The Empire Trilogy Part 57

In due course it was decided that Kate and Melanie and their mothers should leave for Australia on the Narkunda Narkunda, sailing in mid-January. Walter agreed provisionally that Joan should stay a little longer but insisted that she would have to follow her mother if the situation got any worse. The truth was that Walter had need of Joan in Singapore, not only to supervise the running of the household in the absence of his wife, but also to lend a hand in the increasingly frantic work involved in administering Blackett and Webb's affairs from temporary offices in Tanglin, for by now the air-raids on the docks, spasmodic hitherto, had made continued occupation of the premises on Collyer's Quay too dangerous. Moreover, Walter still had not quite given up hope that Matthew might suffer a change of heart and decide he must marry Joan, after all. This match was such a good idea! That was what upset Walter, to see a good idea go to waste. There persisted in his mind the feeling that in some way Joan's marriage could still be the foundation of Blackett and Webb's recovery. But how? It was an instinct, nothing more.

An impetus was needed, that much was certain! Whether or not Singapore might survive as a military strong-point in the Far East it was clear that as a business centre it was finished for some time to come. As a result all Walter's efforts were now directed towards the running-down of the company's Singapore operations, the transferring of business to branches overseas in Britain, America and Australia and the suspension of that which could not be transferred.

And there still remained as a reminder of his own weakness those vast quant.i.ties of rubber in his G.o.downs on the Singapore River. He had barely been able to shift a fraction of it. Nor was it any comfort to tell himself that he was the victim of circ.u.mstances beyond his control. Difficulties are made to be overcome! A businessman must shape his own environment to suit his needs: once he finds himself having to submit to it he is doomed. Once, years ago, while leafing through a copy of Wide World Wide World, he had come across a blurred photograph which, for reasons which he had not understood, had made a great impression on him. Well, if he had not understood it then, he certainly understood it now! It was a photograph, very poorly printed, of some dying animal, perhaps a panther or a leopard, it was hard to tell. Too weak to defend itself, this animal was being eaten alive by a flock of hideous birds. Walter had never been able to forget that picture. He had thought of it not long ago while standing at old Mr Webb's bedside. And now he thought of it again, reflecting that there comes a time, inevitably, when the strong become, first weak, then helpless.

Walter knew very well, mind you, that other rubber merchants shared at least some of his own difficulties. Even old Solomon Langfield had admitted in an unguarded moment that he had large stocks waiting on the quays for a carrier. This was no comfort, however: Walter had always held in contempt businessmen who excused their own failures by matching them with those of other people. There was a way of shipping that rubber, he knew, just as there was a way of doing everything. But the present state of the docks baffled and exhausted him: the quays were jammed with shipping still loaded with war material said to be urgently needed by the military. Yet n.o.body was doing anything about it: the labour force had largely decamped, doubtless because they were unwilling to risk their lives under constant air-raids; what unloading was taking place was being done by the troops themselves: Walter had tried to suggest to a military acquaintance that these same men should reload with rubber 'urgently needed for the War Effort elsewhere', but the man had looked at him as if he were out of his mind.

Walter, even in his weakened state, had been stubborn enough to keep on trying. He had paid another visit to the Governor, suggesting that he might intercede with the War Council to provide a labour company under military discipline (which might encourage them to turn up for work) in order to start reloading the great backlog of rubber before it was too late. But Sir Shenton Thomas had barely listened to him. Although he was normally sympathetic to the Colony's mercantile community, he had shown visible signs of impatience with Walter's difficulties. That stuffed shirt! He had hardly even taken the trouble to make an excuse, muttering something about it being all he could do to prevent the military from commandeering what labour was already available to the rubber industry ... Relations with Malaya Command and Singapore Fortress, already bad at the outbreak of war, had got worse ... Walter would kindly realize that the community had other needs, above all civil defence, besides his own ... Well! Walter had come close to asking him whose taxes he thought paid his b.l.o.o.d.y salary! Affronted, he had taken his leave. The bales of rubber, in their thousands of tons, had continued to sleep undisturbed in their G.o.downs.

And yet this was the moment, Walter knew in his heart, to adopt some resolute plan, perhaps to conscript a labour force of one's own by closing down other aspects of the business, certain of which would soon close down anyway of their own accord, by transferring estate labour (such of it as had not yet been overrun by the advancing j.a.panese) to the docks, by offering double wages if necessary, anything provided that rubber was shifted. It was no good for Walter, isolated and overworked as he was, to tell himself that he must not let that rubber get out of proportion ... What was it compared to the rubber which had pa.s.sed through his hands in his time? Nothing! ... It seemed to him like a tumour, disfiguring his career in Singapore. And like a tumour it continued to grow because, although diminished in quant.i.ty by the j.a.panese advance and by the increasingly chaotic state of the roads in Joh.o.r.e, new consignments of rubber continued to arrive from across the Causeway.

The fact was that all the options Walter considered were hedged around with administrative difficulties through which he could see no way. In desperation he even considered, though only for a moment, the possibility of forming a co-operative labour force with other firms in a similar, if less acute, predicament ... perhaps even with Langfield and Bowser. But that solution, which was probably the only one capable of realization in practice, was denied to Walter by the compet.i.tive habits of a lifetime. He could hardly enter into such an agreement without revealing the sheer size of his stocks to his rivals, who would know immediately by the amount of rubber he had waiting that he had made a grotesque miscalculation. To go cap in hand to old Solomon Langfield in Blackett and Webb's jubilee year to propose such a scheme was more than he could bring himself to do. But at this point fate, in the shape of a j.a.panese bomb, took a hand.

51.

Even taking into account the new-found amity between the two families, you would hardly have expected to see what you now did did see at the Blacketts' house, the extraordinary spectacle of lions lying down with lambs and scarcely even licking their lips. Walter found himself sitting at his own dining-table surrounded, it seemed, by nothing but Langfields. Even more unexpected was the fact that a similar scene had taken place yesterday and would take place again tomorrow ... though with the women-folk subtracted, for this was the eve of their departure for Australia. What then was the explanation? For this was not, needless to say, the company that Walter would have chosen for his evening meal, including as it did, old Solomon Langfield with a slightly condescending expression on his cunning old face and young Nigel, who looked almost human by comparison, sitting next to Joan. see at the Blacketts' house, the extraordinary spectacle of lions lying down with lambs and scarcely even licking their lips. Walter found himself sitting at his own dining-table surrounded, it seemed, by nothing but Langfields. Even more unexpected was the fact that a similar scene had taken place yesterday and would take place again tomorrow ... though with the women-folk subtracted, for this was the eve of their departure for Australia. What then was the explanation? For this was not, needless to say, the company that Walter would have chosen for his evening meal, including as it did, old Solomon Langfield with a slightly condescending expression on his cunning old face and young Nigel, who looked almost human by comparison, sitting next to Joan.

The Langfields on the whole looked subdued, which Walter found reasonably gratifying. Nor was this simply because their family was about to be sundered. The Langfields had suffered a misfortune. A bomb jettisoned at random by a j.a.panese plane had fallen in Na.s.sim Road, partly destroying their house. None of them had been hurt, fortunately, except for a few scratches. Since the damage had only been to property Walter had felt himself permitted at first to treat the matter as a joke. At the Club, chuckling, he had entertained his friends with what he claimed was an eye-witness description of 'the bomb on the bear-garden'. The rats and c.o.c.kroaches that had poured out of the smoking ruins had been n.o.body's business! And poor oldSolomon wandering about howling with grief. Why? Because he kept his money under his mattress, as everyone knew, and it had been blown up with the rest of the bear-garden! After a while, however, Walter fell silent, having realized that some of his audience were not relishing his joke at Langfield's expense quite as much as he did himself. But Walter was fundamentally a kind-hearted man and he could see that, after all, having your house destroyed could have its unpleasant side. And so he had generously made amends by inviting the Langfields to stay at his house until they had managed to re-establish themselves in their own; besides, since the women-folk were going off together it made sense for the two families to be under the same roof for a while. Walter was considered at the Singapore Club to have emerged, after a shaky start, very creditably from the Langfields' misfortune, given the legendary antipathy between the two families.

Solomon, as it happened, was not looking particularly well. He was getting on in years and had reached the age when a person finds it hard to adjust to a sudden shock like the destruction of his house. Mrs Langfield had confided in Mrs Blackett (the two ladies, having swallowed the distaste of years in a few minutes, had discovered that they had everything in common and had quite as much gossip backed up over the years as Walter had rubber in his warehouses) that it had taken some time for the poor old fellow to be coaxed out of the ruins. He had wanted to stay on there, it appeared! With ceilings which might collapse at any moment! And when he had been told of the invitation to the Blacketts' he had grown more stubborn than ever. In the end Nigel had had to accept the invitation on his behalf and Dr Brownley had had to make a personal visit to the shattered house in Na.s.sim Road to dislodge the old boy.

Dr Brownley, seated opposite old Solomon, might well have been thinking that the old man's face had an unhealthy cast, yellowish with brightly flushed patches. But as a matter of fact he was concentrating more on his supper which was exceptionally appetizing. Walter, drumming absently on the table with a crust of 'health bread', for to the indignation of Tanglin the Cold Storage had stopped baking white bread on Government orders, surveyed the table and reflected that tomorrow, when the women had sailed for Australia, he would at last have time to get down to some serious work. He would miss them, no doubt, but that could not be helped. Besides, there was always Joan.

At the end of the table Matthew had become involved in a heated discussion with Nigel, odd s.n.a.t.c.hes of which reached Walter's distracted ears ... something about colonial policy during the Depression. Matthew, Walter had to admit, had turned out a disappointment. He had grown somewhat thinner during his weeks in Singapore but no less excitable and opinionated. Why, the other day he had even a.s.serted that the European estates had swindled inarticulate native smallholders out of their share of Malaya's rubber exports under the Restriction Scheme. And how, Walter had enquired with an ironical smile, did we manage to do that? How did we manage to do that when a.s.sessment was under Government control? The estates had managed to do it through their creature, the Controller of Rubber! By packing the committee formed to 'advise' him ... that was to say, to give him instructions for whatever they wanted to be done so that he could apply the official stamp to them!

'Don't be an idiot!'

'I'm not saying you did anything illegal, just that you used your influence to bend the rules in your favour. Isn't that the way it's always done? Come to think of it, that's what my father and his cronies did in the rice trade in Rangoon all those years ago. I suppose that's what business out here consists of.'

Walter had spoken sharply at this point. He was not ready to listen to Matthew saying anything against old Mr Webb who had been the very soul of recitude and one of the pillars of the Singapore community His was an example of honesty and industry which Matthew would do well to follow instead of ... of ... Walter had been about to say 'carrying on with half-caste women' but thought better of it at the last moment. He had heard reports that Matthew had been seen with Miss Chiang but did not want to bring the matter up until he was more sure of his ground, for it was out of the question for a Webb to be seen a.s.sociating openly with a 'stengah' 'stengah', particularly in Blackett and Webb's jubilee year. '... Instead of wasting your time,' he had finished rather weakly. Matthew had abandoned the subject, looking depressed.

Matthew was now saying, 'Far from doing anything to help our colonies foster their own native industries the Colonial Office sees to it that any which begin to develop are promptly scotched!'

'Why should they do that?' scoffed Nigel Langfield, under the approving eye of his elders. 'I say, Mr Blackett, what d'you think, sir? Isn't that just the nonsense that the Nationalists are always spouting?'

'Why?' demanded Matthew heatedly. 'Because we want to sell our own goods. We don't want compet.i.tion from the natives: we want to keep them on the estates producing the raw materials we need.'

'Absolute poppyc.o.c.k, old boy,' chuckled Nigel. 'Westminster has done a jolly great deal with grants to build up industry in the colonies.'

'Grants, certainly ... but what for? So that they could buy British capital equipment for bridges and railways. The only purpose of these grants was to deal with unemployment in Britain. Funds were produced so that the unfortunate colonies could buy equipment which they could ill afford and which was of dubious advantage to them, though it probably was was to the advantage of the European businesses established in the colonies!' to the advantage of the European businesses established in the colonies!'

Walter could not help glancing at old Solomon Langfield to see how he was responding to these unfortunate remarks. Ah, it was as he feared! On the man's sickly face an expression of amazement and disgust had appeared. Glancing up swiftly the wily old fellow caught Walter's eye before he had time to look away. Promptly his expression changed to one of sarcasm, even glee, as if to say: 'So this is the sort of degenerate talk that goes on in the Blackett household ... I might have known!' But perhaps Walter had merely imagined that his old rival was gloating over him: a moment later Solomon had dropped his chin wearily to his plate once more. He really did look rather ill. Perhaps it was just as well that the doctor was at hand. Much as he detested the Langfields Walter did not particularly want one to die under his roof.

'In Burma during the Depression there was such a high tax on matches that the natives started a flourishing local industry making cheap cigarette lighters. Guess what happened. The Government, disliking the loss of revenue, suppressed it by inst.i.tuting heavy fines! Well, by an interesting coincidence the same thing happened in the Dutch East Indies. There, too, cheap cigarette lighters threatened the revenue from matches. But the Dutch allowed them to continue making the lighters on the grounds that it created employment. And the same goes for many other local industries, too ... The result is that the Dutch East Indies now have a spinning industry and instead of importing sarongs sarongs they make their own. The same goes for soap, cigarettes and any number of other things. There's even a native bank to finance native enterprises! And what have we been doing? We've seen to it that even basic things like nails still have to be imported from Britain!' they make their own. The same goes for soap, cigarettes and any number of other things. There's even a native bank to finance native enterprises! And what have we been doing? We've seen to it that even basic things like nails still have to be imported from Britain!'

'Oh, that's all very well,' bl.u.s.tered Nigel. 'Anyone can quote isolated facts, but that just distorts the overall picture.' And Nigel flushed, nettled by Matthew's tone and conscious that he had not emerged from this arguement as well as he had hoped, particularly with the beautiful Joan Blackett sitting in silent judgement at his elbow. What a smasher she was! Nigel particularly liked the way the light fell on her curly hair, making it glow like ... like ...

'Matthew doesn't know anything, Nigel, about what things are really like here,' said Joan suddenly and in such a bitter tone that even Nigel peered at her in surprise, delighted, however, that she should take his side.

Walter had been listening attentively to the exchange between the two young men at the end of the table. As he listened his face had darkened and the bristles on his spine had risen, causing his Lancashire cotton shirt and even the jacket of his linen suit to puff up into a hump. Distracted though she was by her imminent departure, Mrs Blackett had noticed the warning signs and held her breath, afraid lest her husband explode at any moment. But just as it had seemed that an explosion of rage was inevitable, Walter's thoughts had abruptly been diverted into a more soothing channel by his daughter's defence of Nigel. And so promising was this new channel that within a few moments those horrid bristles had subsided and were nestling peacefully once more flat against Walter's coa.r.s.e pink skin. Walter had begun to have ideas about young Nigel Langfield.

Walter had known Nigel since childhood; according to the general proposition that Langfields only became odious and unsuitable on reaching p.u.b.erty, he had often been permitted to come as a child to play with Monty just as now Melanie came to play with Kate. And naturally, even after Nigel had made the change from acceptable tadpole to unacceptable frog, Walter had continued to see him here or there for they belonged, of course, to the same clubs and it was inevitable that the young man should crop up in Walter's field of vision over the years carrying now a tennis racket, now a briefcase, Singapore being a very small world, after all. Nevertheless it was only now that the bombed-out Langfields had a.s.sembled under his roof that Walter was at last really able to form an opinion about the young man: on the whole he had been agreeably surprised. Nigel had the right ideas. He was not, like Monty, a wash-out. On the contrary, from what he had overheard pa.s.sing between Nigel and his father the young man was already active in the affairs of Langfield and Bowser. Walter, preoccupied though he was this evening with other matters, had not failed to notice that every now and again Nigel's eyes would surrept.i.tiously come to rest on Joan and contemplate her avidly. A young man's normal stirrings of l.u.s.t, perhaps? No, Walter did not think so. He believed that there might be more to it than that. For Nigel was making every effort to be agreeable to Joan and once or twice, for no apparent reason, a deep blush had stained the young man's cheeks, which were, incidentally, still pleasantly freckled like those of a child.

Yes, Walter was still faced with the problem of finding a husband for Joan. How times had changed that he should now be giving serious consideration to an offspring of the Langfields! But a businessman must adapt his views to meet changing times; otherwise he will be left high and dry. Walter had not forgotten (how often had he not repeated it to little Monty when the lad was still in the nursery) the fate of the rice-millers in London who had gone to their doom because they had been unable to foresee the effects that the opening of the Suez Ca.n.a.l would have on their trade. A man must move with the times. If a union of the Blacketts and the Langfields was what the times called for, then so be it. Moreover, the more Walter thought about it, the more it seemed to him that this might be the master-stroke that solved all his problems simultaneously. If the two firms were merged into a new company, Blackett, Webb and Langfield, then the danger that Matthew Webb might one day use his holdings to force some independent, hare-brained, moralistic policy on the Blackett interest would automatically disappear. Matthew's stake would be diluted. Of course, he would have the problem of imposing his will on the Langfield interest but old Solomon would not last for ever and Walter was confident that with Joan's help he could deal easily enough with young Nigel. Why, a union of the two families might even help him solve the more immediate problem of shipping his rubber by putting him in a better position to suggest some joint solution of the difficulty to Solomon.

Mr Webb would not have approved of such a match as Walter was now contemplating. But no matter, Walter thought with a grim chuckle, old Webb was dead and from the grave a man's influence on the board of directors is much reduced. Nor would his wife approve ... but tomorrow Sylvia would be on her way to Australia. As for Monty, trained to detest Langfields the way a police-dog is trained to leap for the throats of burglars, he might not like it but then his opinion was of no account. For a moment Walter's eye rested sadly on his only son. Why could he not have turned out like one of Harvey Firestone's boys? As if aware of his father's disappointment Monty looked up at that moment. 'What's biting the old man?' he wondered. 'Perhaps there's something he wants me to do?' But the next moment his thoughts had returned to browse on his own problems which, like his father's, were manifold. How was he to get out of this hole, Singapore, with his skin in one piece? And, a more immediate problem, how was he to get through another dreary evening when he had seen almost every film in town? The only one poor Monty had not seen was Myrna Loy in Third Finger, Left Hand Third Finger, Left Hand. Could you beat it! That was certain to be the sort of romantic rubbish to which he would normally have given a wide berth. But if that's all there was then there was nothing else he could do. He would have to put up with it. 'Third Finger, Left Hand indeed!' he thought grimly as he tackled his pudding. 'Why am I being punished like this?' indeed!' he thought grimly as he tackled his pudding. 'Why am I being punished like this?'

52.

'A businessman must move with the times!' Two hours had pa.s.sed and calm had descended on the Blacketts' household once more, but Walter's train of thought had not made much progress. Now he and Solomon Langfield and the doctor sat on the unlit verandah smoking cigars; upstairs, after an abortive attempt to be allowed to stay up late on this their last night in Singapore, Kate and Melanie were lying almost naked on their beds complaining of the heat and calling each other 'darling' in affected tones: Melanie was still hoping to be rescued from this early banishment by an air-raid and planned to cause a sensation, if the j.a.panese obliged, by appearing in the Blacketts' improvised shelter wearing no more clothes than she was at present. Kate was less unhappy than she had expected to be at the prospect of leaving, partly because her father had agreed after a great deal of persuasion that her beloved cat, Ming Toy, might accompany her to Australia. Mrs Langfield and Mrs Blackett had both retired early. Matthew, after murmuring his goodbyes to the ladies (only Kate had shed a tear at parting from the Human Bean), had made himself scarce. Joan and Nigel had wandered into the garden and were sitting by the swimming pool watching the moon sliding gently this way and that on its dark skin.

Walter was pondering the question of palm-oil as he had done time and again in recent weeks. Palm-oil was plainly a business for the future. It was also, all too plainly, one in which he had allowed Blackett and Webb to get left behind. Other matters had obtruded, preventing him from taking the decisive action that was needed: old Webb's illness, the war, worries about young Webb's holdings in the company ... and before all that there had been the Depression and its aftermath, the struggle for a Restriction Scheme and heaven knew what else. But while he had been hesitating what had happened? Guthries had been going from strength to strength with their new oil bulking company. Even the French had been at it, with Socfin (La Societe Financiere des Caoutchoucs) building a bulk shipment plant at Port Swettenham. Why, he had heard that Guthries now had twenty thousand acres under oil palms! To make the matter more galling, it seemed that Malayan palm-oil was considered superior to West African. One day, for all Walter knew, it might beacome as important as rubber ... or more so, if synthetic rubber developed. Then where would Blackett and Webb be?

Walter had been aware of all this for years, of course. It was useless to pretend otherwise. Younger, he might have taken the plunge, built a modern oil mill and bulk shipment plant, negotiated for estates. It was absurd to think you could compete by shipping the stuff in wooden barrels in this day and age; it would take a considerable investment. It was the sort of venture that might be undertaken, perhaps, by a firm as large as Blackett's and Langfield's combined. Walter was profoundly depressed by the thought that a good fifteen years had gone by since Guthries had gone heavily into palm-oil. In that time he had done nothing! There was one consolation, at least as far as Socfin were concerned: Port Swettenham must be in j.a.panese hands by now.

Dr Brownley stood up to take his leave, murmuring that one of these days Walter must...

'Yes, yes,' muttered Walter impatiently, anxious for the Doctor to leave without delay. There was a matter he wanted to discuss with Solomon Langfield. Discountenanced by the briskness of Walter's goodbyes, the Doctor retreated. Walter was left alone in the semi-darkness of the verandah with his old rival of many years.

'Well, Solomon,' he began cautiously, 'these are troubled times for Singapore and I have a feeling that things will never again be quite the way they used to be in the old days.' A grunt of a.s.sent came from the figure in the cane chair beside him. Encouraged, Walter went on: 'Soon it will be time for another generation to take over from us the building of this Colony. But still, I think we've done our bit, people like you and me ... and my sorely missed partner, Webb, of course.' He added as an afterthought: '... And poor old Bowser, too, we mustn't forget him.' Walter considered it generous of himself to include the incompetent, drunken Bowser and the crafty, even criminal Langfield among the founders of modern Singapore. All the same, he waited rather anxiously for Solomon's response which, when it came, was another grunt, somewhat non-committal this time. On the darkened verandah Walter could see little but the glow of his companion's cigar tip on the arm of his chair and a faint gleam of moonlight on the bald pate as it curved up to the long sagacious forehead where preposterous eyebrows rose like puffs of steam.

'I must say that it rea.s.sures me when I think that our work here will be in good hands when our youngsters take over from us. Mind you, my boy, Monty, has never been as interested in the business as I would have hoped ... not his line but, well, fair enough, we all have our role to play and he's more of ... I suppose you'd say he was more of an academic turn of mind,' proceeded Walter, fumbling rather. 'But my girl, Joan, now, she's as hard-headed as they come and one day she'll make a fine businesswoman. Why, she could buy and sell her old papa already!'

A faint snicker greeted this remark and Walter paused, disconcerted. Had he imagined a sarcastic note to it, as if one were to say: 'Well, that that wouldn't be difficult!' wouldn't be difficult!'

'Yes,' he continued, summing up, 'I don't think we need worry about those who come after.' And he added, almost as an afterthought: 'Young Nigel, he's a fine lad, too. I like the cut of his jib, I must say. Too bad there aren't more like him coming out East these days ... Someone at the Club the other day, just forget who it was, said to me: "Look here, Blackett, why don't you and Langfield marry that young pair off? That'd give Guthries and Sime Darby something to think about! And by Jove, you know, he wasn't far wide of the mark either when you come to think about it.'

A faint, enigmatic chortle greeted this last observation, followed by silence.

'Well, Solomon,' Walter ventured presently. 'What would you think of such an arrangement if the interested parties liked the sound of it? There need be no great changes on the business side during our lifetime, of course. Frankly, I think we could both do a lot worse. What d'you think?'

Now at last, after being immobile for so long that it might have been taken merely for a piece of furniture, the pa.s.sive silhouette beside Walter began to move, to struggle to its feet with a creaking and shrieking of bamboo, accompanied by a most peculiar gasping sound which it took him a little time to recognize as laughter. At length, however, the wheezing and gasping died away. By now Langfield was on his feet in front of Walter and bobbing up and down. Again it took Walter a few moments before he realized what the dimly perceived figure was doing. Then it was suddenly clear: the old codger was executing an insulting little caper in front of him.

'So you're having trouble getting rid of her, are you, Blackett?' he crowed. 'Well, no son of mine would look at her in a hundred years. Never! Not if you gave him half Singapore with her! Ah, that's a good one ... That's the best I've heard for years ... Ha! ha! ... Your daughter and my son! He wouldn't look at her! Ha!' Solomon had paused in the half-open door which led back into the house and his old monkey's face, illuminated by a glow from within, was twisted with hideous glee. 'Good night, Blackett. Why, that's the best I've heard for years! You've made my day.'

The door slammed. Walter was left alone on the verandah but he could still hear Langfield's footsteps departing down the corridor. Then, from somewhere deep inside the house, faintly, a querulous voice cried out: 'He wouldn't touch the b.i.t.c.h! Never! Never!' A burst of frenzied laughter and all was quiet.

Not far away, in another and less elegant part of the city, Matthew was sitting on Vera's bed, apparently about to begin his second meal of the evening. For the past week Vera had issued repeated promises that she would one day cook him a meal, ignoring his protests that he was managing perfectly well for food already. Now here was the promised meal, balanced on his lap, and there seemed to be no option but to go ahead and eat it. He peered at what lay on the plate which was by no means easy to identify in the dim light of the oil-lamp. He proded it suspiciously. 'What is it?'

'Baked beans.'

'I can see they're baked beans. But what are these two lumps of slippery stuff?'

'Chicken blood ... a Chinese delicacy. Taste. You'll like it very much, Matthew, I know.'

'And these two other lumps covered in sauce?'

'They are other Chinese delicacy ... They are white mice, poached Chinese-style. Taste. They are very good.'

'I'm not frightfully hungry, as a matter of fact. I've had one meal already this evening ... But I'm really looking forward to tasting all this,' he added hastily as Vera looked hurt, 'even if I don't quite manage to finish it all.' He captured a baked bean with his chopsticks and nibbled it cautiously.

'Oh, Matthew, you don't think I am a good cook, do you?'

'Of course I do,' protested Matthew, and in a fit of bravado lifted one of the white mice to his lips and began to gnaw at it, making appreciative sounds. He found that it did not taste too bad, but would have liked to have known which end of the mouse he was eating.

'You think Miss Blackett is better cook than I,' Vera said accusingly. 'I don't know how you can touch a European woman like Miss Blackett, they sweat so much. It is something horrible!'

'But...'

'Yes, you prefer making love-making to Miss Blackett even though she sweats something horrible.'

'Don't be silly. You say that just because I'm not hungry when you cook me a meal! You know I only like to be with you. Come and sit beside me.' Putting the plate down, he murmured : 'I'll finish the rest later.'

'I know you think I am not a good cook but my mother could not teach me. Always she was used to servants here, servants there, because she was a princess. It is because my family has blue blood that I do not know how to cook.'

'But Vera, I think ...'

She had come to sit beside him and now put her hand over his mouth and said: 'If we stay together I'll learn to be a good cook so that you can invite your friends and we will have a nice time.'

'I don't have any friends, except Major Archer and Dupigny ... and, of course, Jim Ehrendorf, but I don't know where he is.' He looked at his watch. 'Soon I shall have to be going, Vera. I'm expected on duty tonight.'

'Not just yet. Lie here with me a little while. "With so much quarrelling and so few kisses, how long do you think our love can last?" That is what it says in the Chinese song translated into English by Mr Waley. Shall I read you another verse? But first take off your clothes and lie down beside me.'

'Mrs Blackett and Kate are leaving for Australia tomorrow ... and I hear that lots of other women are leaving, too. Tomorrow we must try to arrange for you to leave, too. It isn't safe for you to stay in Singapore with the j.a.panese so close.'

All night I could not sleep Because of the moonlight on my bed.

I kept hearing a voice calling; Out of nowhere, Nothing answered 'yes'.

Matthew lay there inert, listening to the faint sounds which came from the other cubicles in the tenement and from outside in the street, above all, like the very rhythm of poverty and despair, that weary, tubercular coughing which never ceased. 'Tomorrow, d'you hear me?'

I will carry my coat and not put on my belt; With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.

My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about; If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.

'What will become of us?' Matthew wondered, thinking how vulnerable they both were, lying there in the stifling cubicle and breathing that strange smell that hung everywhere in Chinatown, that odour of drains and burnings rags. And how strange it was that someone should have made up these verses, which he found extraordinarily moving, hundreds of years ago and yet they sounded as new and fresh as if they had been composed by someone who had been here in this cubicle only a moment earlier. And that this person should have belonged to a quite different culture from his own made it seem even more moving. And slowly a peculiar feeling stole over Matthew, almost like a premonition of disaster. All the different matters, both in his own personal life and outside it, which had preoccupied him in the past few weeks and even years, his relationship with his father and the history of Blackett and Webb, the time he had spent in Oxford and in Geneva, his friendship with Ehrendorf and with Vera and with the Major, his arguments about the League and even the one about colonial policy which he had had earlier in the evening with Nigel, and yes even his saying goodbye to dear little Kate ... all these things now seemed to cling together, to belong to each other and to have a direction and an impetus towards destruction which it was impossible to resist.

I heard my love was going to Yang-chou And went with him as far as Ch'u-shan.

For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched arms I thought the river stood still and did not flow.

'Vera, listen to me. We must make arrangements for you to leave, and no later than tomorrow.'

Part Five

53.

AIR-RAIDS: TWO POINTS FOR THE PUBLIC1 You must not must not crowd to the place where a bomb has dropped. The enemy may come back and machine-gun you. Moreover, crowds interfere with the Pa.s.sive Defence Services. crowd to the place where a bomb has dropped. The enemy may come back and machine-gun you. Moreover, crowds interfere with the Pa.s.sive Defence Services.2 In air-raids people are sometimes suffocated by dust and plaster. You can lessen this danger by covering your mouth and nose with a wet handkerchief.

In the past few days the Major, a.s.sisted by Matthew, Dupigny, Nigel Langfield and such of the other volunteer firemen who were at hand, had made an effort to convert the Mayfair into a more efficient fire station. Matthew's former office had become a dormitory where those on night-duty might rest between calls: half a dozen charpoys charpoys had been put against the walls and an extra fan installed. The room next to it, meanwhile, had been converted into a watch-room where the. Major presided over the telephone and maps of Singapore. There was no way of protecting such a building adequately against bombs: constructed of wood on brick piles even the blast from a near miss would be likely to demolish it. Nevertheless, the two rooms most in use had been protected with an outer layer of sandbags while work on an air-raid shelter of sorts had begun in the compound where the ground rose conveniently in a slope up to the road at the rear. Into this slope a trench was dug, just long enough to accommodate the estimated maximum number of people likely to be found at the Mayfair at any one moment; it was then roofed over with timber and corrugated-iron sheets which the Major, without consulting Walter, commandeered from the construction of the floats in the nutmeg grove. had been put against the walls and an extra fan installed. The room next to it, meanwhile, had been converted into a watch-room where the. Major presided over the telephone and maps of Singapore. There was no way of protecting such a building adequately against bombs: constructed of wood on brick piles even the blast from a near miss would be likely to demolish it. Nevertheless, the two rooms most in use had been protected with an outer layer of sandbags while work on an air-raid shelter of sorts had begun in the compound where the ground rose conveniently in a slope up to the road at the rear. Into this slope a trench was dug, just long enough to accommodate the estimated maximum number of people likely to be found at the Mayfair at any one moment; it was then roofed over with timber and corrugated-iron sheets which the Major, without consulting Walter, commandeered from the construction of the floats in the nutmeg grove.

As the days went by, however, the shelter had to be dug further and further into the slope, on account of the Mayfair's steadily increasing population of volunteer firemen, of refugees from up-country who could find no other lodging, and of transients of one kind and another. Among the new arrivals in the early days of the New Year there were a number who did not stay more than a night, military people en route en route from one posting to another and very often with a bottle of whisky or gin in their trappings, anxious to celebrate a few hours of freedom before plunging back into the struggle. At such times the Mayfair took on a gay, even uproarious atmosphere: the piano was trundled up from the recreation hut, someone was found to hammer away at it and songs were bellowed out into the compound from the verandah where, though it was dark, at least the revellers could get a breath of air. Other people came and went according to a mysterious time-table of their own, sleeping on camp-beds in odd corners or even on the floor, perhaps not speaking to anyone but merely dropping in to use the lavatory, for the Mayfair, though dilapidated in certain respects, had one that flushed, a great luxury in Singapore. from one posting to another and very often with a bottle of whisky or gin in their trappings, anxious to celebrate a few hours of freedom before plunging back into the struggle. At such times the Mayfair took on a gay, even uproarious atmosphere: the piano was trundled up from the recreation hut, someone was found to hammer away at it and songs were bellowed out into the compound from the verandah where, though it was dark, at least the revellers could get a breath of air. Other people came and went according to a mysterious time-table of their own, sleeping on camp-beds in odd corners or even on the floor, perhaps not speaking to anyone but merely dropping in to use the lavatory, for the Mayfair, though dilapidated in certain respects, had one that flushed, a great luxury in Singapore.

With refugees pouring back in increasing numbers on to Singapore Island you saw new faces wherever you went, and even some people who had already been living in the city had adapted themselves to a new, nomadic sort of life. Thus, one day when the Major returned from the compound where he had been training some new recruits in a 'dry drill', he was not particularly surprised to find on the verandah an elderly gentleman who had not been there before. This old fellow, comfortably installed and drinking a cup of tea he had ordered from Cheong, gave no explanation of his presence but he did introduce himself in the course of the conversation. His name was Captain John Brown and he was eighty years of age, he informed the Major in the confident tone of a man accustomed to command. He had spent the greater part of his life in Eastern waters, fool that he was for he hated every inch, every last shoal and channel of 'em ... As a result his health was ruined and as for savings, ha! If the Major saw his bank balance he would be astonished, yes, flabbergasted that this was all a man had been able to put by for his old age after sixty-five years at sea. 'My health has been ruined by the climate out here, Archer, and that's a fact.'

The Major, inspecting Captain Brown, could not help thinking that he looked remarkably hale, considering his age. He was a wiry little man with unusually large ears. His thin neck and prominent Adam's apple were encircled by a collar several times too big for them and altogether his physical presence was too slight to explain the air of authority which clung to him. It emerged that the Captain had been living in a hostel for mariners near the docks; the air-raids on the docks had obliged him to leave and push further inland, a mile or two, as far as Tanglin. But he evidently had another billet as well as the Mayfair for after a day or two of holding forth to the young firemen about the hard knocks which life in the East had dealt him and adjudicating any other matters which came up in his presence he disappeared again, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as if he were a twenty-year-old. For three or four days there was no sign of him, but then the Major pa.s.sed Cheong hastening towards the verandah with a sandwich and a cup of tea, peremptorily ordered by Captain Brown, and there he was, comfortably installed in his favourite chair once again.

'How are you, sir?' asked the Major, pleased to see him back.

'Very ill,' retorted the Captain grimly, and for some time held forth fluently on the state of his health, which did not prevent him bolting his sandwich in the meantime. For the better part of a week Captain Brown was in residence and whether he was on the verandah or in the outer office, which now served as the watch-room for the AFS unit, everything grew ship-shape around him; he could not abide slackness or muddle and he had strong opinions on how matters should be conducted. Indeed, if the Major had not at last spoken out bluntly he would have a.s.sumed command of the fire-service.

The Human Condition, with an instinct which drew him magnetically to pay homage to the most powerful source of authority within range, invariably installed himself beneath the Captain's chair whenever he was in residence. 'I really must have that poor animal destroyed,' mused the Major. But the Major had a great deal to do without having to deal with dogs as well. Although Captain Brown soon proved to be a considerable help in the administration of the AFS unit, the Major now had the added problem of refugees from the more dangerous parts of Singapore.

One day, for example, when he was going about his business as usual he received an urgent instruction to call on Mr Smith of the Chinese Protectorate. The Major remembered Smith as the rather supercilious young man who had summoned him once before, to warn him of the dangers of Communism and wondered whether he was to be given a further homily on the subject. But this time Smith, with his hair still flickering disconcertingly about his ears and showing no sign of having moved an inch in the weeks that had pa.s.sed since the Major had last seen him, wanted to know how many vacant rooms there were at the Mayfair Building. The Major had no difficulty in answering that question.

'None.' And he explained about his refugees.

'How many rooms then which are not vacant?'

The Major told him.

'Excellent. Since these other lodgers you mention are not official evacuees you will be able to turn them out in favour of the girls we are going to send you from the Poh Leung Kuk.'

'From where? where?'

'From the Chinese Girls' Home.'

'But that's impossible. We can't turn people out when they have nowhere to go!'