, not to mention old scores being paid off. The country was foundering in anarchy!

'What do you expect to happen?' asked Dupigny, dismissing the matter with a shrug. 'I do not see why you should be surprised.'

'But wait, Francois. The laws of a country are merely the wish of people to live in a certain way. Remove the laws for a few days and you don't expect anarchy to result overnight, any more than by abolishing road regulations you would expect motorists to pick at random which side of the road they would drive on. Laws aren't a means of coercing a population of wild animals but an agreement between people ... D'you see what I mean? But in that case why has this moral vacuum appeared in the s.p.a.ce between the two armies where the rule of law is suspended? It must mean that all these people looting and raping don't consider themselves to belong to our community at all!'

'But exactly!' cried Dupigny and a flash of lightning lit up his sardonic smile. 'In a country like Malaya such an ideal community is impossible because people belong to different races and only have self-interest in common. A brotherhood of man? Rubbish! But let us not complain, self-interest is the surest source of wealth as your Mr Smith has so brilliantly demonstrated.'

'Do you really believe, Francois, that until now our British laws have merely been preventing people here from doing what they would most like to do, namely: attack, rob and rape their neighbours? Come now!'

'Certainly. Today you have the proof!'

Instead of replying, the Major stooped and held out his fingers to The Human Condition who was hesitating prudently a few feet away, as if afraid that the Major might be about to scoop him up and drop him into an incinerator. After some moments of interior debate the animal crept a little closer and faintly wagged its wretched tail. The Major sighed. Outside the window the first thin shaft of sunlight broke through the cloud and hung quivering in the murky gloom of the drive, at the same time striking emerald sparks from a dripping banana leaf.

Matthew, who had spent a little time with his hands in his pockets at the window, staring out in a gloomy reverie at the drenched foliage, had become interested in this discussion. He remembered with what pleasure he had watched the mingling of races on the dance-floor at The Great World. It was surely true that to build a nation out of Malaya's plural society some greater ideal than the profit of plantation owners, merchants and a.s.sorted entrepreneurs combined with the acc.u.mulation of wealth by the labour force, was required. What was needed was a new spirit a new spirit ... the spirit that had animated people at Geneva in the early days before everything had turned sour. Matthew began, haltingly, to explain this to the Major and Dupigny. It was simply a question of breaking out of old habits of thought! It was so easy, given the right atmosphere, for people to change the way they approached each other! Even apparently self-interested people were capable of it. It was like ... like ... He groped the air with his fingers, searching for an example. Yes, it was like someone in the empty compartment of a train who pulls down the blinds and puts his suitcases on the seat to prevent another pa.s.senger sharing it with him. Yet if, once installed, the newcomer should become ill the original occupant will spare no effort to help him, will take off his jacket, perhaps, to spread it over him, will stop the train and bully officials into coming to his companion's a.s.sistance, and go to all manner of trouble! It was a fact! And truly there was no earthly reason why all human affairs should not be conducted in this manner! It was just as available to people as conduct based on suspicion and self-interest. Even with the j.a.panese it would have been possible if they had not been infected with our own cynical approach to power. ... the spirit that had animated people at Geneva in the early days before everything had turned sour. Matthew began, haltingly, to explain this to the Major and Dupigny. It was simply a question of breaking out of old habits of thought! It was so easy, given the right atmosphere, for people to change the way they approached each other! Even apparently self-interested people were capable of it. It was like ... like ... He groped the air with his fingers, searching for an example. Yes, it was like someone in the empty compartment of a train who pulls down the blinds and puts his suitcases on the seat to prevent another pa.s.senger sharing it with him. Yet if, once installed, the newcomer should become ill the original occupant will spare no effort to help him, will take off his jacket, perhaps, to spread it over him, will stop the train and bully officials into coming to his companion's a.s.sistance, and go to all manner of trouble! It was a fact! And truly there was no earthly reason why all human affairs should not be conducted in this manner! It was just as available to people as conduct based on suspicion and self-interest. Even with the j.a.panese it would have been possible if they had not been infected with our own cynical approach to power.

'I refuse to believe that self-interest is the best source of prosperity. It only seems seems that way because we've never been able to break out of this bad habit with which we've been shackled by our history. Men are capable of becoming brothers, whatever you say, Francois. And I'm sure you'll find, once this dreadful war is over, that thousands of people of different races have been willing to risk their lives for each other!' that way because we've never been able to break out of this bad habit with which we've been shackled by our history. Men are capable of becoming brothers, whatever you say, Francois. And I'm sure you'll find, once this dreadful war is over, that thousands of people of different races have been willing to risk their lives for each other!'

While Matthew, stuttering with excitement, had been stating his belief, his companions had been listening, the Major dubiously, Dupigny with derision. Now Dupigny got to his feet: it was time for his late afternoon siesta on the table in the Board Room, the only room in the building which possessed an efficient fan. On his way out he paused to pat Matthew on the shoulder, saying with a laugh: 'You might just as well expect stockbrokers to be ready to die for the Stock Exchange!'

42.

It was in these days that members of the Mayfair AFS unit first began to be seen at fires here and there in the city with their glistening new trailer-pump. Nothing spectacular at first while they were learning the business; a shop-house or a G.o.down, perhaps, set on fire by an air-raid on the docks. A tiny convoy would set off led by the Major's Lagonda driven by the Major himself, keeping an eye on the trailer-pump dodging and swaying in the rear-view mirror, and followed by Mr Wu's ancient Buick, crammed with helmeted figures and equipment. Sometimes, as the fires grew bigger, they would find a number of other units there, too, and as they arrived they would have to b.u.mp over several hose-ramps while trying to locate the officer in charge of the fire. Quite often this would turn out to be a man called Adamson who, they learned from some of the regular firemen, had an unusual reputation for skill in beating back or outflanking fires that threatened to get out of control ... the reputation of a general, one might have thought. His appearance, though, was disappointingly ordinary ... a rather anonymous-looking individual in his forties with bristly grey hair and a manner that suggested more a curious by-stander than a general on a battlefield. Matthew, in particular, surveyed him with interest, wondering how it was that so many legends hat attached themselves to him.

At one G.o.down fire, while Matthew was talking to a man called Evans from the Central Fire Station in Hill Street, there came a shout of 'Stand from under!'

'That means the facade is about to topple,' Evans explained and together they joined the other men drifting back to a safer distance. Evans, however, was watching Adamson who still lingered beneath the building, staring up at it, hands in pockets. There was a story, he told Matthew, that Adamson had once been caught at just such a moment under a tall facade as it toppled outwards over him. Because it had been too late to run he had calmly estimated where an open window would fall, had changed his position slightly and then stood still. The facade had fallen neatly around him, leaving him untouched.

'Great Scott!' Matthew gazed at Adamson, deeply impressed by such sang-froid, but at the same time half suspecting that this might be just a story which old hands told to new recruits like himself.

Despite the satisfaction Matthew experienced these days in the knowledge that he was doing his bit for the Colony, and even putting himself at risk for it, he was still not altogether pleased with himself. His relations with the Blackett family had been seriously clouded by the unfortunate manner in which he had announced that he did not want to marry Joan. How could he have done such a thing? The Blacketts were his father's life-long friends! Now he flushed with embarra.s.sment at the mere recollection of his dreadful behaviour. Naturally, he had written notes of apology to Walter, to Mrs Blackett, and to Joan herself (how could he have been so insensitive as to reject the poor girl in public!) ... but he had heard nothing and did not expect to be forgiven for his appalling lapse.

He would have written a note to Monty, too, but Monty had turned up in person before he could do so and, as a matter of fact, did not appear to be particularly put out. Monty, indeed, was inclined to look on the bright side and said, chuckling: 'Boy, you've really put your foot in it this time. They aren't very pleased with you at home, to put it mildly! But at least you've got rid of all the b.l.o.o.d.y bridesmaids! Frankly, old chap, I hand it to you ... I didn't think you had it in you.' But Matthew was not to be consoled. It was true that he did not now have to marry Joan ... but such was his remorse that he would almost have preferred to have done so.

Presently, a hastily written message from Walter did arrive and Matthew opened it expecting recriminations. But to his surprise the message did not even mention his lapse and one might even have supposed, reading it, that Walter had already forgotten about it. The note begged Matthew, in the name of his country and of everything he held dear, to reconsider his refusal to impersonate Continuity in Blackett and Webb's jubilee parade. 'Since the loss of Penang,' wrote Walter, 'it has become more necessary than ever to sh.o.r.e up the morale of the Asiatic communities in the Colony by a display of firmness and a reminder of our past a.s.sociation which has been so fruitful to them.' Because of 'recent events' it had been necessary to postpone the jubilee parade and celebrations, but 'any day now' final arrangements would be made. In the meantime, Matthew was asked to come with the Major and Dupigny to a dress rehearsal for the parade to make sure that everybody knew what was expected of him.

This note had been dictated in a rather discursive style and typed on Walter's office note-paper. Walter had added a cryptic postscript in ink, however, which stated: 'I hear young Lang-field has not been doing too badly too badly as a fireman. What d'you think? Perhaps he is not as bad as the rest of as a fireman. What d'you think? Perhaps he is not as bad as the rest of that gang? that gang?' Matthew was relieved to get Walter's note, though a little puzzled by the reference to Nigel Langfield: Walter musing aloud, it seemed. He hastily sent a note in return, agreeing to do anything Walter wanted. After his lapse there was nothing else for him to do, after all.

His conscience lightened somewhat by this exchange, Matthew decided to take the afternoon off. His efforts to grasp the complexities of the rubber business took second place these days, in any case, to his duties as a fireman. Besides, he still hardly knew Singapore.

The Major, who had to pick up an order of books from Kelly and Walsh's, dropped him near Raffles Place and he set off, hands in pockets, with no particular destination. First he walked down Market Street. It was here, he remembered, that Ehrendorf had his flat but as to which number it was in the street he had no idea. As he strolled along he was suddenly enveloped in a delightful smell of cloves and cinnamon which hung outside a spice merchant's. On the opposite side of the street his eye was caught by the money-lenders shops and he paused for a moment to stare in wonder and dismay at the white-garmented figures lurking in those dim interiors. What did this glimpse of money-lenders remind him of? Yes. He moved on once more, pondering the a.s.sertion that self-interest is the most efficient producer of wealth, that what an undeveloped tropical country most needed were entrepreneurs like his father and like Walter. Many people believed, he was aware, that no matter what an individual entrepreneur might accomplish in the way of exploitation or abuse of native labour, his presence was still beneficial to the country as the most effective means by which the local population could begin to acc.u.muate capital of its own. This paradox, which was no doubt true within limits, was accompanied by a cynical companion in the form of another a.s.sertion: namely, that human beings would only produce their best efforts when they were working, not for the community in which they lived, but for themselves. This Matthew refused to believe refused to believe!

He had paused, muttering under his breath, in the doorway of a metalwork shop where he found himself gazing at his own perspiring, bespectacled face upside down in a gleaming concave bowl. Inside the shop he could see a man on his hands and knees cutting out a long strip of metal to make a bucket; another man, cross-legged, sat on the floor hammering rivets into another strip which had been bent into a cylinder. Beside them glistened a pile of newly minted buckets. To produce such handsome buckets without even a work-bench, using only primitive tools, seemed to him miraculous.

He walked on at random, now northwards, now westwards. He pa.s.sed a sign which read Nanyang Dentist and the dentist himself, perhaps, sitting in his white coat on the pavement smoking a cigarette. A ginger cat with a docked tail crossed his path and slipped hopefully under the bead-hung entrance to the North Pole Creamery. A Chinese song blared tinnily from a wireless somewhere above his head in the forest of poles and washing; two voices gabbled in different languages riddled with atmospheric from two other wirelesses nearby. He pa.s.sed on to the street corner where a Chinese funeral, which he at first took for a parade, was getting down to business outside a shop-house. A framed photograph of the dead man had been set up on a table on the pavement, a prosperous-looking fellow wearing the most formal of Western blue suits and white shirts; two tall lamps swathed in sackcloth for the occasion flanked the photograph: piles of oranges and apples and bundles of smoking joss-sticks stood in front of it. At the side of this table was another; Matthew found himself confronted with a great lobster-coloured pig's mask complete with ears and flaring nostrils, crabs, whole naked chickens, some squashed as flat as plates, very greasy-looking, others with their yellow waxen heads horribly bent back over their bodies.

Matthew looked at his watch: he would soon have to be getting back to the Mayfair for something to eat before the night's watch. He lingered for a moment, however, to inspect the paper models of a motor-car, a wireless, a refrigerator and other useful articles that the dead man would be taking on his journey, thinking: 'After all, if these are the things people want and entrepreneurs like my father help them to get them ...' He wondered what the head man had thought of it all, whether he had been satisfied. Here he was, presumably, in this impressive coffin which might, to judge by its size, have been hollowed out of a substantial tree trunk, each end swept up like the prow of a ship and standing on trestles which advertised, in English and Chinese, the name and telephone number of the undertaker. A line of professional mourners dressed in crudely st.i.tched sackcloth sat on the kerb, smoking cigarettes and looking disaffected. A small boy hammered on a tin drum and was now joined by a rather down-at-heel bra.s.s band of elderly men in white uniforms who struck up raggedly for a few moments. An aeroplane roared by very low overhead and the mourners looked up apprehensively ... but it was British, a Catalina flying-boat. Matthew walked on thoughtfully. As he walked, hands in pockets, he felt someone take his arm. Looking round he saw Miss Chiang's smiling face.

'Vera! Where have you been? Why haven't you been back to the Mayfair?'

Vera's smile disappeared; she looked a trifle upset. She said with a shrug: 'They told me not to come back.'

'Who told you?'

'A man from Mr Blackett's office.' She shrugged again. 'It does not matter. It is not in the least "pressing". Tell me about yourself ... I'm so glad to see you are now well again. What a terrible fever! You gave me such a fright. I was afraid you might "kick the bucket".'

'But why why did they tell you not to come back?' did they tell you not to come back?'

'They say my job has been finished. They bring me suitcase and money and a letter of thanks signed by Miss Blackett. I think it is because she is jealous of my beauty.'

'D'you really think so? Lumme!' Matthew mopped his perspiring face with a handkerchief.

'Yes,' went on Vera, looking pretty and malicious, yet at the same time more innocent than ever, 'it is because also she does not have my command of foreign languages and because my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are bigger than hers. She does not have my poise, either, which I have probably inherited from my mother ... I think I told you my mother was Russian princess, forced to show "clean heels" during Revolution. Well, there ... it is not worth bothering about.'

Meanwhile, they had strolled on together and, after a moment's hesitation, Vera had taken his arm again and her light hand resting in the hollow of his elbow caused a delicate warmth to flow into him. Some women, he could not help thinking, were extraordinarily good at touching you, while others did so as if they had had a recently dislocated arm (no doubt women found the same about men). Vera's touch was as distinctive as her voice. At the end of the street, however, they discovered that they were obliged to go in different directions, which seemed a pity. They lingered there for a moment.

'You must halt ...' said Vera with a sigh. 'I must go on because my silk-worms are hungry.'

'What? You have silk-worms?' cried Matthew, thinking: 'How delightfully Chinese!'

'Oh no, here in Singapore it is too hot for silk-worms.' She smiled flirtatiously. 'It is a line from an old Chinese song about a woman who is separated from her lover.'

'Well, let me see ...' Matthew again looked at his watch. 'Can I invite you to a cup of tea?'

'Thank you, but first I must visit a friend who is dying. Will you come with me?'

Presently, Matthew found himself standing in a vast dimly lit shed, blinking and polishing his spectacles; but even when he had put them on again, such was the contrast with the brightness outside, he still could not see very well. Vera had set off down a sort of aisle on each side of which rose tier after tier of shadowy racks, as in a store-house or wine-cellar. Matthew followed her, stepping uncertainly. There was a smell of humanity here and a faint, twittering murmur of voices.

As his vision improved he saw that the racks on either side were occupied by rec.u.mbent forms, some of which stirred slightly as he pa.s.sed but for the most part lying still ... Eyes followed him incuriously, the sunken eyes of very elderly, emaciated people; here and there he made out a somewhat younger face. Vera explained to him that this was a Chinese 'dying-house' where lonely people came to die. He had not wanted to come; he had tried to explain to Vera that he had only just finished watching a funeral. It seemed to him that his life had taken a decidely lugubrious turn all of a sudden. No, he would definitely prefer to wait for her outside.

But as they were walking Vera had told him a little about the old man she was going to visit. He had befriended her on the boat that had taken her from Shanghai to Singapore (that same boat on which Miss Blackett and her mother had been travelling), had given her a little money and had helped her to find her feet; his own children had died or disappeared in one of the civil wars that had swept back and forth over China since the fall of the Manchu dynasty. While talking about this man, to whom she was bringing a little parcel of food, Vera happened to mention that until he had grown too old to work he had lived by tapping his few rubber trees on a smallholding near Layang Layang in Joh.o.r.e. Matthew had p.r.i.c.ked up his ears at this and exclaimed: 'That's near my own estate!' And so, despite his misgivings, he had decided to enter the dying-house with her. Now, blundering between these racks of moribund people in the gloom, he felt like Orpheus descending into the underworld.

It was not only the lonely who came to die here, explained Vera in a low voice, grasping him by the sleeve, but a great many others, too. People were brought here to die by their families in order to spare the home from the bad luck that comes when somebody dies there ...

'I must say, that sounds a bit heartless!'

Yes, and yet it was accepted by the person who was dying as the best thing to do and the custom had been carried on, perhaps, for generations. And no doubt those who came here from the land of the living to bring food and water to their dying relations would in due course come to spend their own last days or hours here, rather than take up room in one of the crowded tenement cubicles or boats on the river ... It was very sad, certainly, but it was moving, too, to see the way these shelves of dying people accepted their fate. Vera's dark eyes searched Matthew's face to see whether he understood. He nodded cautiously though, as a matter of fact, he was not very keen on hearing of people 'accepting their fate'. Vera seemed to him extraordinarily full of life by contrast with the trays of shadowy expiring figures on either side. 'What a dismal way to end up though!'

'How attractive he is!' Vera was thinking. 'How stooping and shortsighted! What deliciously round shoulders and unhealthy complexion!' She gazed at him in wonder, reflecting that there was no way in which he could be improved. Indeed, she could hardly keep her eyes off him. For the fact was that Vera had been brought up, as Chinese girls had been for centuries, to find stooping, bespectacled, scholarly-looking young men attractive, and the more literary the better; no doubt there was an economic motive originally buried somewhere beneath this tradition of finding attractive qualities in poor physical specimens like Matthew (although, actually, he he was quite strong): for until recently with the fall of the Ch'ing dynasty all China's most powerful administrators and officials, a source of prosperity and glory for their families as well as themselves, had been chosen traditionally by compet.i.tive examinations in literary subjects open to rich and poor alike. Already though, a willingness to have their heart-strings plucked in such a way was beginning to seem old-fashioned to the young women of the New China. Yes, already by January 1942, young men with rippling muscles, fists of steel and a good posture were beginning to barge these spindle-legged weaklings aside and leave them grovelling in the dust for their spectacles while was quite strong): for until recently with the fall of the Ch'ing dynasty all China's most powerful administrators and officials, a source of prosperity and glory for their families as well as themselves, had been chosen traditionally by compet.i.tive examinations in literary subjects open to rich and poor alike. Already though, a willingness to have their heart-strings plucked in such a way was beginning to seem old-fashioned to the young women of the New China. Yes, already by January 1942, young men with rippling muscles, fists of steel and a good posture were beginning to barge these spindle-legged weaklings aside and leave them grovelling in the dust for their spectacles while they they, instead, installed themselves in maidenly dreams from Shanghai to Sinkiang. How lucky then for Matthew, who was just in time to catch Vera's eye. He would not have cut much ice with one of these others. As a matter of fact, she had already begun to notice one or two young men with fists of steel who perhaps did not look too too unprepossessing. unprepossessing.

43.

Vera had paused for a moment to talk to a middle-aged man sitting on his heels beside someone on the lowest rack; he was wearing a cheap, crumpled European suit whose pockets were bulging with packages of various kinds; a stethoscope hung over his open-necked white shirt. As he was talking he looked up briefly at Matthew and smiled: his face, which was deeply lined and cross-hatched, conveyed a strong impression of sensitivity and strength of character. As they walked on again, it occurred to Matthew that if you could tell someone's character by his face, even without sharing a culture or language with him, perhaps people of different nations and races were not so deeply divided from each other as they appeared to be, that whatever Dupigny might think, there was was such a thing as shared humanity, and that with one or two minor adjustments different nations and communities could live in harmony with each other, concerning themselves with each other's welfare. such a thing as shared humanity, and that with one or two minor adjustments different nations and communities could live in harmony with each other, concerning themselves with each other's welfare.

The doctor she had just spoken to, Vera explained, devoted all his spare time and money to treating the inmates of the dying-house who could not otherwise afford medical attention.

'Of course he does!' exclaimed Matthew excitedly. 'You only have to look at his face to know that!' He would hardly have believed her if she had suggested anything else. Oppressed as he was by Dupigny's cynical views on human nature, he felt quite delighted to have stumbled on this lonely philanthropist. Vera, meanwhile, was indicating in a whisper that those inhabitants of the dying-house who were actually expiring were brought down to the floor level because it was believed that anyone below a dying person would be visited by bad luck.

After a moment of uncertainty while she peered in the gloom at one elderly Chinese face after another (each shrivelled and puckered like an old apple and, to Matthew, almost indistinguishable) Vera had made her selection and was kneeling by a frail figure where it was darkest at the end of the row. Matthew approached, too, and gazed with interest and sympathy at the wizened head which lay, not on a pillow, but on a small bundle, perhaps of clothing. At the touch of Vera's hand on his arm, the old man's eyes opened slowly. He surveyed her calmly, remotely, showing no sign of surprise or animation. But presently he murmured something. A faint conversation ensued. Once, very slowly, his eyes moved towards Matthew. Vera's parcel contained a small bowl of rice, mushrooms and sea-slugs. A boy appeared with a pot of tea and Vera gave him a coin. Meanwhile the old man's withered hand had been groping feebly at his bedside and presently closed over a pair of chopsticks. Vera took them from him and helped him to eat a few mouthfuls from the bowl.

When he had finished eating the old man again looked at Matthew and said something to Vera. Vera, too, looked at Matthew and replied with a smile, saying then in English: 'I tell him you are in rubber business.'

The old man spoke again, this time to Matthew, in a faint, grumbling voice.

'What does he say?'

'He ask you where your estates are ... I tell him you son of Blackett and Webb.'

Matthew nodded and smiled winningly at the old Chinese, delighted to think that he was at last, thanks to Vera, coming into contact with the real roots of life in Malaya, not just its top dressing of Europeans.

But despite Matthew's winning smiles the old fellow on his death-bed did not altogether give the impression of being won over. Indeed, he had begun to fidget restlessly on his tray, muttering indignantly. Matthew was not sure but he thought he could make out the words 'Brackett and Webb' recurring in the old chap's mutterings. Vera was listening attentively: her face showed concern.

'Well, oh dear ... He say you swindle smallholders. He says European estates swindle him and other smallholders ...'

'Oh really, Vera!' scoffed Matthew. 'The poor old blighter's just wool-gathering. But I can see my presence is upsetting him so perhaps I'd better ...' He was afraid that the elderly Chinese, who was now searching crossly with trembling, skeletal hands for something in the pile of rags he was using as a pillow, might suffer some terminal seizure brought on by excitement and indignation. To judge by his wasted body and blue lips it would not take very much to capsize the frail craft in which the old chap was now trying to navigate the final stages of his life's voyage. Still, something caused Matthew to linger. Until now he had not given much thought to native smallholders. Their smallholdings seldom amounted to more than a few acres, at most. And yet, now he thought about it, these native smallholdings together produced nearly half of Malaya's rubber and covered almost a million and a quarter acres! 'What's he saying now?' he asked uneasily.

'He says British steal money from his rubber trees.'

'How did they do that?' asked Matthew dubiously. Vera turned back to the old man who had fallen back now, exhausted by his efforts to find whatever it was he had been looking for. He was no longer looking at Matthew but into the distance; his chest hardly seemed to move but still that faint, grumbling voice went on and on, rising and falling, almost like the wind when it sighs under a doorway.

'He says the inspector did not give him proper share of rubber to sell when he came to look at his trees for Restriction Scheme ...'

'I suppose he means when his production was being a.s.sessed before the scheme started ... to see what his share of the total export rights would be. All right, go on.'

'It was the same with other smallholders in this village, too. Inspector says he tells a lie how much rubber his trees are making, that they are too thickly planted to make so much rubber. He says inspectors are Europeans who work for the estates and do not want smallholders to get their proper share ...'

'Well, good gracious! Tell him ... tell him ...' But Matthew could not think what Vera should tell him. 'What a disagreeable old codger!' he thought, taken aback by this list of complaints. 'You'd think that at death's door he'd have better things to think about. There might be some truth in it, mind you ... but all the same!' Matthew had discovered that he did not mind being critical of the British himself, but when a foreigner was critical, that was different. And, after all, he had ventured into this decidedly creepy place merely to pay his respects to the old blighter!

But in spite of natural feelings of indignation that the old chap should pick a quarrel with him on what was really a social occasion (paying of respects to someone on the point of cashing in his chips), there was an aspect of the matter which Matthew, in spite of himself, did find rather interesting. For he had already been struck by the fact there there was one significant difference between the production of rubber and the production of most other things ... namely, there was little advantage in cost to those who operated on a big scale with several hundred or more acres. Those who produce corn, say, or motor-cars on a large scale can usually do so more cheaply than their smaller compet.i.tors. Not so with rubber where a method of ma.s.s-production using machinery had yet to be discovered. If anything, the native smallholder, who as well as tapping his few rubber trees could very often keep himself by growing fruit and vegetables and raising a few chickens, should be able to produce rubber more more cheaply than the European estates which were obliged to pay and feed a large work-force of tappers, weeders, foremen and other estate workers, not to mention the even more expensive European managers, agents, secretaries and, ultimately, company directors and shareholders. cheaply than the European estates which were obliged to pay and feed a large work-force of tappers, weeders, foremen and other estate workers, not to mention the even more expensive European managers, agents, secretaries and, ultimately, company directors and shareholders.

Matthew now remembered the discussion he had had with Ehrendorf (it seemed ages ago but was, in fact, only a few days) at The Great World, when they had been trying to decide to what extent the coming of Western capital to Britain's tropical colonies had had the benefits that were claimed for it. Well, the relationship between the European estates and the native smallholders seemed to throw an interesting light on that discussion. It was obvious that in most cases, although natives could be employed by Western enterprise, they lacked the knowledge, skill and capital to compete directly with it. But in the case of rubber, by a happy coincidence this was not so. There was nothing in the growing and tapping of trees, in the coagulation of latex by adding acid, or in the mangling and smoking of the resulting rubber sheets, that could not be done as easily by an illiterate Malay or Chinese as by a graduate of a British agricultural college. If the Colonial Office and the Government here really had the interests of their native subjects at heart, and not merely their exploitation as cheap labour, they could hardly have been presented with a better opportunity of demonstrating it by promoting and defending their interests! But wait! What was this he was hearing (for the old man's quavering sing-song, while Matthew had been brooding on these matters, had not ceased its gentle sighing like the wind coming under the door)?

'He says that European estates were given an extra share for trees that were too young to make rubber ... Smallholders were given nothing.' Vera looked at him helplessly, embarra.s.sed by this litany of complaints. 'He says European inspectors never looked properly at trees. He says there were only twenty inspectors for whole of Malaya. He says n.o.body inspected the estates. The estates told the Controller of Rubber how much share they wanted and Controller did as they say. He says Controller of Rubber was friendly to estates, not friendly to smallholders!'

'Quite true, sir,' piped up another quavering voice at Matthew's elbow, causing him to start violently and peer into the gloom where another of the shadowy cadavers, hitherto lying supine on the lowest rack and displaying no-signs of life, had now collected up two sets of bones and thrown them over the side of his tray; after dangling uncertainly for a while they anch.o.r.ed themselves to the floor and proved to be legs; then, with a further sc.r.a.ping of bones, their owner levered himself politely to his feet and stood swaying beside Matthew. 'Quite true, sir. Controller of Rubber listen only to European estates. He have five men on his committee from estates ... only one smallholder! On his Rubber Regulation Committee he have twenty-seven twenty-seven men from estates, still only men from estates, still only one one from smallholders. And yet smallholders produce half country's rubber! That is not fair, sir. It is disgusting. Quite true, sir.' And he sank back with a moan into the shadows and a moment later there came a faint rattling sound. 'Oh dear,' thought Matthew, 'but still, he's probably had a good innings.' from smallholders. And yet smallholders produce half country's rubber! That is not fair, sir. It is disgusting. Quite true, sir.' And he sank back with a moan into the shadows and a moment later there came a faint rattling sound. 'Oh dear,' thought Matthew, 'but still, he's probably had a good innings.'

Meanwhile, the speaker's place had been taken by other shadowy figures and Vera, tugging at his arm, was anxious to gain his attention because the sighing, sing-song voice of her friend had not ceased all this time and by now had built up a considerable backlog of complaints. 'He says Rubber Research Inst.i.tute run by Government does not help smallholders, it helps only estates. He says smallholders pay for Inst.i.tute from taxes just like European estates, but Inst.i.tute only gives new, very good rubber plants to estates! What they call 'budwood" ...'

'He means these new high-yielding clones?'

'Yes, budwood ... he means new clones ... He telling truth!' sang a chorus of skeletons and moribunds who had crowded around Matthew and were tugging at his garments to attract his attention ...

'He says smallholders producing more rubber per acre than estates but given much smaller share!'

'Look here, Vera, I'm afraid I shall have to be going now. I'm on duty this evening and I'm late already ...'

'He says b.l.o.o.d.y big swindle ... he says ...'

For the past few moments, extenuated though he was by his long list of complaints, Vera's friend had resumed his petulant search in the bundle of rags he was using as a pillow; now, with a final effort which seemed as if it might capsize him completely, his trembling fingers had fastened on what they were looking for. This proved to be a yellowing page of newsprint which he held up, quivering, to Matthew. Matthew took it, straining his eyes in the half-light to see what it was. He could just make out that it was the editorial opinion of The Planter The Planter and that the date on the top of the page was June 1930. 'I'm afraid I can't quite see what it says,' he murmured apologetically. But one of the skeletons at his shoulder, with a prodigious effort which seemed to drain him of his last resources of energy, had succeeded in dragging the head of a match against the sandpaper of a matchbox held in the shaking hands of two of his companions. The match flared. Matthew read aloud as rapidly as he could ... and that the date on the top of the page was June 1930. 'I'm afraid I can't quite see what it says,' he murmured apologetically. But one of the skeletons at his shoulder, with a prodigious effort which seemed to drain him of his last resources of energy, had succeeded in dragging the head of a match against the sandpaper of a matchbox held in the shaking hands of two of his companions. The match flared. Matthew read aloud as rapidly as he could ...

' "In the hands of the producers of budwood ..." '

'He means Government Research Inst.i.tute ...'

'I say, please don't interrupt me because otherwise I won't be able to finish this before the match goes out,' protested Matthew. 'Well where was I ... "In the hands of the producers of budwood lies the decision whether rubber planting will, in the far and remote future, become a native industry, or remain an a.s.set of immense value to those European races to whose administrative skill and financial ac.u.men ... (Oh dear, I don't like the sound of this) ... the development of Malaya and of the Dutch East Indies has been due ..." '

'More, sir, more!' croaked his audience.

' "... It is the honest unbiased opinion of many leading men outside the rubber industry that the less the smallholder has to do with rubber the better it will be in the long run for himself and for all others engaged in rubber production ..." ' The match died. Matthew was left with the piece of paper in his fingers. He sighed.

All around him in the semi-darkness, as if summoned by the last trump for a final dispensation of justice over the doings of this imperfect world, supine figures were sitting up and casting off their shrouds and bandages, while others were clambering down from the tiers of shelves on which they had been stretched. He sighed again and looked down at his watch as they crowded round him.

44.

Towards the end of the year Sir Robert Brooke-Popham had been replaced as Commander-in-Chief Far East by General Pownall. Although he had been on friendly terms with Brooke-Popham and his successor was unknown to him, Walter was nevertheless relieved to see the departure of his friend for it had grown increasingly clear that Brooke-Popham was not comfortable in the role to which he had been a.s.signed. But if this change of commanders had been expected to exert a beneficial effect on the course of the campaign there was no immediate sign of it, at least to the eyes of a civilian onlooker. By now, in any case, the most crucial military decisions had to be taken within the borders of Malaya itself, and thus the responsibility for making them fell to General Percival and his staff at Malaya Command.