The Dust That Falls From Dreams

by Louis de Bernières

  They ordered tea at a cafe, and Rosie said to Daniel, ‘Isn’t this wonderful? I haven’t felt as happy as this since I don’t know when.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you so happy,’ replied Daniel, wondering at the new vivacity that made her look younger and more beautiful. The bright light made her blue eyes seem especially luminous.

  ‘I wish we could stay here,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s paradise.’

  ‘Ceylon’s even more of a paradise,’ said Daniel, ‘once you’re up in the highlands. Malta’s terribly dry and baking hot in the summer. I think we must be here at the best time of year.’

  In Port Said, at precisely the moment that they were passing the statue of de Lesseps, Esther, Rosie and the travelling nurse picked up gippy tummy before even leaving the ship, and so Daniel transferred them for two nights to the Marina Palace Hotel, where they sat on the veranda of their room watching the liners arriving and departing. Because Ali Bey had relatives to visit, Daniel went about town on his own, before realising quite quickly that the level of harassment and aggression from both beggars and merchants was more than one man should have to cope with, so he went back to the ship and waited for Captain Franklin to finish filling in the port authority’s documents. Then the two men ventured out and made a fair fist of standing up for themselves, fending off those who wanted to know whether they wanted to meet their sisters or buy ‘feelthy pictures’, or hashish. Captain Franklin assured Daniel that meeting a sister in Egypt was the one infallible way of picking up syphilis, and the feelthy pictures were never quite as feelthy as one might have hoped. The streets were crawling with tiny Arab boys and girls who would do anything whatsoever for money, and Daniel found it altogether depressing and vile. He and the Captain drank prodigious quantities of sweet mint tea out of small glass cups, and talked about the war, which already seemed a peculiar dream. They devoted much ingenuity to avoiding the small boyagis who would dart out, put a blob of polish on your shoe, and then offer to polish it off. There was many an obstinate and irritated European walking about with such a blob drying and congealing on his toecap.

  Daniel bought another fez for himself, and for Rosie a small enamelled silver camel whose hump opened to reveal a hiding place for a ring or a brooch. For Esther he bought embroidered slippers with turned-up toes, and a tiny scarlet jacket with a high collar.

  The Suez Canal by day was a hell of flies and heat for all of them, but at night it was wondrous and magical to stand at the prow and watch the waters and the banks by the beam of the immense searchlight. Once they were out through the Gulf of Aden, and steaming at first for Bombay and then for Colombo, the excitement and pleasure grew in all of them. They slept on deck to escape the insufferable heat below, and suffered very little from sickness, since the waters were unusually placid off the coast of Socotra. They had been warned to expect it to be worse than the Bay of Biscay, especially as the south-west monsoon was due within weeks. In the evenings, as the small ship’s orchestra played popular waltzes and polkas, Daniel played deck quoits with Ali Bey who, by his own account, worked in the court of King Fouad, and had been educated in Ceylon whilst his parents had been there in exile. It turned out that not only was he a Francophile, but he also had an astonishing knowledge of the novels of Sir Walter Scott, and an insatiable need to discuss them. He and Daniel walked the promenade deck with Esther, doing ‘One two three whee’ until their arms ached. Rosie began to find her sea legs at last, and liked to lean over the ship’s rail with the wind whipping her hair about her face. She felt well enough now to sit in a deckchair in the shade of a canopy and reread the books on Ceylon that they had brought with them. One of the passengers lent her a novel by Mrs Oliphant, and she read that too. She played bucket quoits and bullboard with Esther to keep her amused.

  Esther forced her father to make up stories day in and day out, until he thought his brain was going to rattle in its bearings from the wear and tear of continual invention. One day he told Esther to tell him a story for once, and she astonished him by coming up with a narrative that was both interminable and senseless, brimful of the natural surrealism of the child. When he fell asleep, she merely continued to sit in his lap and tell it to him while he snored, until she too nodded off.

  By the time they reached Colombo, Daniel had found a new harmony with his wife, and a deeper mutual love with his daughter. The evening before their arrival, after the ship’s last formal dance, when Esther was in bed and her parents were leaning over the rail on the promenade deck, looking at the southern stars, Rosie said to Daniel, ‘Don’t you think it’s time that Esther had a little brother or sister?’ and his heart had jumped in his chest.

  He looked at her sideways and said, ‘It would help us make a proper new start.’ Her eyes were glowing in the half-dark.

  They arrived in Colombo at dawn, two weeks before the onset of the south-west monsoon. While Esther and her nurse still slept below, Rosie and Daniel watched the port appear. The palm trees waved gently along the shores, at the back of the narrow sands. It was cool, but the steaming heat of the day was already impending. Daniel said, ‘Ah, the smell of the East! How I love it!’

  ‘It smells a lot nicer than Bombay,’ said Rosie, breathing in the scent of coriander, cumin and fenugreek, garlic, woodsmoke and tumeric, ajowan, blossom and sweat. ‘It smells all friendly and inviting.’

  ‘It is going to be terribly hot and humid,’ Daniel warned her for the hundredth time, ‘but don’t worry, it’ll be lovely in the highlands.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d mind it anyway,’ said Rosie. ‘Nothing could be hotter than the corridors of Netley in the summer.’

  ‘The tropics drive white men quite mad, you know,’ said Daniel. ‘They cope by drinking vast quantities of alcohol, and then after a few years that stops working, and they go downhill like an avalanche. They come home with malaria and can’t get used to being back, and they keep drinking and then they die. Half of them accidentally set their armchairs alight with their pipes and cigarettes, whilst they’re in a coma, and the whisky makes them quite extraordinarily combustible. And the women –’

  ‘Oh, do say something cheerful,’ said Rosie.

  ‘I am cheerful,’ said Daniel. ‘We aren’t going to be in the lowlands. And of course, there’s Esther, so we probably can’t stay here forever.’

  ‘Esther? What do you mean?’

  ‘What are we going to do when she’s old enough to go to school? I’m not sure there are any where we’re going.’

  ‘We could send her home to live with Granny? Or Gran’mère? She could go to one of those nice little schools in Sussex, and frolic on the South Downs in her spare time.’

  ‘Not sure I could bear that. I’m not sure that you could. I’m told that colonial wives usually have to choose between their husbands and their children. I know there are at least two boys’ schools in Kandy. Ali Bey told me about them, because he’d been to one, and terribly proud he is of it too. But we’ll have to find out if there’s one for girls.’

  They heard the shouts of the sailors, and the clank and the booming bass rattle of the anchor chain. ‘Look,’ said Daniel, ‘there’s the steam launch coming to get us.’

  ‘I think I’ll go and get Esther up and dressed,’ said Rosie. ‘And I’ll see that nurse is awake. We’ll be docking any minute, won’t we?’

  ‘I’ll miss this ship. I don’t have to say goodbye to Ali Bey yet, though. With any luck he’ll be in the same hotel. I’ve invited him to come and stay sometime. We’ve had such a lot of fun.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we have. After I got over the seasickness, anyway. I’ll miss it too. We must remember to thank the Captain and the purser.’

  106

  Et in Arcadia Nos (1)

  The square on the inner harbour was lined on three sides by about thirty motor cars, four rickshaws and one bullock cart. Daniel had expected it to be teeming and chaotic, like an Indian port, but it was quiet and orderly. He and Rosie were merely lucky, however. On future visits,
it would always be teeming with touts and idlers, beggars, sharks and opportunists, with much anarchy and hubbub.

  On the quayside to meet them was Hugh Bassett, son of the Colonel. Like Daniel, he was dressed in tropical whites, and wore a topee. He was a tall man with a rubicund face, an exiguous ginger moustache and rheumy blue eyes that betrayed considerable good humour.

  ‘Ayubowa! Welcome to Colombo, welcome to Ceylon!’ he cried, as he pumped their hands, and then he bent down and offered Esther his hand too. ‘You have brought a little princess with you! Your Royal Highness, how d’you do?’

  ‘I do do well,’ replied Esther, shaking his proferred hand. ‘Mostly. I’m a bit hot. I know some poems.’

  ‘I understand you were in the Flying Corps,’ said Hugh to Daniel.

  ‘And previously in the Frontier Scouts and Rattray’s Sikhs. I suppose I’m an RAF man now.’

  ‘Once RFC, always RFC,’ said Hugh. ‘I was in the RNAS.’

  ‘Gracious, really? We’ll have masses to talk about. We can have pistols at dawn about whether to stand or sit during the loyal toast. You didn’t know Collishaw, did you?’

  ‘Just met him at a do. Not in my squadron, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Anyone who has met Collishaw automatically has my greatest admiration,’ said Daniel, ‘Did you know A. K. Smithells? Son of the scientist? Crashed a Sopwith?’

  ‘Everyone’s crashed a Sopwith,’ said Hugh. ‘I have myself.’

  ‘Did you fly Tripehounds?’

  ‘Certainly did. Loved them.’

  Rosie took Esther’s hand, and said, ‘Come on, darling, I can see that you and I aren’t going to get a word in edgeways with these two.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Hugh. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll get on terribly well with my wife. She was a FANY. You were a VAD, weren’t you? You can talk to your hearts’ content about gangrene and aneurysms and sebaceous cysts. We have some lovely diseases here that you will find quite novel.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I’m hoping to be helpful in the estate clinic. I’ve been told you have one.’

  ‘We certainly do. Now, the plan is that we will spend today in Colombo. If there’s time and you like the idea, we can go to Mount Lavinia for the afternoon. It’s very pleasant by the sea. Tonight we will all stay in the GOH, and tomorrow morning we will set off reasonably early, and wend our way in a somewhat leisurely fashion, seeing all the sights.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ said Daniel.

  ‘What’s the GOH?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘This,’ said Hugh, waving his arm towards an impressive and highly Romanesque building right in front of them, with canopies over the windows, ‘is the Grand Oriental Hotel. That’s why it has “GOH” at the top. And you’ll never guess what that is.’ He pointed to a smaller but prettier building on the left. It had ‘VICTORIA ARCADE’ written along it, at the level of the first floor.

  ‘I’m only guessing,’ said Daniel, ‘but I think it’s probably the Victoria Arcade.’

  ‘Oh my,’ said Rosie, ‘I think the GOH is much too grand for the likes of us.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ replied Hugh. ‘Even the most banal and vulgar of monarchs have stayed there. It has electroliers and electric punkahs, and a wondrous billiards room. Anyone play billiards? There are six tables, and the hotel will even provide you with a marker to play with, should you need an opponent. Watch out for Perera – you can’t possibly win if it’s him you’re up against, so don’t lay any wagers. I’ve got you a room overlooking the harbour. There’s a charming little dwarf on the staff, called Chandan, and I’ve briefed him to be very attentive to you at all times and keep away the tip cadgers. You’ll find him most appealing and comical. And,’ he added, turning to Daniel, ‘the reason we are going to be tourists for a few days is that we are going to work you absolutely flat out for at least six months. This is your brief respite before the apocalypse.’

  ‘I shall enjoy it as the condemned man relishes his last meal,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Your baggage will be brought straight to your rooms by the porters.’

  ‘And what about my Henley?’

  ‘You’ve brought an entire town?’

  ‘My motorcycle. It’ll have to be unloaded and uncrated, and I’ll have to check it’s all working. Unless you’re taking us in a lorry, I’ll need to come in convoy with you.’

  ‘And leave me alone in the car with your lovely wife? Foolish man. You may live to regret it. I do hope you brought plenty of spares. You’ll find that the engineers at the station are extremely able, but it might take months to get new parts. A motorcycle is really not the most practical way of getting around here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ve brought three of everything that most commonly lets me down,’ replied Daniel. ‘Every time something fails I’ll order another one, and it should turn up before the two spare ones conk out.’

  ‘That’s most ferociously sensible of you. How well off for books are you? You’ll get through an extraordinary number of them, unless you hit the bottle instead. Or you can play tennis. There’s a marvellous bookshop here in Colombo. H. W. Cave & Co. It’s got all the very latest things, a month late, and some tremendous relics that no one’s read since 1850.’

  ‘We’ve got lots,’ said Rosie, ‘but I love bookshops. Can we go to it anyway? They might have a good poetry section, with any luck.’

  ‘Your command is my wish,’ said Hugh, ‘and vice versa. Now, I expect you’d like to rest a little in your hotel. Shall I come for you at ten? You’re probably dying to try out a rickshaw, and you’ll need me there to keep the prices reasonable.’ Bending down to Esther he said, ‘Is your bear very tired? Does he want a rest?’ and Esther replied scornfully, ‘No. He’s only a toy. And what’s a rickshaw? And why is everybody brown and wearing funny clothes? And what’s that funny smell? And why’s that man got red teeth and dribble?’

  ‘Lots of people are brown,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact most people in the world are brown, probably. And the funny smell is spices and a few other things, and the funny clothes are normal in Ceylon, and they think our European clothes are funny. So we’re all a bit funny, aren’t we?’

  ‘What’s European? And why’s it getting so hot? And who’s that man over there who’s looking at us?’

  ‘Oh gosh,’ said Rosie, ‘she’s off on one of her exhausting quests for knowledge.’

  ‘Let’s get you settled in,’ said Hugh Bassett.

  At ten o’clock, Hugh Bassett returned with a motor car, and, leaving the travelling nurse to her upset stomach, they motored together to Mount Lavinia, to sample the famous ‘Fish Tiffin’. Rosie thought that the rocks in the sea looked like semisubmerged elephants, with little boys fishing from their backs. The waters were quite crowded by fishermen, with their outrigger canoes. Then, when the day began to cool, Hugh brought them back to stroll along the Galle Face Promenade. ‘This is the best place to be in the evenings,’ said Hugh. ‘The gossip is unsurpassed anywhere. And it’s all thanks to Sir Henry Ward. There’s a little plaque over there, recommending the place to ladies and children.’

  ‘What did he have against men?’

  ‘Oh, nothing probably. I expect he was a wife-beater and sweet-snatcher and ear-tweaker who wanted to conceal the truth.’

  ‘Was he the one who was married to the novelist and antisuffragist?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘That was Humphrey Ward, not Sir Henry,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Contemporary literature not my strong point,’ said Daniel. They walked along the seaward edge of the green, and watched the waves crashing in. A schooner in the distance sailed past, all its sails bellied out, and a Dutch flag flying at the mast.

  ‘Further round the coast you can watch the whales going past at migration time,’ said Hugh.

  ‘This is simply wondrous,’ said Rosie, as they loitered amid a throng which seemed to consist of people of every race in the world. There were Malays, Chinese, Arabs, Afghans, Parsees in conical hats, Muslim men in their embroidered skul
lcaps, their children flying kites and robed in white. There were bourgeois Sinhalese, the men in suits and their wives dressed as European ladies, with enormous hats like fruit bowls. There were genuine European ladies with lacy parasols pausing under trees in blossom, or looking at the flower beds, on the arms of gentlemen, tagged along and protected by their dark servants in their white uniforms and yellow sashes. There were throngs of the improvising poor, with their exotic-looking snacks for sale, or hawking little gimmicks and gewgaws both to the richer folk and to each other, with cries of ‘Cheap! Cheap! Made in England! Better than Harrod’s!’ At the roadside, carriages, landaus, turnouts, rickshaws, dog carts, gharries and automobiles arrived in increasing numbers, and deposited their occupants.

  ‘The whole point of this,’ observed Hugh, ‘and the only way to appreciate it, is to realise that this is where the beautiful women come to be admired, and everyone else comes to admire them. So, my dear Mrs Pitt, you must put your best foot forward and be as determinedly beautiful as your rivals.’

  ‘That may be difficult,’ said Rosie, fanning her face with her hat. ‘I am not feeling at all beautiful at present. I’m very much overheated.’

  ‘Then you are disguising your feelings very well, if I may say so.’

  Rosie and Esther had come out dressed identically, in white muslin dresses, and broad-brimmed straw sun hats trimmed with artificial cornflowers, and they did look very pretty. Rosie knew that she could never match these other ladies, though, who had about them a kind of happy and secure sensuality that left her feeling gauche and undesirable.