The Red Pavilion

by Jean Chapman

  ‘Thanks to George,’ Blanche said.

  ‘But I shall come again as soon as I’m able,’ he added.

  Liz returned his coldly questioning stare without, she hoped, giving away her true feelings, but something flickered in his eyes like a camera lens as if he had registered an impression for future use.

  He left as Anna came into the kitchen.

  ‘I do washing now, mem,’ she said. When Blanche protested, she said, ‘No, I want to, be busy, please, mem. You fetch towels and you,’ she said to Liz, ‘your dirties, please.’

  ‘I’m going to telephone for a car to take us to Ipoh first,’ Blanche said.

  Anna watched Blanche go, then beckoned Liz back, whispering, ‘Your young man, he touch pocket with your photo in and nod to me to tell you what happened.’ She paused to throw up her hands like a magician producing a rabbit. ‘He had no time to do anything. That major come and — ’ she paused to stand with her hands on her hips and, curving down her lip, went on in tones of extreme bossiness, ‘said pack now, would answer no questions and did not leave for one second. All pack and gone in ten minutes. I think that major — ’ she made a significant downward thrust of her thumb — ‘but I think young man you give your photo to ... ’ She gave thumbs up and nodded sagely.

  Liz embraced Anna. ‘Did he say anything at all?’

  ‘No time. Major no answer questions, no speak, only orders: Do this! Do that! Now!’

  ‘Thanks, Anna.’ In the background she could hear her mother negotiating very loudly for a car. ‘You won’t tell … ’

  Anna shook her head. They had shared too many secrets for there to be any need to spell out what should not be told to whom.

  ‘What we’re getting, basically, is a taxi,’ Blanche said, coming back, ‘as far as Ipoh, anyway, then we can talk to the man at the garage ourselves and buy something.’

  Liz nodded and the two exchanged looks which acknowledged the fact that they really had no man to advise them now.

  ‘Anna.’ Her mother’s tone softened. ‘Will you be all right on your own here?’

  Anna gave a rough, short laugh. ‘Mem, I’m safer here than I’ve been since the end of the war, with that Josef coming and going to see them communists — using my house! I’m glad it burned down!’

  ‘Oh, Anna!’ Liz was quietly appalled that anyone should be driven to wish their home destroyed. ‘But your home is here now, isn’t it, Mother?’

  ‘We will always see you’re provided for,’ Blanche agreed, then asked, ‘Would you tell us more about all those years while we wait for this car?’

  ‘That boy Josef was always greedy for more and more,’ Anna began as they sat at the table. ‘The Guisans move here when you all left.’

  ‘Into the bungalow?’ Blanche demanded, and Anna nodded confirmation.

  ‘Not the Japanese?’

  ‘Them too, later.’ Anna went on, ‘I went home to my village. Then there was much killing by the Japanese — my family, Mr Guisan ... Long time, years, before I see Josef again. Mrs Guisan and Lee came once to see me after her husband shot slashing trees so Japanese cannot have rubber. I have never seen since.’ The old lady paused and the incomprehension on her face was echoed in both her listeners’ minds.

  ‘Josef said his mother was a traitor in the war — ’

  ‘Josef traitor now,’ Anna commented matter-of-factly before going on with her story. ‘At first it was all buddies using my home to leave messages for Chinese fighting in the jungle against the Japanese. Then I thought we were all helping Mr Hammond win the war.’ She paused to sip the sweet lemon tea Liz had made for her. ‘But I knew he really wicked when Mr Hammond come back. Josef he so, so angry.’ She shook her fists in the air to emphasise the point.

  ‘Why should he be angry, for God’s sake?’ Blanche asked.

  ‘Josef thought he was new tuan until Mr Hammond came back.’ Anna nodded with deep conviction. ‘Soon then the communists with the red stars on their hats came to village and demanded money to pay their soldiers. I told I must store things in my roof — and hide terrorists — or they would kill grandchild and cut out tongue, make me “dum-dum amah”. They laughed about that; one caught and twisted tongue out, pretended slice off.’ Anna’s voice fell as she admitted, ‘I very afraid.’

  Liz remembered her visit and how the old lady had refused to speak. ‘Anna, I’m so sorry, we didn’t know ... how awful!’

  ‘The bastards!’ Blanche breathed.

  ‘They gave me papers to give out, but ... ’ She stopped and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I never ... I let them burn in house, all but one in pocket.’

  ‘Papers?’ Blanche queried.

  Anna fumbled in the pocket of her sarong and brought out a folded leaflet.

  Blanche took it, spread it out on the table and read:

  The Min Yuen, the masses’ movement of the Malayan Communist Party, call for all members to prepare for more effective violence. The people cannot tolerate British imperialist suppression any longer and are pledged to use action to smash their reactionary legal restrictions.

  We drove the Japanese out when the British ran away. Now it is time for us to drive out the imperialists.

  DEATH TO THE RUNNING DOGS!

  ‘Where do these papers come from?’ Liz asked. ‘Where are they printed?’

  ‘Josef brings them out of the jungle,’ Anna answered, ‘is all I know.’

  ‘We should ask Joan about the best guns to get,’ Blanche said thoughtfully, ‘and where’s best for us to set them up.’

  ‘I should learn shoot,’ Anna said.

  The laugh that rose in Liz’s throat at the thought was silenced as her mother answered, ‘Yes.’

  In the back of the Sikh-driven hire car Liz asked whether her mother thought Anna would be able to settle again at Rinsey.

  ‘She gives every sign of knowing her role will be different.’ Blanche’s tone was brisk, unsentimental, as if she was already preparing herself to deal with the authorities in Ipoh.

  ‘We mustn’t ever, ever let her down again,’ Liz urged. ‘She’s been through too much.’

  ‘Again! I didn’t think we ever had.’

  ‘No, perhaps not … ’

  ‘Definitely not.’ Blanche settled the matter and went on to what was before them. ‘You know it’ll be that same precise little Inspector Aba. Well, we can deal with him!’

  ‘No problem,’ Liz agreed and put her fingertips together in the fastidious manner of the Ipoh police commander before asking, ‘Do you think the police will be involved in this latest thing Major Sturgess is planning?’

  ‘No idea, though with this being an “emergency” and not a declared war they are the ultimate authority, so quite probably. Why?’

  ‘I wondered how busy the inspector might be.’ Be still my heart and my conscience, she ordered. The silent yearning to know where Alan was and what the new mission involved quite blotted out what her mother was saying, though it sounded like a mighty tirade.

  When they arrived at the police station and walked inside, the man behind the desk rose and backed up a step as Blanche demanded, ‘Is the inspector in?’

  ‘Inspector Aba busy, can I help you?’ the man asked hesitantly, obviously recognising them from their last visit. He appeared somewhat flustered as at that moment they all heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

  The inspector came in, holding out a handful of blown-up photographs. He looked, Liz thought, as if he wished he had the courage to spin on his heel when her mother waylaid him in no uncertain manner.

  ‘Ah, Inspector Aba, just in time! We may be just the people you need to save you a lot of trouble. We can take Mr Harfield home with us.’

  ‘Mrs Hammond.’ His features spelled resignation as he bowed in the direction of Liz and her mother. With a little shrug, as if he had absolutely no alternative, he said, ‘Perhaps you should come into my office.’ He ushered them towards the stairs, then went back to speak rapidly to the man behind the desk. The
withering tone of his voice was so different it sounded like quite another man.

  ‘This ludicrous charge against Mr Harfield,’ Blanche began as the inspector closed the door of his upstairs office.

  Inspector Aba held up a hand. ‘Madam,’ he began, ‘Mrs Hammond, I do not have to speak to you, but out of respect for your grief I do so. Mr Harfield is, however, held under damning evidence so damning I could not possibly release him.’

  Liz could see her mother was shocked but she did not give up. She was insisting that bail be arranged when Liz noticed the photographs that lay on top of the inspector’s pad of blot-ting paper. They were blown-up photographs of a Chinese girl’s face. One eye was swollen, one lip split and bleeding, and there seemed to be marks on the girl’s neck. She could see one photograph underneath was of the upper legs; these bore marks as if clawed by an animal. She swallowed and looked away so quickly that Inspector Aba turning his glance to her momentarily, did not realise she had seen.

  Was this the girl George Harfield was supposed to have raped? Someone had viciously attacked her, that was for sure.

  ‘I cannot believe you are actually going to keep him locked up,’ Blanche went on. ‘He has a mine to run! His people rely on him. Surely he can prove he was not there?’

  ‘Mem! He was there.’ The Inspector seemed to become aware again of the photographs under his hands, for the fingers were suddenly spread and still over the glossy prints. For a moment Liz thought he was going to display them, but instead he picked them up, levelled the stack with a quick tap on the desk and slid them into a drawer. ‘We had a call and he was found in the room with this distressed girl.’

  ‘Then we’d like to see him,’ Blanche demanded, taking hold of her handbag and preparing to rise. ‘And arrange for him to consult a lawyer?’

  ‘His solicitor has been. All the business has been done, all statements taken and Mr Harfield was transferred to Pudu Gaol, Kuala Lumpur, early today.’

  Blanche rose, all formal courtesies forgotten now. ‘All damned quick, isn’t it? All a bit cut and dried, isn’t it? Does the British high commissioner know?’

  ‘He is being informed.’

  ‘Is being? George Harfield fought in the jungles against the Japs for you lot, is this how you reward him?’

  ‘I know Mr Harfield before the war,’ the inspector said with some quiet dignity, though Liz noticed his fingertips shook a little as he meticulously put them together. ‘I was there, Mrs Hammond, when the arrest was made — the girl who accuses him is the daughter of one of his foremen. At Pudu Gaol they have facilities for visiting; you must apply there in a few days’ time. Until then ... ’ The fingertips pressed together until the ends were noticeably paler. ‘Regulations must be kept and rules obeyed.’

  ‘Of course!’ Blanche rose quickly. ‘That is what we want, for the law to take its course — and set an innocent man free!’ Outside, she exhaled an exasperated breath. ‘Now what?’

  ‘If we’ve got to drive to KL in a few days, let’s go and see the local car dealer. I feel in the mood for haggling,’ Liz suggested.

  ‘Good idea!’ Blanche agreed.

  ‘This girl being the daughter of the foreman?’ Liz posed the question as they walked away.

  ‘I know.’ Blanche’s tone was dour. ‘This I do not understand. George certainly went off one day because some girl belonging to one of his workers was missing, if you remember.’

  ‘It must be this same girl. There were photographs on the desk of a Chinese girl who had been dreadfully beaten. Did you see?’

  Blanche shook her head. ‘I’d feel happier if I could talk to John Sturgess again. I’m not at all sure it’s going to be that easy to get into Pudu Gaol.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll do that all right,’ Liz answered, a little surprised her mother should doubt that. She was also more than certain she would feel happier if she could talk to Alan again.

  They bought an old black Ford. The garageman looked a little ragged around his emotional edges after having dealt with these two belligerent Englishwomen.

  ‘I give a good deal,’ he shouted defensively as they drove away. ‘A bloody good deal!’

  Three days later they had learned nothing of either Alan or the major, but finally had permission to see George in Pudu Gaol the following week.

  Their personal situation seemed to mirror the frustration of the whole English business community in Malaya, caught in an inexplicable muddle, without information. Fear ruled as more and more reports of murders and atrocities reached police stations up and down the country. Planters and miners at a series of meetings displayed an unprecedented fury as their properties and loyal workers bore the brunt of the communist attacks. Their demands for weapons, protection, action, a guard on every bungalow, were dismissed as ‘alarmist’ by the High Commissioner, Mr Edward Gent.

  Their faraway Attlee-led government seemed to many to be more concerned with improving relations with Red China than with the protection of Britain’s own citizens and armed forces. Self-help consequently became the order of the day. The isolated day-to-day lives English miners and planters lived had always needed vigorous resourcefulness, to which a new frustrated aggression was now being added.

  The first payment for the newly begun tapping operations at Rinsey came as a boon and relief to the workers. Blanche and Liz put their profit into buying the machine gun Joan Wildon recommended — from a source they did not ask questions about.

  With the new freedom of the car, Liz made it her business to take one of their tappers as shotgun rider and visit Bukit Kinta so she and her mother could make a direct report to George. Rasa’s son and Chemor were largely running the mine while they waited for a new manager to be appointed. It had never occurred to Liz until that moment that George would lose his job and his home if this trumped-up charge should ever be proved against him, unthinkable as that idea was.

  Production of ore at the mine had dropped and the whole place had an air of waiting for the next disaster to strike. The morale and confidence of the workers was totally sapped without George or Rasa to guide them.

  Perhaps the one positive thing they could tell George was that the scheme to drop payrolls from the air rather than risk having them ambushed and provide more funds for the terrorists was under way. Bukit Kinta was on the flying list for drops. The only casualty in their area had been the tin roof above Joan Wildon’s gun position. A wage bag containing $25,000 went hurtling down on Joan’s prize machine gun. Joan had rung Rinsey in a fine old temper. ‘I have to compensate well to the left now to hit anything, it’s a bugger!’

  As Liz drove to KL she felt it was rather like going to visit someone in hospital, one tried to have a store of cheerful stories to tell the patient about the outside world. But as they drew near Pudu Gaol her heart sank; the whole edifice was so forbidding, so cheerless. The twin colonial-style spires either side of the main entrance gate seemed only to emphasise the plainness of the perimeter walls and of the barracklike blocks with small barred openings visible behind. ‘1895’ was the date emblazoned above the entrance. Liz felt it should more appropriately bear the message “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here!”

  The two Englishwomen were regarded with some curiosity by the many Chinese and Malays who were also waiting for visiting time to begin. But soon the starers began to realise that, like them, the Hammonds carried bundles of food and whatever other comforts they could take into the prison. There were a few under-breath comments and one or two laughs as Liz and Blanche joined the waiting ranks.

  The appointed time came and to the minute the visitors were admitted. Inside it seemed curiously calm after the bustle of the streets and the tense, nervous movements and burst of conversation there had been in the queue while they waited to see their loved ones.

  Liz and Blanche found themselves siphoned off to the left with several other women. They came to three small separate areas where their menfolk sat. Liz’s heart lurched as she saw George; he looked, she thought, like an old do
g, lost, kept captive where he hated to be, but still belligerent.

  When he saw them approach his lips parted and his cheeks suffused with some colour. He rose to greet them with an expansive show of manners, exactly as if they were entering his sitting room. It was this more than anything else that touched her heart.

  ‘My dear man,’ Blanche said gently, and it seemed more comment than greeting.

  ‘You’re both a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, reaching out to take their hands. There were no spare chairs and George insisted Blanche should sit down while he and Liz perched on the table.

  It seemed to their Western eyes a very casual approach to prison visiting until they remembered the armed guards and the huge gates. The level of chatter rose in the background until they might just as easily have been in one of the market places, with the singsong pitch of Chinese voices dominating.

  Blanche was suddenly very busy with the bag she had brought and covertly, not knowing what was allowed, produced a glass, whisky and a soda syphon. She mixed the drink and handed it to George, who swore gently like a blessing, then sipped as if it were nectar.

  ‘Fair exchange,’ Blanche said. ‘You remember on the train when we first met?’

  ‘That seems a lifetime and a half ago,’ he replied, lifted the glass and drank their health.

  ‘There’s two bottles and a syphon in here.’ With her toe she touched one of the bags she had brought, then asked, ‘Can you tell us what happened? Inspector Aba told us so very little, the civil authorities told us less than that, and with John Sturgess away there was no one who would listen to us. Have you seen a solicitor? Why haven’t they allowed you bail?’

  ‘The charge is too serious. If I had done it I wouldn’t expect to see the outside world for a long, long time.’

  ‘We needn’t waste time discussing that,’ Blanche said. ‘Just tell us what on earth it’s all about.’

  ‘What it is about is a communist plot, trap. I’ve been a thorn in their sides for a long time, and this last raid on your amah’s village was the final straw. We not only captured two of their high-ranking men, we found information which we think will lead us to a big jungle camp, one capable of housing five hundred or more terrorists, one we used in the war.’