We returned to the main company and watched the lone figure of Earwig, a man who could appear solitary in a crowd, walk along the beach and stop outside the tent where Hoshimi sat, still as a statue. He spoke a few words, which she did not appear to register, and did a little encouraging mime of someone folding, but this too had no effect. He walked on in exasperation and then retraced his steps and this time went into the tent. He took something from his pocket and put it down on Hoshimi’s table. He walked out, with more of a spring in his step, but was felled by a crunching rugger tackle from Roger, who flew at him with the speed and ferocity of a charging bull. It was as if a giant had reached down from the sky and plucked up Earwig like a doll and dashed him to the floor.
Roger roared with laughter and Spaulding cried out, ‘Good tackle!’ Earwig, clearly in pain, made no attempt to rise. Roger sat down on his victim’s back, forcing his face into the sand with one hand and using the other to scoop sand on it. Spaulding joined in piling sand on Earwig’s head until it was covered by a small mound. His legs and arms flailed in protest, but Roger was a powerful, stocky man. They were both laughing, Roger and Spaulding, laughing at their cruel sport.
Eventually Roger climbed off and Earwig raised himself onto all fours, and spat out sand, then started to get to his feet. Roger offered him a hand, but he looked at it the way a dog looks at the stick that beats him. He rose unaided and Roger took up the stance of a boxer and made a couple of token jabs at Earwig. He refused and tried to turn away. Roger ran round to confront him again and made two more jabs and an uppercut, terminating inches from Earwig’s face. Spaulding laughed.
‘Come on,’ repeated Roger, ‘see if you can hit me.’ He danced and feinted to the left and right, ducking imaginary blows. Earwig tried again to escape. ‘Go on, I won’t hit back, promise!’ They stood facing each other, Roger beckoning and cajoling Earwig to throw a punch. He did a curious mime in which he held an imaginary piece of paper before his nose and tore it in two. This was clearly meant to goad the reluctant Earwig into the commission of an act he would surely regret. He stared at Roger, still refusing to respond. ‘Come on,’ said Roger dancing wildly, ducking from left and right, ‘see if you can hit me.’
‘I don’t want to,’ said Earwig.
‘Come on, come on! Or are you a coward like Ben?’
Something flashed in Earwig’s countenance. He sprang forward, throwing a clumsy punch at a spot where Roger’s head had been a second ago, but Roger had stepped aside so quickly it was like watching a magic trick. Earwig recovered his balance and turned with the stupidity of a bull being taunted by a matador, and swung once more, hitting the empty air to his left, but Roger had melted away like a will-o’-the-wisp and stood dancing to his right, urging him to punch him. Again Earwig took a swing, but this time Roger punched him back with a piledriver to the stomach that left him on all fours, fighting to suck in air. I stood up and walked briskly over.
‘See here, chaps,’ I said as I approached. ‘I think this is going a bit too far.’
‘It’s only horseplay,’ said Spaulding. ‘Just a bit of fun.’
‘Perhaps that’s best left to horses.’
Roger turned towards me and looked me in the eye. He was smiling but there was something unnerving about his smile, as if it did not betoken the same warmth and geniality for him as it did for other people. The thought flashed across my mind that he might actually be insane.
‘What’s up with you?’ he said.
‘I dislike seeing a chap picked on like this.’
‘We’re not picking on him,’ he said.
‘It rather looks to me that way.’
‘And what way is that?’
‘You know jolly well what I’m talking about.’
‘No I don’t. Perhaps you should explain.’
‘Very well then, bullying.’
‘Bullying? We are playing.’
‘It’s clear you are quite a boxer, Roger. And very strongly built. Mr Earwig is no match for you and clearly does not wish to match you. It behoves you as a gentleman to respect his wishes.’
He paused, and swallowed. It was difficult to divine what was going on in his mind. ‘What about you, then, Wenlock? Are you a boxer?’
‘No, I am not, or at least not unless I have to be.’
‘What if you have to now?’
‘I would be severely disinclined to engage in such vulgar behaviour on an occasion such as this. We have ladies present and an invalid child.’
‘That’s convenient,’ he said, trying to provoke me. ‘I think you are just scared.’
‘I’m happy for you to think whatever pleases you.’ I gave him a long and unflinching look. He held my gaze and it was as if a thousand words passed along the line, as two men peered into each other’s souls and sized each other up. Spaulding interrupted.
‘It’s all right, really. He enjoys it, the rough and tumble,’ he said, and reached out his hand to Earwig. ‘Don’t you old sport? We’re only playing, you know that.’
Earwig took the hand and dragged himself to his feet. ‘It’s OK, Wenlock, it’s just … it’s OK.’
‘See?’ said Roger, still holding my gaze. He walked closer to me and feinted a jab at my nose. Still, I held his gaze, unmoved. He laughed and turned away.
‘I think I’ll go for a dip,’ said Earwig. Roger and Spaulding began to walk away, laughing. Roger half turned. ‘One day, Wenlock, one day.’
I returned to the main party and sat with Mr Webster.
‘Watching Hoshimi takes me back,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I should imagine it does. Were you terribly fond of Japan?’
‘I used to be the chaplain on Tinian Island.’
‘Where’s that?’ said Jenny.
‘It’s a small island in the Marianas, south-west of Saipan. Interesting place. There used to be some people living there. Forty thousand or so I believe. Then they received a visit from a Spanish missionary by the name of Diego Luis de San Vitores. He gave them the surprising news that the islands on which they were living – the Marianas – had been named after the Queen of Spain.
‘The Spanish had the islanders removed so they would have somewhere to graze their pigs in peace, and a few hundred years later the Germans had the Spanish removed. Then, round about the end of the First World War, the Japanese removed the Germans, and then the Americans removed the Japanese in 1944 and turned the island into one of the world’s biggest air bases, with forty thousand people working there. They laid out the streets on a grid following the streets of Manhattan and even named them after the original. The base hospital was in Central Park. Obviously you need a good chaplain to minister to all those souls, and I got the job.’ If there was more to the story, Mr Webster did not seem inclined to reveal it. A silence ensued.
I decided to take the opportunity to approach Sam Flamenco. He was standing with Miss Connemara on the veranda of the summer house where the treeline began. I trudged through the sand up to them.
‘Mr Flamenco,’ I said as I approached.
He was holding a cigar in one hand and looked displeased to see me. ‘You again?’ His eyes narrowed as if he were struggling to recall exactly where he knew me from. ‘I thought I told you to go jump in the lake.’
‘I don’t remember you saying that.’
‘I think I did.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Flamenco, I think you must be confusing me with someone else.’
‘That’s what you said the last time, in Chicago.’
‘I’ve never been to Chicago.’
‘Well you sure as hell look like someone who has. You’ll get nothing from me.’
‘I suspect you are confusing me with … you see, we did meet once, very briefly, but not in Chicago. It was on a ship, the SS Pandora.’
‘Never heard of it.’
Solveig Connemara, who had been watching proceedings with a bemused smile, interjected. ‘I think that was the boat we took to Port Said, honey.’
&n
bsp; Mr Flamenco seemed reluctant to concede even such a small point. ‘Anyone can find out the name of a boat. These people do it all the time: discover a few things about you any fool could find out, then turn up claiming to be your long-lost brother or something. It always comes down to money in the end, of course.’
‘I don’t want money, Mr Flamenco. I just want to ask about a mutual friend.’
His eyes flashed in anger, as if my denials were cast-iron proofs of his accusations. ‘Oh so now we got a mutual friend. Who is he? Santa Claus?’
‘Mr Curtis. From Singapore. I understand you and—’
‘Curtis! That son-of-a-bitch! You a friend of his? Oh boy! I’ve heard it all now. If you knew the money I’ve lost because of that … that joker you would swear you didn’t know him. I had to hire a screenwriter in L.A. Got tired of waiting. If it was down to Curtis, we wouldn’t even have a script. Curtis Schmurtis. Pah!’ He threw his cigar onto the floor in disgust and turned his back on me, to walk into the summer house. I was pretty sure he had no business in there but was simply making a suitably dramatic exit. ‘Curtis!’ he snorted again as he entered the building. It was clear if there had ever been a friendship between the two men, it had long since turned into the opposite.
There was an awkward pause. Then Miss Connemara held out her hand.
‘Solveig Connemara.’
‘Wenlock, Jack Wenlock.’ We shook hands.
‘Don’t mind him, Jack. He’s spent his whole life with his head up his ass, he ain’t going to take it out now.’
‘That’s quite all right, Miss Connemara—’
‘Solveig.’
‘Solveig. I expect it must have appeared a trifle impertinent.’
She gave a laugh that was quite gay but contained a hint of bitterness. ‘He wouldn’t even know how to spell impertinent. He just likes to be rude. You really a friend of Curtis?’
‘More an acquaintance, really,’ I said, determining that honesty would work better. ‘I know his mother, and she is … is worried about him.’
‘Yeah, if I were his mother I would be too. Amazed he found his way out of the birth canal.’
‘I expect he had help.’ I had not intended to say something funny, but it seemed to come out that way.
Solveig laughed and asked, ‘Shall we join the others?’ It was less a question, more the act of someone informing you of a decision that has already been reached. We walked back down the beach. ‘If it’s any help,’ she said, ‘we heard he’s in Bangkok. He owes Sam a lot of money, and Sam doesn’t take people owing him money all that well.’
As we walked we watched Earwig emerge from behind a group of trees wearing a bathing costume. He put his clothes down in a pile on the sand and walked towards the sea. He was chubby and pink and there were four bruises on his back, like the spots on a die. He walked into the sea and carried on until it was up to his waist. He dived under the water, rose, flicked his head and swam in a languid crawl that bore witness to many hours in cold school swimming baths, and in a manner suggesting that he was more at home in this element. I had a sudden vision of him swimming endless lengths alone each morning before school started. Perhaps the water was less cruel than the world beyond it.
As he swam, the two chaps reappeared and picked up his clothes and walked over to a coconut tree. Roger took off his own linen jacket and removed his white cotton shirt. He had the well-muscled torso of a circus strongman. He drew himself up in the sort of act of preparation someone about to dive off a very high board does, then threw his arms around the bole of the tree, gripped it between his knees and began to shimmy up. Roger made it look impossibly easy, but I knew such a feat took great strength. Midway he stopped and, holding on with one arm, reached down to Spaulding, who handed him Earwig’s clothes. Roger carried on up the tree. In the sea, Earwig stopped swimming and watched. Roger reached the top and bedecked the leaves with Earwig’s clothes and then slid slowly down to the ground.
Earwig traipsed back from the water, with the reluctance of one walking towards a problem he has no idea how to solve. It was quite certain that no one else in our party had even the slightest chance of being able to climb the tree and rescue the clothes, least of all Earwig, who was as likely to perform the Indian rope trick as climb that tree. And where in such a place would you find a ladder?
Then a curious thing happened. The air behind Earwig darkened, and turned a fuzzy sort of grey, and within a few more seconds the canvas of our tent began to flap angrily. A few raindrops fell, big fat globes of water that you could almost see your face in, one or two or three, each making a dark stain in the sand the size of a halfpenny piece. The sand became dappled, and within a few seconds a torrential downpour engulfed the beach, driven by a fierce wind that caused Kilmer and me to grab hold of our tent. Up in the treetops the wind tore Earwig’s clothes, his trousers and shirt and underlinen, and swirled them all up into the darkening sky, spiralling madly like a newspaper caught on a bonfire. The party gathered under the canvas awning and watched transfixed as the effigy of Earwig flew up and out to sea, getting smaller and smaller, until the clothes were lost in the storm.
It was all over in a couple of minutes, like a squall at sea, the storm passing as fast as it came. The sun reappeared, burning fiercely in the washed-out blue of the sky, and the beach steamed. Earwig had stood the whole time, rooted to a spot midway between the sea’s edge and the tree from which his clothes had disappeared.
I stood up and walked past him, over to the tent where Hoshimi was sitting. On the table before her lay a pack of Benzedrine tablets. The intent was clear and exasperating: to make her fold faster. It was apparent that Earwig’s life had been filled with suffering, and yet normally one finds those who suffer have great insight into the sorrows of others. Earwig however betrayed little understanding in that department. I smiled at Hoshimi and put the Benzedrine in my pocket, explaining that they would make her poorly.
‘Oh it’s quite all right, Mr Wenlock,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of eating them. Mr Earwig and his friends, I feel, are not trustworthy. Do you know, I am not a great fan of Winnie the Pooh?’
I laughed at the simple innocence of the remark. ‘No I didn’t. I hope you won’t be disappointed to learn I have never read it.’
‘You have saved yourself a tedious experience. The story is very sentimental. I much prefer Swallows and Amazons by Mr Ransome.’
As we prepared to board the flying boat, Hoshimi’s father drew me aside on the pretext of wishing to talk to me in confidence. ‘Hoshimi has lost a milk tooth,’ he began. ‘An incisor. She has been reading about the custom of the tooth fairy in your country and is most keen to give it a try. We do not have this tradition in Japan. I wondered if you might be willing to sell me an English coin. I could put it under her pillow during her afternoon nap.’ His face as he spoke was almost comically solemn, and reminded me a bit of the expression on the face of a bloodhound.
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘nothing would give me more pleasure, but unfortunately I do not have any English coins.’
‘Jack,’ said Jenny, ‘you do have a spare Gosling’s Friend badge in your luggage.’
‘By Jove,’ I said. ‘Indeed I do.’
Hoshimi’s father had no idea what the badge was, but seemed very keen on the idea once it was explained. He agreed to accompany us back to our hotel room on our return and collect the badge.
During the short flight back to the hotel I brooded upon our situation. Curtis was certainly in Bangkok or had been, and my instinct told me he was still. But so elusive had he become, he might just as well have been in Australia. I was fairly sure the chaps did not know where he was but would greatly like to. I had no idea what their interest in him was.
It was plain, too, from Sam Flamenco’s behaviour, that he and Curtis were no longer on good terms, and moreover he was not kindly disposed towards me on account of what appeared to be a misunderstanding. Solveig Connemara seemed more sympathetic.
And what of the man
with the burned face? Had we succeeded in eluding him?
Chapter 16
The St George’s Day party began at seven that evening. I watched events on the lawn below from our window. A string quartet played in the marquee as waiters carried trays of gin and tonic. A few balloons had been tied to the canvas. Guests in evening dress and ladies in gowns filtered out gradually from the main building, across the lawn. I had been given to understand there would be a performance of song and dance acts by some of the guests, with Kilmer acting as the compère. Due to our arriving only the day before we had been excused from performing.
Jenny returned from the bathroom wearing a lemon-tinted trouser suit. The last one left. ‘Ta-da!’ she said. ‘What do you think? It’s all right, I already know what you think.’
‘It’s … it’s …’
‘Swoony?’
‘I was going to say “fetching” but that will do just as well. Swoony.’
‘You don’t approve, I know. But I like it.’
‘I don’t mind in the least, I’m sure there isn’t anything you could wear that I would not like.’
Jenny joined me at the window and rested her head on my shoulder. ‘Did you ever imagine you would visit a place like this?’
‘It would never have occurred to me in my wildest dreams.’
‘Me neither.’
‘To tell the truth, I’m really not sure we should be here at all.’
‘Why?’
‘I feel I have led you into some terrible danger.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Well perhaps you should be. I jolly well am. This chap with the burned face will surely not take long to work out where we went. He may already have done so.’
‘I’m sure Curtis can’t be far away.’
‘But we have no idea how to find him! I thought it would simply be a case of coming to The Garden of Perfect Brightness and there he would be. In truth, we find ourselves embroiled in an impenetrable mystery. A chap who never once said boo to a goose all his life goes off the rails in Singapore and sets off on a quest for fragments of a screenplay. He buys a ticket for Bangkok. Soon after he arrives he apparently commissions a photograph of a buffalo and inscribes on it the words The horror! The horror! He orders a circus ringmaster’s outfit and omits to pay for it, then attends Spaulding’s birthday party wearing a necklace of human ears. There he does something so scandalous that no one will talk about it.
The Corpse in the Garden of Perfect Brightness Page 17