‘Wet?’ I said.
‘Behind the ears! This isn’t the Home Counties. Take my advice and bugger off while you still can.’
‘Look, Mr Fink,’ I began. He cut me off.
‘No, you look, Mr Wenlock! I’ve tried being reasonable but … really! I mean you barge in here, asking all sorts of impertinent questions about … buffaloes and goodness knows what else … I mean, it really is too much … asking things.’
We thanked him for his advice and returned to the hotel. As we did we discussed what had just taken place.
‘What do you make of him?’ asked Jenny.
‘I must say,’ I replied, ‘I find him a mess of contradictions. On the hotel lawn earlier, he struck me as quite pleasant, affable. Partly it was an act, I believe. The account of the postman being eaten sounded a bit too glib, well-rehearsed. But here just now I found him a bit slippery, and quite clearly host to a secret that gives him great pain. His reaction to the image on the card was startling.’
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes, and when he turned it over and read the back, did you notice how … how he didn’t seem to think much of it?’
‘Yes, he did not remark on it even though it was a most remarkable thing to read.’
‘Do you think he was right about what he said? That we are a bit wet?’
I laughed. ‘I’m quite sure we must appear that way, but we mustn’t worry. I have every confidence we will turn out better than his unflattering estimation of us.’
Chapter 10
As we descended to dinner that evening we stopped on the first-floor landing where the two bifurcating stairways met. We examined the glass case containing the rattan ball. It comprised interweaving slats of rattan similar to the cages we had seen in the street outside containing live cockerels, but this was entirely spherical. Spikes had been driven through the outer shell and faced inwards, a bit like the instrument of torture known as the Spanish Maiden.
‘I don’t think I’d like to descend these stairs while merry,’ said Jenny. I looked down and understood. They were rather steep. She turned her attention to the ball. ‘What do you think it is?’
Before I could answer, a voice intruded. ‘If you’re hoping for a game, you’ll have to bring your own elephant.’
We turned to see two men: one short and stocky, the other quite tall and athletic, both in their forties. They were dressed similarly to Earwig, with the same tie, although theirs were fastidiously knotted. The taller of the two held out a hand, ‘Spaulding,’ he said, ‘and this is Roger.’ The shorter one didn’t offer his hand but gave his head a slight upward jerk and said, ‘Rather!’ His face was ruddy with health and his hair was brilliantined in such a way that it resembled the outline of a ‘Q’ on its side, like a comic-book hero.
‘I expect you are wondering what it is,’ said Spaulding, nodding towards the rattan ball.
‘Is it some sort of cage?’ I said.
‘It’s a metaphor,’ he said, ‘for the Oriental heart.’
I looked to Roger. He smiled and said, ‘Rather!’
‘Sorry, I’m being facetious, a vice I abhor,’ said Spaulding. ‘It’s a football for elephants to play with. Rather grand, wouldn’t you say? What could be more fun than a kick-around on the park after work, eh?’
‘What are the spikes for?’ said Jenny.
‘They used to stuff a chap inside the ball,’ said Spaulding. ‘Some miserable convict sentenced to death. This was a hundred years or so ago. Nowadays they just machine-gun them.’
‘You mean the elephant kicked the ball with a man inside?’ said Jenny in disbelief.
‘Oh yes!’
Earwig appeared and joined us.
‘I believe you have already met Earwig,’ said Spaulding. ‘He has something to say to you, don’t you, Earwig?’
Earwig shifted his weight awkwardly and said, ‘Yes, er, I … I owe you both an apology for the scene earlier. I was not myself.’
‘It’s the heat,’ said Spaulding.
‘Oh it’s quite all right,’ I said. ‘I was perhaps a touch—’
‘It wasn’t that hot,’ interrupted Jenny.
‘Well, all the same,’ said Earwig, ‘I’m sorry.’
The three turned to descend the stairs. As they did, Spaulding added, ‘I hear you are looking for Curtis.’
I forced a laugh. ‘Whoever told you that?’
‘The Chief of Police. Well, he’s not really the Chief, he just thinks he is.’
‘How does he know?’
‘You’ll have to ask him that. But you don’t need a chief of police to find Curtis. It’s the same anywhere, but even more so out here. When a chap goes off the rails, there is usually a very simple explanation. Cherchez la femme.’
At the entrance to the restaurant we bumped into the American we had seen earlier when Earwig knocked on our door asking for paper. He introduced himself as Kilmer and then, with that unaffected familiarity that characterises Americans, invited us to join him for dinner. We accepted. He looked even more relaxed than the last time we had seen him, and wore an expression that suggested he had access to privileged truths about the world which permitted him not to care too much about the everyday concerns that troubled the rest of us.
The room was furnished in dark rosewood furniture that gave it a heavy and sombre aspect. It must have been gay in the morning, though, since the windows – now shuttered – gave way on to the lawn. The waitresses wore pencil skirts in dark silk and tight peach and apricot silk bodices cinched at the waist with belts of gold braid that glittered in the dim light. Their hair was gathered in an immaculate bun behind the crown of the head, while the waists of these ladies were narrow as children’s back home, and their shoulders were bare. Bracelets of gold jingled softly at their wrists and others enclosed thin biceps. Their skin had the colour and smoothness of honey. They moved between the table as quiet as dormice, scooping rice from silver urns held in the crook of the arm.
They were very elegant, but what struck me most particularly was their carriage. They walked as if balancing an invisible earthenware jar upon their heads. But so little did one see of their feet moving that it might be more accurate to say they glided as if on wheels.
I happen to believe that posture and carriage are windows onto a chap’s character. There is a good reason the armies of the world set so much store by a straight back and upright stance. The outward form is the container for a man’s spunk. On the battlefield, or more usually during the long oppressive spells leading up to the battlefield, it is the inner man that holds things together. A man can endure any number of hardships if the pilot light inside is still burning. The first indicator that things are amiss is the head: it drops. Everything follows from that.
There were two menus, an à la carte featuring a selection of Siamese and Chinese dishes and a European table d’hôte. As we read the menus, other diners were admitted. Hoshimi was wheeled in, this time accompanied by what we took to be her mother, and smiled and waved to us. Her father was dressed as if for a wedding, in a dark frock coat and dark tie. He held himself with that same concern for outward form that I alluded to. His face was severe and shone as if polished rather than scrubbed. The three chaps, Earwig, Roger and Spaulding, dined together at a table. There were two other couples dining.
After some polite small-talk I decided to broach the subject of our visit to Mr Kilmer. Did he by chance know of Mr Curtis?
He laughed, ‘Oh yes, I met him. He arrived somewhere mid-March, and went missing just after Spaulding’s birthday, which was the first week of April. I’ve met plenty of unusual people, but he would have won a prize.’
‘Unusual in what way?’ I said. Mr Kilmer gave me a noncommittal stare. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but we are most anxious to find him, we … we know him from long ago and are very worried.’
It was evident from the look of solemn acceptance he wore that Mr Kilmer plainly saw through that lie, but did not seem to care very much. ‘I guess it all depends on what folk consi
der unusual, but turning up at Spaulding’s birthday celebration wearing a necklace of human ears would probably qualify, wouldn’t it?’
‘Goodness gracious!’ I said. ‘Where on earth did he get the ears from?’
‘Stole them from me,’ said Kilmer. ‘I made the mistake of showing them to him, I should have guessed he would pull a trick like that.’
‘Would it be impertinent to ask how you came by a collection of ears?’ I said.
Kilmer raised a glass to us and said over the rim, ‘During the war I was in Indochina, training partisans to fight the Japanese. I worked with the Hmong people, from the mountains. Wonderful folk, some of the finest people I’ve ever met. I paid them a dollar for every Japanese ear they brought me. I acquired quite a bagful.’
‘Oh I say!’ I said, somewhat taken aback by his shocking revelation.
‘Really!’ said Jenny in an excited tone.
‘We used to interrogate the captured Japanese soldiers in a plane, and when my men had finished with them, we would throw them out.’ He paused and narrowed his eyes as if troubled by that vision of the past. ‘Now I see them in my dreams, falling, or before the war, taking their children to the zoo.’ He picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, held it for a long while, lost in thought, before throwing it down. He insisted on paying the bill and invited us to join him downstairs in the nightclub for a whisky.
The muffled sound of a jazz band playing enticed us as we descended the stairs to the basement. A neon sign advertised the Bolero Club. It looked very much like any such place back in England. There was a small stage and dance floor with tables and chairs set around it. Further back there were booths, and to the right of the stage a separate seated area, surrounding a central desk that looked oddly out of place in this environment. Three young Siamese ladies in Western frocks sat at these seats and spent their time scanning the room discreetly. An older woman sat behind the desk with a ledger in front of her, and stared into space.
We were shown to a table near the dance floor and ordered drinks. After a while, Roger, Spaulding and Earwig arrived and were shown to another table. Earwig threw Mr Kilmer a black look in passing. He smiled back, and said to me, ‘Have you met the three musketeers yet?’
‘Yes, briefly. They seemed a little odd. Who are they?’
‘Do you mean who are they really, or who do they say they are?’
‘I don’t know. Is there a difference?’
‘I don’t know either. They say they are here to wind up the affairs of the Burma, Bangkok and North Borneo Company, but they don’t seem to do much winding up, the office is always closed. If you ask them they will tell you they are awaiting the arrival of a giant tin of syrup.’
‘That’s interesting. I think we passed it a number of times on our way here.’
‘It must be true then. It’s going to Shimushir. It’s a movie prop.’
‘Is it empty?’ said Jenny. ‘I don’t suppose the monster will like that.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’
‘Do they have a pilot?’ I said. ‘Mr Fink told me the pilot would need to be insane.’
‘Did he? Well of all the … actually, I’m the pilot.’
‘No, really?’ cried Jenny. ‘For Sam Flamenco and Solveig Connemara? You are flying to Shimushir?’
He nodded.
‘How extraordinary,’ I said. ‘What an adventure! Is Mr Flamenco paying you handsomely?’
‘He’s not paying me at all. Who needs money?’
‘Plenty of people as far as I can see.’
‘Not me.’
‘I do hope that didn’t appear rude, I just assumed it was an offer of employment.’
‘No need to apologise. He offered and I’m going, for the same reason most folk are going, to mend a broken heart.’
‘Oh I see!’ I said. ‘These Siamese girls can be devilishly pretty, can’t they?’
‘Yes they sure can, but it wasn’t a girl who broke my heart, it was a man.’
‘From what we saw in Singapore,’ Jenny said, showing clear signs of becoming merry, ‘the men are even prettier!’
Kilmer laughed. ‘That’s for sure. The man who broke my heart was not pretty in the conventional way. His name was Ho Chi Minh.’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t ring a bell,’ I said.
‘A great man. He was a great admirer of the United States. I helped him write the new Vietnamese constitution, which was based on the US constitution. He could have been a good friend of ours, but I was told that wasn’t possible. The next wars had been planned for Vietnam and Korea and they didn’t really care whether Ho Chi Minh was an admirer of George Washington. They are running out of places to have their wars, Europe won’t be ready again for many years. It’s going to be against communism this time. So, he’s doomed. The new enemy will be Russia.’
‘But the Russians were our allies,’ I cried, greatly surprised by his revelation.
‘Yes, I know, but it’s been decided so there isn’t much we can do about it. The Germans and Japs will be our friends and our former allies the Russians will be the new enemy.’
‘But you’ll never get the people to accept that,’ Jenny said in bewilderment.
‘Oh yes, give them ten years and they will have forgotten it had ever been different.’ He raised his glass. ‘Chin, Chin!’
‘Here’s mud in your eye,’ Jenny said. ‘Let’s get blotto!’
‘Jenny!’ I said. She grinned and drank more.
‘Good plan,’ said Kilmer. ‘Let’s get canned.’
‘Embalmed,’ said Jenny.
‘Owled.’
‘Ossified.’
‘Scrooched.’
‘Spifflicated.’
‘Blitzed.’
‘Bombed.’
‘Juiced.’
‘Pickled.’
‘Shucked.’
‘Snockered.’
‘You win,’ said Kilmer. ‘Where did you learn all that?’
‘A friend,’ said Jenny.
‘She used to know a GI during the war,’ I explained.
‘Yeah? What else did he teach you?’
‘Poker.’
‘You play poker? We’ll have to have a game.’
‘You’ll lose your shirt,’ said Jenny with a sly grin.
Kilmer laughed. ‘You know what? I believe you.’
Further conversation was stopped by a new event. The door opened and a ripple of tension seemed to pass through the room. A Siamese lady in a Western frock and with her hair styled in a permanent wave entered. She did not so much walk as sail into the room. All eyes were drawn to her and, though seemingly barely more than twenty, she carried herself in a manner that suggested she knew the effect her entrance was having.
She walked with her nose slightly tilted up, with a regal bearing that the Queen of Sheba would have envied. There seemed to be a half-sneer on her mouth, but one got the impression that this too was partly deliberate, a form of acting. As she walked she would occasionally catch the eye of someone she knew and a grin would break out, rearranging her imperious features into what no doubt was her true disposition of girlish fun.
She sauntered up to the desk, signed the book, then sat down with the other ladies, but did not speak to them. In turn they affected not to have noticed her arrival. A drink was placed before her and she raised it to her lips and slowly scanned the room over the top of it. Her gaze swept like a slow searchlight across the table of the three chaps. As it reached Earwig he waved at her. She paused for a tiny fraction of a second, her face betraying no sign that she had seen the wave, before moving on. Earwig stood up and began to walk across the room. Her gaze came to rest on Kilmer, where it lingered. It was enough.
He stood up and said, ‘This is my cue.’ He walked to the desk, and such was the timing that his path intersected with Earwig’s and they almost bumped into each other. The issue of who was to pass first hung in the air for a fraction of a second, but then the American drew himself up to his full heigh
t and brushed past Earwig. He strode up to the girl and exchanged a few words. Earwig followed close behind and said something that made Kilmer turn sharply and give him a look of challenge. The girl wore a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression. Earwig spoke to her and she gave him a look of wide-eyed innocent inquiry. She turned her eyes back to Kilmer, who passed a remark that made them both laugh and made Earwig turn red. Kilmer walked up to the desk and handed over some money and then the girl intertwined her arm with his and led him on to the dance floor. Earwig simmered for a second and then turned sharply away, knocking into a table before leaving the room in a temper.
Jenny squeezed my hand, and said, ‘Bet you half-a-crown that is Sugarpie.’
Later, in the lobby, Earwig sidled up to me. ‘Wenlock,’ he said, in a manner that struck me as rather impertinent, ‘you don’t want to get too thick with that Yank.’
‘He seems nice enough to me.’
‘Of course he does, but I wouldn’t be taken in, that’s all.’ I said nothing, so after a while he added, ‘The chaps were wondering if you were free tonight … for a while. Not your wife, just you.’
I looked at him.
‘We … we want to show you something … about Curtis. Take you somewhere. We think it might help you understand. We’ll meet you in the lobby at eleven.’
He left without waiting for a response, assuming no doubt it was a given. I felt sure the purpose of the invitation was to find out about me rather than help me. Everyone seemed to know we were looking for Curtis, even the chief of police – if what Mr Spaulding said could be believed.
For a man who had spent his life largely as a wallflower, Curtis seemed to have caused quite a stir since his arrival in Bangkok. Mr Fink’s reaction to the buffalo photograph had been extraordinary. I couldn’t fathom the meaning behind it but was fairly sure he had not been straight with us.
Chapter 11
Outside the hotel that evening Earwig hailed two tricycle rickshaws – ‘samlors’ he called them. ‘It translates as three-wheeler,’ he explained with an expansive air. We got in the first, while Spaulding and Roger climbed into the second. The sun had set, but this had seemed only to intensify the hot muggy air, which was as steamy and warm as one’s own breath exhaled into a cupped hand.
The Corpse in the Garden of Perfect Brightness Page 12